#hear me out… hear me out… Lance is the moon

[then0rthernstar]

I have a problem, not being able to draw because of school, this song, and the idea I had a month ago of Lance and Bruno in moon and sun themed outfits.

[novaursa]

Where Banners Fall

- Summary: After your fall at Rook’s Rest, Gwayne takes you to safety and some hidden things come to light.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's sister and bonded with Silverwing. This part continues just after The Flames We Carry. For all parts done in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

-Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 3 320

- A/N: Yeah, this one was not ment to come out today either, but you all liked the last part very much, so, here is the continuation of it. Enjoy! ❤️

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The moon casts its pale light through the dense trees, illuminating the night in a silvery glow. The wind is cold, biting through layers of bloodied cloth, as Gwayne Hightower clutches the reins with one hand and his side with the other. His breath comes ragged, each inhalation a struggle as the gash Cole delivered sends jolts of fire down his side. But none of it matters, not when your life is in his hands. 

You lie slumped against his chest, your skin far too pale, and your breaths shallow, rattling with a sound that tears at his heart. Blood streaks your face, staining your lips, a crimson trail leaking from your nose. The fall from Silverwing... gods, he can still hear the roar of dragons and the sickening crunch of bones as you hit the ground. He couldn't—wouldn’t—leave you there, even if it meant betraying everything he'd ever known.

He halts the horse in the shadow of a large oak tree and dismounts with a groan, one arm wrapped protectively around his wounded side. The pain lances through him, nearly buckling his legs, but he grits his teeth and turns to you, his gaze softening despite the turmoil raging within.

"Y/N," he whispers, barely able to speak your name without his voice cracking. Carefully, he lifts you from the saddle, feeling your weight crumple against him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His fingers tremble as he lays you down gently on the mossy ground. You are so still, too still. 

He kneels beside you, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. "Open your eyes. Just... look at me, Y/N." His voice is hoarse, almost pleading. His hands, stained with blood—your blood, his blood—ghost over your cheeks, checking for any signs of life. 

Your eyelids flutter, and a soft moan escapes your lips, causing his heart to lurch with both relief and anguish. "Gwayne?" you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. Each word seems to sap what little strength you have left.

"I'm here. I won’t leave you, I promise," he assures you, his voice steady though it takes everything in him to keep it that way. He cups your face in his hand, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're safe now."

Tears prick his eyes as he sees the pain etched across your features. It’s a stark reminder that you’re not just his princess, the sister of Rhaenyra, daughter of Viserys—you’re the woman who’s owned his heart for years, even if it was a tragic love and often denied.

"You shouldn’t have come back for me," you rasp, your breath hitching in pain. "They’ll kill you…"

"Let them," Gwayne says with a fierce intensity, voice raw with emotion. "If it meant keeping you alive, I’d suffer any fate they decide." He swallows, lowering his head so his forehead rests against yours. "But I couldn’t let you die back there. Not you."

Your eyes fill with tears, but your smile is faint and tinged with regret. "Foolish knight. Always so stubborn."

He chuckles softly, though the sound is strained. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve finally done something right, if it means keeping you with me just a little longer."

You cough weakly, and the sound sends a fresh surge of panic through him. Blood dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and his heart twists at the sight. Desperation claws at him, urging him to do something, anything to ease your suffering, but he knows there’s little he can do out here in the wilderness with no healer, no herbs, nothing but his own two hands.

"I need to make camp," he says gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek one last time before he stands. "We’ll rest here. I’ll tend to you as best I can."

You try to protest, your voice faint. "You’re injured too… I can see the blood. You’ll bleed out if you—"

"Shh." His tone is soft but firm, silencing your concern. "You’re more important to me than any wound I bear." 

He gathers what little strength he has left and begins preparing a makeshift camp, struggling to keep his movements swift despite the burning pain in his side. He lights a small fire, the flickering flames casting shadows over your pale features. Every time he glances at you, his chest tightens with fear that he’ll lose you before the dawn.

Finally, when he’s done, he returns to your side, wrapping his cloak around your trembling form. He cradles you gently in his lap, pressing you close to share what warmth he can offer.

You turn your head weakly to look at him, tears brimming in your eyes. "Gwayne… if I don’t—"

"No," he interrupts, his voice sharp, as if the very idea of you leaving him is unbearable. "You’ll live, Y/N. We’ve both been through too much for it to end here."

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of night creatures. You rest your head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of armor and cloth. Despite everything, the world seems a little less terrifying with him holding you like this.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, your fingers curling weakly against his tunic. "For saving me… for staying."

"Always," he whispers, tightening his hold on you, as if afraid you’ll slip away. "For you, I would defy the world."

His words are heavy with truth. He betrayed Cole, risked everything—his loyalty, his honor, his House—because nothing mattered more than you. As he watches your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, he swears to himself that he’ll see you through this, no matter the cost.

The night wears on, and as the fire crackles and the stars glimmer overhead, he keeps vigil, his thoughts solely on you. In the stillness of the night, there is only the two of you, bound by fate, by the shared loss and love that lingers unspoken between every touch, every look.

And as sleep finally claims you, Gwayne brushes a tender kiss to your brow, whispering the words he’s held back for far too long.

"I love you, Y/N."

The admission hangs in the air, soft and fragile like a promise yet to be fulfilled. But as the night deepens, with you in his arms and the world beyond fading into the distance, it is a vow he clings to with all his heart.

The first rays of dawn filter through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns of golden light over your face. The chill of the night still lingers in the air, but warmth gradually spreads as the sun climbs higher. Gwayne Hightower stirs awake, the dull ache in his side reminding him of the wound that still bleeds sluggishly beneath layers of makeshift bandages. But the pain is forgotten the moment he notices your chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. You’re alive. You’re breathing.

For a fleeting moment, all his worries and fears dissolve as he watches you. Your skin is still too pale, your breathing shallow, but your lips are no longer tinged with the blue pallor of death. When your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Gwayne?” Your voice is soft, laced with confusion and pain, but it’s enough to make his heart soar.

“I’m here.” He shifts closer, gently brushing his hand over your forehead, smoothing away a few stray strands of hair. His touch is tender, reassuring, but there’s an edge of desperation to it, as if touching you is the only way he can convince himself you’re still with him. “You’re safe.”

You close your eyes briefly, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whisper, “Silverwing… she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Gwayne’s throat tightens, and he struggles to find the words. He knows how deep the bond is between a rider and their dragon, knows how it must feel like losing a piece of your soul. “She saved you, Y/N. She fought until the very end to protect you.”

A sob escapes your lips, but it’s weak, more of a trembling breath than anything. You turn your face into his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. “She was everything to me. I felt her… I felt her fear when they descended on us. She tried, Gwayne… she tried so hard.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you grieve. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “She was brave, just like you.”

For a long moment, he just holds you, letting the silence settle between you, broken only by the faint sounds of the waking forest. His thoughts, however, race. He knows they can’t stay here. His nephews’ banners surround them from every side, and it’s only a matter of time before scouts or patrols find them. He can’t risk it, not with you in this condition.

“We need to get you to Dragonstone,” he finally says, his voice low but determined. “To Rhaenyra. She’ll know how to keep you safe.”

You nod faintly against his chest, but your eyes are distant, as if lost in some faraway memory. “Dragonstone… where our son is.”

