#consider the fact that he has his hand on Lance's neck for literally half of the entire clip

[skitskatdacat63]

Just for posterity's sake, here's the full clip of them walking together

[ticklefits]

AO3 LINK!

voltron: legendary defender | klance (rom) | words: 1,958 | commission from @feathergil​ ♥.

“twenty minutes.”

“hm?”

“twenty minutes, lance.”

“and?” 

and? and keith was beginning to lose his patience. and their food was beginning to get cold, which doesn’t sit right with the warrior in the slightest because the egg rolls from the old mom-and-pop shop down the street tasted the best when they were piping hot. unfortunately for keith, they were, in fact, growing colder by each second that his boyfriend usurped from dinner in order to continue slathering his face with… whatever that stuff is. it smells good, at the very least, but that doesn’t account for the hunger that plagues him. 

“and i’m starving. you always get fussy if i start eating our food without you, but then you take a million years to do something as simple as washing your face.” 

lance huffs, annoyance clouding his expression ( which keith is almost surprised he can detect considering the new mask that lance pasted on ) as he switches his attention to the oil and lotion combination he utilizes for his body. 

“it takes time to look and feel this good! don’t be dramatic just because you can’t appreciate proper skin and self care, babe.” lance lifts one of his legs to stroke the concoction along his skin, making certain to get every inch before he shifts to the other leg. keith observes him for all of thirty seconds, features painted with slight apathy as one of his hands reaches out to slowly grab an eggroll, because if he has to wait any longer for his boyfriend to finish this ridiculously religious routine he has, keith’s obviously going to waste away into nothing. 

lance catches him in the act however and swats at his shoulder in protest. a resounding groan seeps from the swordsman, but an angry lance is a lance he doesn’t want to deal with, so he sets the now lukewarm eggroll back into its spot with the others. he almost pouts truly, thinking about how they’re going to have to microwave the food now, and it just never tastes the same when you do that. 

“are you done now?” keith inquires at the next five minute mark, his stomach growling its ravenous wrath as lance washes off the clay on his face & neck. 

“your stomach sounds like a wild animal.” is the brunet’s response, a little chuckle in his tone, patting his face dry with a small towel. 

“damn, i wonder why that could be.” the sarcasm drips from his words like a leaky faucet, amethyst eyes rolling so hard he nearly gets a headache from it. 

“oh, hush, i’m done already, alright? let’s just warm up the food so we can eat.” lance takes it upon himself to perform that action, considering he’s the reason why their dinner became cold in the first place. 

keith can appreciate that, watching as lance walks away to the open kitchen, donned in nothing but his robe and pajama pants underneath, food in hand. curiosity settles in the forefront of his mind, because lance always makes such a big deal about his skin care routine, and keith can’t help but ponder if the results of it are that good. now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t ever pay much attention to the difference between lance before the act and lance after it. 

his thoughts are interrupted by the smell of renewed food, and even though its not going to taste as fresh as it would have had they eaten it earlier, keith’s hunger is strong enough that anything designated as a human grade consumable would have been good enough for him. once their dinner is set back on the table in front of them, lance turns on a bluetooth speaker he keeps on the counter for background music, to play songs from a playlist that he’s so appropriately named “dinner time.” 

“ya’ have a playlist for literally everything you do, is that normal?” keith quips with a small, half-cocked smile, already having devoured two out of his four egg rolls. 

“yes, it’s normal. people have background music going for all sorts of activities. you’re just a weirdo who likes to sit in silence. i’m showing you the beauty of dual stimulation.”

keith’s brow raises, his smile sharpening into a bit of smirk. “dual stimulation? did’ja learn those words from pidge?”

lance’s own brow twitches, pointing his fork towards his boyfriend and accidentally flinging some rice in his direction. “first of all, i KNOW big words, alright? pidge doesn’t know everything! i know things. i know tons of things!”

keith nearly chokes on his rice when a laugh breaches his throat. “okay, okay, relax babe. look, you’re wasting food, throwing rice around like that.” 

“oh yeah? how’s this for wasting food?” on that cue, lance tosses a piece of orange chicken right at keith, who just barely moves out of the way with a mouth full of sushi. the chicken flies unceremoniously to the floor behind the warrior, and once keith gets the sushi down, his sights train back on lance, who’s looking a little more sheepish. 

“really?” 

“⎯⎯ maybe if you hadn’t dodged it, it wouldn’t have ended up on the floor.” 

“maybe if you hadn’t thrown it, it wouldn’t have ended up on the floor.” 

lance scoffs, but rises from his seat to walk past keith and pick up the poor piece of food. keith, however, decides lance needs a bit more punishment and quickly shoots out a hand to pinch his thigh, hard enough to startle him but not hard enough to seriously hurt. lance squeaks and almost jumps five feet into the air, swatting at his boyfriend once again before he grabs the chicken and tosses it into the trash. 

he tries to walk past keith for the second time, but has to expertly dodge another pinch attack, his lips wavering as the gunner tries to fight off a budding grin. keith, meanwhile, grins openly, a playfulness shimmering in his eyes as lance makes his way back to his seat. they finish the rest of their food with the occasional banter back and forth, until keith takes it upon himself to clear the table and toss empty trays into the trash.

“you’re insufferable, y’know that?”

“you like it.”

“like being pinched? absolutely not, that crap hurts. like a papercut.”

“didn’t know you were that sensitive.” 

“i’m not sensitive, i’m soft. i’m soft and smooth thanks to that unbearable skin routine you can’t stand.”

“soft and smooth huh?” 

“yeah, duh. that’s what skin care happens to do. i’m super soft, actually. can’t believe it’s taken me telling you that for you to realize it.” lance tsks, shaking his head as though he were disappointed in his boyfriend. 

“but not sensitive?” keith slowly brings his body up from the chair, taking just as slow strides closer to lance on the other side of the table. 

there’s a sudden shiver that dances up lance’s spine. he’s prey with a predator nearby, locked onto him and ready to pounce. 

“no — not at all.” lance settles his vision on keith, watching him closely as he stops moving to stare back at lance. it’s silence between them, until something clicks, and then

lance bolts.

lance bolts, in his fluffy robe and even fluffier slippers, bounding towards the stairs where the sanctity of their bedroom lay in waiting. 

keith chases after him, wondering when lance got this fast in his reaction time. he makes certain that lance doesn’t trip on the stairs ( even if he’s the reason why lance is scrambling away in the first place ), and follows him all of the way into the bedroom. unfortunately, the gunslinger doesn’t stand a chance against keith when it comes to raw strength, so when keith tackles lance onto the bed, there isn’t much he can do to fight back against him. 

not that he honestly wants to. 

because the space between keith’s arms is right where he fits perfectly. so perfectly, in fact, that if he didn’t know exactly what his love’s sinister plans were, he would’ve just melted right into his embrace without any hesitation. 

“what’s the problem, lance? i’m just holding you.” keith’s sneaky arms dive to coil around lance’s waist, equally sneaky hands settling right over his stomach. even though he has yet to really move any of his fingers, lance is already having difficulty fighting off the toothy grin that wobbles onto his lips. 

“k - keith, wait, wahahait, hold on ⎯⎯”

“what’re you laughing for, lance? i’m not even doing anything.”

yet. 

he doesn’t have to say the word, but lance can hear it within his mind. he doesn’t have to move his fingers, but lance can sense those ticklish sensations beginning to surge across the surface of his skin, even from on top of his robe. it only grows worse once keith slithers those hands inside of the garment ⎯⎯ the only thing keeping him at least somewhat safe ⎯⎯ and lance has a visceral reaction that forces him to bite down on his bottom lip. 

“keheith! your hands are cohohold! stoppit!” lance attempts to pull his love’s hands off of his chest and belly, but the action is half-hearted, not enough strength behind it to really mean it.

“oh ⎯? oh, holy shit lance, you really are soft.” keith’s eyes widen and his jaw slacks some, as though he’s transcended to a new level above mortal knowledge. 

“i ⎯⎯ i tohold you! it’s called personal hygiene!” lance bites back without any venom, but anything else he might have said gets swallowed up by the full-on giggles that flutter from his lips as keith’s fingers finally begin to explore. 

he skitters those trained digits all over the expanse of lance’s stomach, gently squeezing the softer parts of lance’s lower waist with a bright grin that he couldn’t dare to hide. 

“dude, what in the hell goes on when you shower? it’s fuckin’ insane how soft you feel.” one of keith’s hands leaves lance’s stomach in favor of continuing his exploration, fingers smoothing down one of his hips to scritch lightly at his boyfriend’s thighs, which earns him a proper squeal. 

“keith ⎯⎯! st - stop, it tickles too muhuhuch!” 

“too much? i’m barely touching you, what happened to not bein’ sensitive?” 

every swipe and stroke and squeeze sends ticklish electricity all over the gunman’s body, squirming underneath keith with another weak push in an attempt to make him stop. his giggling evolves into belly laughter when keith leans down to plant gentle kisses on any exposed skin he can find, relishing in the warmth of each spot where his lips touch down. lance feels so damn delicate, keith swears every touch feels like he’s caressing the petals of rose. 

a shriek rips from the hollows of lance’s throat when keith bends down to nuzzle and kiss at the spaces between neck and collarbone. a dusting of cherry paints over lance’s cheeks as his laughter heightens in octave and volume, leaving keith absolutely charmed. he can be so fucking cute, how could keith justify stopping when his boyfriend looks like this? flustered, and gleeful, and enjoying every bit of this, even if he tries to protest otherwise. 

“keeeith! no more!” the brunet chokes out, gasping when kisses shift into mischievous nips and fingers spider up from his thighs to his sides. lance’s breath hitches before another squeal pops out of his lips, attempting to curl over and deter keith’s fingers from their onslaught on his sides. 

truthfully, keith has no intention on stopping and every intention to not only continue tickle his love until he’s a pliant, jelly-like, laughed-out mess, but to also kiss, nibble, and mark every inch of his body for the rest of the night. and lance has very little (honest) complaints about it. 

[alecmagnuslwb]

Marriage is a Contract and My Signature is Unreadable

Read on AO3

John’s never seen a bride wear fishnets with their stunning white dress, but Dinah Lance is pulling it off somehow. Admittedly though John hasn’t seen that many brides that weren’t ghosts or the earthly demonic embodiment of some sort of hell beastie so maybe his experience in weddings and bridal wear is a bit skewed.

Of course he’s also a bit skewed because in his eyes no one at this wedding, not even the bride no disrespect to the woman who’s by far one of the few supers he can truly say he likes, is as stunning as his date. Zatanna sits beside him at their table, the reception in full swing now, her legs crossed the deep navy-blue asymmetrical dress she’s wearing showing off a tantalizing bit of her leg. Her tattoo, the twin to his peeks out from the front of the dress right next to the silver lining at the edges where the dress straps around her neck. She’s a fucking vision his Zatanna.

“I can’t believe they finally did it,” Zatanna says gliding her silver French tipped nails with little crescent moons on them along her glass of champagne. “I really thought Lois and Clark would be the only ones to take the plunge.”

Supers aren’t known for tying the knot, their world is so complicated and their relationships so wild they never find the time to actually get around to it. The fact that Dinah and Oliver managed to not only successfully get engaged, but plan a real wedding and have the ceremony without any major incidents happening in the middle is a miracle if John’s ever actually seen one.

“Who do you think’ll be next?” John says surveying the room. Every hero he’s ever met and ever butted heads with is here out of costume and all dressed up to the nines. There’s a congregation of Green Lantern’s by the bar, Superman is on the dance floor poorly attempting to floss as Nightwing laughs his fine ass off at him, the Flash is somehow dancing with his girlfriend and eating every item on the buffet simultaneously.  “Seems like two in a row will make a domino effect, yeah?”

Zatanna hums in thought her piercing blue eyes with the glittery navy blue and silver eyeliner around them shimmering in the light as she tilts her head in thought. She carefully scratches at the space beside the cluster of tiny rhinestones artfully placed around her right eyebrow and settles her eyes to a table across the room with a smile.

“Wally and Linda for sure,” she says tilting her head their direction. John swivels to look at them. Unlike Barry who’s still zooming back and forth from Iris to the buffet, Wally is wholly engrossed in every movement Linda makes as she talks rapidly her hands moving all about as she speaks to Mia Dearden on the other side of the table. That is a man wholly in love, enraptured by the woman he gets to call his own. John understands the sentiment as he looks back to Zatanna her dark blue painted lips still resting in a beautiful smile.

“What if it was us?” John asks leaning in closer to her a wicked smile on his face.

Zatanna snorts, a harsh indelicate thing that on anyone else would be unattractive.

“Aww, love you too, Zee,” John says faux offended falling back against his chair. He knew it was an absurd suggestion the moment he said it.

“I’m sorry, you know I love you,” she says holding up a hand attempting to hide her laughter. “It’s just look at us, we’re coming up on our first and only three-year anniversary. We’re not exactly known for being good at this.”

It’s a valid point. Despite the fact they have technically been together for over a decade they’ve gone through their fair share of ups and downs, break ups and make ups and even a few trips to hell and literal deaths. John has screwed up more times than he can count and even Zatanna has bungled it once or twice. Complicated has at almost all times been their relationship status, but the past three years, ever since John got his head out of his ass and finally decided to sort out this one particular aspect of his life they’ve been good, solid.

“Okay, true, but you’re stuck with me and we can’t act like there aren’t benefits to the whole marriage sham,” he says stretching his arms behind his head.

“It’s extremely comforting you called it a sham,” Zatanna says giving him a fondly exasperated look. “But you know maybe you’re right the tax incentives alone are a real benefit.”

“Now, the tax incentives would be appealing if I had ever in my life filed my taxes,” John says with a laugh.

“You’ve never filed taxes?” Zatanna says with a slightly startled look.

John just shrugs tossing back the remainder of his champagne. “It’s not like I’ve ever had any real upstanding type of job that would require me to fill out a W4 or whatever.”

“It’s a W2,” Zatanna corrects. “And John you live with me, our landlord made me put your name on the lease because he saw you there so much. You could totally get caught.”

“Eh, it’ll be fine,” John says with an unconcerned wave of his hand. “The fact that I’m not technically a citizen of this country is probably a bigger issue than the tax thing anyway.”

“John!” Zatanna exclaims with a laugh.

“What? You can’t have thought I actually went to a baseball park and held my hands up and did the national anthem or whatever,” he says kicking his feet up on the empty chair next to him.

“Clearly you haven’t considering that’s not at all how citizenship works,” Zatanna chuckles. “But hey there’s a potential benefit of marriage for us, citizenship.”

“Ah the romance of marrying not for love, but so the government pricks don’t send your ass packing,” John reaches out a hand tangling his fingers with Zatanna’s on the table his thumb running small circles into her hand.

Zatanna hums. “I guess lack of romance aside it wouldn’t matter since I can always just portal you back into the country on a whim anyways.”

John nods in agreement trying to come up with another benefit they might be able to actually take advantage of. “You couldn’t testify against me in court, that could be incredibly useful down the line.”

Zatanna raises one jeweled eyebrow, “Is there a crime you’ve committed lately you’ve neglected to tell me about?”

John thinks for a moment genuinely scanning his memories in case there is something he forgot to tell her about. “No,” he settles on confidently. He’s pretty sure at least. “I’m just thinking in general considering my track record in the past.”

Zatanna pats the top of his hand with a smile. “As if any prison could hold you long enough for me to even be asked a single question.”

John just laughs again, “Alright so maybe there aren’t that many marital benefits for us to take advantage of then.”

“No parents to satisfy,” Zatanna sighs. “And of course making medical decisions for one another doesn’t really matter when you use magic and superhero doctors that definitely don’t accept any sort of co-pay,” she adds on with a contemplative bite of her lip.

“Half your friends hate me,” John says thoughtfully with a chuckle.

“And half your friends are dead,” Zatanna says ruefully tapping a nail to her chin. “The wedding party would be abysmally uneven.”

“I haven’t bought a new tie in years,” John says tugging at the red thing around his neck. He looks hilariously basic compared to Zatanna’s ensemble essentially wearing what he wears any given day of the week the only difference being Zatanna had forced him into a subtly lace patterned black jacket for a change and repainted his chipped nails for the first time in two weeks. “It’d make the pictures look horribly out of place.”

“Plus let’s be real I’m a show woman, I’d probably hate having to share the spotlight with you for one day,” Zatanna smiles teasingly. John smiles back shifting so that he’s scooting his chair closer to hers. He lifts a hand to her face twisting a long dark hair that’s slipped from her twisty updo held in place by two sharp silver hair pins with crescent moons at the end to match her nails and tucking it back behind her ear.

“So, basically there’s not a benefit in this world or a thing that would change if we got married,” John says letting the silky hair go.

“The only thing I can think of is that I like shiny jewelry and you look hot when you wear silver rings,” Zatanna says reaching back and pulling the two pins from her hair letting it all fall across her shoulders, the one stand out streak of navy blue appearing as it falls.

“And we can buy each other jewelry anytime without a reason,” he says brushing the bit of hair that’s fallen into her eyes away.

Zatanna smiles at him once before standing holding out a hand that he instantly takes. She guides him to the dance floor twining her fingers behind his head slowly.

They sway slowly to some sappy love song John vaguely recognizes their eyes locked on one another.

“You know,” she says after a while her fingers pulling through the hair that’s getting a bit too long at the base of his neck. “Just because I don’t want to get married doesn’t mean I don’t want you for as long as I can have you, right?”

He does know that. It’s inexplicable to him why someone as bright and vibrant and good as her wants him, but she does and he intends to keep it that way till the demons or the cigarettes kill him.

“I know. I’m happy how we are, knowing us, and by us I mean me, marriage would end up mucking everything up anyways,” he says pulling her in closer his hands moving from their grip on her waist to the exposed small of her back. “We can just keep going to everyone else’s weddings and raiding their open bars.”

Zatanna laughs then leans up kissing him once soft and slow not even smudging her lipstick in the slightest. She stays close when she pulls back resting her head on his chest as they continue to sway.

“We really need to get your name off of my lease though, I don’t need the government showing up and trying to audit me,” she says softly. “I’d be a nightmare for Mistress of Magic brand.”

John laughs loud and bright leaning his head down to kiss her once atop the head already planning a minor break in to the landlord’s apartment. It’ll be okay if he gets caught, married or not he knows she won’t testify against him.

[besanii]

Hi thank you for the 🗡 🗡 🗡, it 💔💔💔 and it 😭😭😭😭😦😦😦🥺🥺🥺, but it also like😍😍😍😍😍 because we love suffering and torture and that sweet sweet angst. (if we ask for🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️) will it hurt even more? 😘

Shattered Mirrors 51

A pair of hands grab him under the armpits and haul him upright with a grunt. He hisses as a sharp pain lances through his limbs at the sudden movement and his legs buckle almost immediately beneath him, but he is still hauled unceremoniously out of the damp darkness, head lolling listlessly on his shoulders. The door opens with a clang that jars his ears and makes him wince—a sharp, painful contrast to the long days he has spent in utter silence—but his handler spares no regard for his comfort, or the fact that his feet are dragging like dead weights against the cold stone floor behind him.

He’s taken to another chamber, where his captor is waiting for him with a mocking little smile.

Thought you could get away, did you? You must be stupid to think you could escape.

He stifles a pained gasp when fingers grab him roughly by the hair and yank his head back, exposing his neck and face. His eyes water and sting at the light from the torches along the walls, clouding his vision.

But don’t worry, his captor croons. You’ll learn soon enough.

Then his vision clears and he sees the figure behind Wen Chao. His heart stops.

No. No, no, no, no—

Ah yes, we caught your little accomplice too. The hand in his hair drags him forward, closer to the bench. We’re going to teach him what happens to traitors who turn against their own blood.

Dark eyes stare up at him, wide with terror, and pale, trembling lips form soundless words that he can’t understand. The rest of his body is restrained, shackled to the bench with chains around his torso and legs, his head held in place by a wooden frame.

You know what this is, don’t you? A delighted laugh. We thought it’d be a fitting end for our little A-Ning here. He’ll die as he lived: in silence.

--

 He wakes to the feeling of someone shifting beside him in the bed. A candle is lit and set beside the bed, the dim glow illuminating the dark interior within the canopy until he can make out Lan Wangji’s features, furrowed with concern.

“Wei Ying?” he asks quietly. “Is everything alright?”

Wei Wuxian releases a shuddering breath and nods, ignoring the way his heart pounds in his chest and the clamminess of his skin.

“Just a nightmare,” he says. “Sorry for waking you.”

Honey-gold eyes study him for a moment before Lan Wangji reaches over to give his hand a reassuring squeeze where it clutches at the edge of the covers.

“No need to apologise,” he tells him with a soft smile, rubbing soothing circles along the back of his hand with his thumb. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He closes his eyes and takes a moment to calm his racing heart, but the moment he does he sees that pale face staring up and him with fear and despair, and tastes the bitter helplessness in the back of his throat like bile. He grits his teeth and swallows it down before he opens his eyes again and allows Lan Wangji to help him into a sitting position. Their hands are still joined, resting between them on the covers, and he takes comfort from the warm weight of Lan Wangji’s palm against his.

Throughout all of this, Lan Wangji does not press. He sits beside him on the bed, arranging the covers to ward off the chill, and waits patiently for Wei Wuxian to speak.

“Lan Zhan…” Wei Wuxian begins haltingly, his eyes cast down at their hands. “What do you know about Yiling-hou and his family?”

Lan Wangji hums.

“Yiling-hou was known to be a fair, just man,” he says. “He rarely participated in politics, and preferred to stay neutral where he could. I’m told his family shared those values, but they died before the end of the war so I have never met them personally.” He pauses. “Why do you ask?”

A shudder passes through Wei Wuxian’s body which Lan Wangji initially mistakes for him being cold, so he shifts until he can wrap an arm around his waist and draw him back against his chest. Wei Wuxian tucks his head beneath Lan Wangji’s chin with a sigh and covers the hand around his waist with both his own.

“When I was…in Qishan,” he says. He does not need to elaborate for Lan Wangji to understand the meaning behind it. “I met two people—a brother and sister. Children of Yiling-hou. A-Yuan’s aunt and uncle, in fact. They had been sent to join the war effort and were working as on-field medics.”

Fingers card through his hair in long, languid strokes and scratch lightly at his scalp until the tension bleeds from his shoulders; his own fingers trace tiny circles over Lan Wangji’s forearm as he considers his next words.

“They were kind to me,” he says. “Did the best they could to help me despite the danger it would pose to them if they were discovered. If it weren’t for them, I would have died a long time ago.”

He shudders, drawing his knees up to his chest and curling in on himself a little tighter. Lan Wangji’s fingers do not stop their ministrations, but he wraps his other arm around him more securely, grounding him with the warmth and weight of his body. He has never spoken of these things to anyone before, not even Wen Yuan—the words do not come easily.

“We were discovered, eventually,” he continues, his voice going quieter as the memories resurface in his mind’s eye; he feels Lan Wangji’s body stiffen behind his. “The night they occupied Jiangling. Security was lax that night, so we decided to try our luck while the guards were distracted. It…well,” he chuckled to himself, a dark, bitter sound, “suffice to say, it didn’t work.”

Lan Wangji opens his mouth to speak, but decides against it, opting instead to press his lips against Wei Wuxian’s temple. His breath tickles the soft hairs there as he exhales. Wei Wuxian’s fingers tighten around Lan Wangji’s sleeve, twisting into the soft fabric; his eyes stare unseeingly at the flickering shadows dancing along the walls with the candlelight.

“There are many forms of punishment,” he continues distantly. “Many forms of torture that can leave a mark on the victim without even touching them once. There was one, in particular, that—that he was fond of. One that left him with a memento at the end of it, a trophy for his collection.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate on who he is referring to—Lan Wangji recalls the barely human figure huddled in the crate, disgust rising in the back of his throat at the memory of the stench and the bloodcurdling shrieks, and knows.

“Jiaguanjinjue,” he breathes.

Wei Wuxian stifles a gasp; his hands reach up as if to cover his ears, only to fall short and dig into the muscles of his jaw and cheeks instead, leaving deep imprints against the skin.

“How did you—?” the words are breathy and strangled. Lan Wangji shakes his head.

“There was a room in the watchtower at Jiangling,” he says. “The contents were mostly burned to ash, but there were a few…scraps. Enough for us to realise what they were.”

The laughter that rips itself from Wei Wuxian’s throat is harsh and wet, half-choked with sobs.

“He couldn’t move,” he whispers. “No matter how hard he fought. It was—I couldn’t—” he gasps, “—I can still hear him, trying to—to breathe, struggling—”

The hand in his hair cups the back of his head, bringing his face against the soft skin of Lan Wangji’s neck as he weeps; they cling to each other tightly, desperately, unable to stop the trembles that wrack their bodies. His ears ring with the sound of his own gasping sobs, mingling with the phantom echo of Wen Ning’s final breaths in that cold, dark cell—

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji’s voice is in his ears then, low and soothing, cutting through the storm in his mind. “Wei Ying, come back.”

He continues to murmur in his ear, soft reassurances and gentle words, his arms strong and firm and warm around his body. It seeps into his skin gradually, washing away the chill in his bones and the ice in his veins until the tremors subside. Even then neither of them relinquish their hold on the other.

“Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji murmurs into his hair. “It’s alright. You’re safe now. I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

   Notes:

jiaguanjinjue (加官进爵) - literally “promotion to nobility”; a method of execution beginning in Ming Dynasty where the criminal was bound to a bench to prevent movement, and layers of wet paper/fabric were placed over their faces until they died of suffocation. By the time the execution is over, the layers will have hardened into a mask that preserves the person’s final expression. It’s the quietest method of execution.

