#and lance as red was LAUGHABLE sorry

[scattered-winter]

sometimes I start getting imposter syndrome feelings because I'm ignoring 80% of the characterizations because I HAAATE everything after season 2 but then I remember that the writers simply did not care about consistent characterizations and so it literally does not matter because I'm correct about them

[candyapplecarcinogen-archive]

Abandoned outposts were rarely so. Scavengers, squatters and the like claimed such to suit their needs. Candy was both. Her ship was running low on fuel, and as it was an older model of alternian vessels that hadn’t fully incorporated biotech into its systems yet, psionic energy would need to be found from a stored battery.

The knight had managed to find one such outpost tucked away in the corner of a mostly dead star system, drained of resources by the empire. Fortunately for her, there was the faintest bit of energy readings still stored away here somewhere, and with luck, fuel that could keep the ship going for a while. Honestly Candy wished she could swap out the psionic energy cells for a more renewable form of propulsion, but at that point she might as well get a whole new ship, and she had gotten too attached to the old girl to let her go so easily.

Security was laughable nonexistent. No drones, no automated defenses, she had simply landed in the empty training yard without even an alarm blaring. Arming herself, she began to wander to where she figured storage might be located, a warehouse tucked away in the back of the facility. Breaking in was simple enough as most of the metal within a ten mile radius had all but rusted away to nothing.

Kicking through the door, her eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, slitted pupils expanding widely. A grin kept up her face, happy to find several power cells, still fully charged, stacked atop another. There were other supplies, but they would have to be grabbed later. 

Lugging the hefty things two at a time, she began her multiple trips to and fro from her ship, storing them, then returning to grab more. It was on the third trip is when she heard the sound of a warp drive cutting through space, and another ship landing. Hand itching towards her weapon, she slowly peered around the corner of the warehouse’s entrance to find another ship, an alternian ship, had landed several meters away from hers.

The door opened to reveal three trolls and a drone stepping out, the behemoth machine clanking behind its entourage as they walked over to Candy’s own ship to inspect it. They were clad in dull grey body armor, military in nature, but were obviously highbloods by the symbols and rankings as adornments. One opened his mouth to cough before shouting a word of warning.

“Karkat-” only to be stopped by his companion whispering in his ear. “Ah, yes. Sorry. CANDY Vantas, you are under arrest for the murder of your superior officers, theft of a military vehicle, usurpation of power, and vagrancy across known empire territory. Surrender now, and your culling will be swift and painless. Any attempts to resist will prolong your judgment, and will lead to severe consequences-”

He was again interrupted by a lobbed chunk of debris lodging itself in the back of his head, Candy taking advantage of her distraction to cut into one of the other trolls. It wasn’t a fatal blow, but it was going to hamper them with a long slash across the length of their back. 

Trolls were a sturdy sort, and the higher the blood the more punishment they could take, so the one who had been brained only stumbled a few steps before grimacing, turning with anger in his expression. The other two trolls had drawn pistols, aiming them at their aggressor while the drone lumbered at Candy, an unstoppable wall of menace that she was sure to not let get too close to her while she danced around being shot at.

The armor made from her lusus had proven to be a godsend, the bullets bouncing off or lodging themselves in it deep enough it did not penetrate, but the leading troll had what appeared to be a sidearm with a bit more of a kick, humming with energy. A laser of bright red shrieked through the air, easily lancing itself through her protection and causing a stinging, burning sensation that had to be ignored for now. Candy thought to try and take him out first, but the pain had bought the drone a window of opportunity the calculating machine would not let slip away.

With one fell swipe, its claws had separated her head from where it should normally be attached betwixt two shoulders. A sickening sound of meat and bone tearing filled the air, a spray of crimson red sputtering from the stump of her neck while her head rolled and bounced a few feet away like a basketball.

SO IT IS TRUE, Candy thought as she watched her own body crumple itself into a heap. YOU REALLY DO STAY ALIVE FOR A FEW MOMENTS AFTER DECAPITATION.

It was surprisingly . . . calming. Her pain centers had no nervous system to speak of to feel any pain, and it felt as if she were in some sort of fugue state, akin to what one feels like in a dream. There, but also simultaneously not at all. Hazy, drifting.

She didn’t want to die, of course. While purpose was not there, finding that purpose is what she wanted. It was infuriating to find that she had been so easily dispatched, after all she had been through. There it was. The anger. The one thing that could define who she was.

She hated it. She despised it. She loved it. She craved it. How many times had it hurt others? How many times had it pushed them away, or comforted her when she knew her place in the universe was unfair? It was her tormentor, it was her companion. It was her tool.

Reaching out through that anger, the mutant’s dissipating consciousness had one last trick she could think up before the grip of death overcame her waking mind. Fortunately for her, all of her faculties that controlled the hemomancy side of her abilities had not shut down. With all she could muster, she willed her own blood to move her body towards its missing head.

At first, it did nothing, and she despaired in the fact that perhaps this gambit had failed. But, in a split second, a twitch. The armored body arose with a jolt, scaring the other trolls, making them take steps back to distance themselves from the suddenly animated corpse. Being moved not by muscle or thought, but by its own lifesource struggling to pump through its veins, it shambled over to its head, fumbling with its grasp to clumsily stick her noggin back onto her neck, and she prayed to any god or any devil listening that her idea would work.

Just as her vision was fading, she felt it. The familiar sensation of her body healing itself. Regeneration multiplied by the thousandth degree, bones reattaching, sinew and nerves aligning. Next came the rushing pain that had been denied her thinkpan, and with that, a scream. A bellowing, agonizing scream that tore its way up through her vocal cords to fill the air. Candy’s sight went red after that.

Then nothing.

When she came to, the bright red becoming a tinge, then disappearing altogether, she was alive, yes, but now coated in teal and cobalt blood, the shatterings of a drone scattered about her. The three trolls were dead, eviscerated beyond recognition, her scythe and self slick with what remained of them. She had several more gaping wounds that slowly knitted themselves back together, but she was saddened to find the armor had been extensively damaged, as had her weapon.

Limping towards her ship, she didn’t bother to grab the remaining cells, only that she had to book it out of there as soon as possible. More military going missing would bring the eye of the empire. As she ambled towards the control room, she passed the washroom, catching a glimpse of herself in the sink mirror. A fresh, new pink scar now encircled the diameter of her neck, along with the fact there were now shocks of white in her hair where black curls had once been.

[dreamonhunters]

give me one last kiss while we’re far too young to die

tw // blood, guns, mafia dynamics, character injury

mafia au race & romeo for @heytheywascoronas​ ! happy birthday luce, i hope you have an amazing day ♡

read it here on ao3!

Suddenly, he’s awake.

There’s a burn in his lungs, the type you get from being deprived of oxygen just a little too long. Romeo gasps for air, one hand clutching at his chest and the other balled into a tight fist by his side. He can still taste gunpowder. Blunt fingernails dig into his bloodied palm. It’s almost grounding. Not enough to offset the pain, however.

His eyes take a few moments to refocus. Above him, a few clouds crawl lazily across a cornflower blue sky. It’s too bright. Romeo squints. Everything seemed a little hazy round the edges, not quite real. That makes his head hurt.

A tacky red liquid coats his hands, and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what that is. The tip of his tongue swipes over his swollen bottom lip. Drying blood cakes the sensitive flesh, broken and sore. There’s a metallic taste that fills his mouth. Floods his senses for just a moment. His nose throbs.

At least he’s alive, Romeo thinks to himself. That’s definitely a positive.

“Romeo,” a feeble voice calls. It should’ve been a question, but the inflection to suggest that much is completely absent. It’s a voice brimming with the pain Romeo feels lancing through his own body.

“Tha’s me,” he manages, turning his head in the direction of the voice. Fuck, he sounds rough. He’s barely said a sentence, and already he can feel the way vocalising makes his throat burn. His cheek scratches against the concrete, but the pain barely registers. He’s got bigger issues right now. “You good, Tony?”

The boy in question, Tony, simply groans again. No, he’s not good. Romeo saw him go down. The horrible sound of a bullet pinging off the wall, and Tony dodges narrowly, and then there’s someone kicking him in the stomach. A wave of nausea hits Romeo. He’s powerless. Tony’s arm is yanked sharply backwards, and Romeo hears the sickening crack. That’s a sound he won’t forget.

Now he lays a few feet away from Romeo, curled in on himself. Just slightly out of reach. There’s an almost ghostly pallor to his skin. The sole source of his bleeding seems to be a deep gash high up on his cheekbone. The blood caking his hair and clothing isn’t his own. A dark bruise forming above his left eyebrow. Shoulder twisted at an unnatural angle.

It takes Romeo a several minutes to sit up properly. Well, maybe it’s minutes. His sense of time is a little warped right now. However long it takes to let the nausea die down enough to allow movement. Aching muscles scream in protest as he pushes himself up, elbows shoved beneath him to support his bodyweight. Spits out a mixture of blood and saliva, unable to get rid of that smoky taste that makes his teeth hurt, makes his gums burn. The ache in his chest returns promptly, earning a hiss of pain from Romeo.

“We fucked up, didn’t we?”

It’s not a question, but he asks it like one anyway. Maybe Tony will entertain him. Months of begging and pleading and bargaining can’t end like this. Romeo doesn’t make mistakes, not anymore. Neither does Tony. Neither does Jack.

“Shut your stupid mouth,” Tony snaps, although the usual venomous sting in his tone is missing. It’s actually a little weak. Probably too much effort right now.

They’re not friends, not by any stretch of the imagination. Partners, in a business sense exclusively. He likes to think they’re getting somewhere. Volatility is Tony’s middle name, however, and that makes it rather difficult to gauge where he stands. Romeo isn’t sure how Tony defines the word ‘friendship’, anyway.

Romeo rolls his eyes anyway, face screwing up when he’s reminded of the pain in his chest. Broken ribs, easily. When he pulls his shirt up to inspect the damage, there’s black and blue blooming across his flesh already. Ouch.

Vaguely, there’s the memory of taking a crowbar to the chest. Feels distant, almost like he watched it happen to somebody else. It’s a little jarring to consider this happened to him. Suddenly the bruises don’t feel all that strange. A few broken ribs is a small price to pay.

“You want some help?” he asked, letting the thin fabric drop back down.

Tony shakes his head defiantly, of course he does. He’ll die before he accepts Romeo’s assistance.

So Romeo doesn’t make it optional. He takes a few deep breaths and forces himself up, teeth gritting. The taste of blood is stronger now, and it’s almost dizzying. He stumbles, grasps for something to keep him upright, leans against the wall heavily. The pain is nauseating. Just that small movement has a thin sheen of sweat covering his forehead, mixing with the blood and sticking to his skin uncomfortably.

“Idiota,” he hisses, glaring sharply at Tony. The blond is motionless, hair matted with blood and sweat and dirt. “You shoulda kept your mouth shut.”

“Oh, this is my problem now?” Tony shoots back, eyes narrowing. There’s an edge of ice in his voice, a familiar one. Romeo knows that tone all too well.

Any other time, he wouldn’t push it. Arguing with Tony is pointless and stupid and gets neither of them anywhere, but there’s an anger flaring up in Romeo’s chest that’s more than a little difficult to force back down.

“If you let me do my job, we’d be outta here, and not bleeding to death in the fucking dirt.” Romeo seethes. “I was doing the talking, Tony. This shit is basic.”

“Badly,” the blond retorts. “You needed me to cover because you couldn’t get your fuckin’ words out properly.”

“I was doing just fine.”

Tony doesn’t bother responding, grunting unintelligibly instead.

Does he really blame Tony? No. The guilt is overwhelming, actually, because Romeo knows it’s on him. He shouldn’t push it further.

“This is why Jack doesn’t fucking trust you.”

Tony’s expression darkens immediately, eyes flashing dangerously. Romeo regrets it already.

“Jack trusts me a whole lot more than you. Because he knows you might just run off the second he lets you out.”

Romeo opens his mouth, ready to shoot off some spiteful retort, but he catches himself. He doesn’t hate Tony anymore. They’re not rivals, they’re not friends, but they’re somewhere between those two points.

He relents, kneeling down beside Tony. It’s such a simple movement, and yet every contraction of his muscles is fucking agony. He bites down on the inside of his cheek. Hard. The taste of blood is there again, but for a completely different reason now. Sharp pieces of gravel dig into his knees.

“Just let me help you,” he requests. Tony grunts, but he doesn’t bother trying to fight it this time.

“I don’t need your help,” he spits. At this point, that suggestion is almost laughable. If Romeo liked him any less, he’d maybe laugh.

“I think you’ll find you do,” Romeo defends easily, placing one hand on Tony’s shoulder. It’s a feather-light touch, barely there, but it’s a reminder. Tony can work out what that means for himself.

He scowls at Romeo, eyes dark. Juxtaposes their brightness. They’d be so pretty if he smiled more often, although Romeo never voices those thoughts. Tony would murder him the moment he opened his mouth. Such angelic features, constantly contorted with rage and irritation. Jarring.

Tony doesn’t verbally respond again, although he hisses in pain when he slowly tries to stretch out his aching limbs. Honestly, the silence is nice. Unusual.