The words come so softly that at first, Gwayne thinks he’s misheard. His heart stutters, the blood draining from his face as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “What did you say?”

You blink slowly, your eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain, but there’s a haunted look in them now. “Our son… I can’t… I can’t lose him too.”

The world tilts beneath Gwayne’s feet. He stares at you, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said. “Y/N… what do you mean, our son?”

You swallow, the effort seeming to drain you. “He’s ours, Gwayne. He… he was born after… after everything. After Daemon took me.”

His chest tightens, shock mingling with something deeper, more painful. He had always known you were taken by Daemon, given to him as part of the political machinations he could never fully understand years ago. It was a decision that had shattered him at the time, but hearing this now—knowing you bore his child in secret—rips at old wounds, laying them bare.

“A son…” The words are a whisper, disbelief and awe warring in his voice. “You kept him hidden from me?”

Tears brim in your eyes again, your voice breaking. “I had no choice. Daemon… he knew the child wasn’t his. He claimed him, raised him as his own, but he’s ours, Gwayne. He’s our flesh and blood.”

Gwayne’s heart pounds in his chest, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him—anger, sorrow, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “All this time… I never knew.”

“I wanted to tell you, but it was too dangerous,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I thought… I thought it was better if you didn’t know. To keep you safe from Daemon’s wrath.”

Gwayne’s world narrows to this moment, to the truth of a child he never knew he had, one who’s been raised by a man who has always been his rival in more ways than one. The thought of Daemon laying claim to something so precious to him—it ignites a rage deep in his chest, but it’s tempered by the sheer anguish on your face.

He tightens his grip on you, pulling you into him as if holding you closer will somehow mend the broken pieces of the life you might have had together. “We’ll get him back,” he vows, voice low and fierce. “You and I—we’ll go to Dragonstone. To your sister. To our son. I won’t let Daemon keep what’s ours.” 

The thought makes his blood run cold, but for you, he’d face even that man.

You look up at him, your gaze searching his, and for a moment, you’re not the princess caught in the bloody web of war and dragons—you’re just a woman looking at the man you love, hoping against hope that he can keep the promise he’s just made. “I’ve missed him so much,” you whisper. “And I’ve missed you.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he allows himself to hold you as if you’re the only thing that matters. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “And I’m not going anywhere without you. We’ll get through this.”

The resolve in his words steadies the both of you. There’s a long road ahead, fraught with dangers and uncertainties, but he knows with unwavering certainty that he won’t let anything tear you away from him again—not the war, not his family’s betrayal, and not even Daemon’s machinations.

You’ve lost so much—your dragon, your freedom, your soul—but in this moment, you find a glimmer of hope in the man who’s risked everything for you. And as the morning sun rises, casting light on the uncertain path ahead, you cling to that hope, knowing that Gwayne will do whatever it takes to bring you home—to your sister, to your son, and to the life you both deserve.

Together, you’ll reclaim what’s been taken. And together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves on uneven ground fills the tense silence between you and Gwayne as he guides the horse deeper into the wilderness. Morning light filters through the trees in shifting patterns, but it does little to ease the weight pressing on Gwayne’s chest. His mind churns, cycling through the revelation you just laid bare—a son. His son. Every heartbeat seems to echo with the implications, each thump a reminder of the child who was taken from him, raised by a man Gwayne both loathes and fears.

He clenches the reins tighter, trying to steady his thoughts as they race uncontrollably. A son. His thoughts circle back to it, gnawing at him like an itch he can’t scratch. What is the boy like? What does he look like? The questions burn in his throat, but the uncertainty of what comes next gnaws at him even more. Daemon, he thinks bitterly, the name sour on his tongue. The prince’s shadow looms over everything now, twisting this newfound truth into something almost unbearable.

But he can’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now. You’re still weak, clinging to consciousness by a thread. The ride is perilous, the terrain rough, and every jolt of the horse draws a faint whimper from your lips. Each sound slices through him like a blade, a reminder that you’re slipping further away with every mile. His instinct is to press forward, to ride hard and fast to the nearest settlement that might offer help, but every harsh movement risks worsening your condition.

He takes a deep breath and glances down at you, leaning back against his chest, your eyes half-lidded in a haze of pain. "Y/N," he calls gently, hoping to draw you back to him, even if only for a few moments. "Stay with me. I need you to stay with me."

You stir slightly, your eyelids fluttering as you try to focus. Your breaths are labored, each one a struggle, but the sound of his voice seems to anchor you in the present.

"I’m here," you whisper, though your voice is faint and distant, almost as if you’re speaking from another world. "Just… so tired."

Gwayne swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push through the fear gnawing at him. He needs answers, needs to understand what you’ve been through, what he’s been through, if he’s going to piece together a plan that might save you both. "You spoke of our son… before," he says carefully, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of reality. "Tell me about him, Y/N. I need to know."

Your gaze drifts upward, unfocused, as if you’re looking at something beyond his reach. A faint smile tugs at your lips, though it’s tinged with sadness. "He’s beautiful," you murmur, voice trembling with emotion. "He has your eyes… that same spark. But he’s stubborn, too. So stubborn, just like his father."

Gwayne’s heart clenches at the thought. He can almost see it—an image of a child with your grace and his determination, laughing with that carefree joy only children possess. But there’s a shadow over the image, a darkness that steals the warmth from it.

"He doesn’t know who I am, does he?" Gwayne asks, though he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head weakly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He thinks… he thinks Daemon is his father. That’s all he’s known." Your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of the truth. "It was the only way to keep him safe. The only way to protect him while the world tore itself apart."

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, a surge of anger rushing through him, not at you but at the situation, at the cruelty of a world that forced such a choice upon you. "Daemon," he says bitterly, the name dripping with resentment. "He took everything from me. He even took him—our son—and you."

You turn your head slightly, struggling to focus on him, your expression full of regret. "He did it to protect him, Gwayne. As much as I hate it, I can’t deny that. In a world like this, with war tearing us all apart, who else could raise him? Who else could keep him alive?"

Gwayne’s throat tightens, the fury and sorrow tangling together in a knot that’s hard to unravel. He wants to argue, to curse Daemon’s name, but deep down, a small part of him knows you’re right. That’s what stings the most. Daemon was the one with power, the one who could shield the child from the dangers that lurked on all sides, even if it meant poisoning the boy’s mind against the truth of who he really is.

But he’s not ready to accept it. Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance to change things, to reclaim what’s his.

"I’ll find a way," he vows, more to himself than to you. "I’ll get him back, Y/N. I’ll make sure he knows who his true father is."

You smile weakly, though your eyes are growing heavier, the strain of staying conscious taking its toll. "You always were driven, my love," you murmur, voice fading. "Just… don’t lose yourself in anger. Our son deserves better than that."

Before he can respond, your eyes close again, and your body goes limp against him. Panic seizes him for a moment, but he quickly checks your pulse, relieved to feel the faint but steady beat beneath your skin. You’re slipping back into delirium, but you’re still alive. That’s all that matters now.

He looks ahead, squinting at the road as he spots the faint outlines of a small village in the distance—a neutral settlement, one of the few places where banners don’t fly for either side. It’s a place to rest, to gather supplies, and perhaps even to find someone who can tend to your wounds. But it’s not without risk. Enemies could be lurking anywhere, and he knows he can’t let his guard down.