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[thespacenico]

haven’t posted here in a while, so here’s a short klance drabble commissioned by @helloklancee!

twitter | instagram | klancemas zine!

·:*:·ﾟ★ sweet spot ★ﾟ·:*:· - 2.1k word oneshot - getting together - college au

“Keith, I swear to god if you make me kill my boba—” 

“I’m not! I’m just, moving it around a little—stop peeking!” 

“I’m not!” 

“Lance, I can literally see your eyeball right now.” 

Lance closes his eyes and covers them fully with his hand for the second time, heaving an unnecessarily long and overly dramatic sigh. “Why can’t we just drink our bobas! Like normal people. What if I smash the side of “Then I’ll just buy you a new one,” Keith snorts, clearly amused by Lance’s antics. A moment of haphazard shuffling as he adjusts the position of Lance’s cup on the table, and then it stops. “Okay. Go.” 

“This is a terrible idea,” Lance mutters, blindly lifting the straw in his other hand. He hovers uncertainly for a moment, arm fully extended over the table as he relocates it to where he hopes Keith has moved his cup, then swings downward. 

There’s a loud pop! and when Lance doesn’t feel anything spilling over his hand and into his lap, he cautiously peels his hand away from his face, opening one eye to see that his straw has gone straight through the center of his cup’s lid. 

“Ha!” he crows, pumping one fist in the air and laughing gleefully at the incredulous look on Keith’s face. “Nailed it! I told you, they don’t call me ‘Sharpshooter’ for nothing.” 

“No way,” Keith shakes his head, crossing his hands in a time-out motion. “There’s no way—you cheated! You peeked again, didn’t you?” 

Lance sputters. “Wha—no! I did that all by myself, fair and square! Can’t you just appreciate my awesomeness for once?” 

Keith chooses not to respond, instead picking up his own cup and watching Lance through narrowed eyes as he takes a sip. Lance follows suit, squinting as he props his elbows against the table, takes a sip, and promptly chokes on a boba pearl. 

It’s worth it to hear the way that Keith laughs, bright and unabashed throughout the quiet of the shop. 

They’re in the midst of finals week, and technically they should be studying right now, but it’s always nice to get off campus and breathe every once in a while. It’s not unusual for them to go out together; in fact, it’s a pretty regular thing. 

Lance is Keith’s go-to, Keith is Lance’s go-to, meaning that outside of classes and routine schoolwork, they take up almost all of each other’s time. Keith had texted Lance about needing a study break, Lance had mentioned that he’d been craving boba for the past eighteen hours, and the rest is history.

That’s often how it goes. It’s just a little bit infuriating. 

Infuriating, in the sense that Lance has had a big fat crush on Keith since the first semester of their freshman year, and nearly a full year later he still can’t bring himself to make a move. It’s kind of ridiculous, because honestly, what would really change if they were to start dating? 

They’re like a package deal, together nearly every moment that they’re able to be. They go the the cafeteria together, they do homework together, they let each other crash in their dorm rooms—quiznak, they even alternate paying for off-campus outings, considering that they happen so often. 

“People don’t do all that with just anyone,” Hunk has told Lance, time and time and time again. 

Maybe not, but Lance doesn’t take this stuff lightly. He’s not sure he wants to risk what they already have.

They spend a while at the boba shop—longer than they should have—complaining about their professors, giggling through several card games, snapping a few very unflattering pictures of each other sipping on their boba. Lance snags an extra straw from the front counter and sticks one in each nostril, and Keith laughs so hard that he nearly falls out of his chair, which only makes him laugh even harder. 

The trip back to campus is no less lively. They sing their lungs out to A-ha’s “Take On Me,” as is tradition for them, and by the time that Lance is pulling into the parking lot outside Keith’s dorm, his cheeks are flushed with warmth and mouth smiling as they both climb out onto the pavement into the cold. Part of him wishes their night didn’t have to end here, but they both have a lot to do, and together they tend to distract each other, so. It’s probably for the best.

The sun set hours ago, but the moon is bright and full in the sky, the winter air crisp and inviting. Lance shoves his hands in his jacket pockets as Keith slips out of the passenger seat and walks around to the other side, shivering as he zips up his coat. “How are you not freezing? I feel cold just looking at you.” 

“You’re just cold-blooded,” Lance shrugs, and yelps when Keith pokes him sharply in the side, snickering at Lance’s half-hearted pout. “Hey! No one’s keeping you here, just hurry up and go inside if you’re so cold!” 

He can’t tell if he only imagines it or not, but if he didn’t know any better he’d say that Keith’s smile seems to falter slightly, as if the thought of parting with each other bothers him as much as it bothers Lance. “I… yeah,” Keith nods, and Lance finds his own smile wavering when he lowers his gaze to the ground, kicking at a pebble on the sidewalk. “I guess I should get back to studying.”

Lance mentally kicks himself, although he doesn’t even know what he’s kicking himself for. Keith sounds disappointed. Why does he sound disappointed? What has Lance done. What did he do. What was there to be done.

He opens his mouth. Closes it, as he searches for the right words. “Um, yeah. I probably should, too.”

It’s unclear if he’s made things better or worse from the expression that Keith wears when he looks up again, shifting restlessly from one foot to the other. There’s something almost shy about his posture, nervous energy radiating off him in waves as he takes a breath as if to say something, then pauses. He seems anxious, and that makes Lance anxious, because he doesn’t like the thought of being someone who makes Keith anxious.

“Hey, are you okay?” Lance pulls his hands from his pockets but they only hover uselessly at his sides, uncertain. Keith shuffles in place, silent and mostly avoiding eye contact, which is odd and rather concerning since hardly a moment ago everything seemed to be totally normal. Lance’s brow furrows. “Seriously, what’s wrong? You seem kind of—” The rest of his words die on his tongue before he has the chance to utter them, because then Keith quickly steps forward, leans in, and kisses his cheek. 

Lance’s brain sputters. Chokes and fizzles out, just like the new fizzy drink on the boba menu that he had earlier considered and ultimately decided against. He stands very still, frozen to the spot as Keith pulls away just as quickly, cheeks visibly flushed despite only the moonlight and streetlamps to make it out. 

He clears his throat, reaching up to brush a piece of hair behind his ear. “Just, um. Thanks for tonight. I really needed it.” Lance stares at him, speechless, face burning as Keith takes a step back, mumbling. “Good luck with studying. And I’ll—see you tomorrow, I guess.” Then just like that, he turns and starts toward the front doors of the dorm building, leaving Lance standing rigid and flabbergasted on the sidewalk wondering exactly what the heck was in his drink. 

At least, he tried to. Lance doesn’t let him get very far. “What—Keith, wait.” 

Keith stops in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder at where Lance’s fingers have closed around his wrist, then up at Lance. Lance blinks back at him, almost as surprised by himself as Keith seems to be, but he doesn’t back down. For a moment they’re both silent, a thick, heavy tension settling over them. The air is electric, prickling at Lance’s skin and sending a shiver down his spine that he’s barely able to suppress. 

Lance’s heart is racing, beating painfully behind his ribcage as he searches Keith’s face. His gaze is more open and vulnerable than Lance has ever seen it, his expression an apprehensive mix of uncertainty and anticipation, like he’s waiting to see what happens next but is afraid of what that might be. Lance opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out, especially when Keith’s eyes widen ever so slightly, almost too hopeful for Lance’s poor heart to bear.

He makes a split second decision. 

Lance pulls a willing, albeit puzzled Keith back toward him, and kisses him. It takes a rather mortifying, agonizing moment for Keith to kiss back, but when he does, Lance can’t believe they took so long to make this happen. 

Once they get started, Lance can’t imagine ever wanting to stop. Keith’s hands slide up to rest on his shoulder and cup the back of his neck, eagerly pressing against him when Lance gently tugs him closer by the waist. And either Lance moves back or Keith moves forward, because hardly a second later Lance is backed against his car door and gratefully leaning against it, desperate for some kind of support considering how easily his legs have turned to jello.

Keith tastes sweet, which Lance can’t help but think is entirely fitting. It reminds him of all Keith’s favorite drinks, of the coffee he takes to class every morning with too much sugar mixed in, of the candies he always asks Lance to bring back from the store when he gets held up at dinner with his brother. Lance shifts slightly and Keith follows, voicing zero protest as Lance slowly turns them around so it’s Keith backed up against the car instead, fingers tangled in Lance’s hair. 

Every time one of them pulls away the other only drags them back in, noses brushing with every tilt of their jaw, blinking butterfly kisses against each other’s cheeks from the sheer proximity. Lance practically melts at Keith’s touch, humming when he brushes a thumb over his cheekbone, wanting to be closer and closer even though they’re already as close as they can be.

If he wasn’t cold before, then he certainly isn’t cold now. At some point Keith’s arms wind around his neck, one hand pressing between his shoulder blades, and Lance feels like he’s burning but not unpleasantly. 

His hands hover near Keith’s waist, slipping underneath his coat, playing with the hem of his shirt before pressing underneath that as well, settling his fingers over bare skin. And maybe it’s instinctive, or habitual, but Lance finds himself rubbing a single, gentle circle against his hips with his thumbs without thinking, causing Keith to make a small sound in the back of his throat.

He abruptly breaks apart, breath catching in his throat, and Lance immediately withdraws his hands from underneath Keith’s shirt. “Sorry, I—I’m sorry, was that—”

“It’s fine,” Keith rasps, breath hot on Lance’s mouth. He swallows, eyelids fluttering and hands gripping Lance’s shoulders tightly to steady himself. “Just… trying to—process.”

Lance relaxes, shoulders loosening as he slips back underneath his shirt and settles his fingers there. He’s quiet for a moment, eyes fixed on Keith as he tries to catch his breath, letting himself admire everything he’d tried so hard to ignore, way back when: the slope of his nose, the dip of his chin, the faded mark on his cheek from an accident when he was sixteen, even the place at the corner of his mouth where he knows a dimple would be if he were smiling. 

Having Keith this close to him, eyes heavy and cheeks flushed and breathing hotly against his mouth—it hardly feels real, after all this time.  

He lifts one hand to rest against Keith’s cheek without remembering when he ever told it to move. It makes Keith look up at him though, and he finds himself smiling when their eyes meet, tucking a stray piece of hair behind his ear. “You know, now that we got the hard part out of the way, I think now is a pretty good time to tell you that I have a big fat crush on you.” 

Keith laughs breathlessly, gripping the collar of Lance’s jacket. “I should hope so. I have a big fat crush on you, too.”

“How long?” Lance asks, with very thinly veiled curiosity. 

“God, I don’t know. First semester of freshman year?” 

Lance stares at him. “We’re both idiots.” 

Keith doesn’t ask why, only laughs again in agreement and leans forward to kiss him again, a gentle press of his lips against the corner of his mouth. “That’s okay with me.” 

(Needless to say, Lance doesn’t get much studying done that night. And that’s just fine with him.)

[milkacchan]

Omegas

Request for anon: I’ve had this idea in mind for who knows how long, I hope you’re interested: Headcanons for Alpha!AlluraxOmega!Half-Altean!F!Reader?Instead of humans having dynamics, the Alteans are the ones with it. Due to being half-human, it prolonged the reader’s first heat; and was triggered when the two started to become intimate that they found out that not only was the reader was Altean, but was an omega. It takes a while for the reader to get used to the changes with the help of Allura and Coran.

I want this girl to slam me against a wall please

Some Nsfw

At the very end I kinda added in some Klance x Allura x reader bc I'm a slut and I couldnt helo myself in sorry.

__

•You and Allura had been friends since they boarded the castle and Allura fell into Lance's arms. There was something about you. She was drawn to you, she loved being around you and she felt as if you understood everything.

•She knew there was something different about you, you weren't like your teammates. You understood things they didn't, altean things. Space things. Like that one time you 'guessed' what something meant in Altean. Or when you took over for her explaining a cycle Altea used to under go.

•But everything really started to click into place when you underwent your first heat.

•"Al-" you breathed. "Allura-" you turned to look at her, but she was already sitting up, her eyes fixed on you. "Everythings hot." You whimpered.

•"(Y/N).." she whispered. You smelled divine, like her favorite flowers and that human food, vanilla.

• "It hurts-" the words leave your mouth in broken cries as another wave of heat and pain hits you.

•"(Y/N), darling, do you trust me?" She leaned down, her hand hovering over your waist. She wouldn't touch 't dare. She'd occasionally held your hand but that was before- before you entered your heat. Before rules and limits became so crucial.

•"Ye-Yes. Please make it stop." You cry, taking ahold of her forearm

"I can't make it stop, however I can help it feel less intense." She whispered, gently kissing your neck.

• It had been weird getting used to it because your body had officially changed. You had a long talk with Coran about it.

• You hadn't told the team, you didn't plan too. But Keith caught on, he could smell it and he obviously brought it to Shiro. Allura was the one that explained it to them, seeing as you didnt know much about it. About you.

• It wasn't until your third heat, when Allura actually kissed you did your markings appear. They were lavender and they clearly proved you to be an altean.

• There goes your heat secret too. The rest of your friends had finally caught on. Surprisingly, Lance understood before Pidge and Hunk. Although the duo caught on rather quick, Lance understood what was going on immediately.

• Allura is an Alpha. You are an omega. Which means you could get pregnant. Coran understood that. Shiro understood that.

• Coran provided pills and medicines to help prevent while Shiro brought it to Alluras attention. It didnt go well for him.

• While it may have been a friendly warning chat to Shiro, to Allura, someone was trying to take you away. Stop her from helping and she wasn't pleased. Her Alpha instincts kicked in and she chewed him out, yelling and cursing that he wasn't going to touch you. He wasn't going to take you away.

• Shiro left it alone after that.

• You and Keith got closer?

• Keith had many of the same instincts that you had. Alteans weren't the only ABO race there was. Keith was an Alpha and as of then you'd been accepted into an little pack, that pack being Allura, Coran, You, and Keith.

• Keith was protective. The only one he didnt seem to snap at was Lance (aside from Allura of course). Lance had taken on a particularly motherly role, you thought it was funny.

• "Lance I can do this myself literally nothing has changed."

"Okay bitch but maybe I want to pu the hair mask in hair for you shut up."

"Lance I can get the cups."

"You're short you might die."

"I've never been a fan of veggies."

"Eat. Ur fucKiNG veggies istg"

• Allura doesnt seem to mind. She knew the two had been close since before everything and she found it endearing that even after the whole alien reveal, he was willing to stay so close. But not too close.

• Keith doesn't mind either totally unrelated to the fact that he's mad in love with Lonce.

• Did someone say Altean Lance???

• Surprise bitch. Half alien club unite.

• Overall the team is very supportive. They help when they can and love you unconditionally.

• Especially Allura. Allura is in love and it's so obvious. The things she'd do for you. You had her wrapped around your finger and Allura wouldn't have it any other way. She'd drop anything for you in a heartbeat.

• You get injured during battle once, Allura is livid. She was stuck in the castle but when you arrive, all bloody and torn, she's terrified. Shiro tries to put a hand on you, to move a piece of cloth to see how bad it is. She snarls at him, baring her teeth and telling him to move back. Keith pulls him back. "She's feral, let Y/N be. She'll come out just fine."

• Doesnt sit well with Shiro. He cares about you too, he's the team leader, seeing you laying on the table, then in the healing pod made his stomach turn.

• Allura apologizes later. Shiro understands.

• Seriously Allura is the best girlfriend ever??? First of all she has soft hair and let's you play with it which is nice, don't get me wrong, but she'll also play with your hair. And when she plays with you hair it's like the heavens have been opened. It's so nice. Her fingers threading through your soft locks, humming softly as you close your eyes. She has a hair kink fuck off.

• When the two of you shower together, she'll make sure you're comfortable because she adores the scent you produce when you're in total bliss. Her shower has a bench thingy and she has to make sure you're sitting because when you get as relaxed as she makes you when she washes your hair or massages your shoulders, your knees get weak.

• Lance and Keith can smell when y'all fuck.

• Lance and keith can smell when she's relaxed you from across the fucking castle.

• Allura tasks Lance specifically to help when she's not around because he's also an omega let me have this okay.

• Meaning Lance helps you during heats too, when Allura isn't there which is rare but has happened because of diplomatic reasons.

• And you help him through his when Keith isn't there.

• Apparently, while it's considered some what unconventional, it was practiced on Altea more often than not, especially with royalty.

• Keith and Allura find it kind of hot??

• May or may not end up in a weird foursome with two omegas going at in as the main show.

• maybe something more happens THATS up to you. I'm sorry I couldnt help myself.

• Allura is the sweetest alpha though. She Pampers the shit out of you for literally no reason.

"Thank you, (Y/N)."

"For what."

"Idk yet."

[theprinceandagcd]

closed our eyes and took on the world together

I don’t know why-- I just wanted to add one more story to the I’ll always wear the crown that you gave me universe - a lil wedding day fluff was just what it needed

also on ao3

------

we were crazy, tragic and epic, and so amazing I’ll always wear the crown that you gave me we will always stay lost in forever and they’ll remember we were legends

------

“You know what would be funny?”

Clarke smiles, knowing her best friend too well. Still, she plays along. “What?”

“If you married my brother,” Octavia says, trying to shrug it off with a grin, but Clarke can see the joy on her face. She thinks Octavia is almost as happy as she is, and she’s the one getting married today.

Even so, Clarke laughs, standing to wrap her arms around her maid of honor. She holds her close, fighting back the tightness in her throat. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Octavia’s slim arms wrap around Clarke’s shoulders. “Of course. I honestly can’t even tell you how happy I am that you two finally figured this out. I’ve only been waiting for it my whole life.”

“I know it took us a while,” Clarke murmurs, letting Octavia go. “But we’re here now.”

Octavia smiles. “I know. And you look perfect, all that’s left is the dress and accessories. Bell is going to lose his mind when he sees you.”

“Mind if I intrude?”

Abby pokes her head in the door, looking almost somber. It’s been unsettled at best between Clarke and her mother for the last few years. Clarke is currently working as a free-lance artist and doing other side jobs for the city, murals and the like, while Abby is still hung up on the fact that she could have been a doctor by now.

(If only she hadn’t “thrown it all away”.)

“It’s not intruding. You’re my mom.” Clarke does her best to smile, finding it easier than she expected. Even despite everything, she’s happy her mom is here.

She thinks so, anyway.

Octavia excuses herself for a moment, maybe to go check on her brother. She’s been so busy, between being the maid of honor and sister of the groom. Clarke isn’t even sure how she’s managed it all.

It’s probably why Clarke misses her presence—she could have been a good buffer between Clarke and her mother.

Abby smiles, though, eyes glistening. “You look beautiful.”

“Thank you.” Clarke glances at herself in the mirror, smiling a little to herself.

There’s a pause, and Clarke thinks she recognizes the heaviness of it. Please, don’t, she begs mentally, willing her mom not to ruin her wedding day.

“I still don’t agree with the choices you’ve made for yourself,” Abby says, looking at Clarke’s dress on the mannequin. She reaches out to run a finger gently down the fabric, almost absentmindedly. “But of the ones you’ve made, I think I like Bellamy the best.”

Clarke swallows, willing herself not to get stressed over a conversation she’s had a million times. She decides to respond to what’s the easiest. “I think he’s my best decision, too, mom. So, thanks, I guess.”

Abby doesn’t stay much longer, any words they share only taking up a limited amount of time. There is only so much they can say before Abby’s disappointment shines through. When she’s gone, Clarke still feels tears prick at her vision as she slumps in her chair. She wishes things were different, that she still had a mom who cared.

To be fair, though, she isn’t sure she ever did.

It’s times like this where she misses Aurora, misses simple summers with sunburned cheeks and her two best friends. She wonders if Aurora would have helped her get ready today, standing beside Octavia while they fussed over her hair and makeup.

She definitely would have—Clarke wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Her dad is here somewhere, she reminds herself. Seeing him later might make her feel better.

“Hey, so I thought, after talking to your mom, you might need a little… well, more than me.”

Clarke looks up at her best friend’s voice, but Octavia has slipped through the door once again, leaving just Bellamy.

Bellamy.

He’s got on a still half unbuttoned dress shirt and his dress pants, like he was yanked out of his own changing room in the middle of doing his buttons. Even not finished, he looks like he walked right out of a fairytale to her.

“You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding,” she reprimands, though she’s already standing to wrap herself in him arms. Her body immediately relaxes, feeling like she’s home.

“Hmm,” he hums into her temple, arms tight around her. “Well, Octavia says you’re not completely ready yet, so.”

She pulls away just enough to look up at him, her heart beating steadier already. “I guess that could be a loophole. At least I’m not wearing the dress yet.”

“See? We’ll be fine,” he tells her, reaching up to brush his knuckles against her cheek. “Are you okay? What did your mom say?”

“That, according to her, you’re the best decision I’ve ever made.” She considers him, squeezing gently at his hips. “Her scale is different than mine, but that’s still something we can agree on, I guess.”

Bellamy smiles, wide and exuberant. God, she loves him. “I love you so much,” he says, echoing her thoughts.

“I love you, too,” she reciprocates, leaning up to press her lips against his briefly. “And I’m okay. Thanks for coming to check on me.”

“Always, princess.” He taps his thumb against her jaw. “It’s you and me against the world from now on, anyway.”

“I think it already was,” she tells him, watching with fascination as he blushes just a little. His head ducks for just a moment, like even after all this time, her affection still shakes him.

“Octavia will be very disappointed to hear that,” is what he winds up saying when he meets her eyes again.

“Please, she’s simply beside herself today. This wedding is just as much for her as it is us.”

Bellamy grins, leaning down to kiss her again. “Just think, next time I kiss you, we’ll be officially married.”

Her answering smile hurts her cheeks. “Can’t wait.”

Everything goes beautifully, somehow. Bellamy tears up when she walks down the aisle, wiping a hand over his mouth. The weather is gorgeous, and their first kiss as husband and wife feels magical. Even so, it’s over so quickly that she’s eternally grateful for the photography crew that they hired. She doesn’t have to worry about capturing anything, but she knows that she’ll have more than enough captured for her.

Before she knows it, she’s sitting next to Bellamy in the reception hall, and everyone is finishing up their food. Glasses of wine are everywhere, and music is playing throughout the room. Octavia is sitting next to her, though she’s talking to Raven on her other side.

Bellamy reaches over for her hand, picking it up and rubbing his thumb against her wrist.

“You wore your bracelet,” he says, and when she looks up at him, his eyes are full of so much love that for a moment, she forgets how to breathe.

“Always do.”

He smiles, his thumb brushing against the cool metal. “I should get you like, a wedding cake charm to go with it,” he muses, leaning over to press his lips into her temple. “Since, you know, you’re my wife now.”

“I’m your wife now,” she repeats, smiling up at him.

A camera flashes somewhere, and she’s sure that the photo they just took will wind up on the walls of their home somewhere. Still, she doesn’t pay it much attention as she leans in to kiss Bellamy sweetly, feeling the fire race in her veins all the way down to her toes.

“Dance with me,” he murmurs when they pull away, standing without letting go of her hand.  

She lets him lead her out on the dance floor, letting go of his hand to thread her fingers together behind his neck as he wraps his own around her waist.

They sway together in silence for a moment, and then he chuckles.

Clarke grins up at him. “What?”

“I’m just thinking, of all the people for my sister to impress on her first day at a new school, I’m really glad it was you.”

“It was incredible!” Clarke defends through her giggle. “She literally pinched a boy’s ear until she bent to his will and didn’t even get in trouble!”

She’s probably a little too loud, but Bellamy laughs, burying the sound into her hair. “And now, here we are.”

“Here we are,” she agrees, pulling herself a little closer. “All married and grown up.”

He glances over her shoulder, where Octavia is dancing with Lincoln, and smiles. “They’ll be next, I figure.”

Clarke gasps. “And you’re okay with that idea?”

Bellamy pinches at her waist, just enough to make her squirm. “Ha ha, princess. She’s happy, that’s what matters.”

“I’m so proud of your progress.”

“You should be.”

“I am,” she insists, leaning up to press her lips to the corner of his mouth. He catches her lips in his before she can pull away, soft and sweet.

Octavia bounds up at that moment, of course. “Guys, come here, we should get a picture with just the three of us.”

She gestures to the camera man off to the side, so they line up, Clarke in the middle, smiles wide as the camera flashes.

Clarke is pretty sure there’s a picture exactly like it in the Blake house already, except it was taken years ago by Aurora, the summer before she passed away. She makes a mental note to get a print out of the picture just taken, and can already imagine the two photos hanging together in the foyer of the house that she and Bellamy have waiting for them.

She thinks maybe they could even be put in the same frame, surrounded by other pictures of the three of them. It seems fitting, like the first thing someone sees when they come into their home should certainly be pictures of her best friend, and her best friend’s brother.

Because ever since there’s been Octavia, there’s been Bellamy, too.

And she wouldn’t have it any other way.

[tvdversefanfiction]

Canary Carnage

Fandoms: Arrowverse, DC Universe, TVDverse and The Originals

Chapter Ten: Lost Canaries

Warnings: I don’t own any of the rights, content or characters belonging to any of the DC content I use within the story along with not owning any rights, content or characters within The Vampire Diaries, Originals or Legacies.

18 Rating: Moderate/Graphic displays of violence, sexual innuendos, sexually charged scenes, SMUT, strong language and potentially triggering scenes.

Pairings: M/M, F/F, M/F.