There’s the silent acknowledgment between them that, had this happened months prior, Tony would be left for dead. Romeo would leave without a second glance. Tony holds this flawed ideology of needing help equalling weakness, and Romeo could never quite fathom why.

But now he feels responsibility. Guilt tugs at him, sour. It weighs heavy on his shoulders. The anger dies away, still smouldering somewhere deep within him, but now it’s easy to ignore. He watches the way blood trickle down the side of Tony’s face with an almost sick fascination. It’s mesmerising, the way it soaks into the fine creases and stains his skin crimson.

Romeo is slow to accept his own faults. Doesn’t like to be the one at fault. It’s a vice he's always known about, but his ego has a tendency to get in the way of any real self-improvement there. He has many virtues, anyway, and he’ll say it with that trademark bright smile. But no, it’s not really Tony’s fault. If he’s completely truthful, their failure is more indicative of their joint weaknesses. Romeo is too quick to react, pushes too hard for little gain. Tony is abrasive and snappy, immediately rubbing people up the wrong way. It’s really no wonder why Jack didn’t want them out in the field just yet.

“Jack’s gonna kill us,” Tony murmurs. Speak of the devil. He sounds agitated, maybe. Difficult to tell when he’s speaking through gritted teeth, biting down hard in an attempt to suppress his groans of pain. “He’s gonna fuckin’ murder me.”

Romeo shakes his head, and maybe there’s just a little hint of introspectiveness there. “It’s not just your fault, Tony, I’m sorry. I fucked up, y’know?”

Of course, Tony argues back. His voice reminds Romeo of glass crunching beneath his feet. Scratchy. “You’re the one who said it. I fucked up. Jack wanted me to prove myself. All this did was prove I couldn’t do it.”

“Yeah, well, can’t do much about that now,” Romeo concludes. He’s too tired to fight.

Acknowledging failure makes Romeo’s skin crawl, the sudden urge to scratch becoming almost overwhelming. Mistakes like this are for other people. Rookies. It’s been a long time since he was last considered a rookie.

He sets about his work in silence. The rush of blood in his ears serves as a nice way to tune out his thoughts. White noise. His stomach roils as he moves, nausea threatening to render him useless for a little while longer. Tony lays limp beneath his fingertips, letting Romeo do what he must. There’s still a scowl twisting his face up. The fight died from his eyes moments before.

Fortunately, nothing looks too bad. The shoulder is nasty. It’s not career-ending. Now Romeo’s good, but he’s not that good. Wouldn’t dare to try resetting that on his own. It’s a job for someone else, someone a lot more qualified. That gash on Tony’s cheek is slowly scabbing over. Romeo winces, secondhand pain. Someone is gonna rip that back open to clean it later. Everything else seems like superficial damage.

“Can you sit up?” he asks, taking one of Tony’s hands in his own. It’s calloused and sticky with blood. The warmth is oddly familiar. Again, Tony doesn’t dignify that with anything more than a grunt. Shoves his good arm back, wincing at the jolt in his bad one. Uses his elbows to gain a little leverage. It’s not quite sitting up, but it’s a start.

Romeo chews at his lip. By now the taste of copper in his mouth is practically second nature. He’s guilty. It gnaws at his stomach and he hates the way it burns. “Better than nothing,” he muses quietly, rocking back to rest his weight on his haunches. Tony pulls his hand away. The muscles in Romeo’s legs throb.

“You got any smart ideas to get us outta here?” Tony snarks, and Romeo doesn’t miss the bite in his voice. Clearly, he’s feeling a little better already. It’s not got that malicious ring to it, though. Not like usual. He could put money on Tony being more pissed at himself than Romeo.

“Pick-up point isn’t far away,” he muses, using his hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun overhead. “If you can walk that far, we—“

“I can.”

Tony doesn’t wait for Romeo to argue, and he doesn’t ask for help. Instead, he uses his good arm to push him up, just enough to sit. Even then, he’s panting, slightly breathless. Romeo doesn’t miss the way he winces.

“Let me carry you,” Romeo suggests.

The blond’s face twists into an ugly scowl. “No.”

He sighs, lips pressing into a tight line. “So you gonna walk? ‘Cause it’s not gonna be the shortest walk.”

Tony’s answer isn’t so immediate this time. He’s thinking about it, considering his options. Romeo can tell by the way his eyes cloud with an uncharacteristic thoughtfulness. Tony always tends to shoot first, ask questions later.

Finally, he answers. “Fine. But I swear to God, if you tell anyone about this,” Tony snarls, weakly jabbing a finger at Romeo’s chest. “I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

Romeo just shrugs. They both know the only person he talks to is Tony. He has nobody to tell, even if he wanted to. Telling people would only bring about questions, and Romeo feels far too guilty to answer those. Or think about them. Even something as simple as reporting to Jack would be a struggle.

Silently, he shifts, one arm scooping underneath Tony’s legs and the other supporting his back. Avoids his bad shoulder. They both know Romeo isn’t strong enough to manage this, but at least he can walk. He stumbles to his feet, sways a little, fingernails digging into Tony’s flesh. Not enough to hurt, but more than enough to feel.

“Careful,” Tony mutters. It’s the most concern Romeo’s ever heard in his voice. Almost unsettling.

He manages to straighten up, though, remaining still for just long enough to catch his balance. Tony is long and lanky, but he’s also light. The height difference makes it a little awkward, but Romeo’s too determined and too proud to forfeit now. Can’t. He’s made enough mistakes to get them both to this point.

“I’m good,” he assures, adjusting his grip on Tony’s lithe body. For just a second, their eyes meet, and Romeo swears he’ll never see a prettier shade of blue than the colour of Tony’s eyes. Blond curls frame his face, tangled and stained with blood. That trademark scowl has melted away, and it’s one of the rare occasions where Romeo sees his face completely relaxed. He looks up at Romeo with something akin to childlike innocence.

If he were somebody else, and they were in a different time, Romeo might call him beautiful.

He pushes that thought down. Locks it away for another time, preferably when he’s alone, not staring into Tony’s crystalline eyes. Starts walking, instead, because pain is a surefire way to distract him from his own internal monologue.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. If Tony wasn’t listening closely, he’d miss it. Romeo’s eyes are fixed firmly on the horizon. Barely audible above the incessant background noise of cars and people and city life. Even on the outskirts, it’s noisy.

“Shut up,” Tony mutters. “This ain’t your fault.”

For Tony to admit fault so easily is wrong. Leaves a strange taste in Romeo’s mouth, and it’s not the taste of blood.

“Maybe if I did my job properly, we wouldn’t be like this, y’know?” Romeo persists, although there’s a lightness to his tone. Jovial, maybe. Doesn’t want to get too serious, not when he’s holding Tony’s broken body in his arms and trying to ignore the way his knees threaten to buckle with every step.

“I said shut up,” Tony warns. There’s a brief flash of irritation in his eyes, but it’s gone before Romeo truly registers it. “I jumped down your fuckin’ throat. Didn’t give you enough chance.”

“And I could’ve reacted better,” is Romeo’s immediate response. “Seriously, Tony, this isn’t your damn fault. An’ when we report to Jack, I swear if you don’t keep your mouth shut—“

Tony scoffs. “Why? So Jack can refuse you fieldwork for the next three years? Because he will.”

“I don’t really care,” Romeo lies.

Being refused fieldwork is getting off lightly. Jack doesn’t make mistakes.

“Yeah, you do.” Tony informs. “‘Cause you’re the one who spent fuckin’ months trying to get us this job, an’ then I went and fucked it up.”

Romeo lets out a small sigh through his nose. “It’s not even that bad.”

“You gonna tell Jack that? ‘It’s not even that bad, Tony just fucked up everything you asked’?” he snarls. “That’ll go down well. I’m sure he’ll love that.”

“Why the fuck do you want me to blame you so bad?” Romeo asks. The irritation melts away, replaced with nothing but a genuine curiosity. “You’re his favourite. You could say anything, an’ he’d probably believe it.”

Tony huffs, turns his face away. He’s staring at nothing.

“Because it’s weird when you get hurt. When Jack screams at you, I don’t…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“To—“

“I said forget it.”

And like that, Romeo drops it. Has to, because Tony has made it pretty damn clear he’s not talking about this anymore.

“Just let me take the fall for this one, okay?” Tony asks, and now his voice is softer. There’s a finely veiled edge of authority, and Romeo has to laugh. Tony barely outranks him, and he’s only ever seen them as equal in that regard.

“No,” Romeo murmurs. Soft, but not without the urgency of a demand. “This ain’t your battle, Tony...”

“I was here, wasn’t I?” he scowls. “I’ll do what I fuckin’ please.”

“What if we don’t blame anyone, and let Jack decide who’s guilty?”

Because they both know it’ll be Romeo. Jack thinks highly of Tony, always has. He’s the favourite. Romeo doesn’t have to take the fall to be blamed, and he came to terms with that a while ago.

“What if he kicks you out?” Tony asks, voice real quiet. Finally betrays the terror running through his head. It’s a much more realistic expectation.

“Then I pack my shit and go,” Romeo answers. There’s a rueful smile on his face. The only way he’ll be leaving is with a bullet through his brain. Ditched in an unmarked grave somewhere. No need to do any packing. “Wasn’t cut out for a place like this, clearly.”

“You can’t—“ he begins, but those words seem to catch in his throat. Can’t say what he wants to. Tony never loses his words like that.

“That’s up to Jack. His call.”

“You can’t just back down like that, asshole! What happened to not goin’ down without a fuckin’ fight?” Tony demands. He’s not covering the upset in his voice well.

“Jack would just have me killed, Tony.”

Those words are heavy. They hang in the air unpleasantly. Romeo isn’t wrong, and he’s pretty sure that’s what makes that sentence so disquieting.

“I wouldn’t let him,” Tony mutters defiantly. It’s a pathetic suggestion, because Tony doesn’t control Jack, nobody does, and even his status as favourite wouldn’t hold much weight there.

Romeo sighs, holds Tony a little tighter.

“No point getting worked up ‘bout what he might say,” Romeo points out. They’re close now, he can see the getaway vehicle across the street. The outskirts of town are quiet. The gun on Romeo’s hip has most people looking the opposite way anyway, golden metal glinting in the light.

Tony meets his eyes again, and there’s an undeniable anxiety there. There’s tension in his jaw. “Let me take the fall,” he demands.

“I can’t do that, Tony,” he sighs.

“Please.”

“No. Let’s not argue, Tony, yeah?”

Tony is quiet. There’s another voice now, and suddenly the weight of another person is lifted from Romeo’s arms. He blinks. A dark-haired woman is talking, commenting on their injuries, asking questions. He can’t focus for long enough to answer. An overwhelming exhaustion hits him, and he slides into the backseat without a fight. Tony is beside him a few moments later. There’s that familiar hum of an engine beneath him, and Romeo swears he could pass out here and now.

Tony doesn’t speak again until they’re in the back of the car, fingertips brushing against each others’. He’s still tense, particularly in the face, although he can’t hold much tension in his bad shoulder. Romeo is less so, because he’s already come to terms with what could happen. He’ll do what it takes to keep Tony out of harm’s way. That kid’s been through enough.

“Don’t go,” Tony whispers. Only Romeo could possibly have picked that up. Their driver doesn’t even flinch.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Romeo assures. He’s lying, and they both know it, but it’s a bittersweet reassurance.

His eyes flicker to the outside, and suddenly Romeo isn’t Romeo anymore. He has a freedom he never had, snatched away from him as a child, crushed by the crippling need for money. It’s another time, another world, and it’s one his fingertips brush over occasionally. The way his brush against the rough skin of Tony’s hands. Just out of reach. Something he can never have.

Something he will never have.

[dailydoseofcolor]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That’s more or less my reaction. Hot DAMN does the art for Ingrid, Sylvain, and Dorothea look GOOD. My bisexual ass is in troubleeeee. All three of these bastards were part of my OG Golden Deer run and I adore their characters. 

Byleth/Rhea are cute, but their art is....problematic. I like big unga bungas as much as the next person, but it’s just....bad. The proportions are very very bad. I also don’t give two shits about Rhea *shrug*. She’s a well-written antagonist, but she’s shady as fuck and I don’t like the implication that she’s with F!Byleth in this. No thanks. 

Here’s my problem....I have under 200 orbs and was actively attempting to save up for other projects. And I still haven’t spent any on the other summer banner to try to snag a Lute and a Joshua, who are also high on my “want” list. I tempered my immediate need by not pulling when it first came out, but now I’m torn. 

On the other hand.....I can’t not have Sylvain/Dorothea/Ingrid. All things being perfect, I’d snag one of each for merging purposes and then move on with my life. That’s doable with Sylvain and one of the others, but not both. I’m still salty IS didn’t include the sparking feature on these banners, because I’d absolutely use it. 

Ingrid’s speed is d.i.s.g.u.s.t.i.n.g and she’s just so cute! She’s also got a shiny new B-slot skill for Fliers! Too bad it’s not inheritable by literally anyone except for Sword/Lance/Axe Fliers. I’ll never understand the bias against ranged units. I love her design, but she’s my least favorite of the three I really want. I already have a lance flier project in mind, and Ingrid would really distract from that. 