As he rides toward the village, Gwayne’s thoughts swirl with plans and possibilities. He needs to get you to Dragonstone, needs to confront the truths that have been hidden for so long. But more than that, he needs to find a way to reunite with the son he never knew, the son who now lies in Daemon’s grasp.

And as the horse plods steadily forward, the determination in his heart hardens into something unbreakable. He will see this through, no matter what it costs. Because even in the face of betrayal, war, and loss, there’s something worth fighting for—a future that’s still within reach.

And he won’t let anyone—not even Daemon—take that from him.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

Could I please request Thranduil with a breeding kink with the lavender field prompt? 🔥🔥 thank you so much!! Your writings lift my spirits!

Here you go!

"Lavender Haze"

Pairing:  Thranduil x Fem. Reader (elf/second person POV) | Location: Greenwood the great

Themes: Smut | Soft

Warnings:  Kissing | Explicit language | Mild dirty talk | Breeding kink | Sex in an open field | Penetrative sex | Rough sex | Cream pie

Word count: 1.6k words

Summary : A game of hide of seek take place in a lavender field. What price will the loser have to pay? 

Rating: 🔥🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞  | You are responsible for the media you consume

Rules and tag form here | Prompts for requests here

 A lavender haze. 

That was all you could see in the periphery of your vision—an endless haze of the richest lavender swaying with the wind. The blooms rustled, murmuring with a hushed voice of their own every time the wind rose. It was sheer happenstance when you came across this field of wild lavender. Thrilled with this new find, you made haste to ride back to Amon Lanc and tell its prince. Thranduil listened with rapt attention and insisted that you take him there. No one knew of such a field, and he wanted to see it with his own eyes. 

The prince came. And he saw. And believed. And a merry chase then ensued. No one besides the two of you knew of this little slice of paradise, and Thranduil wanted to make the most of it. Others would learn of the field's existence soon enough, and the opportunities to be alone within it would grow sparse. 

You ran and ducked behind tall bushes. Hid behind the thick trunks of gnarled trees with branches so low they kissed the soft grass that grew beneath them. And Thranduil chased you still, calling out for you and searching for you, the heady rush of the chase working its magic on him. 

"Where are you, meleth?"

You clapped your hands over your mouth and kept still. Thranduil was close to the oak tree you were hiding behind. You could not hear his footsteps; the prince moved like a wraith, not making a single sound. You press against the bark of the tree, wondering if he heard you or if he knew where you were hiding. 

"Meleth?"

It was as if he were further away now, but you keep yourself concealed anyway. When it sounded as if he had moved quite a distance, you peered around the tree, pleased to find him no longer there. You take off again, giggling and smug, confident you have thrown him off your trail. 

"There you are!" Thranduil ran in from behind and threw his arms around you. He cackled when you squealed and squirmed and tried to free yourself from his hold. His moving away from where you were had just been a sly trick. He was there the entire time, hidden, waiting for you to come out into the open. 

"Th-thranduil!" Giddy laughter ripped through you when you tried and tried, and he simply continued to carry you deeper into the field. "Let g-go!"

"No!" Thranduil's laughter mirrored yours. He listened to you grumble and plot your escape, and laughed again, louder this time. "Yield, meleth. Escape is futile. Surely you know this by now."

"Never!" That never lasted no more than a few moments, when you realized you would not be able to extricate yourself from his vise-like grip no matter how hard you tried. You give up and go limp against him. 

Thranduil sets you down amidst fragrant purple blooms. "Now, tell me. What was our wager again?"

"If I win, you are to be my slave for the turn of a moon," you answer quickly, more than a little disappointed that losing the wager meant not having Thranduil wait on you hand and foot. Literally. 

Thranduil smirked, clearly pleased with himself. "And if I win?"

"I am to let you have your way with me. In whatever way you desire."

"A prospect that does not disappoint you, yes?"

You huff and cross your arms. How easy it was for him to read you! "It does not."

Thranduil smiled wolfishly and sat down, extending his hand to you. "Come, meleth. It is time to pay the piper, so to speak."

You narrowed your eyes and made yourself comfortable next to him, lying down on the grass as you did so. The sky was beautiful, all puffy white clouds against a field of the palest, clearest blue. You rest your head over your folded arms and watch while they stay low and move slowly. Thranduil is content to watch you. He lays down beside you, an enchanting smile slowly working its way across his face when you turn to face him. His eyes light up when you smile in return. 

"I will pay," you reply with a grin. 

Thranduil beamed and leaned forward, the sweetness of his kiss pouring into your throat when his mouth opened over yours. Deft, experienced hands worked on the clasps and lacing on your robes. Your gown loosened beneath his touch. The prince helps you out of your clothes, barely taking a moment to marvel at the sight of you exposed. Thranduil then sat up, his clothes rustling while he rid himself of his tunic and undershirts, belt and sash and boots. They all joined the growing pile by the side. He slipped out of his breeches, sighing in relief when his throbbing cock sprang free. He did not give you time to even think or breathe. He simply captured your lips with his. 

Your nerves were aflame; every inch of you was heated and sensitive to his touch. And you were bold, reaching out to ghost a finger over the crown of his member. Thranduil moaned lustily and drew away, content again to watch, this time while you took him into your hands. He moved his hips, thrusting in time with your strokes. The warmth and frenzy of your pace were unceasing. It nearly undid him and almost made him cum all over your hand. 

"Not like this." Thranduil loosened your grip and pushed you onto your back. "I would much rather finish inside you."

He was so warm when he lowered himself onto you—slowly and carefully—and tried not to lose control of himself and hurt you. He did not enter you immediately. Thranduil kept still while you touched his face and his hair, and ran your hands over his arms and chest and back. The prince was perfect, like an exquisite marble sculpture come to life. 

"Mine," you declare without even hesitating. "All mine."

Joy welled within Thranduil's heart. "As you are mine," he exclaimed with pride before dipping his head. 

He kissed with tenderness, then hunger, then fury, when your mouth parted for the warmth of his sinful tongue. Thranduil knitted his tapered fingers around yours, moaning into your mouth when your free hand slid around his waist and nails dug into his flesh. 

"Naughty girl," he breathed wistfully. "Now open those beautiful legs for me."

He groaned under his breath when your legs slid open and hooked around his hips. Thranduil pushed in, inch by agonizing inch, sinking his shaft into your slit. The prince was built bigger than most, and you felt it in the pressure around your core. He kept still, his chest heaving and his heart racing wildly, while you adjusted to his size. Arousal pooled in your belly when even the slightest movement sent shock waves shooting up your spine like lightning. You no longer wanted him to stay still. You wanted him to move. 

"I am ready."

Thranduil's pace was merciless. He rutted into you like a wild beast, growing drunk on your transported moans.

"Look at how well you take me," he cries against your throat. "It is as if you have been made for me."

All you could do was hold onto him while he bucked his hips against the insides of your thighs. "Perhaps it is because we were made for each other."

"Yes," Thranduil agreed. "Meant for each other. You are mine, just as I am yours. We belong together."

His grip on your hand tightened. He plunged deeper and harder. It made you see stars. "More," you plead shamelessly. "More. Please."