Laurel Lance had returned to Earth Blood and New Orleans with her mother Dinah with the hopes of seeking redemption for her son from the future the only problem was she couldn’t find her secret son who believed she was his sister and that had her worried not to mention she couldn’t find her mother either not knowing her mother had been murdered by her son.

She was determined to find them both determined to have her family reunited one way or another but as the weeks passed by she began to fear the worst terrified her desperate pleas to Elijah Mikaelson had went unanswered horrified at the idea that both her mother and her son were already dead.

Of course she was only half right her mother Dinah Lance had been murdered but it was her son Lucas Lance who was the culprit although Klaus Mikaelson did help him cover his tracks before handing him over to the daughter of the demon Nyssa Al Ghul after some unsettling news about a Lazarus Pit.

Laurel was determined to learn the truth one way or another even if it meant declaring war on the Mikaelson’s, going head to head in battle was something the Black Canary was used to it was something she could handle but what Laurel Lance could never handle was the devastating truth just waiting to be uncovered.

“I’m not saying we sit around and do-nothing Laurel…I’m just saying we need to tackle this wisely.” Sara said to her older sister Laurel as the two sat at the bar counter in the bar of the New Orleans Voyage Hotel, each of them nursing a bottle of beer. “Especially considering you and Marcel botched the whole sleeping poison idea.”

“If I had known they would take Dinah and Lucas I’d have personally hand delivered the poison to them both!” Laurel snapped at her younger sister just before Klaus vamp sped into the bar, instantly making the two sisters rise to their feet, placing down their beers on the bar counter, both ready to take on the original hybrid.

“It’s not nice to go around throwing accusations especially at a new friend who is only trying to help.” Klaus told them both.

“How the hell did you get in here without being invited?” Sara furiously asked the immortal man.

“In case you forgot I got rather close to your brother before he decided to go on holiday.” Klaus replied to Sara with a sinister smirk, all to eager to mention his history with the girls’ brother. “Don’t get me wrong suddenly deciding to go off on holiday with your ex-girlfriend league assassin Nyssa Al Ghul just when your mother goes missing is a tad suspicious but I doubt he had time to slaughter her with all the packing he would have to do.”

“You seriously expect us to believe Nyssa and Lucas are on holiday together hell I don’t even believe she’s still on this earth.” Sara said making clear she didn’t believe a word Klaus was saying.

“Why would you even try cover your tracks?” Laurel asked, not quite trusting the original hybrid but not completely distrusting him either. “If you murdered the both of them why aren’t you showing up here boasting about it?”

“I always knew you were the smart sister Laurel.” Klaus complimented the Black Canary while throwing some shade at the White Canary at the same time. “If I had killed either of them, I’d be all to glad to gloat, but the truth is I’m innocent.”

“What the hell would Nyssa want with Lucas?” Sara demanded to know.

“She’s an assassin which makes her a worthy ally to him the boy isn’t stupid he’s clearly switched sides before we stuck in the knife.” Klaus answered her before letting out a reluctant sigh. “However, my brother Elijah seems to think we should stop this little war of ours…so I won’t make a move if you don’t.”

“You mean if you haven’t already.” Sara snapped at Klaus, believing with certainty that he killed their mother.

“You mother is probably just taking the time needed to get over the fact she’s been raising her grandson as a son for all these years.” Klaus revealed all too eagerly knowing it would force Laurel into revealing the rest of the truth to Sara.

On an earth with no Gotham, Star or Central City there was still an infamous island called Lian Yu the same island in which Oliver Queen and Sara Lance washed ashore before being swept up within the carnage of the league of assassins and Nyssa Al Ghul thought they was no better place to take Lucas Lance knowing he couldn’t just escape the remote island which was the perfect location for nobody to find them.

Nyssa felt immense guilt over her and her group of assassins murdering Sara even if their murder didn’t exactly stick and believed saving Lucas from the demon inside him following a bath in the Lazarus Pit hoping that by giving Sara her brother back it would somehow make up for their twisted past knowing it would be anything but an easy task.

“Here’s me thinking you were going to leave me down here for the rest of my life.” Lucas complained as he stood in his underground bunker cell with a power dampener collar around his neck, as Nyssa climbed down the bunker ladder to stand in front of the Red Canary’s cell.

“Infinity Island is one of many places that doesn’t exist on this Earth clearly there’s something special about Lian Yu on every Earth including this one.” Nyssa replied to him. “The only problem is if there’s no Infinity Island than there’s no Lazarus Pit of course there have been other Lazarus Pits, but I highly doubt they exist on this Earth.”

“Okay then I’ll just ask the question you want me to ask already. What the bloody hell is a Lazarus Pit?” Lucas asked the demon’s daughter, trying to hide his curiosity.

“After your mother came to the present from the future to deliver you to your grandparents at a later date many years later a future version of my father came to Infinity Island to deliver the news of where the undead child was which is the reason Ra’s Al Ghul took such special interest in Sara Lance and Oliver Queen in the first place.” Nyssa revealed to a stunned Lucas, who was still reeling from the fact Dinah Lance wasn’t his biological mother. “My father both in the present and the future is desperate to get you under his control for the same reason your real mother The Black Canary traveled back in time to hide you.”

“That can’t be possible Laurel’s my big sister there’s only like three years between us that’s biologically impossible not to mention one hell of a mind fuck.” Lucas replied, in complete disbelief of what Nyssa was telling him.

“Her future version was more than old enough to bare a child and she did…you.” Nyssa continued to inform the Red Canary. “Funnily enough my father in the future first believed you were special because you were the son of the Black Canary and the Green Arrow although after he kidnapped you, he truly learned just how special you were.”

“You seriously expect me to believe that my sister Laurel and her cheating ex Oliver are my parents?” Lucas scoffed at the demon’s daughter. “And people think I’m the crazy one.”

“Let’s go for a little walk I have a feeling the fresh air will probably go rather well with what I am to tell you next.” Nyssa said as she pulled out a key from her jacket pocket and unlocked Lucas’ cell door. “Of course, you can try to escape but I can ensure you only I can find the only way off this island Mr Lance.”

The thought of escaping Lian Yu was on Lucas Lance’s mind for sure but first he wanted to hear more about this story Nyssa was spinning about his own origins not fully believe the assassin but refusing to try to escape until after her story about him had ended just in case she was telling him the truth.

The Red Canary always wanted someone to believe he was special and now he had found that someone he quickly realized being special had already came with too much burden including being kidnapped by the demon’s daughter after killing the woman who raised him.

Laurel Lance was the type of woman who would always seek out the truth no matter what and so when her future son alongside her mother suddenly vanished of the face of Earth Blood she decided to seek out the wonder witch Davina Claire’s help to locate them both with a certain spell.

She may have believed Klaus hadn’t killed Lucas due to his reasoning being too strange to be a lie but she also believe he was hiding something and she needed to know why, why the original hybrid would cover for Lucas, why Lucas would suddenly disappear with Nyssa and why she couldn’t find her mother.

Laurel’s most recent alliance with Davina led to a failed poisoning attempt on the Mikaelson’s, Davina and Sara not getting the chance to even try poisoning the others before Laurel and Marcel botched things and so the Black Canary was hoping the New Orleans witch regent didn’t blame her too much, hoping even if she did she’d still help her in her search for answers.

“I’m sorry Laurel but I really don’t have time to be seen doing favors for you not while I try and work out what the hell the Mikaelson’s are planning in response to our rather failed attempt to take them out.” Davina told Laurel as they walked through the Lafayette Cemetery side by side. “I know Marcel’s safe considering his venom can literally kill them which means I need to protect myself and my witches and that’s where all my attention should be focused on.”

“I get this war with the witches and the vampires has been going on for centuries and I know Klaus is a formidable foe, but I really need this locating spell Davina I’m scared for my mother and Lucas.” Laurel replied to the young witch. “Somethings just not right and I can feel it…I know I fucked shit up and I’m really sorry for that Davina I really am but please don’t take it out on my family please help me.”

“Fine,” Davina said with a reluctant sigh as they both stopped walking. “It seems like I’m forever finding lost canaries for you…but I have come to think of you as something of a friend, so I’ll do it but you’re going to owe me!”

“Trust me I’ll help you with whatever Mikaelson plan you have next once I’ve got my family back in fact we’ll all help you better three canary cries than just one and Sara’s got that whole vamp/assassin thing going for her too so let’s not count out the White Canary.” Laurel mumbled as she thanked and hugged Davina, delighted to get the help she so badly needed in finding her son and her mother.

“You’re a great person Laurel and that’s very rare around here!” Davina admitted as she broke off her hug with the Black Canary. “I just hope wherever they maybe you’re not walking into some trap because nobody should ever trust Klaus Mikaelson.”

Davina was right just because she could magic up a location for Laurel didn’t mean that location was anywhere near safe for Laurel to go to but Laurel was more than willing to take the risk in order to have her family reunited once again not fully realizing that once she found Lucas Lance that she would discover a certain canary was lost forever.

Sara Lance was beyond furious, furious with her mother for lying to her all her life, furious with Laurel for not opening up to her, furious with Klaus for having something to do with her mother’s disappearance and furious at the thought that her first true love Nyssa Al Ghul was behind Lucas’ abrupt exit from New Orleans.

She couldn’t take out her anger on Laurel knowing her sister had only recently found out the truth and was clearly having trouble adjusting besides it would be hypocritical considering Sara hid the fact she was alive for many years and she couldn’t take it out on her missing brother/nephew and mother so she decided who best to take it out on.

Sara showed up in the compound dressed up in her White Canary suit while holding her bo-staff which she had soaked in Marcel’s venom having borrowed it intending to poison Klaus Mikaelson deciding it was time to go through with that particular plan even if anyone else had backed out.

“It wouldn’t be wise to anger my brother Niklaus he very rarely offers to back down against enemies especially those who have murdered our sister.” Elijah warned Sara after vamp speeding his way over to stand in front of her. “I’d advise you’d leave our home now before I decide to be less forgiving than my younger brother.”

“Here’s the thing he knows where my family is which means I’m not going anywhere until I get answers.” Sara replied to the noble original before hitting him with her staff straight across the face, his skin burning at the touch of the White Canary’s poisoned staff.

Sara continued to hit Elijah with her staff hitting him in the face once more before two more hits in the stomach and a singular hit below his feet causing the original to fall flat to the ground before she quickly pressed the staff harshly down on Elijah’s throat causing him to groan in pain as the poison continued to burn his body.

“The next hit I’ll make will be straight through the chest and even you can’t survive that.” Sara warned him while pressing the staff down harder onto Elijah’s throat. “You maybe a 1000-year-old vampire but I was trained by a 500-year-old assassin that plus the newfound vamp strength makes me much more of a weapon than when I was alive…now tell me where my brother is!”

“I have no idea.” Elijah managed to force out of himself before Sara quickly used her bo-staff to force Elijah’s head to the other side, snapping his neck and knocking him unconscious in the process as Klaus vamp sped into the compound to stand in front of Sara, who was more than ready to take down another original.

“I was convinced I was going to have to rush in and stop you killing my brother and yet you just put him to sleep for a little bit…why?” Klaus asked, confused to why the former league of assassin’s member was showing kindness.

“Yeah well my sister likes that one and the blonde-haired vamp but lucky for me she’s not so keen on you!” Sara informed Klaus as she slowly began walking towards the original hybrid, ready to take him out.

“Clearly being the nice guy gets you nowhere I keep telling my siblings, but they just don’t listen.” Klaus laughed at the White Canary. “Your ex took your brother/nephew to Lian Yu to help him with his little problem now if you would please leave these premises before I show you how natural the bad guy role comes to me.”

“Lian Yu…” Sara said in shock as she began backing away with Klaus. “I didn’t even know that place existed on this Earth…why would she take him there?”

“Because he murdered your mother.” Klaus wasted no time in revealing, watching as Sara face began to display her devastation before she vamp sped out of sight, clearly having heard enough from the original hybrid.

That time around Sara Lance believed Klaus’ words somehow knowing deep down it was true the minute he revealed the truth to her as she was left devastated to learn of her mother’s death and even more furious than before as she realized the man she believed to be her baby brother was the one responsible for it.

Klaus Mikaelson never intended to tell Sara the truth having previously helped cover it up due to his strange and ever growing bond with Lucas Lance but a part of him enjoyed hurting the White Canary he liked seeing the woman who murdered his sister in pain and in those brief moments he had found his revenge for Freya Mikaelson and Keelin Malraux’s deaths but straight after revealing the truth he began to feel something he rarely ever felt and that was guilt.

Nyssa al Ghul wanted nothing more than to help Lucas Lance expel or at least control the demon within him knowing she stood some chance at doing one or the other considering Lucas had been co-existing with the demon most of his life without even knowing anything about it but then again there was very little the Red Canary knew about his life.

Lucas had lived his entire life until very recently believing Dinah and Quentin Lance were his parents not his grandparents and thanks to his trip to Lian Yu had only just discovered that his eldest sister Laurel and her ex-boyfriend Oliver Queen were his biological parents and he was from the future.

Nyssa knew the information she was giving the Red Canary wasn’t easy for anyone to take it but she also knew she had to keep on revealing more secrets to him in order to convince him that he needed to stay with her and her small faction of the league of assassins until they figured out how to fix his killer rage knowing she would force his hand if the information wasn’t enough to make him do the right thing.

“So, my sister from the future is actually my birth mother and her deuchebag cheating ex is going to wind up getting her knocked up which means she takes him back.” Lucas scoffed as he and Nyssa walked through the woods within the island, his power dampening collar still attached to him. “And they have the nerve to say I’m the fool for men.”

“Soon after you are born in the future my father Ra’s Al Ghul kidnaps you and does the unthinkable…he made you the undead child.” Nyssa revealed with a great sense of shame on her face. “When your mother retrieved you, she put you in the past to protect you however a future version of my father eventually figured that out and made contact with my father in the present day.”

“My head is literally spiraling from all of this…I’ve just killed my…grandmother and you want to play a game of who do you think you are with me…how am I meant to believe any of this? What exactly did you father do and why is he so obsessed with me?” Lucas questioned the daughter’s demon, still reeling from Nyssa’s many reveals.

“As you have probably heard about the rumors of the Lazarus Pit many have sought it out to reclaimed a lost one and granted it does grant such acts but it also has some dire consequences…nobody knows this better than my father.” Nyssa admitted to the Red Canary. “My father is over 500 years old using the properties of the Lazarus Pit to sustain his life although each time it’s taken something from him making him less and less human…recently he unearthed a prophecy a little earlier than intended thanks to the future’s manipulation and this prophecy was that of the undead child.”

“You called me the undead child, what exactly did this prophecy say exactly?” Lucas wondered, as he began to believe the truth about his origins slowly, wanting to know more.

“I’m not entirely sure about the fine details of the prophecy but I do know it made the future version of my father want to raise you as his own and the past version want you permanently dead.” Nyssa informed him. “As for what my father does to you in the future when you were just a baby he immersed himself and you within the Lazarus Pit…you died once you came out of the pit very briefly and then you were reborn re-birthing a demon within you at the same time.”

“The Lazarus Pit brings people back to life sometimes just the body and not the soul how the hell is some demon attached to me?” Lucas asked once again, getting frustrated that the answers Nyssa Al Ghul was giving him only served to make him more confused.

“I’m sorry but that’s all the information I can give to you…until we visit limbo but for that I’m going to need you to come back to our Earth.” Nyssa explained to the Red Canary, hoping he was willing to help her with her mission.

“There’s a reason I ditched that world and haven’t exactly been eager to go back!” Lucas snapped at the demon’s daughter. “Under no circumstances am I going back.”

“Mr Lance…I have been more than patient with you even going as far as informing you of a truth everybody else has been keeping from you but let me make one thing clear we will remain on Lian Yu only until my colleagues return and then we’re heading back where we belong.” Nyssa snapped back at him, making it clear she wasn’t asking, she was demanding. “You’re either a threat to my father or an ally and if anyone is going to have you as some kind of weapon then it’s going to be me!”

Nyssa Al Ghul wanted to help Lucas Lance for Sara’s sake but she couldn’t refuse the fact she was curious to find out more about what made the Red Canary so special and knowing her father somewhat feared this undead child made him all the more fascinating.

Nyssa was going to help Lucas as much as she could it just so happened finding out the truth about him may just work to both of their advantages mainly because Nyssa Al Ghul was planning to dethrone her father and take his place.

Laurel Lance was more than grateful for Davina Claire casting a locating spell which revealed that Nyssa Al Ghul and Lucas Lance were on Lian Yu and decided to focus on going there to get him back instead of focusing on the fact that Davina was unable to locate her mother Dinah.

Laurel feared the worst behind Davina’s inability to find her mother Dinah Lance fearing it was confirmation her mother was dead but she had to be a mother right now and put her son first she had to find Lucas and find out why he was on Lian Yu knowing that island wasn’t exactly idealistic for the White Canary or the Green Arrow.

As Laurel packed her rucksack filling it with enough clothes for a round trip to Lian Yu and back within her hotel room in the New York Voyage Hotel, determined to rescue her son she found her quest taking an unexpected turn as a broken Sara walked into the room with tears in her eyes instantly making Laurel realize something terrible had just happened.

“Mum’s gone Laurel…” Sara cried, revealing what she had just learned to her older sister. “That’s what Klaus was hiding from us…that our mother’s gone.”

“I had a feeling that might have been the reason why Davina couldn’t find her, but I didn’t want to admit it to myself.” Laurel admitted with tears in her eyes. “I knew this sudden need of his for us to not be enemies was some plot, but I just didn’t want to accept that we’ve lost her again…this time forever…just like dad.”

“Laurel I don’t know how to tell you this…and I really wish I didn’t have to, but it was Lucas who killed our mum.” Sara reluctantly admitted to the Black Canary in between cries, as she struggled to come to terms with her mother’s death.

“No! Sara…he wouldn’t…he couldn’t…” Laurel replied as she attempted to deny the truth while her gut told her otherwise. “Lucas has committed some terrible acts, but he wouldn’t…Klaus must be lying.”

“I think we both know deep down he’s not…not this time.” Sara said as she walked over to her sister and gave her a hug, as the two women cried as they mourned the death of their mother while coming to terms with the truth of how they lost her.

Despite their complicated history Laurel Lance loved her mother deeply and hoped they could reconnect following years apart, but all that hope had just been taken away from her in that moment and with it all hopes for redeeming her son went with them.

Lucas Lance had killed many times and committed some unspeakable and evil acts as the Red Canary but the one line he had never crossed was killing a family member but that line had now been crossed and with it neither the Black Canary or White Canary could deny the fact that Lucas has to be stopped once and for all.

Klaus Mikaelson had found himself filled with guilt over betraying Lucas’ trust knowing it would lead to Laurel and Sara hunting them down in a bid to stop what they believed was a ruthless monster but Klaus knew there was a man within the monster because he had seen it for himself and he knew more than most that one could be both a man and monster for that’s exactly how he saw himself.

He couldn’t help but find himself growing more and more fond of Lucas and it was that fondness that drove the original hybrid to plot to do something he never normally did, clean up his own mess and in order to do that he had to find a way of convincing his siblings to help him stop Laurel and Sara from seeking revenge on Lucas.

“Absolutely bloody not!” Rebekah declared as she stood up from her chair at the dining table within the dining area at the compound, as Elijah, Hayley, Klaus and Kol continued to sit around the table. “I say if the Lance sisters have seen sense and want to kill their bastard brother then we don’t stand in the way.”

“Rebekah…” Elijah began to say.

“Of all the times you paraded me and made me feel foolish for my choice of partners and now you’re literally asking us to help you save some deranged canary whose own siblings want to see him dead.” Rebekah shouted at Klaus, while interrupting Elijah in the process.

“I guess I don’t have to worry about Lucas seeking round two from me then thanks to my brother soaking up my sloppy seconds.” Kol teased Klaus, looking rather amused with himself as the original hybrid rolled his eyes at his younger brother.

“Well I for one agree with Klaus…I can’t believe I’m agreeing with him, but I’d like to stop Laurel from doing something she might regret.” Hayley chimed in, as she stood up to face Rebekah. “She doesn’t deserve to have that on her conscious…nobody does.”

“When exactly did we start caring about Laurel bloody Lance so much?” Rebekah moaned to Hayley, before rolling her eyes and giving in. “I suppose I am somewhat fonder of her than her siblings.”

“I know Sara Lance killed our sister and for that I’ll never forgive her, but Laurel is a good person and this family have done something terrible things to good people maybe it’s time we turn the tables.” Elijah suggested as he too stood up form his chair to face Hayley and Rebekah, noticing Hayley smiling at his wise words, making him smile back at his former love.

“I’m in but mostly because I want to see it all go down, I can’t promise I’ll stop anything.” Kol somewhat agreed as he and Klaus stood up at the same time, all siblings now standing face to face with Hayley.

“Before we go into this canary filled battlefield there’s something about Laurel and Lucas that I should tell you all about.” Elijah revealed to the rest of them, instantly catching the awkward look on Klaus’ face which revealed his younger brother knew what Elijah was about to say next. “Laurel is Lucas’ mother.”

It was revelation both Klaus and Elijah had already discovered however until now Rebekah, Kol and Hayley had remained in the dark and now they had found out it had made them even more determined to do the right thing by the Lance’s for the first time after all Rebekah and Kol knew just as well as Klaus and Elijah what it was like to have their mother try to murder them and didn’t wish that on anyone.

Despite their protests and the bad blood between the Mikaelson’s and the Lance’s the two families were slowly beginning to grow more and more fonder of each other even if none of them would ever admit it.

[endthisfool]

Dirge Eater

Summary: Getting his claws on one of Brainstorm's untested inventions leads to Whirl being flung into an universe that isn't quite ready for someone like him. Back in Jasper, Nevada Team Prime is faced with the task of reeling in the wayward whirlybird, but it won't be pleasant ride for anyone.

Chapter 1: Death Bringer

An iridescent tear eats at a storm ridden sky, bleeding the taste of a distant universe like an infection. Out it spits a being of that unknown, chaotic and ruthless. He doesn’t belong here. As if knowing that, the sky seems to rumble its distaste of the rapidly descending figure. Far below, a young boy by the name of Rafael Esquivel sits idly on the front steps of his school building. He’s content to wait outside for his friends, despite the swirling clouds above. However, a storm isn’t the only thing brewing over head, and it certainly isn’t the most worrisome. An odd sound reaches Raf’s ears. He looks about himself, furrowing his brows at the relatively empty area. It’s not empty for long. There’s a wicked crack of concrete as something huge lands in an impact that lances through the ground, sending debris and dust flying outward from its epicenter. Cars wail their distress, joined by a smattering of shocked shouts. Raf’s up on his feet and down the rest of the steps before he can even process what he’s running toward. Due to his short stride, by the time he gets there there’s already a growing crowd of students, teachers, and passerby’s alike. They peter about uncertainly, low mummers of confusion drifting between them. Raf finds himself having to push past a woman taking pictures to get a closer look. The crater cuts a deep hole into the concrete, thin trails of black smoke whisking up from the crumpled heap of metal within. A sluggish flow of fluorescent pink liquid seeps from the mass. The scent of ozone lies thick in the air. His knees feel weak, a thrill races up his spine, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand at attention. The gangly mess of strange parts and twisted blue metal, rises up from its grave with a horrific spat of clattering. In turn the previously gawking crowd scatters haphazardly, screaming all the while. The source of their fear moves like an old windup toy missing a few gears. Jittering and loud. No longer an unidentifiable pile of scrap, the thing reveals itself to be some sort of mech. All thin plating and abnormal-near insect like limbs- it appears nothing like the Cybertronian’s on Earth. ‘Nothing like the autobots at least, this has to be a decepticon.’ Worse, it had no face, just a telescopic-esq head and a single burning gold optic. It brings up an eerie recollection of the xenomorphs from Alien. Certainly not a pleasant comparison. The creature gives a small shake, then a full body shudder, its dented blue plating flaring wildly. It topples over. Its huge pair of pincers dig rivets into the concrete, and the air fills with that terrifying clattering once more. There comes the realization that it’s cackling. Rafael backpedals, which is apparently the wrong thing to do because suddenly that big yellow optic is trained directly on him. He freezes, blood running cold in face of that spotlight-like gaze. His throat constricts, gulping audibly around the fear lodged there. Automatically the boy raises his hands-empty palms outward hovering over his chest-in a placating gesture. The mech lurches forward, pistons screeching, and brings up one claw to point straight between his eyes. “ Ha! You look like Rung’s holomatter avatar had a baby with a gremlin.” Its optic contorts into a squint from what can only be unaltered glee, at the bewildered expression on the boy’s face. “Don’t take it personally, lotta you organics have that-“ There’s a vague gesture that spans the entirety of Raf’s person. “-nasty little flesh-bag look going on.” Raf’s mouth opens and closes, but he can’t seem to find any words. His awareness that he- and the entire human race- was just insulted only dimly registers considering the razor sharp claws only inches from his face. “No argument there, huh?” Those claws open and snap shut, clacking together, akin to a crab. Upon the resulting flinch from the human, they retreat back to supporting the mech’s frame. It regards him with a slightly more wary glint to its optic. “...Did I break you, Squishy? I told you not to take it personally, jeez.” The mech heaves itself upward once more, balancing precariously on its thin legs. Distantly Raf notes the school doors opening as people rush past him to safety. “ Fun chat , but I’m gonna go.” It scratches idly at the jutting plating serving as its chest, dislodging some dirt there. In the process it uncovers a much too familiar emblem beneath the grime. Rafael blinks rapidly at the sight of it, shock blooming through his fear in some sort of messy tandem, giving way to conflict. “W-wait! You- you’re a,” Suddenly the blue mech crouches low as if readying to spring, giving Raf a clear view of the twin gun barrels under its chest. At that the blurted words die before they can become a coherent sentence. “I’m a what?” It challenges with the hum of its weapons. Danger evident in its tense frame. Raf squeaks, tripping onto his rear in his haste to put space between himself and those barrels. There’s a chuffing sound above, and it seems the mech is now laughing at his misfortune. He can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, much too relieved to be free of the mech’s ire. However, despite the mood change the bot doesn’t relax from its crouch. The blades above its claws spin lazily, and it shutters its gold optic a few times. The sound of police sirens wail in the distance, apparently someone had half a mind to call the authorities on the giant robot. Not that that would do any good. “This was a real riveting experience, really, good times with my old pal, Squishy-Four-Eyes,” Mock sincerity coats the words in a growing dirge. Its blades- no rotors begin to spin faster. “Sadly, I’ve got more important things to do, which would be literally anything else. So I’m gonna go do those things.” The mech uncoils from its crouch with enough force to launch itself upward into the air. Its frame contorts, folding mid-air to transform into something strikingly similar to an Earth helicopter. There’s a disconcerting whine to its engine, as if it’s protesting its injuries. Then it’s gone. Veering up and away without a speck of hesitation. Raf remains seated on the ground, even as frantic footsteps sound behind him. His friend Jack Darby nearly tumbles to the ground himself when he skids to a halt beside his younger friend. Their mutual friend Miko Nakadai, however, does trip, and plows straight into Jack. They land in a sprawled heap, but Raf pays them no heed. The older boy attempts to draw his attention with a cry of: “What was that!?” Mystified Rafael stares at the rapidly vanishing helicopter in the sky. “I think...it was an autobot.” A hand snatching his glasses off his face knocks him out of his stupor. “Hey-“ “Hello? Are these working, Raf? That dude is flying, only ‘cons fly.” Miko points upward with the stolen glasses a bit more forcefully than needed. Miffed she hadn’t gotten to take a picture of the weird mech. “Autobots: roll out! That’s not rolling, that’s, like, the opposite of rolling. Bam. ‘Con. End of story.” “No I-,” He struggles to reach his glasses from the taller girl, and she relents returning them with a snort. “I saw it, he had an autobot symbol on.” Jack squints at him, sharing an incredulous glance with Miko. “Are you sure, Raf? That guy didn’t really seem like autobot material.” “Yeah, besides the whole flying thing, none of the autobots have big claws like that.” She mimics the mech’s claws snapping with her hands. Raf averts his gaze, gnawing at his lip. He doesn’t point out the fact that he had been mere feet away from the bot, whereas they had only managed to catch a glimpse of him from inside the school. He saw it, bright red on the mech’s cockpit, he’d recognize it anywhere. Nevertheless, he shrugs slightly, shaken up and adverse to continuing an argument with his friends. Miko seems to notice his dejection and gives him a pat on the back that’s only kinda condescending.