Sylvain’s art is probably in the top 5 of “seasonal” art we’ve gotten yet. It’s just so good. Unfortunately, as expected, his stats are Not Great since he’s the demote. However, they’re at least workable with a little bit (read, a lot) of investment. I think I can snag at least two of him by spending orbs, so I’ll take that as a bonus.

Dorothea is my favorite of these three but they really did her dirty. Her art is super cute and she was always going to be a dancer, but I was really counting on her getting an alt in September on whatever Performing Arts banner they do next. Those designs are always stunning, and I’m a little mad they burnt Dorothea on this design instead of September’s. Her attack is actually workable -- too bad that’s not ever going to be her main stat! Her speed however....ugh. And her Res isn’t even that high. Her defense is nonexistent. I’m honestly confused. Dorothea is perhaps one of the most desired characters from 3H and they do...this to her. Tethys of all characters has better support capabilities and she’s a 3/4* unit. I’m sorry Dorothea, you deserved better. 

Finally, lol get fucked Lorenz. Your character sucks and so do your stats and design. WHY would you include Lorenz....he’s one of the most cloying out of the cast. Plus, IS continues its hatred of male red mage infantry. It’s laughable at this point. 

[fandomseverywhereassemble]

He Stayed Quiet

Hey guys!!! So, recently, I listened to a beautiful song by @lovelylangst (seriously, it’s so beautiful I still get goosebumps listening to it, so hit them up if you want to listen to it.)  I wrote down the lyrics at the end, but the words themselves don’t do the song enough justice.

Anyway, I got some of the greatest inspiration to write a little something based off of that song.  And here it is!  I hope y’all enjoy.

(Trigger warning for abuse.)

Being quiet was harder than most people would think.  Especially for Lance, who was always so bubbly and happy and smiling.  If there was noise in the Castle, it was because he was making it.  He couldn’t sneak around the Garrison as Hunk or Pidge could.  He was always the one who bumped into a table, knocked something over, and alerted Iverson or whoever was on duty that there were cadets out after curfew.

He was the one who would get kicked out of the library because he was laughing too hard and too loud.  Yes, Lance, you really are being that loud. Pidge would roll their eyes and say.

He was the person who had no clue how much noise he was actually making.

He was the person who couldn’t quite grasp that whispering and talking were two different things until he was well into fourth grade.  Sometimes distinguishing between yelling and talking were difficult for him.

His entire life, people were always telling him to be quiet: his older siblings, his teachers, his friends, the librarian, his parents, the list goes on and on.  But now, no one was telling him to quiet himself.

Lance was doing it on his own.

Shiro was different.  Lance knew.  He had had his suspicions for a while, but now that Shiro was getting more violent, it was getting harder and harder to believe that he hadn’t been changed by his second stay with the Galra.  Maybe Keith had been Shiro’s impulse control, but the possibility of Keith being anyone’s impulse control was laughable.

It first happened when Lance had interrupted the black paladin in the middle of a strategy meeting.  There was a flaw in the plan that could have caused Pidge to become overrun if they weren’t paying attention at the exact right moment.  He didn’t even realize that Shiro had been talking until the damage was already done.

The Galran arm’s metal fingers were digging into the meat of Shiro’s bicep.  There was murder in the dark-grey eyes currently trying to bore a hole through the red paladin.  Lance had never before felt so small, so insignificant, and so inconsequential.

That mission had gone by without a hitch.  Pidge’s infiltration went effortlessly well, and they were able to avoid the guards that undoubtedly would have caught them otherwise.  Lance was feeling pretty good about himself.  He was laughing loudly with Hunk about some story that Coran was telling them.  Neither of them knew exactly what was being described, but the faces that the Altean was making and the sound effects he was somehow generating had them howling with laughter.

Pidge had come in somewhere in the middle of the story, and they had laid their head on Lance’s lap.  They silently thanked him with their eyes and didn’t protest when the red paladin ruffled their already ruffled hair playfully.

Allura entered not long after, and her eyes lit up when she heard Coran’s story.  She interjected her own points every few words.  Her eyes lit up in pure joy; not even Lance’s cheesy flirting could bring her down.

All good and happy things had to come to an end, however.  Lance excused himself to take care of business.  Pidge hissed when their head fell to the cushion, its pillow having left.  They glared good-naturedly at him as he rounded the corner, a smile still on his face when he ran into a wall of muscle.

Shiro stood in his way, his arms were crossed in front of his chest, with his prosthetic in front.  That was new.  Usually, his other arm hid the metal one from view as if he were ashamed of it.  His face was as hard as the metal posing as flesh.

The black paladin was taller than the others by a few inches at the most -excluding Pidge- but now, Lance felt like he needed to look two feet above himself just to look the team leader in the eyes.

“Lance!  You’re just the person I was looking for!”  His voice wasn’t normal.  It wasn’t robotic, but the enthusiasm seemed incredibly forced and insincere.  The casual ups and downs of his voice were the same, but they still weren’t right.

Lance kept the smile plastered to his face from his time with the other paladins.  “Yeah, I just need to run to the restroom really quick; I’ll be right back!”  He pushed past Shiro.  The hallways were tight enough as it was without a giant from one of Coran’s stories blocking his way.

The Galran shot out and grabbed Lance’s upper arm, squeezing tightly and pressing him up against the wall.

“Shiro?  Can this wait for like, two minutes?  I really gotta pee.”  Lance raised an eyebrow at the older man.

Fingers dug further into Lance’s arm, and the tips of his fingers started to tingle slightly.  “I just wanted to thank you.”  Shiro smiled, but the motion didn’t reach his eyes; it barely even reached his mouth.  “For graciously interrupting me during the meeting.  We never would have been able to spot such an obvious and vital problem if it weren’t for you.”

Lance’s dark blue eyes widened slightly.  “Oh, sorry about that.  I’ll be honest I wasn’t listening that closely because I saw-”

“Oh, my mistake,” Shiro said.  His voice was dripping with something that Lance couldn’t quite identify.  “If you weren’t paying attention, I guess all is forgiven.”  His grip hadn’t let up slightly since they started this conversation, and Lance’s hand was beginning to go numb at an alarming rate.

He smiled shyly back at the leader.  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, and I really don’t mean to cut this conversation short, but unless you want me to go right here, and right now, I really need to use the restroom.”

“Don’t let it happen again,” Shiro spat.  He curled the metal fingers deeper into Lance’s muscles before he released it.

Feeling came back to his arm as blood rushed to where it was supposed to be.  It felt like he had dipped his entire left arm in near-boiling water for a split second and pulled it out just as fast, burning hot then freezing cold.  He massaged the area that Shiro’s hand had dug into as he made his way to the communal toilets.

As soon as he was finished, he rolled his sleeve up to expose the flesh that was already starting to darken from a light brown to a dark black.  He hissed as he felt around the tender skin gently.

It was in the precise shape of a handprint.

The door swung open, and Hunk stuck his head into the room.  “Oh, there you are!”  He laughed.  “We were starting to wonder if you had gotten lost.”  He went to the sink right next to Lance’s to wash his hands.  “I tried to give Pidge a piggy-back ride because Allura and Coran didn’t know what one was, and the little goblin licked me!  Not even slightly.  There was so much tongue and saliva involved.  I am even more terrified of them than I was at the Garrison.”  He raised his eyes to look at Lance through the mirror.  “Woah, where did you get that?”  He gestured vaguely with his chin toward the fresh bruise.

Lance quickly rolled his sleeve down and wracked his brain for an explanation other than ‘Shiro went Alpha on me’ and settled on: “Oh, during the last mission I had a little run-in with a guard.  He caught me a little unaware.  That’s all.”  He threw one of his award-winning smiles in the mix as well.

Hunk pouted his lip out slightly and looked skeptically at his friend in the mirror.  “Why didn’t you say anything?  That looks pretty rough.”

“It’s nothing.  I’m sure I’ll be fine soon enough.”  He smiled and slapped Hunk’s shoulders.  “Now what do you say we show the Princess and Coran what a real piggyback ride looks like?”

Things weren’t fine soon enough.  During training sessions, Shiro would hit him a little too hard a little too often.  The handprint on his arm had taken two weeks to heal.  For those two weeks, he had trouble aiming his bayard, and it showed.  He almost hit Pidge rather than the console that he was supposed to be hitting.  He did hit Hunk instead of a training bot one day.

Shiro hit him harder, more often.

Once, when Lance found himself on the ground, he pushed himself up and felt something in his chest snap.  A broken rib, he was told.

He really should take it easy on those missions, and not get himself hurt.

It became rare to see Lance without any blemishes on his once pristine and perfect skin.  He never wore short-sleeved shirts anymore, not that he had in the first place, but he started making sure that that’s all his wardrobe consisted of anymore.  He asked Coran for concealer after he ‘ran into a doorframe’ and he was cursed with a black eye.

Pidge just rolled their eyes because ‘they knew he was clumsy, but this is a new level, Lance.’

One by one, they all slowly stopped noticing every new injury that Lance was sporting.

One by one, they stopped noticing how Lance would never speak at team meetings anymore.

One by one, they stopped caring.

And through it all, the hurts, the bruises, and the false smiles, Lance stayed quiet.

Thank you so much for reading this; I really hope you like it!

Here’s the song that this was based off of, but seriously, hit them up to listen to them singing it.  You won’t regret it.

I stayed quiet

I didn’t tell a single soul

I stayed quiet

And its the truth I hold

I let you bruise me

I let you break

And I stayed quiet

With the force it takes

I didn’t want to sully

Ruin your good name

So I stayed quiet, once again

Oh, I stayed quiet*

I made it my place*

I stayed quiet*

Even though it was fake*

I stayed quiet*

Ruin my name*

I stayed quiet*

From all the things I could say*

I stayed quiet*

Oh, I stayed quiet*

Yes, I stayed quiet*

Oh, I stayed quiet*

You ask me why* I stay quiet*

Is cuz I-I* had to deny* it

If I did it, I would end up

Like that girl, you left*

Buried in the dirt*

I stayed quiet*

Yes, I stayed quiet*

Oh, I stayed quiet*

Yes, I stayed quiet*

I stayed quiet

Didn’t ruin your name

Didn’t sully your fame

Didn’t take the blame

I stayed quiet

And in return

All I do is get hurt

[i-write-shakespeare-not-disney]

Klance 44 please!

It was funny how quickly things changed. Lance wasn’t really sure when or how it had happened, but somewhere along fighting an alien race and propaganda shows and clones and teammates leaving.... things had changed. 

Keith had gone from the bane of his existence to a comrade to a friend... and now Lance wasn’t totally sure what their relationship was. 

The former red paladin was a hot head, and that was a well-known fact. He was stubborn and he was... passionate. But Lance still remembered how quick he’d been to let Lance help him lead Voltron, to let Lance in with that little bonding moment, to have left and entrusted Red to Lance. There was something to all of that, right? 

Anytime the Blade called in with information, Lance couldn’t help but feel a weird pull towards Keith, an urge to talk to him and bring him back somehow. 

Now, with everyone gather to conference with Lotor and reconstruct what damage the war left, Lance couldn’t help but let his eyes skirt the crowd for Keith. 

And honestly, since when did Lance feel so flustered by looking at Keith? When the hell had that mullet gone from laughable to... sexy? It was driving Lance nuts. 

He walked over to Keith who’s eyes widened slightly when he saw Lance heading for him. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hey.” 

They stared at each other, not entirely sure of anything. “How have you... been?” 

Keith chuckled and shrugged. “I’ve been... good. How’re you? How’s Red?” 

“I’m great,” he said with a laugh. “And Red is good too. You wanna go see her? She’s in the hangar.” 

There was a strange look that passed Keith’s eyes for a moment before he nodded. For some reason that act alone made Lance nervous and suddenly his body was pulsing with heat. His stomach coiled into nervous knots. And he found it hard to keep his hands still. 

But he led Keith over to the hangar and tried not to overthink the silence. Once they’d gone to the lion, Keith hurried to Red and smiled as he touched the metal leg. 

Lance bit his lip, and blurted, “I remember the bonding moment.” 

Keith’s face froze and then slowly faded to confusion as he looked at Lance. “What?” 

“The bonding moment. After the... blast when we first got here. I remember it. I knew what you were talking about, I just-“

“Lance what the hell, why did you say you didn’t?” 

“I wasn’t ready to admit it, okay, I- it made me feel like... I didn’t- I still don’t-“

“That was important to me!” Keith snapped. “I thought... it meant we could be friends, that you didn’t hate me. I thought it meant I could let someone in, but you said it didn’t happen and-“

“I know! Okay, I’m sorry! But I didn’t hate you. And we were friends! And maybe we....” Lance sighed and stepped toward Keith close enough so their noses were almost touching which would’ve been hot if not for the scowl on both their faces. “You left. You went with the Blade and left me behind after everything!” 

“That’s not true!” Keith yelled, shoving Lance back. “I didn’t leave you behind, Lance, how could you think that?”

“You didn’t even come back because you wanted to, you came back because of Shiro!”

“Before we found out about Shiro, you were fine, you guys didn’t need me!” 