Thranduil grunted softly. "Look at you. Listen to how desperate you sound. Should I deny you?"

"No!" you keen. "Please do not do that."

"Pathetic." Thranduil hissed hoarsely, his hips now undulating every time he thrust. "But I suppose I will concede to your plea. I am going to finish inside you, so you know who you belong to."

"Please." The knowledge of him filling you with his seed unraveled you. "Do it. Please."

He nearly fell apart when he heard. Thranduil let go of your hand and gripped your chin, forcing you to open your eyes and look at him. He wanted to see how your words could undo him. "Are you ready?"

You did see. You saw how his eyes had darkened and how raw, unbridled lust flashed in them. And you were so ready for him.

"Yes," you sob in relief. "So ready."

Thranduil ran his tongue along the curve of your throat. It made you tremble beneath him and whimper against his shoulder. His thrusts grew erratic and relentless. It sent you spiraling and made the world grow dark in your eyes. Thranduil gasped sharply while your walls contracted and milked his cock. It shattered him and made his orgasm rip through him. He glanced at your belly, his thoughts running riot with visions of his spend filling your cunt. It heightened the bliss he was already drowning in. With one last, satisfying grunt, he came to a stop, his arms and body trembling from the exertion. 

Nothing could be heard save for the wind rustling through flowers and leaves and the deeper sound of ragged breathing. Thranduil slowly moved onto his back, taking you with him. You sighed in contentment while he held you against his chest. When you moved, he stopped you. 

"Keep me inside you a little longer," Thranduil insists. "Just a little longer, then you and I can go for a swim in that pond nearby."

[transmascsteveharrington]

Prince Steve who loses a battle and his hearing gets send to the sea by his father as a punishment. He's a disgrace, to never return to the kingdom. Steve doesn't need to hear to know that his father told the crew to drown him, or let pirates kill him, or just wait for a storm to take him.

Steve tries to his best to be of use on the ship, but he has no illusions. He knows his father pays well and that the crew hates his guts, thinking he is nothing but a spoiled brat. And even if her were to prove them wrong and prove himself, they are too scared of his father to obey his orders. Steve knows when he boards the ship that his days are numbered.

He spends most of his days under deck after it becomes evident that the crew doesn't want his help. His nights he spends standing at the ship's bow staring at the ocean and staring at the moon. Thinks about how waves and sky melt into one in the dark of the night. How the moon will call out and the waves will sing back and the ocean will follow. Worlds apart and yet one in the dim reflection of light on the restless surface. Steve has made his peace with dying.

His life has not been fulfilled, but it has been longer than expected. Steve has lived with bated breath, just waiting for his father's temper to finally snap and one of the knights' lances to slip during training, or the cooks' food to grow rotten and poisonous.

Just like the moon to the ocean, death has always been looming above Steve, calling out to him, just waiting. And Steve is fine with it. Mostly. He just really wishes he had been in love at least once. He can't hear the song moon and ocean sing to each other anymore, but he kicks off his shoes bare feet on wooden planks and feels the love ocean and moon have for each other in the waves crashing against the hull.

His mother used to sing him to sleep, an old song. A caged bird singing out to his lover, waiting patiently, asking to be freed and whisked away. His mother has died waiting. Steve doesn't remember the lyrics, would probably not pronounce the words correctly anymore anyways. But he still knows the melody. He hums along with the ocean and yearns together with the moon.

The crew always ignores him so Steve doesn't notice when one day their eyes become distant and milky. When the ship stirs towards cliffs he doesn't question it. Just thinks that this might be it, this is where he will be thrown overboard and die. The ship crashes, planks splintering apart and Steve does tumble, falls overboard while the crew jumps. Bodies hit the water, but his head is the only one that breaks back through the surface.

He spots motion in the water, thinks sharks, doesn't know why he bothers but he tries to make it to the nearest cliff and climbs onto the coarse rock. A dark figure follows him. It's not a shark though that emerges once Steve has made it onto the cliff, even though it has just as sharp teeth. Sharp teeth and gills and claws and beautiful brown eyes and an almost human face matching the almost human upper body.

Sirens aren't meant to be pretty, they only lure with the promise of heated desire and quick release, no need to actually look the part. They are half monster anyways. Still, the siren in front of Steve looks beautiful, flashes his fangs in a grin as he lifts himself up on Steve's cliff.

Steve is tired the siren won't have to

sing to lure him to his death, the siren can just take him. He doesn't though, just stares at Steve, moves his lips and Steve, sick of it all, just snarks back, "I'm deaf you dimwit. So if you wanna eat me just get on with it."

The siren's smile falls. He's probably not used to his food talking back let alone be rude. His clawed hand reaches out for Steve and Steve presses his eyes shut, expecting pain. Instead, the siren cups his face gently, claw brushing over his cheek. Steve doesn't remember the last time someone had touched him with tenderness.

When Steve opens his eyes again confused the siren removes his hand and begins to sign. Steve's jaw drops a little, he knew sirens could speak whatever language to lure whoever they needed to lure. He hadn't expected them to know sign too.

"I'm not going to eat you, little prince," the siren signs. "I heard you call out for me so I came. You sing so lovely."

Steve still gapes, "What?"

"It's an old song," the siren signs. "The moon and the waves were not the only ones who listened."

Steve stares at the siren. The siren who heard him hum, who had heard him wait, heard him ask to be whisked away. The siren has come for him but not to eat him.

"What's your name?"

"Eddie."

"And what now Eddie?" Steve asks.

Eddie reaches into the water where there is another dark figure. When he takes his hand back out he hands Steve dark algae he has never seen before.

"You can take these and join me and my swarm, they'll allow you to breathe underwater," Eddie explains. "Or you'll say the word and I'll return you to the nearest land. Your choice."

It's the easiest choice Steve has ever made. Return to a place that was never home, live alone and in fear. Or follow the siren who heard his call and came for him. Steve swallows the algae.

"I choose you."

Eddie smiles again, holds his hand out for Steve to take before he pulls Steve underwater and for the first time Steve actually feels like he can breathe freely.

Growing a tail, gills, fangs and claws isn't pleasant. But Eddie holds him through it, hand brushing through Steve's hair. Steve can't hear Eddie, but he can feel the vibrations in Eddie's chest as Eddie hums soothingly.

He has no expectations after Steve joins his swarm. Seems to be happy to just be around Steve. But Steve called for Eddie the same way the moon calls for the ocean and just like the waves Eddie had come. Falling had been inevitable from the beginning.

They'll drift, bodies and limbs entangled, Steve's hand gently resting on Eddie's throat as Eddie returns the favor and sings for Steve. It's another old song. A love song. Steve can feel Eddie's love under his fingertips vibrating in Eddie's throat and beating in his chest. The song is not going to lure anyone else, one that belongs to Steve alone. Though Eddie never had to lure Steve, Steve lured him first. But even without his song, Eddie would have come for his little prince. The same way the ocean will always come for the moon, sky and water one during the star-lit night.

[omega-e123]

hear me out..

lancelot shadow & princess! reader or nymph! reader with forbidden love trope

:>

love Lance!Shadow sm, but this was SO HARD to think about because of the “og” tales. My brain likes to stick close to canon as possible. With it being 2 different universes smashed into 1, brain does not like and therefore hurts. BUT THE IDEA OF HIM…. MMH.