------ So maybe ��borrowing’ a few of Brainstorm’s inventions hadn’t been his best idea. Then again maybe Brainstorm shouldn’t make his experiments look like guns, because of course Whirl would be obligated to shoot them. He couldn’t just, not shoot them. Not shooting guns went against his morals. And well, maybe if he hadn’t been shooting at random in an enclosed area he wouldn’t have accidentally shot himself. But that’s enough maybes for now. Result is he doesn’t know where he is, and he managed to get smashed up while landing. Nothing too out of the ordinary. Though usually he’d be getting yelled at by now. Strangely enough his comm hasn’t said a peep since he woke up. In a crater. Surrounded by squealing organics. That was pretty weird. Whirl’s HUD blinks red, damage reports rolling across his vision groggily. Urgent: primary energon line severed. Stabilizing gyros functioning at 65%. Spinal strut fractured. GPS System Offline. Energon levels lo- He dismisses the alerts easily, they were no use to him, the level of first aid he was capable of performing with his claws was quite limited. His auto-repair would have to pick up the slack. Even so, leaking to death on a foreign planet wasn’t really the blaze of glory type ending he was looking for. So he needs to clamp off that energon line before he offlines. Simple enough for a pair of pincers. The landscape beneath him blends into an endless stream of indistinguishable shapes and colors. At this point he was fairly far from that organic settlement. The scenery below was now writhe with greenery. Proximity sensors ping a sudden alert. Whirl banks to the left, something bright whizzing past him into the clouds. He slows his flight, enough to detect the frames on the ground aiming at him. Outnumbered, he halts, hovering in place. They’re all dark colored mechs, near identical beyond a few variations. Behind them, similar looking mechs mill about the wide entrance of a mine. When they notice him they take hold of their carts, and retreat into the mine. A few return, training their weapons on him as well. Staring him down uncertainly one guard begins to shout. “Land a-and don’t move! Servos in the air!” The mech’s voice trembles slightly. He doesn’t give much thought to it. They shot first. Allowing his rotors to still in place, he drops out of the air like a dead seeker. Yelps of surprise and several attempts to shoot him follow. A blast glances off his chassis, but if the goal was to slow him down it does nothing. Whirl crashes down onto the mech that had spoken, transforming into his root mode during the impact. His frame is lightweight, but his momentum is more than enough to crumple the mech into the ground. The ‘copter’s HUD informs him of the consequences of using himself as a battering ram. As if the singeing pain didn’t make it obvious enough. He revels in it, all of it. The ruined frame under him shudders and sparks. Dark plating leaks blue over his claws in spurts while he works his grip onto weak neck cabling. The mech sputters feebly. A grotesque gurgling comes from his opponent, spinal strut following his helm free from his frame. Whirl straightens, towering over the graying mech. He holds the mech’s decapitated helm aloft between his claws, gleefully observing the fear take hold in the surrounding mechs. “I did what he asked, didn’t I?” He nails the nearest guard with the offlined mech’s helm, and they go down like a brick. Claws back in the air he gives them a wiggle to emphasize their position. “See? I can follow orders.” They don’t respond. Verbally at least, the sound of their blasters charging up is enough of an answer in itself. Whirl concedes, “OK, so three out of two isn’t bad, I mean, I had to move to get my servos in the air didn’t I?” They let their blasters do the talking once again, opening fire upon the autobot. He lets his own weapons join the conversation. Whirl heaves his offline opponent up to shield his taller frame, twin guns mowing down a row of mechs in front of him. They fall one after another, as if they weren’t built to last in a fight. ‘Kinda pathetic.’ Blaster fire licking at his chassis draws his attention to an unfortunate mech who tries to backpedal. The ‘copter forgoes his guns, bodily throwing himself at the shorter mech. He butts his helm against the other’s visor, shattering it, and carelessly damaging his own optic in the process. It doesn’t affect his pace. He latches on the dazed mech’s shoulders, and gives them a sharp tug. The intention was to tear his arms off, however his opponent ends up completely bisected lengthways. Whirl’s golden optic shutters in a surprised blink. Blue liquid soaks his cockpit, dribbling into his seams, mixing with the pink energon he leaked. The pincers holding the two halves of the other mech clench involuntarily. Something about this wasn’t quite right. His momentary pause gives the other mechs an opportunity to attack. Something in his leg gives way, the damaged armor there failing to protect it. The autobot turns on his attackers, confusion forgotten. “Is everyone on this dust bowl planet huge afts? Quit shooting me while I’m trying to think!”

------------- “ Prime! ” Disgruntled would perhaps be too weak a word to describe Agent Fowler’s demeanor right now. He’s furious, pacing up and down the walk way, his hands balled into fists. The addressed autobot regards him calmly, a slight frown on his handsome faceplate. His medic at the base’s computer terminal quirks an eyebrow ridge at the infuriated human. Leading Optimus to silently will the other to not say anything that would fuel the Agent’s bad mood. Thankfully Ratchet just snorts, resuming his work. Relieved the taller ‘bot patiently waits for the man to voice his complaints. It takes several more moments of huffing and puffing. Then Fowler finally halts his pacing, coming to stand in front of Optimus, his hands gripping at the railing. His glare is met with the autobot leader’s slightly confused, perhaps even concerned optics. For whatever reason this deepens the human’s scowl. “You wanna tell me what one of your guys was doing prancing around a school in broad daylight!?” That garners Ratchet’s attention, and this time the medic turns from his terminal fully, crossing his arms over his chassis. Optimus sighs quietly through his vents. “Agent Fowler, I understand you are displeased with our presence here on Earth, however you have met all the autobot’s stationed on this planet.” Fowler glares harder, Prime presses on before the human could interrupt. “No one was patrolling in town today, in fact Bumblebee, Arcee, and Bulkhead have only left recently to pick up their charges.” “Oh yeah? Then how do you explain the huge robotic blue bozo my men have been working to scrub off the World Wide Web?” He jabs a finger at Optimus’ frowning faceplate. “Do you know how many phones we’ve had to confiscate? This is a huge mess, Prime! And I’m holding you accountable.” Optimus opens his mouth to respond, but the sound of his comm crackling to life in his audial has him ignoring Fowler. The man sputters indignantly when the autobot holds up a servo to silence him. Over the comm Bee’s clicks and whirls sound off an excited babble. :: Raf says he met a new autobot at his school! :: Arcee’s voice joins the call, :: Jack and Miko both say he didn’t.:: Optimus considers the conflicting information, and gives the order to his soldiers to return to base with their charges promptly. Fowler stares at him expectantly. “It would appear that the children have some information on our unknown mech.” “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? There’s a dangerous mech out there who clearly didn’t get the robots in disguise memo!” Fowler bashes a fist against the railing, rattling it. “You can’t just let this guy go wandering through towns willy-nilly!” “Agent Fowler, I assure you once we take stock of the situation we won’t allow this mech to continue roaming in this manner.” Whether or not this mech was an autobot or not would really be the deciding factor in that. Neither a Decepticon or a Neutral would be all too willing to take orders from him. “Until then we will provide assistance in covering up this incident.” Fowler seethes. The screech of tires alerts the base’s occupants of the arrival of the remaining autobots. The young scout tears into the room, flashing his headlights. His charge can be heard laughing through the open windows. Arcee rolls up next, Bulkhead close behind. “Optimus!” Rafael peeks out Bee’s window, a faltering smile on his face. He glances toward his friends who’ve already crossed the base floor toward the couch. “I uh-“ Bumblebee beeps encouragingly at his nervous charge, the boy responds with another weak smile, and exits the scout. Rafael describes what he encountered at his school. The injured blue mech he found in the crater. His crass personality, and strange appearance. The autobots tense when the boy mentions the mech’s lack of servos, lack of a face . The tank churning signs of an empurata victim. “...then I think he called me ugly, or really just organics in general-“ Ratchet snorts. “-he got up to leave, and that’s when I saw the autobot symbol on his chest.” “Then he flew away!” Miko pipes up from the couch, Jack bobbing his head in a nod. Optimus doesn’t acknowledge the interruption, opting to lower himself closer to eye-level with Rafael. “Can you describe his alt mode for us?” Raf relaxes, clearly having been expecting some sort of dismissal. “It looked like some sort of helicopter...with a pair of big guns under its cockpit.” “I see,” There’s an uncomfortable niggling at the back of his processor. He raises to optics to address his team. “Do any of you recognize a mech of that description?” They each shake their helms, Raf’s expression falls, dismayed. Miko rolls her eyes. “Told you it wasn’t an autobot, autobots don’t fly.” Ratchet spares her a look, “There are fliers in the autobots, the aerialbots for one, it’s just not common.” Rafael perks up, nearing the medic. “You think this mech could be one of the aerialbots?” His big hopeful eyes has the gruff medic averting his gaze with a shrug. “If he is, I’ve never heard of him.”

---------

A few more dents mar his frame, and a few more errors crowd his HUD. At some point his rotors began smoking, but they’d stop soon enough. Sticky blue energon covers his plating like a second coat of paint. Limping into another chamber of the mine Whirl subspaces another cube of that weird blue energon. Not what he was looking for. A quiet clank of metal far too soft to be his own, has him squinting in an imitation of a smile. “Peek-a-boo!” Pincers snap shut over his advisory’s leg, wrenching the mech from its hiding place, and onto the floor. It immediately begins begging, which was funny the first dozen times, but now Whirl’s over it. “Please, don’t kill me! I jus-just work the mines! I don’t-I dont-“ “I don’t care.” To emphasize his point the ‘copter lashes out with his claws, impaling the mech through its neck, and successfully destroying its vocoder. The mech writhes, grasping at the claw pinning it to the ground. “Ya know, I didn’t even realize you guys were ‘cons until I had already deactivated most of you.” That single golden optic burns uncaring holes into the helpless mech at his pedes. It’s void of any sort of empathy, just watching the other with the same level of detachment as a human regarding an ant. “I think Eyebrows would say that’s concerning .” A sharp kick drives his pede into the miner’s abdominal plating. The mech curls inward on itself in silent pain. “He’d also ask me how I feel, or some slag like that. What about you, how are you feeling?” Whirl peers down at the miner, standing his other pede on top the other’s helm. He leans his weight into it, humming as the mech’s faceplate began to split. “Speechless huh? That good? You’re a weirdo.” “No judgement here, I’m not gonna tattle to anyone about what gets you revved,” Perhaps he presses too hard, because he finds his pede touching the floor, having gone straight through the mech’s helm. The crushed pieces of the miner’s brain module fizz against his pede forlornly. “Whoops. Guess you’re taking your kinks to the grave.” He yanks both his claws and his pede from the greying frame, losing his balance in the process. Whirl’s back hits the far wall with a painful crack. The blue mech allows himself to slide down to the floor as if strutless. His damage report begins to ping at him again, he dismisses it as usual, retrieving one of the blue energon cubes from his subspace. He eyes it thoughtfully with his single optic, turning it around in the mine’s dim lighting as if the angle would change it somehow. “You think this’ll give me some weird organic disease?” The cooling corpse remains considerably quiet. “Yeah, me too.” Whirl clinks the cube against the miner’s chassis then empties the entire cube into his intake. He doesn’t taste it, he hasn’t been able to taste anything in a long time. Nevertheless, he makes the sound of smacking lips he doesn’t have, along with a hum, as if contemplating the flavor. ‘Grinning’ down at the mech he nudges the cold frame with one of his sharp elbows. “Better than the sludge Swerve serves.” He laughs enough for both of them.

[polarishpd]

All Of The Stars Chapter 2: I’d Rather Be Me

Word Count: 4217

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15378726 (HunterWizard, All Of The Stars)

“A diner?"

Lance and Pidge stand in front of the  purple-lit sign reading 'Vrepit Sal's diner'.

"Hope you weren't expecting a club, McClain," Pidge raises an eyebrow, smiling a little as she pushes through the doors. The diner is nearly empty, save for a tall, hulking man standing behind the counter.

"Well, I was hoping to, you know, meet a couple ladies, get on the dance floor, knock back a few-"

"-Katie Holt!" booms the man, completely ignoring Lance's presence and high-fiving Pidge. "Good to see you back here! What's it, the fifth time this week?"

She grins, gesturing behind her back to a booth away from Sal. Lance slips away.

"Not that I'm counting, Sal," she starts, nodding her head towards the happy chef, "but I think it's the sixth."

Sal claps his hands together happily. Lance zones out of the best-friend conversation while the two trade barbs about 'oh, that Hunk!'

"Whaddaya want?" Pidge appears out of nowhere suddenly, slapping a menu in front of him.

"Uh-"

"Two minutes. I've already ordered."

Lance flips feverishly through his menu, which admittedly looked better the more he flipped. Burgers, fries, shakes, waffles, pretty standard diner fare.

"Uh-um, I guess I'll take the garlic knot set?" he stammers, under too much pressure. To his relief, Pidge seems to approve of his choice, nodding and taking back the menu.

"Excellent choice. I'm Italian, did you know?"

She blitzes off, kicking up another storm of conversation with Sal. And no, Lance did not know. She'd always skated for America.

It all seems so...surreal.

Somehow she's everything he expected and completely different at the same time. Definitely a lot more snarky than he expected.

Was it possible that she would have watched him while he was competitive? Adored him, even?

Nah. No way.

But he watched her. A lot. Something about her skating was...curious. Her skating was remarkably different to his. In too many ways to describe.

His eye catches sight of the little dab of smeared black rimming her eyes. It can't help but remind him of the first day he watched her skate.

¬3 YEARS AGO¬

"And that was an excellent start to the senior Ladies' event! Up next, we have a first-year senior, who's done impressively getting into the final at only 16. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome, from the United States...Katie Holt!"

Lance stands on the side in the exclusive skaters' area, a glistening silver medal hanging around his neck. Damn Lotor. Whatever.

The first thought he has when Katie Holt skates on the ice is about her dress. Outlandish. Most of her bodice is a sweet, innocent, sparkly white, but wrapping around her left and down her skirt is a stark, shimmering black, swishing around her almost hypnotically.

What song is she skating to?

Suddenly, Lance's heart skips a beat, because for a moment-and just a moment-she looks up, right into his widened eyes.

She nearly falters-but continues skating on, arms open, acknowledging the crowd.

Barely even warming up, Katie Holt settles into place, bowing her head between crossed arms.

Damn.

The music starts, a barely discernible tinkle of bells.

She doesn't move.

Loudly, a famous descending scale of chords rings out, and she leaps into action.

Of course.

Phantom of the Opera.

Katie skates fast, powerfully, cutting across the ice with large crossovers.

"And she's setting up for her first jumping pass..."

Without hesitation, she picks straight up into a triple lutz, swinging back up with a triple loop right after.

Lance gaped. An almost non-existent combo for both men and ladies.

Double axel from difficult entry. Landed. Triple sal. Easy. Even in the air she looks bored.

The music softens, blurring into a lyrical section just as she moves into the step sequence.

Think of me,

Think of me fondly,

When we've said goodbye...

Fast steps, deep edges, plenty of upper body movement. Beautiful. Lance himself was strong in the steps too, but she...was she an ice dancer or something?

Remember me,

Once in a while

Please promise me you'll try...

Her eyes glisten a little. Hmm.

Katie speeds up again, exiting a flying spin and cutting across to the center, gliding backwards, and hitting a triple lutz right on the beat, the music abruptly banging back into the iconic theme.

From here on, she's a majestic blur, jump after jump landed with remarkable ease. Triple flip. Triple flip, half loop, triple sal. Double axel, triple toe. No problem. No underrotation, shaky landings. None.

Finally, as the music builds, she enters a layback spin, pulling into a haircutter, into a beautifully arched Biellman. And as she exits, she reaches her hand upwards, bringing it in to her heart and crumpling to the ice.

Remember me...

Nothing short of amazing.

Lance couldn't tear his eyes away.

She won that day.

~~~

"Lance? Lance?" Pidge waves a hand in front of his face, finally eliciting a startled response. "Good, thought I lost you again."

"No-no, you didn't. Oh wow!"

Pidge proudly beams, holding two plates of food that materialized much faster than Lance had anticipated. One filled with garlic knots, the other with a burger. And damn, did the food look good.

"Do you like peanut butter? I got us a milkshake to share, but I'm perfectly capable of downing a whole one on my own if you like-"

"-I like peanut butter-"

"-great!"

Pidge can only pray that Lance can't see how skittish and nervous she's been acting. Can you blame her?

"Mmm, this is good..." he mutters, hungrily tearing into his garlic knots. Pidge takes this as a cue to dig into her burger, the beefy juices making her sing mental hymns. Ah...good food feels doubly great on an empty stomach.

"Yeah, I got the food free because my pal Hunk helped Sal get a bunch of regulars," she responds, amidst chews.

"Aw man, Pidge, I was going to pay! Make a good first impression on my new colleague!" he jokingly whines, pouting dramatically.  Pidge scoffs.

"Sure, you can just go over there and pay. No problem."

Pidge doesn't like how she goes a little red when he gives her a small, amused smile.

"What brings you to Castle Rink, Lance McClain?" she starts. Okay, admittedly she's pretty crap at small talk, but she should make an effort. It's Lance McClain, for god's sake, its not every day she gets the chance to befriend such a guy. (though admittedly, her impression of him was rapidly...changing.)

He takes in a deep breath, letting it all out in a surprisingly dramatic sigh.

"You know, once you've seen it all, the big cities and the fast life, I just really wanted to settle down-"

"-cut the bullshit, no offense-"

"-okay, Shiro and Allura are two of my biggest skating heros, so of course I was going to take the opportunity," he admits, looking defeated. "I mean, wouldn't you? Plus-"

Suddenly, he cuts himself off, eyes bulging and stuffing a garlic knot in his mouth.

"Plus?" Pidge raises an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Nufin'!"

Hmm.

"They were part of my motivation too," she adds on, still looking skeptical. "I was lucky they took me."

Pidge remembers it solidly. There was no one else that she had even considered when making the switch to singles. It had to be Shiro and Allura. No one else. And they had taken her on faster than she had even hoped for. Back then, it all felt like a dream, to be coached by two skating legends. Now that she's witnessed Shiro falling on a waltz jump and Allura tripping on a backspin, it's...less idolatry.

"Wonder if its too late for me," Lance jokes, looking up wistfully, voice going noticeably softer and quieter.

An awkward pause.

Pidge did hope he would return, but so many seasons of inactivity? She'd lowered her expectations. The men's field hasn't been interesting, with Lotor winning everything unopposed. Ugh.

"Ah, lets cut the serious anime backstory talk," he dismisses, much to her disappointment. "Give me the gossip! Tell me about Castle Rink! Who's the playboy, the emo, the uncle, the mom friend? You got any loooove going around?"

Pidge blinks.

"I'll-I'll let you form your own opinions when you meet them tomorrow," she answers, mentally berating herself for sounding so stiff.

"Fine," he answers, with a mockingly offended tone. "But you owe me the secret gossip after I meet them."

"Deal."

Lance looks up, eyes brightening.

"Is Allura single?"

"LANCE-"

~~~

It's cold outside. But Pidge's face is rapidly getting hotter, and hotter, with her brain neurons firing-

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Is it that bad? Is it a sketchy area? Pidge?"

Pidge glances down at the piece of paper, rubbing her eyes and face, and looking again. Nope. Still the same address.

"What is it?"

She lets out a sigh, slapping the little paper back into Lance's hand and starts to walk.

"Well, Lance," she starts, turning back. "You're living in the same apartment block as me. In fact, you're my neighbour!"

Lance raises an eyebrow.

"Hoo...ray?"

Just her luck. Now she has to live, breathe and literally sleep freaking Lance.

She's not sure how she feels about this.

"C'mon, I usually walk home. Doesn't take long to walk, and I'm too cheap for taxis," Pidge gestures. "You'll learn the way back easily."

"Whatever you say, Pidge."

Lance follows her, just a little ways behind. But he notices her shiver, rubbing her arms, and realises she's wearing oddly little, her shoulders exposed to the biting cold.

"Hey, Pidge-" he calls, tapping her shoulder. She stops and turns around, and Lance is suddenly struck by how tiny she is. Like an elf.

"-yeah?" she breathes out, now unable to hide her cold. He yanks off his jacket, thrusting it to her.

"Here. You're cold."

For a moment, she looks like she's about to protest, but finally gives in and lets him slide the too-large jacket onto her, his fingers just barely brushing the cream skin not covered by her flimsy knit sweater.

Pidge covers her face, a little flushed (from the cold?), burrowing into the jacket.

"T-thanks."

She pauses, turning to Lance.

"You still want to hear that gossip?"

Lance smiles.

~~~

Lance's jacket is warm. Cozy. She likes how its too big, enveloping her small body. And most importantly, it smells really good.  Some kind of musky sandalwood. Shit, did Lance see her face go all red?

"You're telling me that they haven't fixed this lift for how long?!"

"Three years, no less," Pidge responds, casually and nimbly bounding up the stairs. Lance groans.

"This is my off-ice conditioning," he complains. "I thought they were going to fix this."

"If there's one thing I know, Lance, it's to never trust landlords."

She's up to their floor much faster than him. With a tinge of regret, Pidge slides the cozy jacket off her shoulders, slinging it over her arm. Lance appears, panting dramatically.

"How did you skate a near-whole program with this kind of stamina?" Pidge laughs, giving him a hand and yanking him up. Jokingly, Lance keels over, coughing and hacking.

"Oh, stop it-"

"-I'm an old man, Pidge."

Again, she pulls him up, Lance's fingers lingering for a touch too long.

"Goodnight, Lance," she laughs, thrusting the jacket to the panting boy. "Here."

To her surprise, he waves her off, turning and heading to his door.

"You-you can keep it. Think of it as my replacement first impression gift."

Smiling doofishly, he salutes, unlocking his apartment door.  Pidge stands still, eyes open wide and face definitely a little red.

"I-uh-"

"Good night, Pidge. See you tomorrow!"

And just like that, he's gone.

Pidge is left staring at his door, slowly putting the jacket back on.

What is this random smile?

~~~

The Castle Rink bustles with hordes of teenagers, kids and freezing parents.

"And now children, follow me! Push just like I showed you!" crows a redheaded, mustached man, stooping on the ice and gesturing wildly to a bunch of giggling kids.

"Hot dogs! Get your hot dogs!" Lance hears somewhere in the distance, a voice that's very vaguely familiar.

"That's the best you can do? You have to try harder, kids!" scolds a...mulleted guy, leaning on the wall with crossed arms and barking at a bunch of kids doing push ups. "Hockey players need some kind of arm stamina!"