“I needed you!” Lance shouted, shoving Keith hard enough to make him fall. It stung to see him collapse, but Lance was angry and he was hurt and he had no idea what exactly he felt for Keith yet. “I needed you,” he repeated. “And you left, like it was the easiest thing to do in the world.” 

At that, Keith stood up and pinned Lance against Red’s hind leg, causing an echoing reverberation of metal to fill the room. “Don’t you dare say that,” he growled, his voice low, each word slowly slipping from his scowling mouth. “You have no idea what it was like for me to leave. You don’t know what I felt. Don’t tell me it was easy for me, because it wasn’t.” 

Lance stared at him. The flustered face, the narrowed eyes, the way his lips trembled with every fast breath he took. He licked his lips unconsciously before he leaned in and kissed Keith. He had no idea what to do about the fact that every muscle in his body was begging him to just kiss Keith, or that every thought in his head after everything they’d said was simply Keith. He just knew that if he didn’t kiss him, he’d lose his mind. 

Keith pushed him back and stared at him in confusion and disbelief and anger. But then Keith was pulling him closer and their lips were crashing together again. Lance was pinned against the lion again, but not in anger. Lance canted his hips toward Keith’s and relished the groan that slipped between their kiss. 

He could hear the deep breaths Keith took through his nose as he kissed Lance almost ravenously, and even in the mess of unsaid apologies and repressed grudges, things felt right. 

[mini-moongie]

Our Greatest Hopes and Fears

fandom: Voltron word count: 2493 summary: Team Voltron is forced into the Blade of Marmora suits as a way to train them mentally and physically. Of course, who better to go first than Lance? a/n: This was just an interesting thought I had in my mind. Since Kolivan said the Blade of Marmora suits show you your biggest hopes and fears, I thought 'What if your biggest hope and your biggest fear was the same thing?’. This was then born. Sorry if the end seemed forced because I really didn’t know how else to end it. I might continue it for catharsis. warning: There’s a really small mention of a suicidal thought near the end so, if that triggers you, please don’t read!

The suit was dark and the lights on it glowed an ominous purple. Everyone wore one, even Hunk. Apparently, like the Paladin armour, the suit contorted to fit its wearer. The fit, of course, was uncomfortably snug to say the least.

Lance stared down at his hands, dark because of the gloves, and he flexed his fingers as if testing them out.

“Why are we doing this again?” Pidge piped up from beside Lance while she secured her bayard to the hip of the Marmoran suit “And why doesn’t Keith have to do it?”

From beside the other Marmorans, Keith, all dressed up, smirked at Pidge. The small girl simply stuck her tongue out in retaliation.

“It’s to test your mental capabilities.” Kolivan ignored Pidge and Keith as he smoothly replied, not even moving from his stiff stance “The Red Paladin has already went through the trials.”

“Your trials, of course, will be less strenuous but the Princess has given me permission to train all of you.” He added “And train you I will.”

Lance wanted to complain but instead kept his mouth shut and frowned. Though he was anxious about it, he knew that this would only benefit them. There was no harm in trying it out.

He also couldn’t stop shifting, testing the stretch of this Marmoran suit. It seemed durable enough and he could easily move in it which was good. The moving seemed to help with the worrying too.

“W-Wait… And what did you say was going to happen?” It’s Hunk’s turn to ask a question. The poor guy looked pretty nervous, something that Lance couldn’t fault him for.

Lance was pretty nervous too.

“One by one, you will be placed in the arena. If nothing happens, we will be sending Blades to fight you.” This time, it isn’t Kolivan that answered but Antok “More often than not, something does happen.”

Before anyone could ask, Kolivan finished for Antok “The suit will show you your biggest hopes and fears.”

Lance wondered what his fear would manifest as. His first thought was that it would be a clone of him. That didn’t seem too scary, however, so his mind wandered. Eventually, he was faced with the horrifying thought that it might turn into the other Paladins.

That most definitely would not be a conversation he wanted to have with any of them.

“So… hopes?” Pidge looked confused but she had a point. Fears, they understood. Fears revealed the rawest part of a person, showed people their weaknesses and their flaws.

To Lance, hope was bright and good. Hope was what kept someone fighting.

Either way, Kolivan raised an eyebrow at the question. Like all the others, he answered it nonetheless “Sometimes a soldier’s hope is much more terrifying than his fears.”

Well, that was ominous.

Then again, from what Shiro told them, Keith’s hope and fear ended up being essentially the same thing. Keith, all beaten up and bloody, hoped for Shiro and feared Shiro. That was why the suit showed Shiro, offering a hand but telling him to give up.

Lance supposed that was believable because Keith didn’t know that the suit had the ability to make holograms appear. Lance was sure that, if it came down to him, he’d be able to deduce what was a fake and what wasn’t.

There he stood, all purple skin and handsome smirk. His hair wasn’t tied up like when they had seen each other last but there was no doubt about who was standing there.

“Lotor.” The whisper hurt and there was a tone of fear there as Lance took a step back.

Lotor’s lips only stretched wider, smirk turning more devious “Ah, my blue eyed beauty.”

“Don’t call me that.” Lance’s voice is sharp but his movements are sloppy. Suddenly, his bayard felt heavy, like lead, and his stance was unstable. There was something uncomfortable in his chest, something that made it harder to breathe.

If he was reacting like this, Lance couldn’t even imagine how everyone else was taking it. He briefly wondered if they think Lotor is his greatest fear. Lance didn’t think that was wrong but there was a part of him that said so. Or, at least, hinted that fear was not the entire story.

“Do they still call you Voltron’s sharpshooter?” Lotor’s eyes bore into Lance, making the poor Paladin take another step back.

Lance tried not to let it get to him, tried to raise his bayard to fire “How about I show you, asshole?”

A silence then proceeded to stretch out between them.

This was the fake Lotor, not the real one. This one was made of pixels and light, generated by a stupid suit that dug into Lance’s brain. Despite knowing this, Lance still couldn’t help but think that this Lotor looked just as ethereal, just as smug, as the real one.

This Lotor also looked just as calm and composed. Lance, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. His eyes kept flickering from spot to spot on Lotor’s face, his grip on his blaster is tight. Hell, it felt like his entire body was shaking.

“Why don’t you show me?” Lotor’s voice was aloof as he took a step forward, his armour thumping against the tip of Lance’s bayard. The gun was pointed to Lotor’s chest, right above where Lance assumed his heart was.

If he even had one.

Lance knew that this was the opportune moment to strike. He knew that, if he pulled the trigger then, it would show him that this Lotor was fake. The shot would simply go through and the hologram would crackle and disappear.

He knew this and, yet, Lance hesitated.

Lotor’s smirk turned predatory “Oh, what’s the matter? Are you all talk, my sharpshooter?”

“Don’t call me your sharpshooter.” Lance tried to sound as hostile as he could but his voice wavered and cracked “I’m not your anything.”

“Ah, now I understand.” Lotor’s hand came up, cupping Lance’s cheek “Why do you do this to yourself?”

Lance flinched away from the touch, eyes wide as he felt the warmth of Lotor’s palm. How advanced were the Marmorans? How could they make Lotor feel so real?

This was not the real Lotor. This was a hologram, just particles of light manipulated by a machine to reflect the terrible fears in Lance’s brain. Lotor wasn’t standing in front of him. Lotor, the real Lotor, was on the other side of the Galaxy.

“Why do you deny yourself your greatest hope?”

This time, Lance felt numb and his body moved on its own, thrusting his bayard forward and pushing Lotor back “What the hell are you talking about??”

Lotor’s laugh was chilling and it sent a spark down Lance’s spine. The prince simply brushed off the part of his armour that came in contact with the tip of Lance’s bayard, acting as if there was dirt to be swept off.

“Aren’t I right? Doesn’t your reaction prove that?” Lotor continued to taunt, not at all dissuaded by Lance’s willingness to whack him with the blue bayard.

Though, it did make Lance think. Was Lotor his greatest hope? The thought was laughable at most. How could Lotor of all people be Lance’s hope? If anything, Lotor was more likely to be Lance’s greatest fear than his greatest hope.

Lotor seemed to catch on “Now you’re wondering how I could possibly be your hope, isn’t that right?”

“You know I’m wondering that because you’re not real.” Lance quickly countered, a sharp edge to his voice that didn’t match how withdrawn his posture looked.

“I know you’re wondering that because you told me.” Lotor’s smirk finally fell, making way to a disappointed expression. It twisted at something inside of Lance’s chest but he didn’t exactly know what it was.

“I have never told you anything.” Lance is tense as if he was being strung up tighter and tighter. He looked like he was about to break apart.

Lotor’s eyes were kind when he took a step forward “Lance—”

“Shut up!” Lance finally snapped and his voice echoed throughout the Marmoran arena.

Like a puppet suddenly cut lose, Lance fell to his knees, bayard falling beside him. Both of them made a resounding thump.

Then, after that, there’s only silence.

Lance wiped at his eyes, scared that he would seem weak to his teammates that watched him from the control room. He glanced up and Lotor was gone.

Had Lance pulled the trigger without realising it? Did someone stop the simulation to give him a rest or to tell him how traitorous he was?

All of these thoughts about all of these possibilities zoomed through his head, one after the other. Though the arena was quiet and still, Lance’s head buzzed almost painfully.

That was it, wasn’t it? Team Voltron was now assuming the worst of him and they were going to kick him out of Voltron. All because of a stupid hologram.

“What was that?” It was Keith’s voice and Lance looked up just in time for Keith to stop right in front of him.

The rest of the team followed behind Keith, all looking a mix between apprehensive and betrayed. Hunk fiddled with his fingers, one of his nervous traits. Pidge, on the other hand, looked almost as angry as Keith.

The expression that made Lance’s heart really fall was Shiro’s because his wasn’t like the others. Rather than uneasy or irritated, the black paladin looked utterly disappointed.

“I-I—” Lance, the one who usually had a lot to say, could not find the words he wanted to use. His head was still in jumbles and he was hurriedly trying to compose himself, trying to gather himself up to stand and defend.

Pidge beat him to it “Save it.”

Hunk placed a hand on Pidge’s shoulder as if to placate her and Lance thought that maybe Hunk was on his side. Except, Hunk then turned to look at Lance “You… You know Lotor personally?”

Hunk was not on his side.

“Y-Yeah… I-I met him at a swap moon a long while back.” Lance’s voice wavered a little but he continued on “H-He… somehow knew I was the blue paladin and he… he asked for me to join him.”

“Did you accept?” Keith’s tone is accusatory and Lance felt a prick in his eyes at the thought.

He scrambled up, bayard forgotten on the ground, and his voice was strong “No! I could never betray you guys!”

“And yet he’s your greatest hope?” Keith seemed just as enraged as Lance and he grabbed Lance by the collar, yanking him down and making him almost choke.

God, at that moment, how Lance wanted to just choke and die.

After all, what was worse than your teammates, people you had grown to love as family, thinking you’ve broken their trust?

“No, no! He’s not, I promise!” Lance wanted to convince them so strongly that he willed himself to look as honest as he could look. He didn’t know how to do it but, damn, did he try.

His hands scrambled up to grip at Keith’s fist “Please, you have to trust me, mullet!”

“How could we trust you if you didn’t even tell us you met with Lotor?” This time, the voice is deep and Lance recognizes it as Shiro’s voice.

That was all it took. The tears started falling from his eyes. There was a lump in Lance’s throat that he couldn’t swallow down and it felt like he couldn’t breathe anymore. The tears that gathered in his eyes clouded his vision but he could see that his teammates had no sympathy for him.

“I-It was… It was a-a moment of weakness… H-He…” Lance hiccupped, struggling both to wipe away his tears and to get Keith to let go of his collar “H-He promised me a place t-to belong.”

That was all Lance ever wanted, wasn’t it?

Ever since he was launched into space, he felt like the odd man out. Pidge and Hunk had bonded over their intelligence, Shiro and Keith knew each other the best, Coran and Allura were from the same species. Lance didn’t have his own person to match with.

Everyone always seemed to be so busy that there wasn’t any time for him.

Plus, Lance should understand. They were in a war. It should’ve been good enough that Lance was part of Voltron, that was where he belonged.

Except, even with that, he didn’t feel like he fit. After all, Allura said that Blue accepted paladins the easiest. He wasn’t wanted by his lion, not like Keith was wanted by Red. Lance knew Blue would never raise hell and fury to protect him like Red had for Keith.

So, if he could not fit into Team Voltron or into his role as paladin, where did he fit?

Lotor provided him a place to fit.

“I-I told him… How I-I hated being the blue paladin… H-How I-I…” Lance’s voice sounded wet from the grief he was pouring out and his voice cracked under the weight of his sadness “H-How I just w-wanted to be needed…”

“He said he needed me…” This time, Lance’s voice was steady but it was soft, almost like a whisper, like he didn’t want the paladins around him to know how amazing the offer had sounded to Lance.

If he wasn’t needed by Voltron, couldn’t he just go to Lotor? What was the harm in helping Lotor? The blue lion would soon find someone else, someone better, and they would defeat Zarkon without Lance.

The thought would’ve been laughable if it didn’t disgust him so much. How could Lance think that way? How could he suddenly hope for something he had once feared so much?

Once his hiccups and his sobbing died down, Lance managed to breathe a little bit. Keith’s grip on his collar was still tight but at least Keith hadn’t punched him yet.