Galahad!Silver had to be born somehow…

With that being said, loyalty to the king and upholding his duties always came first. Of course, because you are a spawn of the king, his loyalties also lie with you. When the realization of being smitten first arose Lancelot swallowed his feelings and held them down as long as he could, fully convinced they’ll pass.

Alas, Lancelot was proven wrong.

Everyone knew Lancelot was the kings most trusted knight. Of course he would assign him to protect his daughter. No one was better suited other than Lance.

Your own heart only grew fonder for the knight now that more time is spent together. Much like the moon chased the sun, Lancelot was there. Following and standing firm by your side.

It didn’t take long before both realized the pining was mutual. Best efforts were taken to ensure that nothing happened between you and him. All the short brush of physical touches. The midnight talks under the stars. Little quiet snarky comments whispered to Lance, getting him to hide his laugh via cough—. So many little things added fuel to the fire.

Pain of having to keep it professional was unbearable. How else to heal a hurting longing heart other than to give it what it wants?

…

Now, depending on the iteration.. Lancelot gets banished upon the affair being found out or the king approves of the relationship. I’d say a good chunk of the story goes with the former, because King Arthur felt betrayed.

Because this is SATBK, we now have King!Sonic who would probably be chill about the whole thing. LOL!

[autisticlancemcclain]

this is how it continued

———

This is how it ends.

———

This is how it ends.

———

This is how it ends.

———

This is how it ends.

———

Lance tries for weeks to make it end.

The words crawl up like bile in the back of his throat. Keith, he tries to say, time and time again, we need to talk. And when he manages to push through the stinging burn and say them, breath turning to dust in his lungs, Keith crooks his finger under Lance’s chin and meets Lance’s eyes and replies, just as quietly, Of course, sweetheart. What’s wrong?

And every time Lance is faced with the softness in his dark eyes, the steady way he holds his gaze. And every time something inside him cracks, desperate and howling and selfish after being deprived so long, and his bravery dries up like a tiny stream in the summer heat. And instead of saying When did you start loving me, Keith, ‘cause you woke up one day and decided we’d been together for ages and everyone thinks you’re crazy his chin trembles and his eyes burn and he cries, again, and tells Keith of the months without him.

Every day I’m sorry I left you behind, Keith whispers into the heat of Lance’s skin, and every time in response Lance knows, I do not deserve this from you. And the desperate howling selfish part of him grows stronger and stronger.

Lance needs to make it end.

———

He cannot make it end publicly.

It’s too…messy for that. It has been too long now. He hasn’t counted the days but he knows what it looks like right before Keith screams himself awake, now, knows how to press his cold hands to the side of his neck and the curve of his ribs to startle his dream-self into thinking kinder thoughts. He knows how the chip on Keith’s right front tooth feels on his tongue, his knuckles, his shoulder. He knows that Keith showers with his eyes shut out of years of habit of showering in the dark and fearing the sting of the soap.

Rarely do they stop at a hotel. Usually they sleep in shifts, staying in space for days at a time instead of resting every night. It’s horrible and cramped and makes everyone cranky, but it brings them home faster. After everyone is fed up of air travel, which never takes long, they often stop somewhere small and uninhabited and out of the way – a moon, a burgeoning planet, a long-abandoned one. Whatever is closest. On those nights, the nine of them, plus the animals, will stretch and enjoy the fresh air, if there is any, maybe watch a setting sun. And then they will make a fire and cook rations or a real meal, if they can find ingredients and Hunk or Lance have the energy. And after everyone has eaten and conversations have long begun to slow, after teeth have been brushed and faces have been washed, after their friends have nodded off one by one, Keith will push their bedrolls together to make one, spread a blanket over the two of them, and hold Lance close; without question, without hesitation. And he will be out in moments, gently snoring along to whatever alien crickets are crooning into the night, and Lance will trace the shape of his face under the light of the dying embers and forget to be guilty. He will feel safe in Keith’s hold like he does not feel anywhere else and his feet will be warmed between Keith’s thighs. He will fall asleep with a smile on his face.

———

Five months into their journey, Coran says: “I have an announcement to make.”

“What’s up?” Pidge asks, swinging her feet from where she sits sideways in her chair, hair a mess, face buried in the not-quite-DS they found a few planets back. Lance smiles and rolls his eyes.

“In the next quintaint, we will be approaching Deruyn. The Deruy were close friends of the Alteans, eons ago, and the Chancellor has extended to me an invitation to reacquaint ourselves. If you’re all amenable, my dears, we have been invited to stay in the guest wing of her royal quarters for a week.”

Lance straightens up, rubber band ball he was toying with slipping from his grasp. He hears it bounce several times behind him before an abrupt stop, and then a very angry moo. He winces.

“Sorry, Kaltenecker.”

She huffs, clearly still miffed.

Everyone is talking over each other, eyes bright and excited through their video connections. Coran looks pleased, watching them all chatter. Lance catches his eye and smiles at him.

A whole week in a royal wing…and a real royal wing! Nothing like the paladin quarters they lived in on the Castle. They bedrooms will be huge, probably; fancy and ornate. Maybe a canopy bed and pillows comfier than Lance can even fathom.

And baths. Lance hopes there are big, deep baths he can almost swim in.

“You look dreamy.”

Keith’s amused voice startles him out of his daydreaming, although he can’t bring himself to be embarrassed. Everyone else is still chattering on, bubbling with excitement — no one is looking at him.

“I am,” Lance admits. He puts a hand to his forehead and sighs, more dramatically than necessary, pleased when it brings the expected reaction of Keith’s fond little smile. “There might be baths, Keith. Real baths. And oils and soaps and soft towels. And pillows! And a queen-sized bed!”

Keith’s smile turns teasing. “What you need is an Alaskan king.”

“Oh, shut up.”

Keith’s laugh has gotten rumblier since his space whale growth spurt, that’s the only way Lance can explain it. It’s softer and darker and suggests smile lines around his eyes he didn’t have before. Every time Lance looks at them he imagines them getting deeper and wider.

“Been a while since we’ve been somewhere with a real bed, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“Gotta make sure they don’t book us two separate rooms again,” Keith huffs, crease appearing between his eyebrows. “I still don’t know what that was about.”

Lance’s mouth goes dry.

I do, he should be saying. I know exactly why there were two separate rooms booked for us. In fact I can guarantee it will happen again.

But he is a coward. And the words die somewhere in his belly, before they can come anywhere near his throat.

———

It takes time to reach Deruyn. Some of this is because Shiro read the map backwards and set them back two days. (“I’m dyslexic!” he had defended, to their booing and whining. “There is not booing and whining to dyslexia! Do you boo and whine a lisp? No! Let me live!”)

By the time they finally manage to drag their poor, exhausted Lions to the sizeable planet, everyone’s excitement is so palpable Lance doesn’t need an emotional bond to feel it.

“Fresh air,” sighs Allura.

“Good food,” seconds Hunk.

“People to talk to that aren’t you fools,” agrees Pidge.

“A mattress,” Keith adds, and shoots Lance a wink.

Despite himself and rolling mess of feeling in his stomach, Lance flushes.