Lance rolls his eyes at the hair, thinking how it could do with some relaxation treatments, or maybe a deep-conditioning? Either way, that boy needed his ass dragged to the salon-

"-I can't believe you beat me here!"

Lance looks in horror as a panting Pidge speeds towards him, her shrill exclamation breaking his train of thought.

"Relax, Pidge-"

Lance gently takes hold of her arms, stopping her in her tracks. Her hair is messy, loose strands flying everywhere, crystal beads of sweat dotting her brow and face painted with a ruby flush.

Pidge stops, bending over and looking up, near to hyperventilation.

"-ah-I told myself-oof-that I would-ah-show you around first," she breathes out. "But you know, it's-oof-okay, totally didn't-"

Suddenly, she cuts herself off, eyes widening and face somehow going even redder.

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"What is it, Pidge..."

"I said-"

"Lance! Welcome!"

It takes Lance every fiber of his being to not immediately scream and faint on the spot when he sees Takashi Shirogane wave, grinning at him. At him. He's got the amazing build, two-tone hair, and most notably the prosthetic arm. As perfect as he looked on a screen.

Instead of that, he settles for a cool nod of acknowledgement, smile, and offered hand.

"Ni-nice to meet you, Mr. Shirogane."

Pidge snickers from behind Shiro.

"Call me Shiro. I see you've met Pidge," he notes, turning around and playfully mussing up her hair even more. "Such a ball of energy, isn't she?"

"Y-yeah," he answers, still a little dazed.

"I was very glad to see your application, Lance. Not only did you have a pretty good resume, Pidge here-"

Pidge's eyes flash angrily-suddenly, she's leaped on Shiro's back and slammed her tiny hands on his mouth with surprising force. Shiro laughs, a muffled sound behind the iron-grip, and all Lance can do is stare with bewilderment at the very odd scene.

Is this what it's like to be friends with your co-workers?

And as if it wasn't enough, watching the demure-sized Pidge grappling on his truck-sized idol, attempting to literally shake Pidge off, Lance's rapidly weakening heart has to take a literal goddess waltzing in the room.

Freaking.

Allura.

The Allura.

She looks like she's glowing, with the great wide smile, bright white hair, and glittering blue eyes. Almost floating on air...

"TAKASHI SHIROGANE! KATIE HOLT!"

And all of a sudden, the goddess metamorphs into a blazing, raging, hellish ball of fire, her mere presence terrifying enough to turn Pidge and Shiro into a cowering pair of whimpering children.

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT TUSSLING IN THE ENTRANCE-oh hello, Lance, good to see you here!"

Lance blinks. She's smiling again, speaking in a perfectly pleasant British accent.

Wow.

"Um-uh-yeah, Pidge told me the way, we happen to be living across each other-"

"-LANCE!"

"-oh, is that so?" Allura ignores the outburst, merely sending Pidge a sideways smirk. "Excellent. You've got to meet Hunk, and Keith, and Coran-come on over here!"

Wait.

The redheaded man, mullet, and a guy in an apron-wait-

This was the Hunk of Castle Rink?

Shit.

The three slowly sidle over, Coran literally leaping over in one bounce. The second Hunk sees him, Lance notices the little flash of recognition which soon dissipates; Hunk looks downwards, twiddling his thumbs.

"This is Coran," Allura introduces. "He's our resident expert speed skater, won quite a number of medals in his day. Our most jovial coach."

Coran gives Lance a quick one-over, much more dramatically than most with squinted eyes and multiple moustache twirls, finally offering his hand, apparently satisfied.

"Good to meet you, Lance. I'm Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe, and I hope you like our humble rink. Belonged to Allura's father, you know, since-"

Allura's tinkling laugh cuts Coran off.

"Let's save him the exposition, shall we? Okay, this is Keith. He-"

Keith holds up a (very edgily) fingerless-gloved hand.

"Let's save him the exposition, shall we?" Pidge, Shiro and Coran snicker, much to Allura's obvious annoyance. Keith smirks, pleased.  "Hi, I'm Keith, I play hockey, I teach hockey, I don't like small talk."

He doesn't offer his hand, simply tilting his head in acknowledgement. Lance raises his eyebrows.

"And this is Hunk!"

"He already knows who I am, Allura," Hunk waves off, suddenly seeming a bit unsure. "Right?"

Lance couldn't ever forget about Hunk. Who could forget about a happy, kind, friendly middle-school best friend?

"How could I forget you, buddy? I always regretted leaving the Garrison," Lance sighs, moving in for their secret handshake, still remembered after so long. But either Hunk doesn't remember it, or Hunk rejects him completely, because Lance finds his hand floating unrequited in the air. So he slowly brings it back down to his side, feeling the burn in his face.

 "No, no you didn't."  

Hunk doesn't look up at him.

Allura, as if sensing the tension, cuts in with all her British-cheeriness.

"All of you better return to your classes before we get World War Three up in here, Shiro and I will take Lance and get him oriented with our schedule. Pidge, go warm up, class soon!" she trills. Shiro and Allura both grab Lance, pulling him off to the office.

Pidge frowns.

Lance never mentioned knowing Hunk.

¬¬¬

"Long day, huh?"

Pidge laughs as Lance flops back on the couch, long legs and arms dangling everywhere.

"Allura never mentioned my work hours when she hired me," he groans. "I don't think I've ever taught twelve classes in a day before!"

"You probably should have asked," Pidge snarks, yanking at an arm and pulling him back on the ice with her, suddenly smiling. "or were you too tongue-tied?"

"I was-I was not!" Lance flushes bright red. "I was more tongue tied with Shiro, if I'm being honest!"

Pidge chuckles softly, skating a round of the rink effortlessly, clearly enjoying the freedom of an empty rink. Lance couldn't help but notice how pretty her auburn hair looked as it splayed out, trailed behind her. She does a spin, nice and centered, before lazily doing some footwork, a slow but elegant twizzle.

She looks...happy.

So he joins her, enjoys the free ice. Lets the tension of the day go away. Just him, Pidge, and the ice. Soon, what started as a free and easy skating session escalates, Lance absentmindedly transitioning into the step sequence from-

"-is that a short program?" Pidge softly wonders aloud, but it's enough to stop Lance, which Pidge immediately protests.

"Yes it is-was-was," Lance corrects, smacking his head. He'd liked that program. A lot.

He'd always been thinking too far into the future, huh? Came back and bit him on the ass.

"Why didn't-why didn't you use it?" she asks, almost shyly. With a single push, she glides right beside him.

"My injury. I don't know if you know-"

"-trust me, I know-"

"-oh?" So she does know his competitive career. "I just-just couldn't find it in me to go back."

Pidge is a confusing mix of emotions, flitting from sad, disappointed, to confused, annoyed.

"Who choreographed it? It's really good. Suits you."

"I did," Lance answers, a little surprised-and pleased-at the praise. "I was getting into that."

"You should choreograph for the kids," Pidge suggests, starting to skate around again. Lance follows her, the two falling into an easy and surprisingly comfortable pace and rhythm. "It's a waste."

Lance tosses his phone over to Pidge, heart nearly dropping out of his chest when she fumbles the catch.

"Just kidding."

"You're evil. Pick a song. Whatever you like."

Pidge frowns questioningly, but skates off, connecting the phone to the system. It's perfect timing, really, because the song only starts once she's rejoined him.

It's just another night And I'm staring at the moon I saw a shooting star And thought of you  

"Didn't peg you for a cheesy love song girl," he laughs, making Pidge stick out her tongue at him. He holds a hand out, which she reluctantly takes.

"Well, there's a lot you don't know about me, especially my elusive music taste. So why did you ask me to pick a song, again-ah!"

Suddenly, Lance spins her around with alarming speed, breaking into a series of crossovers, her grip tightening with every movement.

I can see the stars From America I wonder, do you see them, too?

"Try and improvise!" he laughs. As the chorus begins, Lance lets go of her, moving into a series of steps, leaping up into a simple delayed axel, perfectly timed to the music. It's alarming to Pidge. How does someone be so free and easy? Just make everything up on the spot?

I can hear your heart On the radio beat They're playing 'Chasing Cars' And I thought of us

 PIdge can only watch in awe. Lance just...dances. A dancer on ice. While she was an ice dancer, everything was planned, every movement, every little step had to be perfect. She won with Matt because of how precise they were, and how she worked so well with him. But figure skating...figure skating is so different, that she cannot be rigid and win.

So I took your hand Back through lamp lit streets I knew Everything led back to you  

Lance reaches out for her again, their fingers nearly missing, fumbling to meet. It's awkward and clumsy, their attempts to skate together. But Lance seems determined, and Pidge actually finds herself enjoying their dance, of sorts.

You're the song my heart is Beating to

The romantic implications of the song are not lost by Pidge, who can't help but wonder...but her thoughts are interrupted when Lance starts twizzling, almost like a challenge; so she joins him, twizzling just as fast, but completely out of sync, making Lance laugh.

Nearly feeling free, letting her mind and body separate...

"Sorry I'm not your brother!"

Something snaps.

Pidge goes and turns the music off.

"Wasn't that fun? C'mon, admit it!" he gives her a shit-eating grin, knocking her on the shoulder.

"Yeah...yeah..."

Pidge forces herself to smile. It was fun. Just...until it wasn't.

"Hey, you haven't got a program yet," he points out, a little breathless. "Shiro was mentioning choreographing you new ones this season?"

Pidge coughs, looking as if she'd rather not answer that question.

"Um-well, I wasn't sure if I was going to compete this season. Coaching-"

"-You're kidding, right?!" Lance interrupts, unable to control the outburst. "You're Katie Holt, you're-"

"-I'm what?" she questions, leaning in, tilting her head.

"-anyway, my point is you're still in competitive shape. You could still compete. Here's an idea, I'll choreograph your program for you! You said it was a waste if I don't choreograph, so this is a win-win situation, isn't it?"

Pidge freezes.

"But..."

"But what?"

It seemed a perfectly sensible idea.

"Well, you see..." Pidge huffs out, stuffing her hands in her jacket pocket, gaze trailing to her skates. "You and I, we're very different skaters, you see...I mean, you're interesting! I skate to friggin' Beethoven! Not even Shostakovich at least! And not to mention-"

"O-Oh-Okay, calm down here," Lance gently takes hold of her hands, flying around in a multitude of directions. "First of all, your skating is not boring. Second of all, it's never too late to try something new! Come on, Pidge, what do you say?"

Pidge pauses, looking down at her small hands in Lance's.

And slowly, she utters a single word.

"No."

She tugs her hands back.

"I'm sorry, Lance. I don't even know if I'll be competing, you know? So I'd rather not waste your time. I meant what I said, you should go choreograph, we've got some talented kids here that I know you'll love."

Lance can only think about how there might be a ton of talented kids rising up in the ranks, but none of them like Pidge. So what if she skated to classical music? He's seen what she can do. She could change it up. She could become a star again, goddamnit, instead of being the fifth place finisher at a random Grand Prix event. He has so much to say, but all he can muster up is:

"Yeah."

~~~

The walk back home is nothing like it was the first day. Awkward, silent. Boring. Towards the end, Pidge seems to warm up a bit.

"Hey, I'm sorry," Pidge apologizes, as they begin their long, long walk up.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I kind of do."

When Lance doesn't respond, rather can't respond, Pidge takes it as a cue to stick in her earphones.

What she doesn't remember is their great height difference. What she doesn't remember is how easily he can see her phone. What she doesn't remember-or maybe, doesn't know yet- is how Lance is the snoopiest person in Castle Rink.

She's listening to Panic At The Disco, of all things. This is Gospel. A favourite of Lance-both of them, it seems.

Lance laughs.

He's going to make her one hell of a program.

Pidge doesn't even hear him.

I hope you enjoyed! Check my blog soon for the next chapter :)

[alluran]

autumn leaves

klancetober day two | direct follow-up w/ even more romantic gestures to one we were in screaming color

“Keith, buddy. I know we’ve had our rough patches and you’re probably still out for revenge from the last prank, but does it all really warrant you bringing a literal bag of garbage into my apartment when I’m already sick?”

Keith set the grocery bag on the coffee table in front of Lance’s overzealous cold cocoon on the couch. “Be prepared to eat those words.”

“Sorry, Hunk’s got me on a strict soup and saltines regimen, nothing too acidic.”

He rolled his eyes as Lance struggled to sit up in the pile of blankets he had tangled himself into since the first sign of a fever. He bit the inside of his cheek when Lance finally got halfway to sitting all of the way up. “What was that two weeks ago about taking the boy out of the sub-tropical climate?”

“Okay it’s not my fault that I enjoy seasonal changes, but my body does not. You’re really out to kick a man when he’s already down, aren’t you?”

“Something like that.” Keith called over his shoulder as he left Lance to find his legs in the mess of blankets, He pulled out his phone to read over a text from Shiro and started to pull Sprite and soup from the fridge. It took some effort to hunt down the tapped supply of saltines in the cabinet, but he got everything and made his way back to Lance.

Who was spilled over the edge of the couch, one leg still hopelessly tangled in the blankets and the other sticking straight out in the air.

“How have you not died without supervision yet?”

Lance sniffed. “I’ll have you know this doesn’t happen every time.” Lance tracked Keith’s movements, setting the crackers and drink down on the table to put soup in the microwave. “But please, take your time. My immune system and upper body strength is just compromised and all of the blood is rushing painfully to my head.”

Keith crossed him arms and raised his eyebrow down at Lance. “I don’t know, I think your brain could use a little extra blood flow for a change.”

Lance groaned and slid more onto the floor before Keith finally took mercy on him and came to help him. Lance knew he ran warm, even warmer with the cold from hell wreaking havoc on his skin despite the care he took in it, but the first brush of Keith’s hand on his arm was incredible. He was a very tactile person. Keith had nice, strong hands. So sue him if he couldn’t think of anything better than the relief of cool, calloused fingers wrapped around his arm before they warmed up as Lance was righted. Having a cold felt isolating, not that he expected Hunk to still be down for cuddles and hugs when he was gross and contagious, but he was weak for something more than a measured shoulder pat or brief circle of fingers between his shoulder blades.

Which were good things, he wasn’t complaining.

He just happened to buzz with the want of someone beside him despite the coughing and the worrying amount of empty tissue boxes surrounding him.

Lance settled back into the couch and sighed when Keith’s hand didn’t immediately pull away but brushed down his arm.

Man, he was tired again already.

“Don’t fall asleep.”

Lance peeked one eye open at Keith. “Rest is literally what I need right now, Keef.”

“I promised Hunk I would make sure you ate something before you went back into another coma nap.”

“Hm, and what does this have to do with the gift of trash?”

The microwave beeped, cutting off Keith’s retort. Lance’s eyes snapped to the grocery bag on his coffee table with dirt or something in it. Keith probably brought him the plague without even realizing it. Well, it was nice while it lasted. If he died at least he wouldn’t have to deal with the god awful stuffy nose that made just existing suck. The second he didn’t have it, he was going to devote a whole four hours to appreciating cleared up sinuses.

Why had he been so ungrateful before this?

Breathing unhindered was great. He could sit or lay down in any position without his body suffocating itself. He wasn’t just restricted to the one position that allowed him to breathe but may have permanently molded his back into a lowercase r.

“Solid point, I’ll remember to be more grateful I don’t have all of that.” Keith gestured to Lance as he set Hunk’s soup in front of him. “But being dramatic about it is just going to make you more miserable, so..”

Oh, he’d said that out loud.

Freaking Benadryl.

Lance shook his head and reached for the bowl when he noticed Keith go down his hallway. “Uh, where ya going, bud?”

“You’re out of tissues.”

“Oh, we might have another box in the hallway closet? Whiiiiich you just passed?”

Keith ducked out of his line of sight, definitely sneaking into his bedroom. “Yep.”

“Hey now! Just because a man’s down, doesn’t mean you get to tear through his room. Get your mullet back here, you jerk.” Keith didn’t answer him. Lance knew he could definitely hear him. His body lurched with the thought of standing. So taking Keith down was out of the question. “I will come to your house and move all of your furniture a fraction of an inch so you stub every one of your toes if you do not get back out here now, Kogane.”

The sound of the hallway closet opening and shutting muffled Keith’s words. “I don’t think it has the impact you’re hoping for if you tell me about it beforehand.”

Keith appeared back in the living room, tossing an unopened box of tissues on the couch beside Lance and set the camera he gave him beside the mysterious bag of trash.

Panic rose in Lance’s chest because he knew for a fact that he had a gnarly pillow crease on the left side of his face that went from his ear, up his cheekbone, and over his eyebrow. He was in a t-shirt that had been washed and worn so many times that the collar never went back to normal, it hung low against his collarbone making it look more like it had been worn and not washed. His pores screamed at him because he had to cut his skin routine short for the sake of rest and not standing longer than ten minutes at a time. Add to that the two empty tissue boxes, overflowing waste basket of used tissues and saltine packages. It was a waking nightmare.

“W-what. Whatchya doing with my camera?” His voice climbed several octaves as Keith turned it on and adjusted the settings.

Once he was done, he set it in front of Lance and relief washed over him. At least if Keith decided that whatever he had planned paled in comparison for a revenge opportunity, then Lance had some chance to lean forward fast enough to fight Keith for it.

“You’ll see. Also, eat before the soup gets cold.” Keith sat down on the floor on the other side of the coffee table, not pausing in his work as he untied the grocery bag and began to pull things out.

Cold medicine was seriously messing with Lance because he was in no way prepared for Keith to start pulling leaves out of the bag and lining them up on the coffee table like it made the best sense in the world. Like this was something people did. Ate soup and saltines while staring at leaves in various stages of decay. Total normal, wholesome American past time. 100%.

Lance lifted the spoon to his mouth and swallowed, the warmth uncurling some of the tension in his chest. “You’re gonna have to give me a hint here. I’m lost. And vaguely still concerned you’re going to throw trash at me.”

Keith sighed, looking back up at Lance through his eyelashes like Lance had asked the world’s dumbest question. “You’re too sick to go to the park and I didn’t know how long it would take you to get better.”

He said it so earnestly, Lance didn’t have the heart to question him further. He sat back and ate in silence, watching Keith focus back on his work as he carefully pulled more leaves out of the sack and lined them up on the table, occasionally switching one leaf with another in the line. A deep burgundy leaf, almost the size and width of Keith’s palm was at Keith’s right, followed by a vibrant red. The leaf looked like a Valentine with its shape resembling a heart. Keith rifled through the bag and considered a yellow and a green one, setting them both aside to rummage for an orange one.

Lance swallowed thickly as he tried to make no sudden movement or noise as he set the half eaten bowl of soup back on the coffee table and reached for the camera.

No way.

No. Way.

There was no way Keith couldn’t hear how fast and loud Lance was breathing through his mouth, but he kept working. Lance raised the camera to his eye, finding the top of Keith’s dark head in the viewfinder, his small ponytail curled toward his neck. He lowered the shot to catch the line of leaves, laid out in the start of an impressive gradient. Lance made sure none of his food or the tissue boxes interrupted the frame as he focused and hoped Keith wouldn’t get suspicious and look up too soon.

Lance bit his lip and clicked the shutter button, the noise and flash catching Keith’s attention a beat later.

“Lance.”

“Told you I’d get your picture.” He smiled, the brief irritation on Keith’s face falling away as he looked at Lance with a small tilt to his mouth.

There was a brief tickle at the back of his head, he thought he had seen the look before. He didn’t know what to make of it yet.

Hunk was tired when he got home, his brain complete goo after his shift at work. It took him a solid three tries to get the door unlocked and then, two more times to get the key out of the lock once it was opened. It really shouldn’t have almost brought him to tears, but there he was. Emotionally drained and ready to fight the front door.

It was a miracle Lance had slept through his very loud tussle, he was a light sleeper for the most part and since he struggled breathing it was a fight for Lance’s body to relax enough to allow him the kind of fitful rest he needed. A spark of panic rushed through him. Hunk softly shut the door and walked closer to the couch, studying the mountain of blankets currently hiding his best friend and waited.

Lance shuddered in his sleep and coughed.

“Okay, good. Good. Very good. You’re not dead.” Hunk scrubbed a hand over his face and kicked off his shoes. “Obviously you can’t breathe better yet, but not dead. That’s all I’m asking for here. Wha-” He turned to the table, ready to tackle the damage Lance did on the tissue boxes and a filmy soup bowl.

His brain came to a painful halt.

The information his eyeballs took in did not compute. He was tired and stressed, but he didn’t think it was bad enough be into full on, very vivid and convincing hallucination of a clean coffee table. Even Lance’s waste basket was empty and had a fresh bag in it. Hunk gingerly walked backwards toward the kitchen.

A reverse robber? Some perverse serial murder that was hiding in the hall closet that went out of their way to make everything look pleasant before the real nightmare? The ghost he definitely heard crinkle a candy wrapper behind him the other day when no one else was home???

He really couldn’t handle a poltergeist.

Sure they started out not as threatening and okayish but they never stayed that way. It was October, they had to be at Maximum Strength or something. They cleaned Lance’s soup bowl, even let it properly dry in the dish rack, and twisted the open saltine pack shut with one of their chip clips. Major props.

Hunk went back out to the living room, Lance still passed out and unaware of the panic settling in. They needed to thank the ghost and then get out. No waiting. No going to sleep with the TV on. No s-

Okay, definitely an evil poltergeist because there was literally a bag of trash sitting on the floor at the end of the couch Lance was laying on. It was probably leaking death spores into the air.

He carefully brushed his toe against the bag - maybe the spiders and scorpions were just hidden and waiting for him to get close before they would crawl out.

Nothing happened.

Hunk leaned over the bag and saw a scrap of white that sat on the top of the- were those leaves? He plucked the object off of the top and stared at it.

It was a solid minute later and he was still staring.

The picture answered some things, mostly there were only more questions. He understood it in parts - the top of Keith’s head angled over the coffee table, leaves laid out in a gradient, the flash that washed out his skin in comparison to his black t-shirt, his relaxed posture. Put together? Zero sense.

Hunk glanced over the picture at Lance. “What have you guys been up to?”

a/n: bless hunk, honestly.

and the candy wrapper thing happened to me today while I was at my mom’s doing laundry. this one got away from me a little a bit, but I had fun with it. I wanted to combine days one and two in a chapter so the story is now up on ao3! read it here.

[iturbide]

Honestly, bless you and your writing! Quality content fadgsaffsg-- But what if something super bad happened? Like the summoner somehow got captured by maybe Muspell (Surtr?) ovo I'm imagining the reasoning could be something like 'Askr is nothing without their precious summoner. Watch as their mockery of a kingdom falls apart even before I raze it to the ground.' kinda deal? How would Grima (and the whole castle by proxy I suppose) react? :>

quality content I am so flattered okay i’m still screaming about this

but okay you see this

this prompt

this set my brain on fire

so please forgive me for the fact that this monster is literally 6,500 words long and clocks in at a full 18 pages

If you’ve read anything else of mine that exceeds a thousand words, I like to change perspective sometimes.  For ease of understanding, asterisks (*) represent a perspective shift, dashes (-) represent a scene shift.  The first bit is there as a teaser, the part below the cut is significantly larger, you have been warned. 

Kiran was fairly certain by now that combat would never become familiar.  Nothing in their prior life could have prepared them for this, and even with as many fights as they’d seen (and between the conflict with first Embla, now Múspell, and all of the battles waged for practice in the Training Tower or sport in the Arena, they had seen a lot), it never really felt natural or right, sending soldiers – friends – onto the field to fight and bleed and sometimes fall for the Askran cause.  

Perhaps it was good that war did not sit well with them.  But regardless of their feelings, they had a job to do here, and they intended to do it well.  Anything to keep Askr from becoming a mirror of Nifl’s scorched wasteland: the further they traveled, the more wreckage they encountered, empty towns covered in snow that could not hide the burned remains of what had once been thriving communities.

As they continued their trek toward Nifl’s former capital, the Askran forces had run afoul of Múspell soldiers camped in one of the ruined villages.  Tagging Ike, they glanced briefly at his health, winced, and instead sent Lissa to heal him before ordering the young mercenary into a green mage’s line of fire.  Robin moved to intercept a mounted archer encroaching on their flank, sending a conspiracy of magic ravens tearing through the bowman’s defenses, while overhead a six-winged dragon banked slowly over the battle, awaiting his next command.

“We might need to retreat,” Kiran muttered as enemy reinforcements appeared upfield, well beyond their line of sight but easily tracked by the tactical map piped into their phone.  The axe fighter and the red manakete wouldn’t be so bad, with Alphonse and Sharena to intercept them, but the cavalier with the firesweep lance was another matter…

“The situation hardly seems so dire.”

The Summoner looked up at the hooded figure leaning over their shoulder, a wry smile twitching across their face.  “When did you take over as the Order’s tactician?”

Grima rolled his eyes, keeping easy pace with the Kiran as they picked their way through the remnants of the village square.  Several of the houses beyond remained more or less intact: the narrow streets would afford them a good choke point to deal with additional reinforcements, provided they could keep their ranks in order.  Humming thoughtfully to themselves as they climbed the steps of an abandoned home, Kiran drew the Askran fighters one by one across the on-screen grid, casting a quick glance back the way they’d come to see faintly glowing marks on the ground leading into the plaza.  They still had no idea what Breidablik had done to their phone, but it had certainly been effective.

“Incoming,” the Summoner noted, listening to the approaching hoofbeats.  “You ready?”

The fell dragon grinned, violet flames licking at his boots.  “Always,” he chuckled.  Though they both knew it wasn’t necessary, Kiran still moved Grima’s icon down the street as he advanced, the great six-winged form overhead descending to attack.  More reinforcements had appeared around the square, and the Summoner bit their lip as they sized up the new opposition, attempting to suss out the least risky solution to their predicament.  Tapping a few troops experimentally, Kiran gauged their chances…and, satisfied that they could pull off a defensive ploy, moved their allies one by one to engage the newly summoned soldiers, grinning as the blinding glow from Alphonse’s Sol momentarily brightened the overcast afternoon.  Grima’s dragon form screeched as an axe fighter filled the position occupied by the now fallen cavalryman, and the Summoner glanced briefly at the screen…only to chuckle at the damage predictor’s single-digit output.  Even with two hits, there was no chance they could take down the Wings of Despair.  Maybe they had been too hasty, considering retreat–

“Hello, Summoner.”

Kiran froze.

They hadn’t heard movement in the building behind them.  Hadn’t even considered that someone might be in there waiting – which was foolish, given the hard lesson they’d learned combatting the Black Knight not so long ago.  But they slowly raised their hands in the universal gesture of peaceful submission, taking great care not to disturb the blade pressed to their neck.

“Hello,” the Summoner replied, grateful that their voice did not quake the way the rest of them did.  “It’s Laegjarn, right?”

“I’m flattered that you recall my name,” the general chuckled.  “Perhaps you also recall my offer.”

“Surrender quietly and you won’t hurt me?”

“Your memory serves you well.  What say you?”

Kiran swallowed, feeling the sword’s edge burn their throat.  With the fight still raging out of sight in the plaza and Grima’s attention focused on the wyvern rider flying into range, no one had seen the enemy under their noses.  No help was coming.

Some tactician they turned out to be.

“I submit.”

“Very good.  Please disarm, Summoner.”

The blade at their throat relaxed an inch.  Nodding slightly, Kiran removed Breidablik from its place on their hip, kneeling to lay it on the stoop alongside their phone…

…and as they lingered, casting one last pleading look toward the fell dragon, they cranked the volume up to the max.  The music barely even reached their own ears over the pounding of their heart, and the general made no remark on it as the Summoner straightened.  

“Thank you for being so cooperative,” Laegjarn remarked, taking hold of Kiran’s arm and pulling them into the shadows of the scorched house.  The back half had collapsed, blackened beams jutting from the ash; the Múspell general paid the wreckage no mind as she guided them out onto the next road and past a fresh wave of soldiers.  “Retreat,” she ordered.  “We have what we came for.”

The troops pulled back from the village with shocking speed.  The Askran forces remained, perhaps confused by the swift turn of the tides, perhaps elated at their victory.  Kiran did not know.  They could only wonder what the Heroes would feel when they realized what they’d lost.

***

Grima frowned as the Múspell soldiers withdrew.  “Barely a challenge,” he snorted.

Something’s strange.

“I’m inclined to agree, given how fierce these forces are said to be–”

We were outnumbered.  There were still reinforcements coming in.  Why did they retreat?

He glanced up at the dragon floating lazily overhead.

A wyvern rider tried to stab you in the face.  I don’t think the dragon really made much of an impression.

A grin twitched across Grima’s face as he moved back down the icy road.  Kiran had left the doorstep; turning into the square, the fell dragon joined the other Heroes that had gathered, submitting without complaint to the fair-haired cleric’s treatment.

“I was worried for a moment there,” the Askran princess giggled.  “There were so many of them!”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle,” Ike muttered, the words clearly at odds with the wounds the healer had yet to mend.

“What troubles me is how quickly the tides turned,” Alphonse said.  “Our enemy has shown fearsome skill at predicting our course of action and heading us off…they may seek to lure us into a trap.”

“Where’s Kiran?” Anna asked.  “Perhaps they’ll have some insight…”

All eyes turned to Grima.

A sense of disquieting unease crawled down his spine.  “I did not see them when the battle ended.  I thought they had joined you here.”

But scanning the worried Heroes that turned to look amongst each other, he found no trace of the Summoner.

“They can’t be far…right?” Lissa asked, wringing her staff between her hands.

“Let’s look for them.  Perhaps they were sidetracked investigating something,” Robin suggested, the slight tremor in his voice betraying his otherwise calm logic.

The fell dragon retraced his steps as the other members of the Order fanned out through the square, calling to the Summoner to reveal themselves.  Approaching the doorstep where he had left them, Grima narrowed his eyes at the open doorway leading into the wreckage.  Had it been ajar before?  If Kiran intended this to be some prank–

That isn’t like them.

As he drew close, an odd sound snared Grima’s attention: a muffled, melodic hum from somewhere nearby.  Tilting his head, he peered up and down the street, toward the scorched eaves, down to the snowy ground…

Oh, gods.

The fell dragon crouched, lifting the Summoner’s magic tile off the step.  Free of the ice, the song it sang grew louder, a tense battle hymn that set his nerves on edge.  “Kiran,” he called, taking to his feet and striding through the doorway, out through the collapsed rear wall, and across the packed snow left by the enemy’s retreat.

No response.

They won’t hear you.

“Kiran!” Grima snarled, loud enough to echo through the wreckage, distorting beyond recognition.

They can’t hear you.

“KIRAN!!”

The dragon overhead shrieked in unison with him, sending scores of dark birds rushing from the forests on every side.  But as the ringing in his ears at last abated, nothing more than silence greeted him.

They’re gone.

—

The Order had searched.  They had scoured the woods until the last light left the sky, following the tracks left by the Múspell soldiers in hopes of finding the place where they converged; but even with six eyes overhead peering through the dark, they found no clues to spur their progress.

Nightfall forced their hand.  With few options and grave uncertainties of what lay ahead, the Order’s commander called for a retreat back to Askr to resupply and assess the situation.  And as little as Grima liked it, he had nothing better to offer.  

“We should gather reinforcements,” the Askran prince insisted as they strode through the luminous gateway into the plaza.  “The Múspell forces couldn’t have traveled far.  If we set off at dawn we may be able to catch up with them–”

“It’s too risky,” the commander replied.  “We don’t know how many soldiers they have.  Even if we were to take the whole of the Order, we’ve no guarantee of victory – and that could be exactly what they want, leaving Askr’s defenses weak for Surtr’s invasion force.  Until we know more, we should wait and prepare.”

“You would abandon them.”

The words echoed through the plaza, leaving silence in their wake.  Grima stalked forward, rage fueling the violet tongues of flame that swirled around him; only the warning from the presence in the back of his mind kept him from lifting the red-headed general off the ground by the front of her tunic.  The Askrans still retreated, warily touching their weapons as the fell dragon stared down at them.

“We’re not abandoning anyone,” Anna insisted, the tremor in her voice undercutting her patient tone.  “Rushing in will only put everyone at risk.”

“Múspell’s general is a formidable strategist, but has treated the people of Nifl fairly even after its fall,” Fjorm offered.  “If she has taken the Summoner, we can be assured of their safety until terms are delivered–”

“And if Surtr is responsible then they may be dead already,” Grima snarled.

“…we can’t afford to risk the Order, or the Summoner’s life, by rushing in ill prepared,” the commander repeated.  “We will make ready, and when we receive word–”

The fell dragon bared his fangs, feeling the pull of the great form atop the castle and wanting nothing more than to bring the walls crumbling down on the Askrans’ miserable heads…

That won’t help Kiran.

He hated that voice.  All the more for the fact that he knew that it spoke true.

Clenching his fists, Grima stormed from the plaza, winding his way through the halls and up to the castle roof where his six-eyed form roosted.  The dragon made a small noise of distress, six eyes fixed on the distant horizon while Grima settled against the parapets and struggled to fight down the rage burning its way through him.  “Miserable wretched cowardly worms, every one of them–”

They have some sound points.

“They’re leaving Kiran to die, how is that a sound point?”

If Surtr had been involved, we would have known it.  He likes to gloat too much.  He wouldn’t have retreated with Kiran, he would have made it known immediately what he’d done.  Odds are good that it is the general who’s responsible, then, and that gives us time to prepare.

“Prepare for what?  Do you really imagine their terms will be anything beyond ‘surrender or we slaughter the Summoner?’”

…unconditional surrender or providing Gunnthrá’s location would be my guess.

Grima sneered, pressing his fists to his forehead.  “How reassuring.”

What else can we do, though?

“How should I know?  As I recall, you were the genius tactician.”

The presence at the back of his mind had no response for that.

Heaving a heavy sigh, the fell dragon reached into the pocket of his coat, removing the Summoner’s magic tile.  The divine weapon they’d left behind had been left in the commander’s care…but Grima had kept the Summoner’s fohn.  The surface had gone dark, the eerie music silent now as he held the device in his palm…but as he prodded it experimentally, the screen flashed to light, a series of tiny white dots speckling the bottom of the screen.

He had watched Kiran toy with this blasted thing often enough.  Touching the surface, he drew his finger through several of the spots…and with a soft click, the tile’s surface rippled and changed, a faint red cast overtaking the screen.  Touching it lightly sent sparks dancing under his fingers…before a map of the Askran kingdom appeared, glowing stones marked with ornate banners scattered across the continent.  The Summoner had shown him this once before…tapping one the seals arranged along the bottom of the tile, he frowned at the banners filing down before his eyes.  Skills, seals, growth…tapping another made the surface shimmer into a list of even less helpful banners: dueling swords, stamina restoration, barracks expansion…

What are you looking for?

“There must be some way to help them,” the fell dragon muttered.  “If this so-called ‘Order of Heroes’ is as grand as the Askrans claim, there must be something…”

Like what?

“If I knew that, would I be searching?” Grima growled, squinting in the tile’s light and touching another symbol, only to find himself back on the map of the kingdom.  “Wretched thing…”

Try the last one.  On the right.

“I didn’t ask you,” Grima snarled.

…I want them back, too, you know.  But I don’t have a body anymore.  I can only help if you’ll let me.

Silence settled over the rooftop, broken only by the whisper of the breeze rustling the Askran flags flying high over the towers.  And finally, without ire or protest, the fell dragon touched the furthest symbol, scanning the list of banners that scrolled before his eyes.

There.  Catalog of Heroes.

Grima touched the words, watching the screen shimmer and change, displaying tiny portraits of the Heroes assembled within the Askran palace.  Dragging his fingertip along the edge sent the tiles trailing out of sight, replaced by new ones.  Some were familiar: Naga’s young daughter, the Hoshidan archer prince, the Ylissean tacticians…others much less so.

Touch one.

He did without argument.  The surface briefly darkened before an image appeared of a fair-haired man in red, a quiver of arrows secured at his side; a scroll emblazoned with a name and epithet hovered over a brief biography…

A strategist.

“How many do you think there are?” Grima asked quietly, touching the scrollwork arrows and browsing through the other Heroes.

If we’re lucky?  Enough.

The dragon felt a smile tug at his lips, exposing pale fangs to the moonlight.  “Then tell me, tactician: what will we need?”

—

It came as no surprise when the Askran troops made no move.  One day passed.  Then another.  A pall of silence hung over the castle; the Heroes carried on their conversations in hushed voices and terse words, half their attention seeming forever fixed on the gates leading to the lands beyond Askr in hopes that some message would arrive from beyond their borders.

None came.

And for that, Grima was grateful.  It would have been far more difficult to lay plans with the Order scrambling to meet Múspell’s demands.

Nightfall cleared the plaza.  None of the Heroes seemed interested in idle chatter when one of their own was missing.  And it made the task of locating them far easier as he stalked through the quiet barracks, glancing from door to door and knocking one by one on the rooms he and the tactician had so carefully chosen.

Responses were, as expected, mixed.  Soren had no interest in helping Grima, with his loyalties so firmly tied to the young mercenary swordsman; Ike, however, needed no encouragement at all to join when he heard the proposal, and in his wake the strategist grudgingly followed.  The Ylissean tacticians, meanwhile, were far more open to hearing the fell dragon out, though the rest of their exalted families harbored grave misgivings (and Grima felt a pang from the presence in his mind when Lucina touched her sword).

They assembled in the castle’s grand council chamber, taking their seats at the round table and looking among their number: four Ylissean tacticians in various states of dress and festive attire, one fair-haired Archanean archer, a stoic swordsman and his branded mage companion an Ostian spy with a sly smile and sharp eyes, and one Ylissean thief contemplating the gathering over a lollipop.

“You said this is about Kiran,” Ike said, breaking the uncomfortable silence at last.

“I did,” Grima agreed.  “And it is.”

“Have you seen something?” his counterpart ventured, glancing up at the ceiling as though searching for the six-winged form roosting far above.

“No,” the dragon replied.  “Which is why I asked you here.”

“…’fraid I don’t follow,” Gaius muttered.

Yes he does.  He just wants to hear you say it.

“How ‘bout you spell it out for us?” the thief continued, leaning far enough back in his chair to nearly upend it.

A smile carved its way across Grima’s face.  “Why are we all here in this place, fighting this war?”

“We were summoned,” Jeorge replied.  “By Kiran, and that strange weapon they hold.”

“I’m still not sure if we’re bound by contract or not,” Robin said, twisting a lock of long white hair around her finger.  “We can’t go home unless we’re sent back, but…”

“I don’t…exactly feel obligated to help here,” her twin agreed, adjusting the coat over her bare shoulders.  “Not like some of the Heroes we’ve encountered in Veronica’s ranks.

“Why is that?” the fell dragon asked.  “Why do you remain here, why do you commit yourself to the Askran cause, if not for a contract?”

“I’m only here because Ike is,” Soren grumbled.  

The swordsman paid him no mind, meeting Grima’s eye steadily.  “Kiran.”

“Kiran,” the fell dragon repeated, beginning to pace the length of the room.  “The Summoner.  The one who brought us together, who’s honed our skills, who’s afforded us every chance to better ourselves.  Who’s listened to us, and tried to help us find our places in this strange world.  Who’s seen us through countless battles and allowed us to be the Heroes we’ve been branded, regardless of our worth.”

You’re waxing poetic.

Kiran brought out a strange side of him.  Turning to the assembled Heroes, he leaned his weight against the table.  “Who’s now lost behind enemy lines, who’s been abandoned by the leaders of this Order, and who may be in danger.”

“You heard Anna,” the festive tactician noted uncomfortably, folding his mittened hands a few times.  “There’s too much of a risk, both to ourselves and to Kiran, to charge back in when we don’t know the full situation.”

A smile tugged at Grima’s lips, exposing the tips of his fangs.  “Then perhaps it would behoove us to rectify that.”

“…alright.  I’ll bite.  How?” Matthew asked, his smile twitching as he fought to keep it in place.

“A covert operation.”

All eyes turned to Grima’s doppelganger.  He folded his hands on the table, meeting the fell dragon’s eye steadily.  “That’s what you’d propose.  Isn’t it?”

“No wonder you need spies and strategists,” the woman seated beside him remarked.  “The first to slip into the Múspell camp, assess their forces and potential weak points; the other to take that and devise the plan to strike, extract Kiran, and retreat.”

“I’d expect nothing less from Ylisse’s illustrious tacticians,” the fell dragon murmured, inclining his head in agreement.

“Why, though?” Gaius asked, propping his boots on the edge of the table.  “What’s in it for you?”

The assembled Heroes turned their attention back to Grima.  He met their stares without flinching, standing tall beside his place at the table.  “You imagine I have selfish motivations.  And you are not mistaken.  Were it another, I would have no qualms about leaving them, whether they were royalty or the Order’s commander.  But this is Kiran.  They are a weak, wretched, pathetic excuse for a human, unable even to defend themselves in a fight.  I want them returned.  Nothing more.”

“…I would like to see the Summoner returned safely, myself,” Jeorge remarked, resting his chin on his hands as the other Heroes nodded in agreement.  “So, then.  Where do we begin?”

—

The council lasted well into the darkest hours of the night.  But their plans came together, bit by bit, until at last they parted ways to rest and prepare for the opportune moment.  Slipping through the plaza, Grima made his way toward the soft glow of the gates that led beyond the Askran kingdom.  If conditions were in their favor, they might be able to set things in motion with the next nightfall–

“Where is Kiran?”