“You disgust me.” There it was. The words Lance was waiting for. Keith’s voice was heavy with anger and maybe grief as if the friend he had found in Lance died.

This was what Lance had been so anxious about before they started this training. This was what Lance was so scared of.

At that thought, Lance’s eyes widened and he glanced up at the paladins around him. Suddenly, Lance’s foot flew up and landed squarely on Keith’s chest. With a strong kick, Keith fell and Lance was finally free of his grasp.

As Keith hit the ground, his body erupted into small sparks of light.

Lance’s blood turned cold and his palms turned sweaty. These weren’t the real paladins either. Like Lotor, they had been holograms made by the insecurities in his mind.

Without a second thought, Lance ran, past the doors of the arena, past the doors of this damned spaceship and into the doors of his lion.

He really fucked up.

[obviousflirtations]

How about, Klance? Angry Confession? If you dont mind? :)

I’m really sorry for taking so long to respond to this, I needed to brush up on my writing skills before I could ever fulfill someone’s fanfiction dreams.

 But here you are! 

SEASON 3 SPOILERS!!

  Everything about that day had gone completely and most horribly wrong. Lance had had a few bad days after leaving home, but all of those were laughable at how terribly this was going. He was scolded for being late for training, when it wasn’t his fault some of the doors wouldn’t work. No one seemed to listen to him as they all said monotonous condolences to Keith’s wrath that seemed to ensue the training session after that.

  Lance completely understood that the new responsibilities of being the leader of voltron and the fact that the cool head of the group was missing was stressful. If he was in Keith’s shoes he wouldn’t be anywhere near as collected. Even though the mullet headed boy was still just as hot tempered, easily more than he had been before. So Lance kept his mouth shut as the new leader tore at his form, how he went for a punch, how he made his shots. The last one was where he drew the line. The red paladin valued his shot. It could be argued he was near perfect after the months of training he had now been through. 

  “Lance, your arms need to be straighter, stop slacking so much,” Keith said it like he knew what he was talking about. 

  “Keith, they need to have some give in them,” Lance responded, his eyes didn’t leave his target as he clicked the trigger. Once he saw in the hole in the red zone of the target he stood up to look at Keith. “And it’s supposed to rest on my shoulder like this, dumbass,” he muttered the last part. 

  Keith stared daggers at him as his arms folded across his body, purple eyes bore into Lance’s blue ones. 

  “If you’re going to be insubordinate you can just go,” Keith seethed, his shoulders were more tense than Lance had ever seen them. So Lance did what any reasonable person would. He threw out a curse word then turned to leave. 

  He knew everyone behind him was silent from how the air was thick with tension and how he could hear his own pulse in his ears. Then again it was probably from how red his face was and how much he regretted saying what he did to Keith. Lance had to be honest with himself at that point, he liked Keith. He liked that mullet headed idiot a lot. And the thought of him being mad at Lance made his heart tighten in his chest.

  Once he was out of ear shot he let out a sigh. His face finally lost the red color at this point and he ran ideas of where to sit in thought for the next five minutes. He settled on Red’s hangar so he could hopefully clear his head. Or something close to that. The warmth of the cockpit brought a sense a calm and relaxation to him, but only for a few moments when he heard footsteps outside the lion. 

  “Lance?” he could tell the voice belonged to Hunk, his friendly voice made him jump. He liked the silence.

  It took him a second to respond, wondering whether or not to let Hunk know he was in the lion. “What?” He asked, his voice held a neutral tone.

  “You should come back to training, it wasn’t right for Keith to make you leave. You could rough him up a little bit if it would make you feel better,” his best friend stated, wanting Lance to come out and smile and be happy.

  :Look, I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but i’m not going to accept an apology from you. It should be coming from mullet head,” Lance muttered loud enough for Hunk to hear him.  

  his response was a sigh and the footsteps that made their way from the lion and out the door. Lance was alone with himself and his lion. Red nudged thoughts into his head that comforted the paladin. They made him feel a bit more confident than he had been since the whole training room incident. 

Why does Keith make me feel this way? He wondered, so infuriated but so entranced at the same time.

It wasn’t until the silence had Lance with his head in his knees that he heard someone else enter the room. He was about to tell Hunk to go away, until the person was recognized.

   “Stop acting like a child and come out,” the voice belonged to Keith. Had Hunk told Keith to come apologize himself? He prepared himself for a bare bones “apology”.

  It took the red paladin a few seconds to emerge from the lion, the first thing he saw was an angry Keith standing akimbo in front of him. He looked angry as ever, however, Lance kept his face neutral.

  “I wasn’t the one making rash decisions,” lance mumbled, folding his arms across his chest. 

  “I’m the leader now Lance, you take orders from me,” Keith retorted, his voice held traces of irritation. 

  “It was easier taking orders from someone who doesn’t have the temperament of C4,” Lance shot back, knowing what he had said hurt Keith, he instantly regretted saying it. “I didn-” he was cut off.

  “You know what, you’re just so childish, I can’t handle being around you because you just take everything so damn personal!” Keith was basically shouting at this point, loud enough to make the taller male flinch with each word.

  Lance stayed quiet for a few seconds, collecting himself before he opened his mouth again. “Who said you had to?” he asked quietly, his eyes falling to the ground. 

  “I only dealt with how you acted because of Shiro, alright? I could deal with your stupid jokes and relentless flirting because someone else could shut it down,” Keith stated. 

  That hurt, Lance thought. Then his anger came out.

  “I dealt with you because I thought we were friends,” Lance started, “but obviously you can’t even handle the thought of being associated with a giant joke like me!” He laughed a little even with the tears gathering in his eyes that he wouldn’t let fall. When Keith stayed quiet he continued, “Have you ever thought that I might like you? Or that I have feelings for you?”

  “Lance…” Keith’s voice was breathless, like he was surprised with what the Cuban had said. “I had no idea..”

  “I wouldn’t have expected you too,” Lance muttered, wiping away one of the tears that had escaped his eye. 

  Keith was just staring at him, eyes wide. “I’m sorry,” the black haired boy started, “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Lance just nodded at that, afraid his voice would crack if he said anything else. “I have feelings for you, too, if it’s any consolation.”

  Did Lance just hear that correctly? His head shot up, “You what?”

  “You heard me, I like you Lance,” Keith repeated himself, quieter than the last time.

  Lance smiled and carefully wrapped his arms around Keith, “Thanks for apologizing, mullet head.”

  “Yeah, Yeah, don’t mention it,” Keith laughed softly, returning the hug.

  Lance pulled away and smiled, “I can’t wait to tell everyone that you apologized,” after this he took off to the common area. keith trailing behind him.

  “I swear to God Lance! Don’t you dare!” Keith yelled after him. There was the hot headed leader Lance loved. And he was glad he didn’t have to keep it a secret anymore.

[curiosity-killed]

space mum, dear, you are a darling <3

send me drawing or writing prompts

“It should only take a few vargas,” Shiro said. He kissed the top of Ulaz’s head, and Ulaz turned toward him for a real kiss. Shiro smiled, an expression that still sometimes caught Ulaz off-guard, and leaned over to comply. Their noses touched briefly, just a small nuzzle, before Shiro straightened and pulled away. Ulaz stopped himself from follow after, but only reluctantly. 

They had both gotten to bed late – Ulaz because he was sending an update to Kolivan, and Shiro, even later, because he was with Keith. Now, with Shiro already dressed and ready to join the princess in a meeting with their hosts on forming an interplanetary alliance, there wasn’t time even for Ulaz to ask what was troubling the red paladin. By tonight, it would be too late; they lived condensed lives, where nearly every hour held enough moments of note to require debriefing. There was simply too much in every day. “Hey,” Shiro said, pausing at the door, “maybe don’t hole up in here all day?” Ulaz didn’t quite wilt, but it was a near thing. His room was his refuge here, amng all these near-strangers. Without Shiro, he had no guide for navigating the complexities of the paladins. Coran was easier, by virtue of both his age and military experience. The paladins, however, were as baffling to Ulaz as a nevarick asteroid raider. “I will do my best,” he promised, knowing full well he would not. By Shiro’s expression, he knew it, too. He hesitated as if to say something more, but he exhaled and his shoulders slumped instead. “Have a good day,” was all he said as he left. Ulaz’s gaze lingered on the door after it closed he grudgingly pulled it away. The room settled into a comfortable quiet, the only noises the susurrus of the castle’s constant hum and his own steady breaths. He turned back to his work detailing the reach of Voltron’s new influence and what ramifications it had for the Blade. He lost time that way, engrossed in his work. A rap sounded at the door. Ulaz jerked straight, tensing in surprise. He froze with his ears swiveled towards the door. He waited. The rap sounded again. He stood and walked cautiously to the door. Logically, it could only be one of the paladins summoning him, but that didn’t exactly help his trepidation. He opened the door. Keith waited outside, arms crossed and gaze turned away down the hall. He started a little, turning sharply towards Ulaz, as if he hadn’t really expected Ulaz to answer the door. “Keith,” Ulaz said. “Is something wrong? Is someone injured?” He couldn’t imagine another reason for any of the paladins to come to him, much less Keith. “What? No,” Keith said. There was a beat of silence where Keith stared at him with a frown and Ulaz stared back in confusion. “We’re playing card games,” Keith explained finally. “If you want to join.” Ulaz paused. The translator had stuttered over the many interpretations of that phrase, providing only the vague translation of ‘tabletop games.’ That seemed far too familiar for the paladins, so he assumed that it must be an error of the translator and that it was some new training program instead. It was the only option that made sense for them to invite him to join. While Keith had been quick to defend Ulaz when he and Shiro were returned several spicolian movements ago, Ulaz was well aware that that was due to his unshakeable loyalty to Shiro and not any fondness towards Ulaz himself. Since then, Keith had maintained a cool neutrality towards Ulaz that verged on dislike. While Pidge nad Hunk had vocally expressed their distrust of Ulaz, Keith had more than made it clear through his body language. “You don’t have to,” Keith said now. “We’re not going to force you.” The idea was briefly laughable and, if questioned later, ulaz would blame that moment for his capitulation. “I’ll join you,” he said. From Keith’s raised eyebrows, Ulaz wasn’t the only one of them surprised by his answer. There was a stilted beat where neither of them moved. “Okay,” Keith finally said. “We’re playing in the lounge.” “Alright,” Ulaz replied. Keith hesitated a moment longer before starting jerkily down the hall. His strides smoothed out as he walked, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. Ulaz’s ears pressed back against the sides of his skull, guilt at Keith’s discomfort making his stomach tighten uncomfortably. He knew how much Keith mattered to Shiro; the younger paladin was dearer still to Shiro than even Ulaz, and Ulaz knew well the depth of love that implied. He longed to strengthen their relationship somehow, but the way of it was murky to him. “If it causes you discomfort, I can refrain from joining in your games,” he offered. He winced internally at his own words. Formality was his own defense mechanism, he knew, but it didn’t help how awkward he had to seem to the paladins. Around Shiro, it had crumbled away in the year they spent lost together. Around the others, though, it remained stubbornly intact. Keith flinched at the offer. He glanced furtively toward Ulaz without moving his head and then turned his gaze stiffly to the front. “It’s fine.” The silence returned, even more stilted this time. They reached the lounge after a far longer walk than Ulaz would have preferred, even though he knew it was exactly the same distance as always. The doors slid open to reveal chaos. Pillows had been summoned from some corner of the castle-ship – Ulaz dared not ask too many questions when Hunk went exploring – and their grey blankets had been plled from their beds. Lance had his pulled over his head like a hood as he spoke animatedly to Hunk, and Pidge had draped hers about her shoulders like an oversized cape. The others were crumpled about the assembled pillows. The paladins looked up as the doors opened, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt. Lance’s mouth was still open in speech as he turned to the door, and Pidge didn’t look up, her shoulders tensed. “Hi,” Hunk said. Had there been any warmth in his tone, Ulaz would have assumed it was directed toward Keith. There was none. “Hello,” Ulaz said. “You are doing a training exercise?” Lance closed his mouth and turned to Keith with a peculiar expression. Pidge spoke before he could. “Yes,” she said. “It’s a training exercise.” “Bonding,” Lance added with a grin, “to improve our connection when we form Voltron.” Ulaz nodded and kept his expression carefully neutral. This was as much a training exercise as the time he and Thace snuck off the base to watch auroras on Larisen. Their blankets were enough of a giveaway without their poorly hidden amusement. But. But if they were inviting him to join them in their game – when they had no official responsibility to do so – well, he could play along. “What is the exercise?” he asked as he took a seat. The pillow was softer than he expected, and he sank into it as if sinking into a mound of moss. “It’s called peanut butter,” Lance said. “It’s called,” Pidge corrected, “bullshit.” She declared it with a kind of exaggerated gravity that only she could manage, and Keith huffed out a breath of laughter as he sat down next to her. Hunk and Lance took their own seats so that they formed a rough circle with Ulaz opposite Keith and between Pidge and Lance. Pidge held a stack of slick white cards, and once they’d all sat down, she began passing them out, one at a time, until the stack was divided between the five of them. Ulaz and Lance each ended up with one extra card, and Lance screwed up his face in annoyance. “Pidge,” he whined, “that’s not fair.” Hunk patted his thigh sympathetically, if a bit absently. “It’s okay, Lance,” he said. “We know you’re full of bullshit.” Lance gaped in affront, and the others sniggered. The translator struggled with this phrase, too, and Ulaz found himself mildly concerned for Lance’s digestive system. That just couldn’t be healthy. “Okay,” Keith said. “Who has the ace of spades?” Before he’d finished speaking, Lance smacked down a card into the middle of their circle. “The Death Card,” he declared, voice low in his throat. Hunk shook his head, but there was a fond smile on his lips as he pulled out three cards. “Three twos,” he said, laying them on top of Lance’s in the middle. Pidge squinted at him, suspicion in her narrowed eyes. “BS,” she said. Hunk smiled sweetly. “Be my guest.” Pidge groaned as she scooped up the three cards and tucked them among the nine already in her hand. Lance grinned, more than a little smug. “Hunk doesn’t lie,” he boasted. Pidge rolled her eyes, and Keith shook his head but laid down two cards. No – three. Ulaz squinted. The third was tucked tight to the second, neatly hidden. “Two threes,” he said. Pidge eyed him as if she’d object, but, after glancing down at her cards, she subsided. “One four,” she said, laying down a card. “Peanut butter,” Keith said mildly. Pidge groaned and punched him in the arm, hard, but the other two only made annoyed faces before turning expectantly to Ulaz. He looked down at the cards in his hand. The translator had provided clear enough translations of the numbers they’d called, and reasonably, those numbers had to correlate with the symbols on the cards. It was all very straightforward, except that Ulaz couldn’t read the humans’ language and had no idea which corresponded to which. He guessed at random and laid down one card. “One five,” he said. Lance squinted at him suspiciously as he slowly drew out his own cards. Ulaz met his gaze, unblinking. Lance held his cards hovering over the pile. Finally, he relented and dropped his cards down on the others. “BS,” Hunk said. Lance turned to him, aghast. “Sorry, babe,” Hunk said, “I’ve got all of them.” He patted Lance on the shoulder and casually ignored Lance’s look of abject betrayal. “Two sevens,” he said. The game continued on with each of them calling ‘BS’ on the other – except Ulaz and Keith. The both of them seemed to be playing by the same strategy of simply flying under the radar, even though Ulaz still had no idea which symbol meant what and Keith had cheated almost every turn. They were down to the fewest cards of the five of them, with Keith holding four and Ulaz six. Keith laid down three. “Two jacks,” he said. Ulaz narrowed his eyes. “Bullshit.” The four startled. Keith blanched, looing at Ulaz, and Ulaz faltered, wondering if he’d said it wrong. “How,” Pidge blurted. “I can never catch him. None of us can.” Ulaz hesitated, flexing the cards in his hands. “He always rubs the corners when he cheats,” he explained. Pidge stared at him a moment before turning towards Keith. Keith’s expression had turned from surprise to a thoughtful frown as he scooped up the now-considerable pile of cards. “I didn’t realize that,” he admitted. “Now you’re never going to win again,” Lance said gleefully. “Uh,” Hunk said, looking pointedly at the twenty-odd cards in Keith’s hands. “Yeah, I think we’re safe.” Pidge turned to Ulaz with an exaggeratedly solemn look. “I will avenge him,” she vowed. “Taken too young, lost from us in a tragic game of BS.” “Quit telling people I’m dead,” Keith muttered, but he was grinning as he said it. “Sometimes,” Pidge said, laying a hand over her sternum and looking slightly upwards, “I can still hear his voice.” She was greeted with a chorus of groans.