Coran accepts a call as soon as they’re within radio range, greeting a narrow-faced, pink-skinned woman who must be the Chancellor. Immediately they delve into a conversation that Lance doesn’t even pretend to follow. He recognizes Coran’s tone from the many times his mother would strike up a conversation with an aunt or uncle or any guest at all as they were leaving the house — this conversation could be hours long. His eyes glaze over, sliding away from his Lion’s display to take in the planet in front of him.

Deluyn is large, that much is obvious. It’s hard to scale something with such magnitude when it’s so close to your face, but if Lance had to guess, he would place it somewhere between Jupiter and the Balmera. It has no rings but the whole planet seems to glow, slightly, although Lance can see no clear source for it. The colours visible from orbit are entirely alien to him, so he’s not sure what is water, if anything is, but from the angry look of the planet’s poles, the dark green things are clouds.

What feels like a million hours later, but it probably only around fifteen minutes, there’s a click as the Chancellor and Coran end their call, and they are urged forward into landing. As they get closer to the landing strip, Lance notices dozens of children sprinting along the barrier, holding signs and flags and cheering. He grins, twisting his hands tighter around Red’s controls, hanging back just slightly from formation to give himself space to move. Then he yanks the controls to the side, feeling Red roar as she whips around in a tight circle, flames rolling down her back. The children jump up and down, fists raised, mouths open in shouts of joy. Several of their grownups watch with wide grins, too, necks craned to watch Lance spin around.

He pulls back into formation after a couple of tricks, sliding smoothly in between Black and Blue. His heart rate ticks up, and suddenly his undersuit feels tight, itchy. He squirms in his seat. When Shiro’s face pops up to relay landing instructions he flinches, and immediately hates himself for the hurt look that eclipses his friend’s face.

“…Lance?” Shiro asks softly, confusion lining his voice. He looks like a kicked puppy. Lance is a monster.

“I’m just jumpy, I’m just jumpy,” he assures, forcing a smile and holding it there until Shiro’s shoulders relax. “You know. So excited to see where we’ll be staying.”

“Yeah, me too! Coran even said they have this massive sauna they’re really famous for. I can’t wait. I miss what saunas do for my skin. And, plus, having our own rooms will be nice.” His excited grin turns sly. “Well, most of us will have our own room.”

Lance’s heart pounds for a totally different reason. “Okay thanks Shiro bye —”

He reaches to cut the connection but Shiro stops him, laughing.

“No, no, wait, I’ve got landing instructions. Their staff is limited so we gotta go one at a time, okay, stay in your Lion once you’re parked in case you need to adjust…”

Thankfully it’s nothing too complicated. Keith lands first, and Lance next to him, then Pidge, then Allura, then Hunk. Once they’re all parked and confirmed by ground control, they’re cleared it exit, none of them taking their time.

Well, everyone else disembarks pretty fast. Kaltenecker remains and stubborn pain in the ass as usual, and Lance is stuck trying desperately to drag an 800 something pound cow that has absolutely no desire to work with him. “Kallie,” he begs, tugging uselessly on her leash, “you dumb ass fucking animal. Please. I am begging you. I put up with your farts in the cabin for days on end, which has got to be shaving years off my life. The food I feed you could be better but in all fairness, I’m getting the same slop you are, so. Maybe cut me some slack.”

She doesn’t even moo at him.

Lance tries bribery.

“Say, you want good food? I bet they have good food on this planet. Nice, sweet, fresh grass. You love grass. You want grass? Please come on, Kallie. Everyone else has already left and I’m going to die of embarrassment if I’m the last paladin left, doing the walk of shame with his stubborn cow behind him. The jokes will write themselves. I’ll have to quit and join a travelling circus, and then who will put up with you? Remember that Allura wants to turn you into hamburgers.”

Clearly hamburgers were the wrong thing to mention, because if cows can glare, Kaltenecker does. She even has the audacity to huff her cow breath at him and drag them both further into Red. Red, who is a traitor, does absolutely nothing to help and is in fact laughing herself sick, loudly, in Lance’s mind.

“I shoulda left you in that damn mall,” Lance grumbles, not meaning it. He sighs and collapses against his cow’s side, closing his eyes. Just his luck. The rest of his friends are gallivanting about a fancy-dancy castle as guests of honour, and Lance is babysitting a methane machine. “I’m gonna have to sleep here tonight, aren’t I.”

“Well, I hope not.”

Lance yelps, jumping to his feet. Unfortunately, in his haste, his boot hooks around Kaltenecker’s hoof, and since she is still unmoving, he goes sprawling. Fortunately, Keith got stranded in a space whale for two years and took Prince Charming classes, or something, so he catches him.

“You’re such a nervous wreck,” Keith says fondly, leaning down to kiss him instead of letting Lance stand like a normal person. (Not. That Lance. Is necessarily complaining. But for prosperity’s sake, and everything, keeping a man in a dip for too long is just undignified, Keith, you should know that, you graduated top of your class from Fairytale University. So. Pull yourself together.)

“Am not,” Lance protests. He sighs as Keith adjusts his hold on him, patting around blindly until he finds the edge of Keith’s braid and undoing it. He slides his hands in that thick hair with a relish as soon as it’s free, making Keith chuckle (but, wisely, not say anything, because the one and only time he commented Lance avoided him for two days out of pure embarrassment).

“I sent the rest of the team on when you didn’t come out. Figured Kaltenecker was giving you trouble.” He meets Lance’s eyes and grins, dark eyes mischievous and sparkling, and Lance is seriously going to walk off a bridge because who authorized that, who, who approved the combination of big dark eyes and a crooked grin and a face that promises trouble. Huh? The fuck’s up with that. “Figured I could help.”

Lance manages to find a shred of dignity within himself and steps slightly away. “That’s great, Noble Kent, but last I checked you couldn’t drag an 800 pound heifer either, so.”

Keith nods. “‘Course not. Brought Kosmo. Here, boy.”

The wolf poofs to existence at Keith’s side, barking excitedly. He bounds up to Lance first, expecting his usual barrage of kisses and head scratches (which he gets), then gets all shy as he walks over to his crush. Kaltenecker looks over at him and no lie rolls her eyes, looking away again. Kosmo, however, is undeterred, barking happily before blipping them both out of existence.

“She is never gonna love you, dude,” Keith says, shaking his head.

Lance snorts, taking Keith’s offered hand and heading down Red’s ramp (finally). “Wouldn’t it be weirder if she did? I think we’d have to break them up. Like, ethically.”

“Could be a Donkey and Dragon situation.”

“Shut up. It ruins my perception of you every time I’m reminded you’ve seen Shrek.”

“You’re perception of me,” Keith repeats, musing. His right eyebrow twitches, and it’s too small to see at arm’s distance, but Lance knows a tiny scar ripples there, from when he was fourteen and got it pierced in defiance of Shiro. “What is your perception of me?”

Lance keeps himself steady. He puts one foot in front of the other and keeps his left hand held in Keith’s. There is nothing interrogating in Keith’s tone, he reminds himself, although maybe there should be. When he looks up Keith’s eyes are open and curious and something else he doesn’t know how to name.

“You’re honest,” he says quietly. He means to say more, has a list he could probably recite bullet by bullet, but he doesn’t.

“Honest,” Keith mutters to himself. “Huh.”