He paused, glancing over his shoulder at Hoshido’s archer prince as he emerged from the shadows of the pillars.  “Not here,” the fell dragon replied brusquely.

“Where?”  His voice sounded hoarse. Narrowing his eyes, Grima watched the noxious violet fog swirl and eddy around the young man.  The possessed one, then.

The volatile one.

“I haven’t seen them since the battle,” the fell dragon said.

“I need to find them,” Takumi insisted.  “Where are they?”

“I could not say.  But they are not here.  Look elsewhere.”

“I’ve looked.  Everywhere.  Nowhere else to go.  I need to find them.”

“…why?” Grima asked.

“It won’t go away.”

The archer pressed a hand to his face, fingers curling into an unsteady fist.  “I try.  I try to block it out, but…the voice keeps telling me…to kill them, all of them, and I can’t make it stop, I need Kiran to make it stop, I need them, where are they…?”

“Gone.”

Takumi looked up, his expression an unsettling mask of distress and rage.  “Where?”

“Captured.”

Are you sure you should be telling him that?

“By who?” the archer growled.

“Múspell,” Grima replied.

“Get them back.”

“The Order intends to do nothing,” the fell dragon sneered.  “They will sit on their hands and wait for Surtr’s demands.  Or for him to put Kiran’s charred corpse on display.  Whichever comes first, I suppose.”

The mist around the prince seethed and roiled, and a thin smile cut across Grima’s face as he watched the bow at Takumi’s side begin to tremble.

You’re doing it on purpose.

“I will go.”

“The Order won’t allow it,” the fell dragon remarked.

“I don’t care.  I’ll go.  I’ll kill them all for Kiran, I’ll get them back, I’ll…”

“You want Kiran back so badly?” Grima murmured, knowing the answer even before he asked.  Takumi nodded, offering no more than a low, guttural noise of assent.  “Then collect yourself.”

The singer might be able to help.  Azura?  Kiran called her in to help before, I think…

The fell dragon gestured for Takumi to follow, making his way back into the halls.  Considering their purpose, a performer could prove advantageous, though a songstress ran the risk of betraying their position…

But if you plan to use him, you need a way to keep him together.  Besides, a singer doesn’t need room to perform the way a dancer does.  Reach out to the one in blue, she’ll have a better chance of blending into the dark.

The fell dragon grinned.  Perhaps it truly had been a stroke of luck that he’d been bound to a tactician’s body.

You can thank me any time.

…he might consider it if they succeeded.

***

Laegjarn had been true to her word: following the retreat from the village, the Múspell general had personally escorted the Summoner through the march to the edge of the forest before placing them – under heavy guard, of course – in a private tent near the heart of the camp.  While Kiran was grateful for that, it didn’t stop anxiety from gnawing a hole through their gut, leaving them queasy and sleepless through the next few days and nights.

It didn’t help that Surtr was on his way.  Laegjarn hadn’t said anything about it, but the Summoner had heard her call for a messenger shortly after they made camp.  It didn’t take a rocket scientist to guess what she was going to send.  

Aside from the unbearable waiting, though, it wasn’t as bad as Kiran might have expected.  No one bothered them, the general was conscious of their needs, and the conditions were more than fair given their prisoner status.

The Summoner wondered, often, as their nerves twisted their stomach into knots, what would end up happening to them.  Laegjarn had vowed that no harm would befall them, but with Surtr on the way, that seemed like a hard promise to keep.  Would she be able to convince her father to discuss nonviolent terms?  Would the flame king overrule his general and act on whatever violent whims ruled him?  Would…

…would the Order somehow find a way to save them?

Impossible as it seemed, that was the thought that gave them the most heart.  Heroes swooping in to the rescue, defeating the Múspell soldiers…

A flurry of activity on the third night made their heart seize up.  Kiran heard Laegjarn calmly directing the soldiers as she strode past the Summoner’s tent…and as she passed, someone entered: not the eldest princess of Múspell, but her sister, her face an expressionless mask and her eyes far colder than her heritage would have implied.

“Is something going on?” Kiran asked, feigning calm.

“You will come with me,” Laevatein ordered.

The Summoner heard no room for argument.  And they weren’t exactly in a position to protest, either.  Rising to their feet, Kiran approached the young general, submitting without protest as she took hold of their arm and led them out of the tent.  

The frantic bustle of activity set their nerves on edge as they moved toward the lanterns lighting the front of the camp.  “Your sister seems pretty great,” they noted quietly, watching soldiers scrambling from one corner of the camp to another.  Kiran swore they saw the ghost of a smile cross Laevatein’s face at that, though she made no reply.  “I’d like to thank her, if I could.  Sometime.  Y’know.  I really appreciate everything she’s done…”

Anything else they might have wanted to say died on their tongue as they approached the edge of camp.  The lights they had seen were not lanterns at all: they were naked flames, writhing in the air and nearly choking the Summoner with their heat alone.  And at their heart stood the Ruler of Flame himself, his dark eyes staring down at them through the rippling haze.

“I present the Askran Summoner,” Laegjarn said, gesturing to Kiran as Laevatein released their arm.

A wicked sneer sliced across Surtr’s face, and any breath the Summoner might have salvaged to speak abandoned them.  “Pathetic,” he chuckled, a sound so low it seemed to shake the ground.  “This wretched thing is what’s given them such nerve?  They look like they would lose to a mere ember.”

Kiran had to admit that they probably would.  But the words would not come out, even if they’d wanted to speak.

The man’s smile grew, exposing teeth and gums alike.  “I wonder how well they will burn.”

He raised a hand, and the Summoner stared at the flames licking his fingers, sparking across his nails and crackling in his palm.  They could not speak.  They could not move.  Try as they might, all they could do was watch in growing horror as his hand stretched toward them, the heat baking their skin and singing the edges of their hood and oh gods this was how they would die, they would burn to death here and they couldn’t even cry as they stood rooted in terror beneath the burning gaze of Múspell’s king–

A hand closed on their arm, pulling them back a step.  

Kiran stumbled, gasping into their sleeve as Laegjarn placed herself between the Summoner and her father.  “I gave my oath that no harm would befall them,” she said, her voice perfectly composed.  “The Summoner is a valuable bargaining chip.  We can deliver terms of surrender to Askr in exchange for their safe return and end this war tomorrow, but only if we have the Summoner to offer–”

“You should not have made such a hasty oath,” Surtr growled.  “Stand aside, or the flames may feast twice this night.”

Kiran’s knees threatened to give way beneath them as Múspell’s king brushed his daughter aside, leaving her armor scorched from even so light a touch.  Another step and he loomed over them, the flames making him seem still larger as they flared around him, and the Summoner could not be sure whether it was the haze of heat around him or the adrenaline coursing through them that made his silhouette waver and blur–

And in a flash, chaos erupted all around them.

Horses shrieked and bolted with glowing green wolves snapping at their heels, blue-black ravens descended on the archers reaching for their bows, and wyvern riders taking to the skies fell to a hail of arrows.  Kiran scrambled blindly out of the way of the scattering soldiers–

Someone gripped their arm.  The Summoner yelped, whirling in a panic…

“Stop sniveling, Summoner.”

Their breath caught.

“…Grima!?”

***

The weather held throughout the day and after the fall of night.  Thick clouds obscured the moon and stars from sight as the band of Heroes made their way through the dark: two mages, two dagger wielders, two archers, a swordsman, and a songstress with an ornate axe.  Not a brigade for sustained combat, but they had all agreed it would suffice for a strategic strike.

They found the Múspell camp with little difficulty.  Gaius and Matthew slipped from the cover of the trees, darting across the icy ground to the pillars of ice that sheltered the enemy tents.  They would need time to assess the situation and return to brief the rest of the company…

A sound overhead drew his attention.  Glancing up at the heavy clouds, Grima narrowed his eyes at the winged silhouette moving against the sky.  He scanned their small force, catching Takumi’s eye and gesturing up to the enemy on patrol; the archer followed his gaze, raising his bow and taking careful aim before loosing a bolt of black energy into the air.  The fell dragon saw the wyvern jerk and list in its flight an instant before its wings crumpled…

A sharp hiss drew his attention back.  He frowned, watching Takumi shudder while the aura pulsed and coiled around his neck.  Nodding briefly to the dark-clad singer, he focused once more on encampment glowing against the blue-white ice while a soft song filled their ears.  Even from this distance, he could see soldiers moving hastily through the lines of tents, seething and swarming like ants disturbed from their mound.  Something was going on, that much was clear…

He heard, rather than saw, the return of the spies from their patrol, the faint crunch of pine needles and snow under soft boots betraying their presence.  “We gotta move fast,” Gaius muttered as he slunk up to Grima’s side.  “Bad news just walked in.”

The fell dragon growled low in his throat.  That would explain the activity.  “Then we had best make haste.”

He moved swiftly, hearing the others following his lead.  They moved swiftly, dark shadows against the pale ice, taking shelter behind the icy stones that littered the plain.  As they drew close, he saw Surtr speaking with one of the two Múspell generals, watched him brush the woman aside, his hand reaching for…

Kiran.

“Now,” he hissed.

They did not hesitate.  The tacticians leapt into action, their spells descending on the encampment and throwing its soldiers into disarray.  Jeorge and Takumi took aim at the wyvern riders, arresting their attempted flight while Grima cleared the remaining distance, his attention fixed on the Summoner’s gilt robes amid the chaos.  Taking hold of their arm–

Kiran whimpered, rounding on the fell dragon and raising their free hand to shield their face.  He could feel them trembling beneath his touch.  Typical.  And yet, the fell dragon felt a smile curve across his lips, a soft rumble of laughter rising in his chest.  “Stop sniveling, Summoner.”

Kiran stilled, turning their face up to look at him.  And in spite of himself, he could not hide his grin.

“…Grima!?”

“Who else would it be?” he asked, turning back the way he’d come.  “Quickly, now–”

“Hold.”

The fell dragon stopped, moving the Summoner carefully behind him as Surtr towered over them.  “Stand aside,” Grima commanded.  Even at his full height, the fell dragon was forced to tilt his head up to look the Ruler of Flame in his scarred face.  But he felt no fear, even as the man lifted his axe, tongues of fire licking the glowing blade.

Surtr sneered.  “Or what?  What can a puny thing like you do?”

Grima’s smile widened, exposing his fangs.  “I will devour you,” he replied.  He raised his hand, gesturing to Múspell’s king as the man uttered a booming, mirthless laugh…

The clouds above roiled and parted for the six-eyed dragon, its maw gaping wide as it descended toward the camp.  Surtr paused, watching the dragon’s descent with a vaguely amused smirk.  “Keep close,” Grima muttered, sheltering the Summoner with one outstretched arm as the dragon overhead breathed a cloud of violet smoke over the encampment…

“Foolish wretch – you will learn the meaning of fear,” Surtr laughed.

Sparks danced through the veil of haze.  The king of Múspell raised his axe high, flames coalescing into a ball that rivaled the sun – and as he swung his weapon, it soared high, striking the dragon squarely in the jaw.

The fell beast shrieked in rage and agony, expelling another cloud of noxious fog across the enemy’s forces.  He felt Kiran’s hand grip his sleeve, and without hesitation he retreated through the dark, away from the Múspell forces and onto the snowy wastes beyond.  He saw the others ahead, pulling back with equal speed, cutting swiftly across the ice and into the shelter of the trees beyond; with the songstress speeding them along their way, they continued without pause until at last the light and sound of the battlefield had faded from a ringing in their ears to utter silence.

And then, at last, their breathless troop stopped, collapsing beneath the shelter of the Nifl pines.  Grima glanced across the battered force, an odd sense of relief settling over him as he found them all accounted for.  They had done well.

And moreover, they had succeeded.

The fell dragon turned to the Summoner beside him, looking them over carefully as their breath at last grew steady.  They appeared unharmed, if slightly singed…  “Are you alright?” he asked.

Kiran drew in a shaky breath.  And when they looked up at him, their wide eyes were full of tears.

Before he could speak, the Summoner flung themselves at him, pressing close and clutching his coat in their trembling hands.  “He was gonna kill me,” they whimpered.  “Gods…g-gods, I could’ve died, he was gonna burn me alive, and I couldn’t d-do anything – I froze up, I just stood there, like s-some dumb…I couldn’t do anything, I couldn’t even run away, I was gonna die th-there…”

Grima hesitantly coiled one arm across Kiran’s shoulders, the other awkwardly patting the peak of their hood.  “What did you expect?” he asked quietly.  “You do not fight.  That is not your role.”

“I could’ve…a-at least run away, i-instead of dying like…like some c-coward,” the Summoner sniffled into his increasingly damp shirt.

“There is no cowardice in what you did,” the fell dragon murmured.  “Brave words can mask a coward, but his actions will betray him.  You showed great courage.  You held firm in the face of fear.  You faced a foe that even Heroes fear.  You should take pride.”

“I’m no Hero,” Kiran mumbled.

“No,” Grima agreed.  “You are not.  You are a Summoner.  But what makes us Heroes is not our presence in Askr.  It is not our histories, nor our titles, nor our lineages….it is you.  You are the one who makes us Heroes.  Your belief in us.  Your faith.  You are not a Hero, Summoner…but we are not Heroes without you.”

You’re waxing poetic again.

It seemed effective, though.  Kiran’s sniffling abated, and they turned their gaze once more up to look at his face.  “…do you really think so?” they whispered.

“I think any here would agree,” he nodded.  The Summoner drew back slightly, mustering up a shaky smile as they dried their eyes and turned to scan the assembled Heroes…

“Holy shit, what happened to Takumi!?”

Kiran broke away, hurrying over to where the archer sat.  His head came up, bloody lips curving into a relieved smile as the Summoner settled beside him.  “You’re back,” he mumbled, the shifting aura around him beginning to disperse.

“Of course I am,” they chuckled.  “You guys can’t get rid of me that easy.  Don’t suppose a healer joined the party…?”

“No,” Grima confirmed, moving to stand beside them.  “But Askr is only a brief warp away, and there are clerics enough there.”  

“We should probably get going, then,” they said, helping Takumi to his feet.  Nodding in agreement, Grima turned–

Something tugged on his sleeve.  Looking back, he found the Summoner’s hand on his arm, a familiar smile taking its place once more on their face.  “Thanks, Grima,” they murmured.  “For saving me.  And…for everything else, too.”

The fell dragon inclined his head slightly, concealing his smile beneath his raised hood as he turned to join the tacticians in seeing to the preparations for their return.  The commander would likely have harsh words for them all, but…he would bear them without complaint or apology.  The risk had been well worth the reward.

[fenfyre]

A Different Breed - Part VII

Part I   Part VI

When Hunk emerges from the bulky machine he’d been tinkering with for the past half hour he is frowning.

“Weird?”, he asks, the wrench in his hand clattering back into the toolbox as he starts digging for something else. “Weird how? I mean that’s kind of his thing, he’s just a weird guy in general.”

Lance shrugs and hugs his bent leg closer to his chest, chin resting on his knee as he watches his friend work. It usually calms him, talking things through while Hunk tinkers with something. The atmosphere in the workshop is calm, relaxing and easy in a way that being with Keith isn’t.

No, Keith is burning and excitement, a constant challenge that Lance wants to rise up to and he loves it. Well, most of the time he does. Lately he hasn’t been loving it as much.

“Yeah, the not getting references or taking everything literally kind of weird. That’s his thing. Not the … randomly punching people who did nothing wrong kind of weird.”

Grabbing a pair of pliers Hunk ducks into the machine again, his voice has a tinny echo when he speaks next.

“You mean that thing with Shiro?”

“Yeah...”

“Isn’t it kinda normal for him to have random tantrums, though? I mean he likes you and he wanted to protect you. It’s kinda cute when you think about it.”

Lance takes a moment to mull the words over, then grunts indecisively.

“Also didn’t he like, apologize that evening?”

Sighing deeply Lance closes his eyes. One reason he likes talking to Hunk about everything that’s on his mind is that Hunk can be so very rational. Where Lance gets lost in his own confusions and suspicions Hunk always manages to take a step back and look at the problem from a different angle. He’s thorough like that and usually manages to talk Lance down from whatever frenzy his own thoughts whipped up for him. That’s why he’s the only one who knows about him and Keith. That and the fact that Lance just had to tell someone or he’d have exploded by now. Today the usual relief won’t come and instead the dark, squirmy feeling in his stomach intensifies at Hunk’s effort to calm him down.

Hunk doesn’t believe him.

“It’s … it’s not just that”, Lance tries again, his words slow and unsure as he’s trying to decide if he really wants to go there. But Hunk is his best friend, if there’s anyone he should be able to tell about this it’s him. “He’s also kinda … I mean Keith’s getting a little … pushy...”

The scrape of metal on metal quiets down and a moment later Hunk slides into view again, a dark smear of something oily along his cheekbone. He leans against the machine, head cocking to the side.

“Pushy how?”

At last he’s paying attention. Lance lets out a deep breath, then starts squirming as he remembers that he has to tell Hunk now.

“So, uh...”, he begins, uncomfortable but unable to take anything back. “You remember how I said we hadn’t … done anything, yet? Like … sexual?”

There’s surprise in Hunk’s expression.

“Yeah, I’m … not sure how many details I need on that?” It’s said with a trace of laughter but Lance knows he’s only partly joking. Still, they can’t just leave it at that.

“No, listen. He’s getting kinda … demanding? Like, trying to do stuff I’m not okay with and it’s...” Scary. It’s scary, that’s what it is. But Lance still has problems admitting that to himself, let alone another person. Even if that other person is his best friend.

A deep frown appears on Hunk’s face and he throws the pliers aside, plopping down in front of Lance instead to give him his full attention.

“What do you mean he’s trying to do stuff? Did he…?”

“No!” Lance shakes his head quickly. “No, he didn’t really do anything. It’s just, the last few times we … you know, he tried to … well, to take it further...”

There’s a storm brewing in Hunk’s eyes as he crosses his arms, muscles flexing.

“Did you tell him to stop?”

“Yeah...”

“Did he stop?” It’s more a demand than a question at this point, Hunk’s voice hard and firm and Lance feels his heartbeat speed up.

“...yeah.”

A moment of silence, then Hunk’s expression softens somewhat but the hard set to his jaw remains and he doesn’t uncross his arms when he speaks again.

“Do you want me to talk to him?”

Lance pauses. Does he?

Hunk might be the sweetest, most kind and soft-hearted teddy bear, but Lance had also personally witnessed other sides of him. Had seen how angry and scary Hunk could get when he felt he needed to protect his friends.

But after taking a while to contemplate the question Lance decides that no, he doesn’t want or need anyone to fight his battles for him. All he needs is someone to help him make sense of all this. Someone to tell him he isn’t going crazy.

Besides, they’re still a team and the last thing he wants is to cause any more friction.

Lance shakes his head.

“Just … talk to me, okay?”

Slowly Hunk uncrosses his arms and leans back onto his hands, but Lance notices the way he has to force himself to relax, to let go of the anger brewing in his eyes until they’re soft and kind again. “Okay”, Hunk nods back, his voice considerably calmer and more patient. “Let’s think about this, yeah? Can you remember when that started? Him being … more pushy?”

Lance doesn’t even need to think about it. He has every weird observation filed away in a neat little timeline, every single time Keith acted way too aggressive or possessive or demanding, every strange quirk since he came out of that pod.

Of course he can’t hit Hunk with all of that at once so he opts to simply answer the question for now.

“A while after we got him out of the pod. I think, maybe a day or two after he punched Shiro?”

Hunk nods and hums like he’s watching some puzzle pieces fall into place.

“And before he never did anything like that?”

“Never.” Lance shakes his head, thinking back to simpler times when Keith was all clumsy and cute and inexperienced, so touch-starved that the lightest brush of Lance’s fingers against his neck made him purr with delight and every awkward, beautiful kiss had him whimpering.

“Actually I used to be the one who started stuff but since he got injured he’s just...”

“Yeah okay, I get the picture”, Hunk interrupts, sounding urgent but decisive as he nods seriously.

“I got an idea. But first of all you need to know … that none of this is your fault. Keith is the one in the wrong and you should definitely tell him to cut the crap or else I’ll have to have a little conversation with him after all.”

Lance swallows at the subtle growl sneaking back into Hunk’s voice, the sharp flash in his eyes that melts away as quickly as it sparked to life.

“Okay?”

“I mean it, it’s not cool of him to wanna pressure you into stuff and there’s no excuse for it. But I think there’s a reason why he’s doing all that … weird stuff.”

“Oh yeah?”, Lance mumbles, suddenly very interested in is fingers and the scabbed skin around his nailbeds that he just recently started picking again. Hunk gives a deep sigh before he continues.

“Buddy, he almost died. I know it wasn’t really the first time but definitely the worst and, I think that’s more important, the first since you two got together, right?”

“Right”, Lance agrees quickly. He knows that, has thought about it at length, but that can’t be everything… “I know. I gave him time to get his shit together. But it’s been a while and he’s not getting any better and I … I just don’t know what else to do...”

“No, I don’t think you’ll have to do anything. And I think he does have it together, in a way...” Before Lance can frown and ask what the hell Hunk is talking about his friend continues.

“See, he almost died without doing a whole lot of stuff. Like actually treat you like his boyfriend or doing some other … things. I mean who wants to die a virgin, right?”

There’s a short, awkward laugh tacked onto the sentence that makes Lance bristle for some reason and he hugs his leg closer to his chest.

“So what are you saying, he had some cheesy Carpe Diem revelation?”

Hunk pauses and takes a moment to scratch his head, contemplating.

“You know, that expression is used wrong all the time...”

Lance frowns.

“What?”

“Yeah, I mean it does mean Seize the Day but not in the way most people think. The Romans actually used it to say that a day is short and in order to get anything done you need to work hard now to reach your goals. The actual flipside of that expression is Memento Mori, remember you’re going to die. Which was used to express that in the end all your accomplishments won’t matter when you’re dead and you might as well enjoy yourself while you’re still alive. That’s just kinda morbid so I think most people prefer the Carpe Diem concept … anyway, if you wanna put it like that, Keith actually had a Memento Mori revelation. Quite literally, too...”

Sometime during the explanation Lance feels his frown melt away, Hunk’s calm, steady voice washing over him and managing to mute the nervous, electric hum under his skin just a little.

“So...”, he mumbles when Hunk has finished, eyes flicking up to his friend again who is settled so easily across from him on the floor. “I should just try it because life is short?”

Hunk’s face falls, more quickly than Lance has ever seen, and he lets out a scandalized sound.

“No!”, he cries out, a noise that echoes in the workshop. “I said it’s an explanation, not an excuse! Just something to keep in mind while you talk to him about this.”

Lance chews on his lip, says nothing for a while as he thinks about Hunk’s words. Maybe he’s right. Maybe Keith has been acting this weird because almost dying made him realize a few things, like that he doesn’t want to die a virgin.

Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Something that none of them would ever even want to consider.

When Hunk speaks again his voice is quiet and careful, worried.

“You … will talk to Keith, right?”

“Yes”, Lance rasps without paying attention, way too lost in his own thoughts.

He won’t talk to Keith.

Part VIII

[If you enjoy this story consider buying me a coffee or check out how to commission me!]

[chatlote]

This was a mistake

Ship: Keith/Lance Word Count: 2307 Read on AO3 

Summary: 

“My mom once beat up a robber.” Lance had said while they were sitting together on the couch. Keith hummed in thought. “Thats not a dumb story though, that’s pretty badass.” “Yeah it kind of is, but the thing is that the guy was dressed up as a clown, an actual clown, make up and all.” “What the hell.”

Or: Lance convinces Keith to dress up as a clown.

"Why was he dressed like a clown though?" Keith asks, honestly curious.

He and Lance are sitting together on the empty living room. Lance is on his lap with his arms around him and Keith can't help but notice how light Lance was. It's comforting to be close like this, it unbearably reminded each other of how they weren't alone. Especially on times like these where Lance was feeling homesick. He has been narrating about a silly story of how his mother had once beat up a robber dressed like a clown.

"Many people are terrified of clowns, and the makeup was truly awful so I assume it was to scare us?" Lance replies with a light shrug.

"Okay but like, wouldn't a black outfit work better to sneak inside?"

"Keith I have no idea, I didn't ask the guy if he had a PHD in robbing people. Do you have one, Keith? Were you trying to become a robber?  Do you know how the robbing life works? Maybe the guy was tired of the robber stereotype and wanted things to change!"

Keith chuckles half amused, Lance ramblings always end up in quite a few interesting places. Then Lance eyes are lighting up, just like they usually do before he comes up with an awful idea. "Oh no."

"Keith we could become robbers together! Like-"

"-No." Keith interrupts almost immediately, only because he knows that it won't matter and Lance will certainly explain his full train of thought.

"Just hear me out!" There he goes. "I have total amazing social skills to keep people distracted and you have like, your whole emo aura that makes people look away because it's just sad to look at another victim of the Black Parade."

Keith smirks, not even feeling offended. "You still look at me though."

"I am strong, loving and caring." Lance says placing a hand on his chest dramatically.

"And because you think I am pretty." Keith points out, and smiling as Lance doesn't attempt at arguing back. Going back to the topic, he decides to indulge Lance in his crazy ideas, once again. "So do you want us to dress up as clowns too?"

Lance eyes go wide, just as his smile, Keith thinks he might go blind because of how radiant it is. He should ask Pidge to try and create sunglasses. "Would you do that?" Lance voice goes high pitched, he is basically begging Keith to say yes.

He wants to refuse, he really does, it's a stupid awful idea, possibly the worst idea of the century, scratch that, totally the worst idea of the century. He hums in thought though as he stares at Lance, honestly considering his choices. It's so hard to say no to Lance when he gets like this. "If you dress up too, I might."

Lance gasps, clearly surprised but also pleased, and then turns into a giggling fit as he presses his face against Keith neck and tightens his hold. Keith can't help himself when he starts laughing too, his cheeks flushing because everything about this situation somehow just makes him think that he truly has it bad for this boy.

"I love you so much." Lance mumbles against his neck, happiness basically dripping from his voice.

"Love you too." Keith replies with a smile so wide that his cheeks are hurting.

---

Keith was one hundred percent certain that Lance had forgotten this whole conversation, and Keith realizes he was a fool for thinking that. For Lance would never pass up and opportunity to make himself look like a complete fool.

He honestly can't believe his eyes when Lance walks into his- well their room at this point, with a pair of flashy over sized clothes and a bunch of containers that seem to have white, black and red paint inside.

He also can't believe when he actually lets Lance sit down in front of him and cover his face in all those weird paints and then doing the same for himself with the help of something similar to a hand mirror.

And he can't believe either when Lance manages to make him wear one of the awful outfits he brought with him.

When they are finished and Keith is staring at Lance, does Keith finally regain a bit of his senses to realize their current situation.

Lance managed to put the two of them in clown outfits... in space.

"Wait, where did you even get all this?" He frowns looking at himself, especially at his hands covered in white gloves, he already misses his normal gloves, his poor fingers being suffocated by silk.

"Coran." Lance chirps happily as he admires his work on both of them. "I told him it was a human tradition a while back and he helped me organize. "

"Oh." Well that was one question answered. "And why exactly are we wearing this? There isn't exactly anyone to rob in space, also that would be wrong and illegal."

"Dear Keith, that's where you are very very wrong." Lance puts a arm around his shoulder pulling them closer. "We have the perfect victim right here, in this spaceship" He pauses as if trying to create some kind of suspension. "Pidge."

Keith blinks. "What exactly can we steal from Pidge?"

"My precious alien phone." Lance says, with an exaggerated sad tone as he wipes away a tear that isn't there.

"Doesn't that device belong to Pidge though? They made it right?"

Lance waves a hand in front of him, dismissing the facts. God, how did he end up with a boyfriend this extra. "That is besides the point! The point is that we have a treasure we need to get back and the perfect costumes for it!"

"I can't believe I agreed to this." Okay, so in a way he kind of can, if it meant to see Lance smiling when he is feeling down, Keith would basically agree to anything.

"It's because you love me, now come on Space Clowns have work to do." Lance starts pushing him towards the door.

"Never call us that again."

They are sneaking, well only Lance is sneaking, Keith refuses to do the same and is walking normally behind him. Either way, they are going through the hallways when they finally get spotted by someone, Shiro. Keith freezes in place as they share eye contact, expecting some kind of reaction, starting to feel like this really was an awful idea and feeling a bit too conscious.

Shiro looks at them up and down, then he just sighs and keeps walking. "I am not even going to ask." He mumbles more to himself than to them.

"We are robbing Pidge!" Lance snickers in a yelled whisper.

Keith sees in silence Shiro pass by them and wave a hand in the air. "I said I wasn't asking." Shiro says louder as he leaves their field of vision.

"Okay so here is the plan I will go in and speak to them, keeping them distracted, while you sneak behind and get the phone." Lance explains after they find out that Pidge is with Hunk in the living room. They are currently standing outside the door and can hear both of them speaking inside.

Keith is completely sure this is an awful plan that had no chances of working, and he is also too tired to argue so he replies with "Sure."

Not wasting a moment, Lance is slipping inside and before Keith can even think of attempting to play his part, a shriek and a loud thud echo through the walls.

Keith quickly peers inside, worried. He finds Lance holding his face and a very worried Hunk beside him apologizing nonstop. "Man, you should know I am terrified of clowns why the hell are you dressed like one?" Lance only laughs in reply, but the gesture must hurt because he winces afterwards. "Wait here, I will go get you some frozen goo."

Hunk quickly leaves the room running and Keith is just as quickly next to Lance. "You okay?"

Lance raises himself and pulls his hand down, to squint at Keith as if he was somehow guilty of this turn of events. "I am great, however, I am wondering why you aren't following our plan? Also concerned this might leave a bruise and ruin my beautiful face." Keith rolls his eyes. Yeah, Lance is fine.

Keith looks over to Pidge who had been silent the whole time, to find them with their phone turned to him and a huge grin on their face as they snap photos nonstop. "I am so glad you started dating Lance."

Seeing what game Pidge wants to play, Keith speaks up with a grin. "Unfortunately for you, when I started dating him I also threw any dignity I had away so you can't really blackmail me with those."

"Hey!" Lance pipes up, offended.

"Damn it." Pidge said as they dropped the phone. Then looked at them up and down, thoughtfully. "Seriously though, why are you two dressed like literal clowns."

"He wants the phone back." Keith replied nonchalantly pointing at Lance.

Pidge grins dangerously, the kind of grin Keith images on a wild animal looking at their prey. "Just so he can fill it with images of you?"

Keith quickly turns to Lance. "You do what?!"

"I do not!" Lance raises his hand defensively, "Well okay, I took a few because you looked really cute, I am sorry."

Keith feels the heat creeping into his face, he supposes the good side of all this is that the paint won't show his blushing. "You don't have to apologize but you could have told me."

Pidge is still staring at them, fairly amused, though they look at Lance with a frown. "I still don't get it though, I told you I was going to make you your own phone anyway?"

"Stealing yours sounded like more fun!"

"You got yourself hurt for nothing." Keith points out, still somewhat concerned considering Hunk strength.