“Okay, Vintage Memelord,” Lance said. “It’s your turn. Avenge your boo.” Pidge grinned and laid down four cards. “Four queens,” she said and turned to Ulaz. “One thirteen,” he said with all the certainty he could muster. It wasn’t much. He laid down his cards. There was silence. He focused on the cards in his hands and forced his ears not to flatten in discomfort. He was a spy for the most successful covert organization in imperial history. He had stood firm in the face of far greater adversity. “One…thirteen?” Lance asked. “Yes,” Ulaz confirmed staunchly. “Okay,” Hunk said. “Well, that’s bullshit.” Ulaz met his gaze, prepared to try to stare him into submission, but he’d already moved to pick up the cards. He flipped through them briskly. “This is an eight,” Hunk said. “Wait,” Pidge said. “Can you even read these?” Ulaz relented, recognizing defeat. His shoulders slumped slightly, ears tilting down. “No,” he admitted. “I am unfamiliar with the human language.” “Human language,” Lance scoffed under his breath. “What,” Hunk said. “You’ve been winning even though you’ve been guessing the whole time?”

Ulaz nodded. “The pattern was simple,” he said, “and the goal obvious enough.” Pidge nodded, and Hunk lost some of the surprise from his expression. Lance and Keith seemed less understanding, but Ulaz couldn’t quite decipher their expressions. “That’s kinda badass,” Lance remarked. “I didn’t even think about that,” Keith admitted. “Sorry.” Ulaz faltered, unsure of what to say. He could have asked for clarification, of course, but he was so clearly ‘other’ as was. He had no desire to draw any further attention to it than was already brought by being some three heads taller than even Hunk and a distinctly different color than their shades of brown. “I did not wish to disrupt your game,” he said. “The invitation was unexpected but much appreciated.” There was an awkward pause where none of them made eye contact with Ulaz. Finally, Lance spoke. “We didn’t think you’d want to,” he said. “You always just hang out with Shiro.”

There was a quiet ‘yeah’ from Hunk and the other two nodded their agreement. Ulaz tightened his grip of the cards until they bowed under the force. “I…do not wish to cause discomfort,” he said carefully. “I know I was allowed to remain here against your protests.” “Aw, man,” Hunk said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That wasn’t – it’s not you personally. It’s just-” He gestured with one hand, looking to Lance a little desperately, but it was Keith who rescued him. “Shiro means a lot – to all of us – and we thought he was dead – again,” he explained. “And then he showed up with you.” “With you, with you,” Lance added meaningfully. Ulaz didn’t need the translator for that one; Lance’s voice was steeped in innuendo. His ears pressed against his skull in embarrassment. “I would never hurt Shiro,” he said and immediately regretted it. The paladins’ faces had turned drawn, and Pidge chewed her bottom lip. “You wouldn’t want to, sure,” she said, “but you have.” “The thought isn’t always what counts,” Lance joked feebly. It was endearing, in a way, to see how fiercely they cared for Shiro. It was a kindred love to his own, that willingness to protect and fight and even die for him. But it left one question nagging at him. “Why invite me, then?” he asked. Keith lifted and dropped his shoulders in a thoroughly human gesture. “Shiro cares about you – and us,” he said. “It hurts him to see us disliking each other. So.” He left the sentence unfinished, but Ulaz understood. He understood, too, now, why Shiro had been up late with Keith the night before. “I would like to improve our relationship,” he said, “and I will strive to adjust my behavior to that end. Shiro’s happiness is paramount to mine, but his is, as you have said, contingent upon all of yours.” Lance laughed a little, though it wasn’t his normal one. When Ulaz looked to him, he looked a little abashed. “Uh I know we’ve got super geniuses everywhere, but you don’t have to talk so formal all the time,” he said. “I mean, we’re not that professional.” “My apolo- I’m sorry,” Ulaz corrected himself. “The human tongue is quite different than Galra.” Lance opened his mouth to speak, grinning lasciviously, but Hunk clapped a firm hand on Lance’s thigh. “Lance, no,” he said. “Okay, well, we can help with that. How about a movie?” “Good idea,” Pidge said, flailing herself off her pillow to the tablet half-buried under blankets across the room. Lance continued to sulk for a few minutes longer, but it couldn’t last in the face of the others’ enthusiasm. Soon enough, he was wrapped up into the heated debate over the relative merits of different ‘movies.’ Ulaz knew it was hopeless to try to understand and even more so to offer any input. He watched and listened and was of far more use when it came to rearranging the room. The pillows were situated in a facsimile of a giant mattress and the blankets were thrown overtop. The cards were abandoned where they lay, scattered over the floor. They were shuffled into position until Ulaz lay on one end on the far side of Pidge. She finished setting up the tablet and nestled in between Ulaz and Keith to snuggle into Keith’s side. Ulaz shifted over to make more room for her, but she reached over and pulled him closer by his upper arm. She didn’t move her gaze from the blue screen glowing before them, and he obeyed after a moment, a little baffled.   The movie was what the others called ‘animated,’ which Ulaz assumed had to do with the exaggerated emotions of each character. Lance and Pidge burst into song each time the movie characters did, and after enough warbling and elbowing, they managed to coax the other two to sing as well. “Come on, Ulaz,” Hunk laughed, “At night we name every star! We know where we are!” Ulaz hesitated before eventually relenting. It had been a long time since he really sang, years since he was last among the Blades, and his voice was rusty with disuse when he started. It came back to him a little more with each song, smoothing into his familiar, low tones. He tried to match the pitch with Hunk, who had the closest voice to his own, but the words came in Galra instead of the song’s original language. As the main character escaped a glowing sea monster, Ulaz became aware of a tickling sensation on his upper arm. He looked down to find Pidge’s head resting against his arm. Her hand was still interlaced with Keith’s, but she’d slumped over, asleep against Ulaz. Keith looked over, meeting Ulaz’s gaze over her head, and offered a small, fond smile. Ulaz curved his mouth in a mirror of the expression. The paladins were all asleep by the time the movie came to a close, and Ulaz watched in silence as the demon’s charred skin crackled and fell away to reveal lush green. His ears perked up as the door behind him hushed open, but the familiar scent that followed set his shoulders at ease. Shiro’s steps paused and then grew quiet as he approached. He stopped behind Ulaz and rested a warm hand on Ulaz’s neck. Ulaz tilted his head back to press into the touch, and Shiro folded down to sit beside him. “Hey,” he greeted softly. “Hello,” Ulaz replied. Shiro smiled, closed-lip, and leaned into Ulaz’s side. He hummed along to the closing music of the movie, clearly familiar. “Sorry it took so long,” he said once the screen had faded to black and shut off. “How was your quintent?” Ulaz looked out to his right, over the sleeping paladins. He leaned into Shiro’s side. “Good,” he said. “It was good.”

[princeofshadows-blog1]

“True Love”

Inspiration: "True Love" by P!nk (aka it’s basically got the lyrics written in sorry Broski’s lmao).

Fluffy Klangst.

Lance sighed heavily as he stared at his feet, only half listening to what Keith was saying.

"Lance! Honestly, pay attention will you?" Keith exclaimed, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed.

Lance looked up and scoffed, "Yeah, sure, whatever, Mullet."

Keith glared, moving closer until they were practically nose to nose. "Shut the Hell up, Lance!" Instead of answering, Lance pushed Keith away, glaring back. "You know, sometimes, I hate every single stupid word you say, Lance!"

"Yeah? And sometimes I wanna slap your face with a chair!" He seemed to lose himself for a moment, before continuing in a much softer tone. "But then again, there's really no one like you, Keith." Lance advanced, gently taking one of Keith's hand into his own. "I mean, I've never met a person who could constantly push my buttons like you do."

"Yeah, I know. And I'm sorry that I'm always getting on your nerves." Keith smiled warmly at Lance, his cheeks tinted pink as he pulled Lance into a hug.

It was safe to say, that without the other, their lives would sincerely suck.

~

Lance hummed happily as he walked up behind Keith, hugging the Red Paladin from behind. "Hey there, Mullet."

Keith grunted in response, "I'm not in the best mood, Lance." He pried himself from Lance's grip and walked down the hall towards his room, Lance not far behind.

"But Keith! What did I do now?"

"Everything!" Keith whirled on Lance, glaring at the boy with angry violet eyes. "You piss me off, and yet I still freaking love you! Always going and flirting with strangers, always poking fun at me, insulting my hair! You know, sometimes I want to hug you, but I also wanna strangle you to death at the same time!"

Lance stared at Keith, processing all that he had just said. "Well, you may be an asshole, but I love you too. You know, sometimes make me really freaking mad."

"Sometimes I ask myself why I'm still here, and ask where else could I go to get away, but... You're the only love I've ever really known, you know?" Keith looked down at his feet, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"You know, sometimes I hate you," Lance replied seriously, hands on his hips. "Sometimes I just really freaking hate you."

Keith laughed, "I guess it must be true love, eh?"

Lance smiled, chuckling softly, "Well, they do say nothing else can break a heart like true love, so I guess it must be that."

"Yeah, no one else can break my heart like you, after all."

~

Lance sat in Keith's room, curled up on the red paladin's bed and staring intensely at the wall.

"Idiot, idiot, idiot!" Lance sat up and yanked at his hair, crying out in frustration. "Why? Why'd you have to..."

Keith stared at Lance, not sure what to say. He just stood there, waiting patiently for Lance to calm down, or to at least confide in him what's wrong.

"Keith! Why'd you do that? Answer me, damn it!"

Keith stared at Lance blankly, "Do what?"

"Push me out of the way!"

"Because I love you."