Lance swallows. He doesn’t know how he could possibly explain the weight to that. Keith is committed and brave and talented and beautiful. But more than that he is truthful. Does he see? Does he know?

An empty landing pad passes remarkably slowly when two people walk in silence. There are crafts of all kinds and tarmac upon tarmac. Eventually, though, they start walking somewhere a little more crowded; thin, reedy people resembling the Chancellor waving to them as they pass. Lance would stop to ask for directions, but the giant castle is kind of hard to miss, so they just walk in the direction of it hope their armour will do the talking for them.

Keith catches a richly dyed ribbon blowing by as they pass through a crowded market, trapping the fine thing between his fingers as it passes between them. It’s a strange and familiar colour, walking the line between indigo and deep violet. He glances around for a stall that might be selling them, and when he can’t find one, he turns to Lance and says, “Hold out your arm.”

Lance does. Carefully, Keith unlatches his vambrace, tucking it under his arm, then peels up his undersuit to lay bare his wrist. His tongue sticks out of his mouth slightly in concentration as he ties it among Lance’s dozens of string bracelets, right above his blue Moana watch still counting the hours back home.

“There,” he says proudly. “Looks good on you.”

Lance reaches up and kisses him until neither of them can breathe.

———

They know they will be teased when they finally meet with their friends at the castle.

“Let’s not,” Keith suggests, nodding at the guards who move to let them past.

“I’ll find out where our room is?” Lance says.

Keith nods. “Yeah, we’ll need that.”

“‘Kay, wait here. Don’t be obvious, or Allura will smell drama and come running.”

He’s jinxed them by saying anything at all — no sooner do the words leave his lips does Keith tense up, screwing up his face in an attempt to appear neutral but resembling instead someone who is trying very hard not to sneeze. Lance manages not to laugh, squeezing his hand once before darting off, choosing a random corridor and going with it.

Thankfully, he manages to find a person who holds a clipboard and walks with a purpose, so he assumes they know what they’re doing. Double thankfully, they do, and not only direct him to their rooms but press a labeled map into his hands. It even has a schedule on the back for mealtimes and room cleaning, which is something Lance totally forgot existed. He runs back to Keith quickly, careful to avoid the kitchen and the armoury — places he’s sure his friends will be.

Keith is earnestly inspecting a mounted sword on the wall when Lance returns. His nose is maybe an inch from the polished blade, probably less, honestly. Lance bites his lip to hold down a snicker and takes a picture, intending blackmail, but it ends up being the perfect shot — his hair is slightly wavy from the braid he wore earlier, and there’s a cute scrunch to his nose, not to mention his squinted eyes like he’s wishing for reading glasses. It becomes Lance’s background almost without him meaning to.

“C’mon, nerd,” he calls, smiling as Keith startles. “I got a map and someone is gonna meet us there with a key. I wanna check it out, get a move on.”

Keith does indeed hurry over. “I’m so glad they got it right this time. One room! No need to debate over it.”

Lance falters. He’d been so caught up in the excitement of the room and then Kaltenecker and then…Keith, he forgot. They’re not what Keith thinks they are, what Lance has been pretended to be.

“Right,” he manages, mouth suddenly dry. He desperately tries to shove the enthusiasm back in his voice, forcing his face into a smile when Keith looks back. “Right, yeah, that’s so much less of a pain.”

There is indeed someone with a key when they get to the room. The door is light, in both colour and material, and although his feelings are still heavy and conflicting, his excitement wins out. Keith takes the key, thanking the attendant, and a small voice in the back of Lance’s mind whispers this could be them some day, on Earth, with a key of their own. He does his best to ignore it.

“Ready?” Keith asks.

“Please oh please let the bed be bigger than Red’s cabin,” he responds.

Keith snorts. Slowly, out of what must be a desire to torture Lance, he slides the key into the lock and turns it. Lance doesn’t hesitate before shoving it open.

“It is bigger than the cabin!” he shouts, and wastes no time running up and onto it.

He practically sinks into the mattress, so soft it’s like it’s made of hopes and dreams. The blankets are the fluffiest things he’s ever felt in his life. And the space — he stretches out as far as he can, fingers to toes, and not a single limb comes even close to the edge of the bed.

The mattress dips beside him, and a hand slides along the back of his neck.

“This is you before you notice the big canopy.”

Lance lifts his head immediately. He fights back a very undignified squeal when he does, indeed, see a gossamer blue canopy hanging softly from the high ceilings.

“And the windows too, sweetheart. Floor to ceiling, like you like ‘em.”

Lance scrambles to his knees to check. They are. And the view is breathtaking.

“And the bathtub? Is it huge and clawfooted?”

Keith ducks his head, smiling, and presses a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“I’ll go check, you grandma. You take your armour off.”

He listens for Keith’s footsteps, waits for them to go from carpet to tile, waits for the “Yep! Claw foot!”, waits for the sound of rushing taps even though he didn’t ask, even though Keith didn’t offer. He turns on his back and stares as the canopy, inspecting the padded wooden roof structure from which the gauzy curtains hang, tracing its sturdy edges and even corners.

Keith makes him feel so warm.

He’s felt a lot of cold, in a lot of places, for a lot of his life. Part of it is the stupid anaemia that he gets to live with. Part of it is stuff he doesn’t like to think about. But Keith comes in with his warm hands and warm smile and stupid big warm heart, and Lance is thawed in every frozen inch of him. It’s good. It’s so good.

He wants it so desperately.

He comes when Keith calls, stripping his armour along the way. Keith is waiting for him in the bath when he gets there — and it is huge, close enough for them to both sit comfortably without brushing so much as a toe against each other, but of course Lance settles his spine against the curve of Keith’s chest the second he slips inside the steaming water. The room smells of sandalwood and lilac.

“You are so important to me,” Keith murmurs, seemingly at random, pressing his lips along Lance’s stretched neck, following the arch of it as he tips his head back to rest on Keith’s shoulder.

Lance’s breath sighs out of him, rising and mixing with the steam. He lifts a shaking hand to twine it to Keith’s, squeezing. Their joined hands are wet against his chest. Together they rise, up and down, up and down, up and down, with every shaky breath.

———

They giggle like teenagers, sneaking into the kitchen well after dark and well after most of the castle has finally gone to bed.

Neither has wanted to face the team’s teasing just yet, or even the team at all, really. Their room can’t be called a room so much as a small apartment — bookshelves lining the wall that Keith had been eyeing for hours, a massive wardrobe, a beautiful velvet sofa, even a small icebox. Neither of them have said it but it feels, implicitly, like their own little space, their own little commune, beyond the privacy of a hotel room. It feels like somewhere they could live. They’re billions of miles away from Earth and anywhere Lance could consider home, but it’s nice to pretend, and neither of them is ready to hop back into reality — or Hunk’s roasting — quite yet.

(It is not what Lance’s mind is pretending. In no world could they ever live in a castle like this. It is foolish to spend his time fantasizing about a future they will probably never have, a home they will never build. The guards stationed at every door should break Lance’s fantasy. But he has always been very, very good at pretending.)

“Just grab some of everything,” he whispers to Keith. “We have actual room cleaning, remember? We can have some dirty dishes, no one will mind.”

“There’s certainly space for it,” Keith agrees.