"Unexpected events happen on robberies! This was all just part of the experience, now I know how the man who robbed my house felt and have become wiser."

Keith raises an eyebrow, not convinced. "What did you learn exactly?"

"That this is an awful costume to rob people with." Lance states as a matter of fact, looking proud of the discovery somehow.

Keith resists the urge to face palm himself, simply because of the makeup, while Pidge bursts out laughing.

All Keith hopes is that nothing else happens as they leave the room and start heading back, he has had enough of 'Lance Eventful and Disastrous Adventures' for the rest of the week, if not month. However the world hates him, a lot, because they cross paths with yet another person, and possibly the worst person to find them in this state.

Allura.

As he sees her face light up in interest and delight, Keith is already trying to prepare himself mentally for what will happen next.

Shortly after, everyone is gathered on the Bridge. Everyone except Hunk, who refuses to participate in any of the 'Clown Activities' as Lance called them.

Speaking of Lance he is now putting his hands to work and slowly placing more and more paint on Allura face slowly turning the beautiful princess into... a clown.

Coran is on the side chatting excitedly as he asks more about 'Clown Traditions' to Pidge and Lance, who reply with the same vigor. Pidge is also busy snapping photos at Allura, Lance and Keith, because according to them 'this is a moment they need to remember forever.'

Shiro is besides Keith and to say he looks tired would be saying little, and Keith is pretty sure the only reason why he is still here is to make sure Lance stays in line.

Keith finds comfort that someone else is suffering. Okay if he is being honest, maybe he isn't having as bad of a time as Shiro, because Keith is a fool and he can't help but smile at the way Lance keeps giggling as he keeps on working.

Shiro mumbles besides him, frowning at the scene in front of him. "Why clowns though? Why not mimes? Like even mimes would be less terrifying to look at."

Keith smiles and shrugs. "It's a long story."

"Okaaay, I think I am going to join Hunk in the kitchen." Shiro announces as he makes his way towards the exit, officially giving up on trying to keep up with this tale.

After all is said and done, they do manage to reach their room without further events.

And as soon as the door closes, Lance is throwing himself around Keith, laughing as he buries his head on Keith shoulder, the sound vibrates through Keith and he is smiling. He still isn't sure whether he hated or loved this day.

"This was the best day of my life since I have been thrown into an intergalactic war." Lance says, holding him closer.

"I thought that was the day where we went to the planet that basically looked like a huge beach."

"Don't ruin the moment." Lance scolds but there was still a smile in his face. He really needs those sunglasses.

Then Keith notices that Lance is slowly leaning towards him, with his face full of white and red paint. The sight is horrifying and looks straight out of a nightmare, suddenly Keith understand Hunk to a deeper spiritual level.

He puts his hand over Lance lips without a second of hesitation. "No, nope, not doing that. I'm done, this is too far and I can't do this anymore. I won't kiss you like this. We are washing off right now and then we are coming back here and I will kiss you until I can forget that today ever happened."

im so sorry, i m not sure how this happened

[autisticsheith]

Uh. I have nothing to say for myself and absolutely no idea where this thinks it’s going, but it it’s brought to you by the fact that shaggy, long-haired!Shiro/Kuron/whoever apparently makes me crave Sheith-flavored punk AUs, featuring grungy punk Shiro and beleaguered college student Keith.

I literally tossed it off in about an hour-and-a-half, so there is absolutely no plan here and I promise absolutely nothing because I don’t have a clue what I might or might not be promising in the first place. Your guess about what happens next is as good as, if not better than, mine.

Unbeta’d, but it’s really not even a complete fic anyway. Pretty tame, though it contains a few references to casual drug use.

“Okay, guys. How about let’s take it from the top again? And, uh, try to sound better this time?”

Even though he knows the people tormenting him can’t hear him, Keith groans and slams his fist against his desk. The cheap, secondhand lamp rattles, briefly threatens to fall off the edge, then settles down. Rubbing his eyes, Keith glares down at his notes on Jane Eyre, and they might as well be in Ancient Greek, with how much they’re swimming for him right now. Another yawn slips loose as he glances at the alarm clock beside him. Its red digital display reads back 04:06 AM like it gets some perverse joy out of Keith’s current misery. Knowing his luck, it probably does.

For the umpteen-thousandth time tonight, some loud, boisterous asshole in the garage below his shitty little apartment calls out, “And one! Two! One, two, three, four!”

The drums come first, banging out a rhythm that Keith couldn’t make heads or tails of, even if he had gotten a decent night’s sleep this week. Next, comes the keyboardist, who makes no sense as part of a punk band (last Keith heard, this genre was supposed to be stripped down or something), but at least they actually know how to play. If not for constantly interrupting his ability to rest, Keith could probably forgive the bassist, who only sounds garden variety inept. But the lead guitarist charges into the song like a stampede trampling an entire row of china shops. Whoever they are, they make their instrument wail like a cat that’s having its neck broken, and can’t stay on-tempo to save their life.

Keith never made it far in music lessons. His second set of foster parents had tried to make him learn, but Keith had failed to understand a lick of anything his poor teacher had thrown his way. Lessons ended after one afternoon’s practice, when his red plastic recorder had wound up mysteriously embedded in the basement wall. Still, even he can tell that it takes dedication to suck as hard as this band’s guitarist.

“Are you sure those Galaxy Garrison punks are really all that bad?” Allura asked him over lunch the other day, after she’d spent the majority of their Gothic Literary Traditions And Society lecture nudging him so he wouldn’t fall asleep. “I certainly don’t begrudge you being annoyed that they’re so disrespectful. But perhaps you might enjoy the music more under other circumstances.”

Not to be spiteful or anything, but Keith wishes that she were here right now. That’d settle the matter pretty easily. About the only redeeming feature of this alleged music, is that the singer doesn’t suck. Sure, their diction leaves a bit to be desired, and if they helped write the lyrics, then they could’ve done better than all of this derivative man, fuck the system but not in a nice way garbage. But vocally, they’re almost decent.

Still, if Keith could spare the cash, he’d literally pay them to stop singing.

He’s twisting the tab off another can of Mountain Dew as the song abruptly stops. The drums drop out first, then the keyboards, then the strings. The singer cuts short a scream that Keith guesses is supposed to sound artfully anguished. Keith almost lets himself breathe easier. But the chorus of yelling is ten times worse:

“Hey, what’s going—”

“Dammit, Lance, you missed the cue again!”

“Don’t look at me! I was following Pidge!”

“Whoa, hey, excuse you! Since when are your screw-ups suddenly my fault?!”

“Dude, you have to get the cue right or I won’t know when the tempo-shift’s supposed to happen!”

“Stow it, guys! Battle of the Bands is in two weeks, and we’re not gonna beat The Ultraviolents unless we work together and focus on the practice.”

Cringing, Keith digs his fingers into the bridge of his nose. In the back of his mind, a voice that sounds way too much like Allura’s Dad tells him not to grind his teeth, but that only makes Keith do so harder. Whatever, Coran’s not here to chastise him in person, and he doesn’t have to deal with these jack-offs for several hours every single night. He, and Allura, and her Father get to live in a nice penthouse uptown, in a swank building that Keith can’t even look at without feeling underdressed and vaguely nauseated. If anyone like Galaxy Garrison ever tried to hold their shitty band practice at this hour of the night, Alfor and Coran could call the cops and get an actual response.

Keith, on the other hand, can only rely on himself. It’s always been that way, but has gotten truer since he moved in here.

Although the singer’s attempt at a rousing speech should’ve cut this nonsense off, the other three keep shouting. Keith hears the words, but for the moment, they make no sense. Next thing he knows, he’s stomping out into the hall. He doesn’t slam the door, because it might bother Rolo and Nyma in the other flat, and unlike some people, Keith at least tries to respect his neighbors, even when they’re overly friendly and perpetually stink like weed and stale hot dogs.

But that’s about the only thing that Keith can spare a thought for, heading to the rickety stairs, practically on autopilot. He’s halfway down before he notices that he isn’t wearing shoes. God, he hopes there isn’t too much broken glass around tonight.

“Guys, listen up!” the singer cuts in again, as Keith pauses on the bottom stair to yawn. “I know we’re all tired, and I know we’ve all been working hard. But none of us is any better or worse than the others — and we’re only as strong as our ability to work together. This band can’t do well by our music, much less win anything, if we’re fighting like Lennon and McCartney all the time, okay?”

“Oh my god, fucking Beatles references? Really?” groans another one. “Dude, could you sound any more like my abuela?”

“Lance, I’ve known your abuela since we were six, and I have never heard her once talk about the Beatles, or speak anything but Spanish.”

“Totally not the point, Hunk!”

From the sound of it, this Lance one kicks a can against the nearest wall. Keith huffs, closing in on the door.

“All I’m saying is that I can’t get my cues right if Pidge keeps trying all this overly complicated bullshit and—”

“Do you assholes have ANY idea what fucking time it is?!”

It’s not until he’s spit it out that Keith realizes how loud he was. Hovering in the doorway into the garage, he almost regrets that. But he can’t show these punks any weakness or they’ll keep on doing this. So, he glares at them. First, at the big guy behind the drums (who’s cute, actually, with his floppy hair and his belly and his big, strong arms; he looks like someone Keith might not mind, under other circumstances). He wilts as Keith frowns at him, and the way he hangs his head kicks Keith in the regret again.

The petite, bedheaded keyboardist calls a glare her way next, but only because she pipes up, “Excuse me?”

Seething, Keith steps out of the doorway. “I said, ‘Do you assholes have any idea what fucking time it is’?” He folds his arms over his chest. “It’s not a hard question, thanks.”

“Well, what if we don’t want to answer it, man!” The one called Lance is tall and spindly, and looks like a guy Keith might consider going home with, if he’d had a couple drinks and felt particularly lonely. “I mean, who the Hell are you to tell us what time it is, anyway!”

“I’m the guy who lives upstairs, jackass,” Keith snaps. “I’m the guy who lives upstairs who would rather be asleep, instead of dealing with you little shits at four in the fucking morning—”

“Hey, we talked to the other two, and they didn’t mind—”

“I’m not them, though, am I? And unlike them, I can’t afford to knock myself out on cough syrup just to sleep through all your goddamn racket.”

“‘All our goddamn racket’?” Lance drawls back in a mocking tone. He even folds his arms like Keith and cocks a hip. Glancing over at the singer, he says, “Asere, come get this! He sounds even more like my abuela than you do. What’s next, man? Are you gonna tell us to get off of your lawn?”

“I don’t have a lawn, you idiot. I barely have an apartment.”

As Lance and Hunk and Pidge barely manage to hold back their laughter, it occurs to Keith that maybe he should not have taken that insult literally. His cheeks flush hot, and his ears start tingling, because of course, his entire head has to blush in situations like this. Whatever he’s doing, it makes the Pidge one snicker, and when he glares at her again, she doesn’t even try to stop.

Hugging himself tighter, Keith groans and turns toward the singer, ready to verbally eviscerate him, since as far as Keith can tell, he’s the ringleader. The other three respect him (more or less), and in the past few nights’ rehearsals, he’s the one who’s made the most decisions about what songs to go over and who was right or wrong about which dispute or other. This means that he’s the most responsible for this mess out of all of them, and the one who most deserves Keith’s outrage. But the words all die before Keith’s even spit out one of them.

The guy in front of him probably has a good six inches on Keith in height, and the body of someone who you wouldn’t want to mess with. Sure, his ripped jeans hang low on his slim hips, but his weathered Pansy Division crop top shows off a pretty toned set of abs. Even worse, the ripped sleeves highlight a really nice set of arms. There’s a gnarled, nasty-looking scar on the right one, up by the singer’s shoulder, and another one, Keith notices, that goes across his nose and cheeks. Now that he sees it, he can’t believe he’d ever miss it, but in fairness, the singer’s hair falls to his shoulders with a devil-may-care ease about it, mostly black, except for the shaggy forelock that he’s bleached white.

Keith frowns as he takes in the guy’s face. Something about it seems… familiar? But that makes no sense, or does it? Whatever it is, Keith can’t place it. He would remember a jaw like that, and definitely that scar… Maybe he has one of those faces? Or maybe he was in a local commercial? Or—

“Keith?” the singer says, his voice soft and his eyes wide. His lower lip quivers and he knots his brow…

—and realization slams into Keith, and makes him freeze. No, that can’t be right. This singer can’t be who Keith thinks he is, and that person can’t be here — this cannot be happening, because that’s bullshit — even if it weren’t, things like this don’t happen to Keith — this cannot be happening—

“…Keith, right?” he says again. “Keith Kogane?”

Hunching his shoulders, Keith whispers, “…Shiro?” — but he knows it can’t be, because that’s stupid, because Shiro’s gone and things like this don’t happen to Keith. They just do not. Ever. Never, ever in his life has anything like this happened, so why would it decide to happen now.

Except the singer beams at him, and Keith would know that smile if he were blackout drunk. He wrestles his guitar off of himself and hands it off to Lance, and before Keith knows which way is up, there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder. That lasts for maybe half a second, then he’s getting pulled into Shiro’s chest and hugged around the shoulders. Keith’s heart is going so fast, it feels like maybe it just stopped beating. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. There is no way in Hell — Keith must’ve bummed some Nyquil off of Rolo after all, and now he’s passed out upstairs, and he is dreaming some truly fucked up dreams, because this. Shit. Cannot. Be happening.

But Shiro squeezes so tight, it starts to hurt. He lets up and mumbles an apology when Keith wriggles, then tells him, “I thought I’d never see you again…”

It takes Keith a moment to nod, then another one to even think of saying anything. When he gets his mouth around the words, all he can come up with is, “I didn’t… Me neither.”

Dimly, Keith’s just glad that Shiro buries his face in his shoulder instead of asking why Keith sounds weird right now. Keith might be on the spectrum, but even he knows better than to admit that what he’s really thinking is more like, Oh, fuck my life.

[stupidalteanpools]

projecting? probably, but hear me out

General Keith meta I guess. This is very long, but good writing ref for all you fellow fic authors.

Keith is a very sensitive guy.

Basically... out of all the voltron characters, Keith is the most relatable to me. I see him as someone who thinks more from his heart than from his head, who really does genuinely just want to do the right thing but gets way too carried away with what’s going on in his own head. He doesn’t care for people telling him what to do because he wants independence, but he is very emotionally affected by them regardless. He’s got a strong willpower, but the way he applies it is very much built around people and emotion.

1

Okay. So. First thing that comes to mind is the bonding moment? Obviously. He’s the kind of guys who clearly reads really deeply into things and probably overthinks a lot of things if he has nothing better to do.

I mean, yes, he does charge into situations unprepared without thinking ALL THE TIME but when he’s forced to sit down and think - say, for example, when he’s tossing and turning waiting for lance to come out of the healing pod (I see those lines under your eyes, Keith. I see them.) - he really goes at it. He reads into situations too much and tries to fit them to what he hopes for; does he dare to venture so far as to say that maybe Lance and him have something special now? In reality Lance was just a half-delirious boy pleased that he just blasted sendak, but Keith read way too much into it and went into their next interactions with a lot of hopes that were very quickly shot down.

He reads into the smile and the handholding as a sign of friendship. “we are a good team” probably means something deeper - it probably means Lance is realizing that they (as in, specifically him and keith) work really well together. He doesn’t see it as a spur of the moment thing - he feels like Lance has developed something more permanent with him, and so he cant resist the smile that comes to his face. We see that - he looks at lance for a second or two before slowly shifting into a smile - because he’s thinking and going through these what-ifs and reading into what those words mean.

2

His face throughout the beginning of Taking Flight.

Everyone always talks about this, I don’t really need to go into it - he’s very worried and concerned and pouty and all that good stuff. But there are lines under his eyes. Unfortunately I don’t have screenshots to add here right now, but those lines aren’t always under his eyes - so he was definitely losing sleep over Lance. I mean, if that doesn’t mean he was an emotional hurricane until Lance stumbled out asking about clocks, i don’t know how else you could interpret it.

3

the amount of information in your brain could be stored in a paper airplane.

He’s salty - because Lance forgot their bonding moment, Lance literally lost information so Keith’s making a jab at Lance’s memory loss. He clearly hasn’t stopped thinking about it. It was important to him, Lance doesn’t remember - - - - and now there’s no way he can just get over it without some kind of emotional release, which of course comes out through an insult.

4

we’re going back to the beginning. Lance and Keith, neck and neck - what does that mean?? Keith really has no memory of this boy, and here he is antagonizing him. That creates stress. And he’s already saving Shiro, whom he clearly has already known for a while. It’s a high-stress situation and adding these complex social dynamics is too much to focus on so he mutters out “congratulations” and just puts his mind to the task at hand.

Keith does this. He channels his emotions into action whenever he doesn’t want to think about them - this is really apparent all throughout the show, I’m not sure I need to go into examples here. But of course he hasn’t gotten Lance’s comment out of his system yet, and hearing him jabbering on from the back of his hover bike plane thing, the insult just kind of creates itself. It’s another way Keith tends to release his negative energy - he can’t cope with it himself, so he yells, he glares, he makes passive aggressive jabs.

It’s not just impulse, it’s an inability to hold his emotions down. The slightest things tend to enter his brain and he starts thinking about them too much, and he immediately needs release from that. Hence the temperamental nature, the tendency to seek isolation.

5

Which is another thing I’d like to get into. Keith likes being alone.

I think there’s more to it than just, “I like it out here. It’s quiet.” Keith has a tendancy to react to every stimulus around him: as I’ve said above, he overthinks small things and immediately seeks release for those building emotions. So he isolates himself because it’s comforting when he doesn’t have to work around other people. Lance especially: someone who definitely makes conscious effort to get on Keith’s nerves and one up him, someone who’s naturally a talkative boy. That’s a little too much for Keith, who prefers people who can either go along with him or will leave him alone. It’s not always a good thing though, and Lance knows that and calls him out on his behavior a lot, which is why I think Keith is very aware of the fact that his behavior is problematic - but I’ll get to that later.

Keith’s tendancy to look for places that are more secluded, quiet, and undisturbed by anything that isn’t his own i think reflects on an aspect of Keith’s personality that also explains why Keith gets along with Shiro so well. (And before I go on, I’m going off the theory that the cast has hinted at that Shiro is 25 and the other three boys are all 17ish.) Shiro is older than him and wiser, but he never uses it against keith or as a reason that keith should respect him. “you’re like a brother to me” is a very important choice of words because it reveals a lot about the way Keith sees Shiro, besides of course the obvious brotherly feelings. Keith is known for having issues with authority figures, so the fact that he calls Shiro his brother is significant in that Keith views him as an equal, but still as a guiding figure/role model. The choice of words denotes more respect toward Shiro than it would have if Keith had said “you’re like a father to me.”

Where Keith is concerned, a brother is more important than a father because not only does Keith have a distaste for authority figures, he specifically has issues with his own dad. Calling Shiro his brother equates shiro to someone Keith can wholly trust to stand by him no matter what. At the same time, Shiro fits Keith’s personality well because he’s gentle and he suggests things more often than he commands things. He doesn’t say, “Keith, you’re going to be the next black paladin,” he says, “I want you to lead voltron.” It’s a very clear distinction between “you” and “i” - the first one puts Keith on the spot, while the second one keeps it in Shiro’s perspective. The way Shiro communicates with Keith is simple and it doesn’t make Keith feel like he’s forced into anything, and Keith craves this easy comfort, especially with his high-riding emotions.

6

Back to lance for a bit. I’m not saying Lance is the worst person for Keith to ineract with. Their clashing personalities is exactly what makes them so dynamic as rivals, yes, but we also see that Lance is the only other person who seems to be able to calm Keith down and force him to think through things in a different way. Stopping him in the balmera, calming him down in the blade of marmora episode, etc. Yet, lance’s approach is drastically different from Shiro’s - so what makes him draw a similarly effective response from Keith?

I think this is more to do with Lance’s personality than Keith’s. I’ll keep this short - Lance is very drawn to people. We see this in how quick he is to flirt, we see this in how easily he picks up altean lingo, we see this in how fast he runs to defend people he’s just met, we see this in how he doubts himself and his position in the eyes of the other paladins. He’s more afraid of letting his friends down than he is of failing the universe, the way I see it. So this friendliness and magnetic personality - it applies to Keith as well. They’re friends, too, and just the fact that Lance is good with socializing when Keith is so not is enough to baffle Keith enough that he listens to lance. It’s not with ease like it is when Shiro is calming Keith down, but it’s effective and quick - and it keeps Keith in check, which is a big thing that Shiro just... fails to do, as much as I love him.

7

So, about Keith’s dad... his family, in general. I wasn’t really part of the fandom back when this was news, but I think it was said that Keith is secretely very happy to be part of voltron? and that really isn’t surprising at all. I’ve stressed a lot that keith like to isolate himself, but he still really wants to be liked and accepted and part of a larger community. Growing up as an orphan and later as the Garrison’s ace pilot has drastically shaped Keith’s personality. As an orphan, he’s had to learn to take care of himself, he’s had to learn some humility, he’s had to learn very quickly that the world isn’t his. Most children aren’t forced to grow out of that mindset so fast. Then Keith enlists in the garrison where he’s considered the most talented pilot of his generation, but it’s very obvious that this has never gotten to his head - we see it in his reluctance to be the black paladin, we see this in how uncomfortabe he looks everytime Lance mentions Keith from back in the garrison days. Keith is not comfortable with being in the spotlight - he’s been forced to be alone for a good part of his life and he doesn’t seek any more of it.

What’s much more important to Keith is belonging to a kind of community. Rather than being at the top, he’d prefer to have a family. Team voltron has been described as a family by Allura multiple times, and I think it’s definitely meant to feel that way. It’s the one thing that he hasn’t had for a long time, and it’s why it’s so significant that he see’s Shiro as his brother and why that admission is such high praise coming from Keith. I’m not going to get into why this is my headcanon, but Keith’s dad left keith when Keith was young and is probably still alive out there somewhere. It’s not that he needs his dad - he’s pretty distanced from him and although there are strong emotions there, there’s nothing all that phenomenal going on between them.

What’s more important about Keith’s relationship with his dad is how it contrasts with Keith’s relationship with the rest of team voltron. This is very clearly explored int the blade of marmora episode, and also another reason why Shiro is the one who is needed in that episode with keith. Shiro represents Keith’s family with voltron while his dad represents his blood-related family. The choice between the two is one of Keith’s biggest internal conflicts.

How does that tie into Keith being a sensetive person? It means Keith focuses heavily on being accepted by the people around him. It’s why it bothers him so much when Lance antagonizes him and why he tends to overthink those situations. It’s why we see those miserable expressions on Keith’s face every time Allura discriminates against his Galra side.

Yet, Keith’s still someone who rises agaisnt authority and seeks independence, so he’s not going to settle for trying to get people to like him - he wants them to like him as he is. It’s why he didn’t keep his galra lineage a secret, like I first expected he would when I was watching for the first time. It’s why he chooses to infiltrate the Galra ship. “No one’s commanding me. I’m doing it.” He knows he needs to prove both to himself and to his fellow paladins that every part of him, including the part that is Galra, is acceptable, even an asset.

It’s all part of his need to feel emotionally secure and comortable with his place in Voltron, and it’s why Hunk’s galra keith jokes are so important - Hunk’s normalizing the fact that Keith’s Galra, he’s accepting it. That means a lot to Keith, which is why even though he does give Hunk exasperated looks, he only retorts back when he needs correct Hunk by saying “I didn’t just turn galra.” Keith has always been Galra, and he’s not afraid of that fact anymore. He even smiles at Hunk by the end of the mission, because he’s comfortable knowing that Hunk accepts him as Galra without simply ignoring the fact and acting like nothing’s different.

8 (jeez i lost count and had to scroll up)

Let’s talk about Keith dropping out. this section will be pretty short compared to 7. he mentions how he found himself lost and drawn out to the desert by some energy telling him to search. I think the blue lion could sense him because he was galra and was probably calling to him through that connection - i also think that it’s very possible that a blade of marmora galra was the former blue paladin but took the blue lion to earth to keep it away from Zarkon’s hands. The same Galra is probably Keith’s mom or ancestor or something -- anyway. Blue still chooses Lance as her paladin, but i think Keith and lance are still connected through the blue lion because of this  by @voltronturd - - A N Y WAY.

It’s obviously something that has impacted Keith very heavily. It’s the reason they found Voltron, yes, but it meant a lot of really bad things for Keith - he has no family to return to, no other career to pursue, and he winds up in the desert, aimless. Keith’s a person who commits 100% to everything he does. and as much as I fucking love the conspiracy theorist keith memes, i just don’t think it’s in character at all. It’s more of a result of him having nothing better to do and nothing else in his life left to him rather than a secret passion. Keith was definitely a broken man for that portion of his life - another reason it makes perfect sense that Keith is secretly happy being a part of voltron and why learning that didn’t surprise me.

9

Okay, Keith and social situations - they don’t mix, we all know this. Why, though? I’d like to go into specifically their interactions with the arusians. “I don’t normally hug strangers, but, uh, wow. You... are.. cuddly.” what’s important is how he says he doesn’t normally hug strangers - not that he doesn’t hug strangers, not that he doesn’t normally hug people, but that he doesn’t normally hug strangers. before I start sounding like a broken record, basically, Keith is not opposed to hugging at all - it’s why i fucking love cuddly keith in fanfiction. He seems completely comfortable and at ease hugging Shiro, and while not so much with Allura, that’s more attributed to the fact that she’s suddenly calling him part of her family before stepping in close and curling over his shoulders without actually hugging him. It’s more of a keith, hold me gesture than a let me hug you gesture, and for a boy who struggles with social cues a little, it explains why the two of them are a little physcially awkward in that scene. 

So it’s not so much that he’s antisocial - as i’ve already described, he needs to feel like he belongs and he needs to feel love and acceptance just as much as any of the other. But with Keith, he tends to hide his positive emotions just as much and just as quickly as he tends to expel his negative emotions. We see this in how he smiles when Lance can’t see him, we see this in how he smiles to himself when Lance is out of the pod, we see this in how he leans against a tree trunk while the arusians are celebrating, we see this in his controlled, conflicted expressions at seeing his dad - although that last one is, admittedly, a bit different. (Keith’s not exactly happy at seeing his dad, he’s pretty conflicted and hence the conflicted expression, but i digress.) He’s more free about it with Shiro, because he knows Shiro won’t shut him down. He’s more free about it when he’s alone or in charge, because, again, he won’t be shut down; we see that in episode one as he grins before plummetting over the cliff, we see that when he smiles at hunk after their scaultrite mission, we see that when he grins at Lance after nailing him with a spore-ball.

But when he doesn’t know whether it’s appropriate or whether it will be appreciated, he tends to distance himself from the people or to suppress it. So when meeting new aliens the reason he’s quiet isn’t really because he doesn’t want to talk to them, it’s really because he isn’t confident in his ability to make a desirable first impression so he’d rather just enjoy himsel fin private rather than screw things up for himself. And this next part has no solid canon backing, it’s just me taking characters and putting them in probably situations, but I think he admires lance for being able to talk to people so easily, especially because it’s a skill he lacks. He can’t really do diplomacy.

10

Keith knows his behavior is problematic. This ties into what I just said - he doesn’t really trust himself to create the right first impression. On the balmera mission with Lance he says “That - actually... is a better idea.” meaning he’s fully capable of seld-reflection and he’s aware that there are  better ways to do things. He’s very conscious of the fact that he’s not in control of his emotions, and not only that, but he’s not willing to fix it - We see that when Shiro tells him he needs to control his emotions and he kind of brushes it off with a “I know. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.” He doesn’t like to talk about the fact that he needs to get in control, but he definitely knows it.

It’s why he turns around and frowns when Lance tells him to calm down before they go see the blade of marmora - he knows he’s being irrational and he’s sour at being called out on it but because he knows lance is right, he doesn’t bite back. It makes sense to him that lance would say that, but he doesn’t have a response to it other than just shutting himself off and removing himself from the situation before he makes it worse. It’s revisited that same episode by shiro when he asks Keith if keith’s okay, and mentions how Keith “kind of blew up at everyone back there.” Keith’s immediate response is that he’s fine - he does this several times in season two. He’s not mature enough to deal with his emotions, and this is exactly what Shiro points out to him - and he’s not mature enough to deal with that, either, despite the fact that he knows it.

This is just kind of emphasized in the simulation later that same episode, when brain shiro says “you’re thinking of yourself, as usual.” Keith is evidently very aware that he gets carried away with his emotions, and one of his fears is that he won’t be able to control it - you’re thinking of yourself, as usual. The “as usual” is important - it proves that Keith knows it’s a deeply ingrained trait that he has had for a very long time, and he’s afraid that it’s going to continue to create problems for him. It’s important to him that Shiro says this, because given that he places a heavy importance on the feeling of being part of a family and that Shiro is the closest thing he has to it, Shiro saying this is the best way to force Keith to face the problem, and the best way to make him grow and learn to choose the better option (which is choosing voltron over his blood-related family - this growth is what awakens his blade later on.) It really is build up toward Keith taking over the black lion, but until season 3 airs in september I can still hope for black paladin allura.

If you read this far, and you have stuff to say, dude hmu let’s chat about it. I hope it was just kinda helpful, insightful, and intriguing. If you draw some other conclusion about Keith’s character than I have I’d love to hear it. I might reblog this post again and add more to it so.. check back! if you’re interested. It’s 2:00 am and I probably missed a bunch of stuff I was thinking about when I started writing this post but whatever, wish me luck on my history exam tomorrow