"Yeah, but you got buried under all that rubble instead! Do you realise how hurtful it was for me, watching and waiting and hoping you'd wake up soon? Did you even stop to consider my feelings on the subject?"

Keith huffed angrily, "And mine freaking don't?"

Lance opened his mouth to reply, but Keith wasn't having it.

"You may think that I didn't consider you're feelings, but I did! But I also considered mine, and neither way looked good, so I took a chance and risked my life for yours!" Keith crossed his arms and hung his head, staring at the ground. "I'd gladly give my life for yours."

Lance didn't speak for a while, and Keith knew he was thinking the same thing.

It wasn't until Lance started giggling that Keith looked up, violet eyes brimming with hurt at the thought of Lance laughing at him.

"Wow, way to be romantic." Lance chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye.

Keith's eyebrows shot up, "What?"

Lance rolled his eyes, "You know, romance? Repeat after me, R-O-M-A-N-C-E." Lance smiled brightly, "You can do it, babe."

Keith laughed, "I know what romance is, Lance. And I can spell it just fine. I was just confused, I guess."

Lance smirked, "Well then, I guess the teacher needs to teach the student a new lesson~" He stood up and walked over to Keith, wrapping his arms around the boy's neck.

"U-uhm, what do you m-mean?" Keith internally cursed himself for stuttering.

"Let me show you~" Lance purred, smirking up at Keith before pulling him into a wild, passionate kiss.

When Shiro found the two naked boys curled up together underneath the sheets the next morning, he didn't have the heart to wake them up, choosing to instead leave them as they were.

~

It was a couple years later, when the Paladins were back on Earth.

Shiro and Allura were happily engaged and were living in the castle, which was now safely hidden away in a beautiful forest where military people apparently couldn't find them. Coran lived there as well, and was always bugging the two with his laughable nonsense, but they didn't care.

Slav, on the other hand, also refused to leave the castle, which meant Shiro had to deal with him until the end of his days. Or Slav's days, if Shiro gets his way. (Don't tell Allura!)

Pidge and Hunk were sharing an apartment in the city, but still constantly visiting their friends. Pidge managed to land a job as a professional hacker for the government, and Hunk opened his own restaurant.

Lance and Keith lived in Keith's old little shack at first, but, due to Lance's constant complaints about how hideous it was and the lack of space and WiFi, Keith finally agreed to move to the city.

They moved into an apartment a couple doors down from Pidge and Hunk, so they were constantly having sleepovers and goofing around and hanging out.

It was paradise.

But then it all changed.

Keith started getting distant, and was constantly nervous around Lance.

Lance didn't know how to figure out what was going on, so he just sat and watched as the love of his life slowly broke their bond, bit by bit.

If only he knew what was causing Keith to break down.

Keith knew Lance was the one he wanted to spend eternity with when they first slept together. He had never felt more loved and cherished than in that very moment.

He went to Shiro for advice, and he realised what he had to do.

He went and bought a set of rings, and hoped to the gods above that Lance would say yes.

It's been a month, and Keith knew that if he procrastinated any longer, it would all fall apart before it even began.

So he set everything up.

A romantic candle lit dinner at Hunk's restaurant (because they all knew that the two would rather eat a good hamburger than something overly expensive and unnecessarily fancy), a friendly moonlit walk along a nearby beach, and finally...

"Hey, Lance?"

Lance snapped his head up to look at Keith, a somewhat dreamy smile on his face. "Yes, babe?"

Keith sighed, before letting go of Lance's hand and stepping away, "I have something important to say."

When Keith looked up at Lance, he could see something akin to fear upon his face, the boy looking ready to bolt.

"Nothing bad, I swear!" Keith rushed out, suddenly internally panicking because what if Lance doesn't want me anymore and says no?

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly when he noticed Lance visibly relax. "It's just... You've always been there for me, even before we were friends. And you never judged me for my past, you didn't judge me for being half Galra, you didn't... You stood by me.

"I don't know if you feel the same after me being all distant and nervous and all, but I know for a fact that I love you, and I don't want to live without you."

He took another deep breath, "Lance McClain, you are one of the most beautiful, most talented, and most charming men I have every met in my life. I love absolutely everything about you. The way you laugh until your stomach hurts, the way you smile constantly, even when your suffering.

"I love the way you wrinkle your nose when you find something rude or cruel or distasteful, and how you always seem to know how to fix problems..."

Keith looked away, getting down on one knee and pulling out a small, purple velvet box.

He looked up at Lance and saw that he was on the verge of tears, a quivering hand covering his mouth.

"I love you more than anything else in this world, and I'd like it if you could be mine forevermore." He looked directly into Lance's eyes and held his gaze as he opened the box, revealing a simple silver band with a single, purple diamond adorning it. "Will you marry me?"

Lance shakily removed his hand from his mouth and held out his left hand for Keith to slip the ring onto, "Idiot. Of course I will."

Keith smiled brightly and jumped to his feet, slipping the ring onto Lance's ring finger and pulling him into a kiss.

"True love came through after all, eh?" Keith mumbled against the others lips, smiling softly.

Lance chuckled, "Yeah, maybe true love does exist. I still hate you, though."

"I hate you too, Lance."

{La Fin}

~Prince Of Shadows

[403secret]

For that prompt post can you please do trying not to sneeze or having to be around an allergy without antihistimines for kla/nce with ke/i/th being the sneezer?

i’ve actually already written this prompt [here]! but. i wrote it again. keith + flowers + a date.  (ง'̀-‘́)ง there’s kind of a long setup, sorry.

warning: you probably don’t want to read this unless you want to f*ck the sneeze. you have been warned!!

“Where are you taking me?”

The world is crisp and clear through Blue’s windshield, and Lance’s gaze is trained on a point in the distance–somewhere Keith can’t pinpoint. It all looks the same from here–stars speed by from either side, constant, unordered, unflickering.

“Just wait,” Lance says distractedly. “We’re almost there.”

Keith frowns, crossing his arms. He’s is currently seated in the back of the lion, here for some ‘emergency mission’ Lance had warned him about–apparently, it’s one urgent enough that they had to leave the castle right away, but Lance hasn’t told him any details yet. “This isn’t really a mission, is it?”

Lance swerves around in his seat, his eyebrows furrowed, and frowns. “What?” he says the word too quickly, and Keith picks up on it immediately–he’s definitely hiding something. “What do you mean?”

“If this was really an emergency, you would be using this time to explain,” Keith says simply. “We’re sneaking out, aren’t we?”

Lance sighs, sounding impatient, then perks up when he spots something in the distance. “Fine, you got it, mullet. We’re not on a mission.”

“Then… where–”

The lion decelerates so that it’s travelling at a slower-than-light speed, and soon enough, it’s hovering over a planet. From above, the whole sphere glistens with a swirl of colors in a manner that isn’t exactly unfamiliar–it’s almost like a map of the earth suspended in space, its colors inverted.

“This place is just like earth,” Keith says, just as Blue tilts downwards to prepare for landing.

“Yeah,” Lance says. “The atmospheric composition is so similar to earth’s that we won’t need our helmets. It’s nice, right?”

“It’s sad to think that this place is in danger,” Keith comments offhandedly, but Lance doesn’t respond.

They pass through the planet’s golden atmosphere and land in what could probably be classified as a flower field, with one distinction–it’s all in monochrome: blue, just like the planet they left behind.

Blue’s lion mouth opens as they step out, and Keith can’t help but think that she looks so at home here–a component of a perfect painting, frozen in time. White butterflies flutter around them like stars, and it pains Keith to think that a place like this could possibly be put in danger–

–except, the planet doesn’t seem like it’s in danger at all.

“Lance, what are we here for?” he asks, and Lance smiles down at the ground.

“Oh, I don’t know. Two people, alone, on an earth-like planet? That just happens to be the nicest looking planet we’ve passed by in weeks? No dangers in sight?”

Lance is looking at him expectantly, and it hits him, all at once. “This is– you’re taking me–it’s a date,” Keith says, and Lance smiles in smug confirmation.

At first, Keith writes it off as nothing.

The tickle in his nose could be anything - just another speck of dust, a response to something unfamiliar in the planet’s composition. He rubs his nose, then sniffles, expecting the feeling to go away.

But it doesn’t. As they walk, it’s becoming more and more evident that he’s allergic to something on the planet. Even when Lance finds a place for them to sit, his nose is still itching–he’s sniffling a bit, now, and his eyes are starting to water.

It’s not until he and Lance get fully settled that he spots the culprit – a cluster of blue lily-like plants growing on the rocks a few meters away. Its roots spiderweb across the jagged surface, snaking into whatever available cracks it can find.

Keith is allergic to lilies.

His first instinct is to tell Lance. Then they can get situated somewhere else on this planet–somewhere not in such close proximity to the lily-like plants.

But when he looks over, he realizes that he can’t do this. The atmosphere is perfect. The planet’s twin suns are moving in opposite directions–one is setting while the other one rises, causing the shadows on the ground to double. Around them, the butterflies are starting to glow, just like stars. It’s romantic and perfect and he really can’t ruin the moment. Not now.

“Double sunset,” Lance comments, a strange expression his eyes. Nostalgia? Wistfulness? Keith can’t tell. “My younger sis would have really loved to see this. She’s an artist,” and then it strikes him. Homesickness.

“Yeah,” he responds. “The butterflies are glowing.”

His breath hitches, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. His shoulders tremble with a sharp inhale, but then the need is gone and he exhales shakily, stealing a glance at his boyfriend. Luckily, Lance still seems transfixed on the sunset, so Keith raises a hand up as inconspicuously as possible, rubbing the underside of his nose.

That solves the problem temporarily, but the tickle resurfaces just a few moments, this time worse than before. He sniffles quietly, turns to the side so that Lance won’t see him wipe his nose on the back of his hand.

The flowers–previously blue–are all turning red with the rising of the second sun. It’s kind of fitting, Keith thinks. Lance probably spent awhile looking for a planet like this. And suddenly Keith’s overwhelmed again, because Lance is just so goddamn perfect, and here Keith is, probably minutes away from ruining their date because he can’t get his fucking immune responses under control.

“Hold on a sec.” Lance stands up beside him, and for a split second, Keith is almost afraid he’s been found out–that Lance is going to comment on his allergies, take his hand, lead him out of here before they get to finish watching the twin suns pass each other. But instead, Lance just smiles at him and heads off by himself in the other direction, leaving Keith behind.

Puzzled, Keith stares at a spot in the grass, absently rubbing his nose again. His nose is probably getting red, he thinks to himself. His breath hitches again and he stifles two sneezes, careful and contained, into his wrist.

Luckily, he’s mastered the art of sneezing quietly, and Lance doesn’t turn around. Unluckily, the pathetic stifles have done nothing to quell the burning itch in his nose, and his breath hitches again, sharp and urgent and sudden.

He hears footsteps in the grass from behind him, and then moments later, Lance sets something on his head, tucking it over his hair. The object shifts and slides off a little, and a few small white blossoms come undone from the grass-woven loop.

A flower crown.

Briefly, Keith wonders what kind of flowers are in the crown, and then his question is answered, much to his dismay, in the most inconvenient way possible. His breath hitches sharply, and there’s no grace in it– his shoulders tremble as he gasps, then doubles forward, sneezing once into the grass.

And then he sneezes again. And again.

When he’s done, his vision is blurred with allergic tears, and his nose is dripping. He clasps a hand over his face, sniffling hard, when he feels something soft press into his other hand.

It’s a handful of tissues, he realizes, and brings the tissues up gratefully to blow his nose into them. It’s embarrassing. He’s just sneezed and Lance, out of all people, had to be around to witness it.

“You’re allergic.” Lance’s voice is sharp and clipped, and Keith nods.

“Just a little.”

“Sorry.” Lance pauses. “You should’ve said something.” Keith feels the flower crown leave his head, and a moment later, Lance hands him the rest of a travel-sized pack of tissues.

Keith frowns, turning the pack over in his hands. This is all oddly convenient. Why does Lance have these–

“I have hayfever, but I took a ton of antihistamines. I just packed the tissues in case,” Lance explains, offering him a sheepish smile. “I didn’t expect that you’d be the one using them.”

“I’m allergic to lilies,” Keith tells him. “I didn’t mention it because I never thought we’d find them here in space.” He’s about to say more, but then his breath hitches and he snaps forward again, releasing three more sneezes in quick succession. The offending flowers are gone from his head, but it doesn’t seem like his own immune reactions will be letting off anytime soon.

“So,” Lance says softly, glancing up again. “I take it that flower dates aren’t a great choice for either of us?”

Keith smiles. “Guess not?”

“Let’s head back to the lion. We should get the pollen cleaned off,” Lance offers.

“Wait,” Keith says. Because this is so rare–this moment is so precious. Two people, tasked with saving the entire universe, spending their afternoon going on a date–it’s almost laughable. He never wants this moment to end. Instead, he says, “I want to finish watching the sunset with you.”

Lance looks like he’s about to protest, but then the hesitance on his face is gone, replaced with something soft, affectionate, resigned. “Okay,” he says, and takes a seat next to Keith again. 

[voidxred]

                                                     ”…I’m…still…alive, huh…”

The sun begins to rise, it’s beams of light reflecting harshly off the tinted windows of the buildings nearby. Directly being hit by those radiant beams lie a boy, sprawled out on the cold concrete surface, faintly breathing, and covered head to toe in wounds with a pool of blood slowly widening underneath his mauled body as he groggily comes to.

It had struck without warning.

It was supposed to be another ordinary day, another ordinary day spent at school, and another ordinary dinner spent alone like always when he returned home.

That’s how it was supposed to be, but as fate would have it, that ordinary high school student seeking to add some spice to his boring everyday life by investigating what was supposed to just be rumors swimming around town about the so-called ‘Shadows that devoured people’ was plunged into this Night against his will and there—

Those ordinary days came to an end in the form of that creature’s claws piercing the boy’s chest like a lance.  The unsuspecting boy didn’t even have time to figure out what had happened before his body was run through and laughably flung away like a cheap rag doll.  He wasn’t even allowed a final scream for help as his body was mounted by a grotesque, black creature hell-bent on devouring the poor boy body and soul before his wounds had the chance to overcome him.  

In the face of those fangs and claws the boy’s mind froze over and emptied out.  He wouldn’t even feel pain as the creature cruelly tore into his flesh and took bit by bit out of him.

Everything that had followed afterwards was all a blur.  

When he came to all he could recall was an intense burning sensation in his chest, a frantic voice calling out to him, and then an explosion of red light. After that, as if abducted by that red light, that creature had vanished without a trace.

Then there was darkness.

A pure blackness so deep it was almost suffocating.

And then, nothing. As if something important had been ripped out of his body

Mustering all the strength available to him, the student pushes his blonde bangs out of his eyes with his free hand.  In his right hand there was a long, ominously pulsating red blade he’d never seen before yet at the same time it felt incredibly familiar - like seeing your reflection in a mirror for the first time and instinctively recognizing yourself.  As for where it came from and why he had it, he didn’t know and frankly and didn’t even care right now.

All he knew was, this really didn’t make any sense at all. Seriously. None of it. Not one single thing.

It was as if he had dozed off in class and fell into some bizarre nightmare.

…Yeah, that made sense.  Once he closed his eyes and went to sleep he would just wake up at his desk after having chalk tossed at him by the instructor as always.  

But honestly that was just his own wishful thinking.

Intuitively, the boy already understood that this was no dream. Without a doubt, this was terrible, cold, irreversible reality.

‘Am I… Am I seriously going to die like this?’ , he wondered as his crimson eyes continue to gaze at the rising sun. There’s nobody here. Even if he had the strength left to call for help there wasn’t a single soul around to hear him.  

“Heh…”

Shit… Guess you’re just out of luck.

Getting drowned by the warm rays of the morning spring sun, it felt as though I was about to simply melt away and gradually….

                                              … slowly…

                                                                      …disappear…

Still, it didn’t seem like such a bad way to go in the long run. Sure as hell beats getting devoured by whatever that weird-ass thing was.  I just wish I did a little more with my life than this.  At the very least, if I knew I was going to die today I would have at least told Harada-san not to bring those notes to my place later.  I’m always causing her so much trouble…

However,  just before that particular student’s eyes close for the final time, suddenly blocking those warm rays out of his eyes, a hooded figure came into view, looking down on the fatally wounded boy with a somewhat disinterested expression.  

“Hey, you unlucky student laying on the ground helplessly there, do you want to live?”

A surprisingly soft voice asked.  

“…”

Of course.  He coudn’t see a reason to refuse such an offer.  No one in their right mind would say so otherwise. So why was she asking?  Why the hell hadn’t she hurried and called an ambulance or something?  Why was she acting this calmly even while he was bleeding to death and about to take that one-way boat ride down the Sanzu River?  Was she an idiot?

He begins to get a bit angry. After all, he had the right to be with all this nonsensical bullshit he couldn’t make heads or tails of happening to him. Dealing with an idiotic person like this certainly was the last thing he needed in his current condition. He wanted to live. He wanted to keep living. No matter how ashamed he felt of himself, or ugly his life had been up until now, or if there was no reason at all for it he wanted to continue existing. He wanted to remain here. He wanted to talk to Harada again. He wanted to apologize to Yuzu-nee for turning his back on her and running away all that time ago. It was fine as long as he could stand up, he’ll walk away from this place all by himself if that’s what it took! Lifting his upper body up using only his arms with an enormous amount of effort the high-school student glared up at the girl with fierce, blood-colored eyes and hellish pupils, just about ready to give her a piece of his mind. And just like that, his voice dies in his throat along with any trace of hostility.

“Ah——”

Taking place of his frustration was pure, undiluted astonishment.  With a clattering noise the blade he had been gripping tightly this whole time slips from his fingers as he stares up at the brunette.

Before his eyes was a girl around his age.  No. Even younger than that. Maybe by a year or two give or take. Short caramel-brown hair, light skin, and lightly colored violet eyes that held a focus in them as though they belonged to some tempered seventeenth century samurai.  

”——”

Those sharp eyes aside she had a frighteningly fragile-looking appearance, which only made those claw marks scattered to and fro all over her body ever more prevalent.  It didn’t even need to be said she had acquired those wounds defending him from that creature that attacked him.

A chuckle.

Not from the boy, but from her.  She didn’t smile, but the girl’s eyes from under that hood seemed to be making fun of him as if saying ‘You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?’

With that, the boy flustered a bit. It suddenly dawned on him that this whole time he had been scowling at the person who had just saved his life like she had just stolen the food off his plate. And because of that, a whole new kind of embarrassment hit him like a ton of bricks.  

“Th, that’s uh…I…” His voice begin to trail off along with his flickering consciousness.

“Well?” The girls says directing the question at the helpless and bumbling student once again. “I don’t think you have enough time to consider your options. If you’re a man, you should at least be decisive about these things.”

He hated to admit it but she was definitely right.

After straining to sit up and getting flustered he didn’t have much more energy to keep himself conscious let alone respond with all the thoughts spinning around in his head and fading consciousness. Even so, the boy nods his head slowly, cautiously, as if afraid his head would fall off from his shoulders if he wasn’t careful.

Satisfied with his response the girl lifts her hood and gives a small but unbelievably beautiful smile.

Even if he died in that very next moment. Even he lived a thousand lifetimes from this point on. He knew would never forget that smile that had engraved itself into his heart and memories.

On chaotic morning and mere seconds away from death, for the first time in his sixteen years felt like he touched life...for the very first time.

“Then…with that sword of yours, please, kill me… End my eternity.”

『He wakes up. To release the girl bound by the perpetual chain from her fate』

       ————————————————————————

“…Hehe.”

Snapping out of his reverie a light chuckle escapes Kido Hyde’s lips as he recalls that fateful day and does a mental U-turn, placing his attention back to the silver-haired child seated patiently by his side.

”Ahh, sorry for staying quiet so long.  I was thinking of somethi——

“…huh?”

"Zzzzzz…"

"H, —Hey! What in the hell are you doing?!  I’m not a mattress, you know?! If you’re that tired you should just use the futon I got for you! What if you start drooling on me!? Hey! Vatista! Hey!!”

"Mmm..…nnn….”

No coherent response that foretold of waking.  The girl named Vatista only stirred slightly from the sound of his loud voice and took it upon herself to make herself even more comfortable resting her head on his shoulder before snoring quietly once again. “Guh...” Seeing that, Hyde gives a bitter sigh of resignation. Against that peaceful sleeping face all a boy like him could do was begrudgingly accept his defeat.

I give up…

“…It must really be nice being so carefree.”

Amused, a soft smile forms on the Hyde’s lips as the boy would gently pet Vatista’s head and allow the mechanical girl use his body as her personal makeshift pillow for the time being, deciding he would carry her to lie down in her bed once he was ready to move from this spot.

“Heh…Wonder what in the hell all that was about though…”

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder as to why exactly it was he had recalled that memory for awhile before mentally shrugging it off as unimportant mere seconds later.  

“Haaah… Whatever, it is what it is. But, when she gets back with the Old Man, guess I’ll make that hamburger steak she likes so much, just for a nice change of pace once in a while.” The smiling boy sighs once more before voicing a sudden premonition he had. “.....Just hope she isn’t off doing something crazy somewhere.”

[lifejustgotawkward]

365 Day Movie Challenge (2017) - #331: Damien: Omen II (1978) - dir. Don Taylor (with Mike Hodges, uncredited)

If there is an award for least purposeful horror sequel of the twentieth century, the winner might be Damien: Omen II, the laughably bad follow-up to quite possibly the scariest film I have ever seen. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I had trouble sleeping in the dark for about a week after seeing the original Omen, unable as I was to get “Ave Satani” and visions of Billie Whitelaw’s menacing grimaces out of my mind. Given how enormously successful The Omen was in 1976, it makes sense that 20th Century Fox would spring for a sequel. I steered clear of Damien: Omen II until now, though, because I was afraid of how unsatisfactory it be... and now, having seen it, I know that I was right in my estimation.

The sequel takes place seven years after the events of the first film (did The Omen take place in 1971? I don’t remember that), literally a day after the havoc wrought by young Damien in that installment’s final scenes. Now, in 1978, Damien (Jonathan Scott-Taylor) is a twelve-year-old boy who, for some reason, does not have any recollection of all the Satanic damage he caused as a youngster. After being raised for a time in London - though I’m not sure by whom - Damien moves to Chicago to live with his father’s family: uncle Richard Thorn (William Holden), aunt Ann (Lee Grant) and cousin Mark (Lucas Donat), who is the same age as Damien. The boys leave home to attend a strict military academy, overseen by Sergeant Neff (Lance Henriksen), but as mysterious deaths start accumulating in the Thorn family’s midst, it becomes obvious that Neff and one of Richard Thorn’s business partners, Paul Buher (Robert Foxworth), are guardians sent to guide Damien back onto a path of destruction befitting the Antichrist. These proceedings are pretty blah for the most part and I had little interest in the the melodramatic subplots regarding how Thorn Industries was being run, despite the fact that they were somewhat important since we suspect that Damien will eventually inherit the corporation.

I have to give Damien: Omen II some credit for casting Jonathan Scott-Taylor, who looks eerily like his predecessor in the title role, Harvey Stephens (the latter of whom was apparently handed a suspended prison sentence earlier this year for attacking people in a road rage incident). It’s also hard to fault the film for featuring so many talented actors; besides the aforementioned performers, you also see Sylvia Sidney as Richard’s cantankerous Aunt Marion, Nicholas Pryor as a historian and archaeologist who tries to convince Richard that an image of Damien is present in ancient artwork, Allan Arbus as a scientist working in Richard’s chemical factory and Elizabeth Shepherd as a reporter who also tries to persuade the Thorns of Damien’s evil nature (it should be noted that in the DVD commentary, writer/producer Harvey Bernhard condemned the horrifyingly bright red outfit that Shepherd wore - and tried to prevent her from wearing - in the film because why on Earth would any serious journalist bring attention to herself with such conspicuous clothes?).

A few other performers stand out, although not necessarily for the best reasons. Leo McKern reprises his role as Carl Bugenhagen, the exorcist in Israel who tried to warn Damien’s parents about his lineage and destiny; in Omen II, he brings a friend, Michael Morgan (Ian Hendry), to see some a long-buried wall bearing Damien’s likeness, which results in the tunnel collapsing and killing both men. McKern does his best to deliver an intense monologue as piles of sand pour down on him, a visual that is unfortunately pretty funny. Even sillier is the scene in which 68-year-old Lew Ayres, who was fifty years into his film career and plays one of Richard Thorn’s fellow executives at Thorn Industries, dies the most ignominious death imaginable: he falls and drowns in a hole that opens underneath him while playing ice hockey. Never in all my years did I think I would witness Lew Ayres play a character who expires in such a manner, but that’s Hollywood for you.

Last but never least, Meshach Taylor, who later became famous as part of the cast on the CBS sitcom “Designing Women,” is featured in the film’s most entertainingly grisly death scene. (Sorry for spoiling it, but trust me, it’s worth seeing the scene in its entirety.) Taylor plays Dr. Kane, a physician who suspects that Damien has an inhuman cell structure (due to the “born of a jackal” business that we heard about in the first film), but before he can bring his research to a colleague to confirm the theory, Dr. Kane meets a most bloody demise. I won’t tell you the exact details of the experience, but let’s just say that editor Robert Brown (who later worked on The Amityville Horror, The Lost Boys, Flatliners and The Client) put his skills to good use.

Other than the abject pleasure of watching so many gifted actors put effort into a rehash of the first film’s plot, Damien: Omen II isn’t worth it. What’s the point of watching more members of the Thorn clan stubbornly deny, then attempt to come to terms with, the truth of Damien’s devilry? Also, since it is the year 2017, everything in the film was anticlimactic since I already knew that Sam Neill played grown-up Damien in 1981′s Omen III: The Final Conflict.

P.S. My vote for the most hilarious moment in Damien: Omen II is the scene near the end when Damien attends an end-of-the-year party at the military academy. After receiving a commendation for his scholastic achievements, Damien hangs out with a bunch of pretty girls who fawn over him while some goofy disco/Muzak hybrid plays in the background. Let’s hear it for Damien Thorn, prepubescent lady-killer extraordinaire.