In minutes the two of them have piled almost more than they can carry. They’re much slower on the walk back, but no less giddy. As soon as the door is locked shut behind them, they’re sat on the bed, even though eating on a bed is disgusting and usually Lance would never permit it, and stuffing their faces.

“Oh my God, this thing tastes like strawberries. Here, try.” Keith holds up a juicy looking silver fruit, Lance leans over to bite it. It does taste like strawberry. He dusts off his hands and crawls over to chase the taste off Keith’s tongue.

“Strawberries get you going?” Keith mumbles, and Lance grins and says, “Something like that.”

They have more food than they can possibly eat and they eat until they can barely move. The rest they wrap up and stick in the icebox.

He can feel Keith falling asleep, head getting heavier, so he pats him gently on the hip and whispers, “Come on, get up, at least get ready first. Wash your face.”

Keith groans. He squishes his face further into Lance’s belly, making him squirm and laugh, and mutters something he can barely here. “Hnnngh. You first. I’ll catch up.”

“You’ll fall asleep,” Lance scolds, but he gets up first anyway. When he glances behind him he sees that Keith has at least managed to put one foot on the ground, so maybe he really will get up and put some pyjamas on.

Lance snorts. Yeah, right.

He takes his time and pokes around the bathroom, having been too preoccupied to do so beforehand. There’s a stack of fluffy towels and cloths on a shelf, and even a couple rough ones for exfoliating. In a cupboard lies dozens of soaps and oils and creams and a million other things, labelled in that same holographic translator stuff the Olkarions use so Lance can read them easily. He is impressed by the wide range of selection — he’s been slowly rebuilding his skincare collection, and will indeed be looting at least half of these bottles to complete it. There’s enough stuff here to do a whole soak. Nice.

Then he turns towards the sink. And he stares.

And he starts to cry.

Laid out exactly as he likes it is his stuff from his pack. His toothbrush, his primary face wash, his hair brush, his lotion, everything. In order of how he uses it, with the sink in the middle, and everything an appropriate distance from the sink so he doesn’t soak the whole counter trying to reach for whatever comes next in his routine. A setup his has perfected over many years and has had genuine conniptions over misplaced steps and wrong orders. Something inane and stupid and that only matters to him.

Of course Keith has noticed, of course Keith has memorized, of course he has replicated.

Lance is a horrible, horrible person.

This is has to be how it ends.

“Keith!” he shouts, and the man comes in running, half groggy and robbing the sleep from his eyes. He’s in a t-shirt and boxers.

“Lance?”

“My brush is — in the wrong place.”

Keith inspects him carefully. “You’re crying.”

“Because the brush is in the wrong place! I keep it in the same spot, I like it here, you know I like it here, why is it —”

He interrupts himself with a great, heaving hiccup, so large it shakes his whole body, and he’s furious with himself, with his shaking hands, with the careful look on Keith’s face.

This is how it ends.

This is how it ends.

This is how it ends.

“This is not where my brush goes,” he insists again, desperate to keep his voice steady, desperate to make it angry.

“Okay,” Keith says simply. He walks over and pulls the brush gently from Lance’s hands. “Where do you want it?”

Lance tries to breathe in. His chest shakes and shudders, poking holes in his voice. This isn’t working. Why isn’t it working?

“No, you’re supposed to — I’m being unreasonable.”

“You’re upset about something.”

“Something stupid.”

“Okay. I’ll fix it. I can fix it.”

“No, you can’t — I’m not —”

The rest of his strength leaves him.

This is how it ends.

This is how it ends.

Why can’t he make it end.

Slowly, Keith reaches out to grab his hands. Lance lets him, like the coward he is.

“Come to bed, sweetheart. You’ve had a long day. You need to sleep.”

“Okay,” he whispers, defeated, squeezing his eyes shut. He keeps them shut as Keith guides him to the giant bed, as he pulls back the covers, as he crawls in and waits for the sound of the light switch to be flicked off, of the tiny creak of Keith’s weight as he joins him.

For a long moment Keith is quiet. Long enough that Lance would assume he’d fallen asleep, except that he still sits upright, except that his hand has slid under Lance’s shirt, and his thumb traces a line across the small of his back, over and over again.

“There’s something you’re not telling me,” he whispers.

A new tear slips hot down Lance’s face.

This is how it ends.

He knows, or at least he must suspect. Maybe he realized his mistake some time ago, and has been waiting for Lance to fess up, to explain why he went along with Keith’s mistaken affection in the first place. Why he used Keith, confused as he was, for his own selfish needs.

“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. He can’t bring himself to turn around, to sit up, to meet Keith’s eyes.

Keith’s hand doesn’t so much as twitch. “What for?”

“For leading you on.”

That certainly gives him pause.

“Leading me…on?”

“Yeah.” Lance sniffles, dragging himself upright and away from Keith’s affectionate hands, huddled against the massive headboard. “You came back…confused. I don’t know. You thought we were in love. I wanted it, so I let you. I’ve been manipulating you.”

“Lance…” Even only in the silvery blue moonlight streaming in from the windows, Keith’s face is unmistakable, obvious; strong brow creased in worry, head tilted in confusion, face pulled with something like desperation. “Lance, we are in love. Aren’t we? I love you. And you love me, I know you do.”

Lance shakes his head. His tears make his face crumple and he knows how ugly that makes him look, so he hides his face.

“No, I made you feel that way, I didn’t correct you back then and it’s habit now so…”

He trails off. Keith doesn’t respond. He wonders if he’ll stay the night, bed surely big enough for him to sleep without touching Lance at all, or if he’ll have to go get a new room.

A tiny, tiny part of Lance’s brain recognises the irony in that and wants him to laugh. But the steady breaking of his heart keeps it at bay.

“…Back at the tarmac,” Keith says what feels like hours later, startling Lance out of his skin. He looks up at the man with wide eyes, having half-convinced himself he was already gone, and Keith meets his gaze determinedly. “Back at the tarmac, you said I was honest. Did you mean that?”

Lance swallows.

“Yes.”

Keith holds his gaze, looking for something, then nods, having found it. “Believe me then, sweetheart.” He crawls forward, slowly, as if he is afraid Lance will startle away from him. That fear is what startles Lance out of his stupor, out of his guilt, out of the dread that has been building in his stomach for months. He hasn’t seen that kind of fear — the fear of getting too close — on Keith face since he came back. And never does he want to see it again. He throws himself into Keith’s arms, too hard, hard enough to hurt, but Keith catches him and holds him and squeezes just as painfully tightly. “I love you, star of my skies.”

“That’s cheesy as hell,” Lance croaks, and Keith laughs, wetly and beautifully. “I love you too.”

“Good.” Keith kisses the top of his head. “Good.” He exhales, long and shuddering; relieved. “God, I spent two years waiting for this exact moment.”

The statement strikes Lance as odd. “This exact moment.”

Keith tenses. Lance tenses, too, and immediately he relaxes again, breathing steadily until Lance matches him.

“On the space whale, time was…stretchy.”

“You mentioned.”

“Two years I lost.”

Lance tightens his hold. “I know.”

“Most of it was survival camping, really, but there were these visions, sometimes. For Krolia and me. Our pasts. You guys, in the present.” He takes a breath. “Our future.”

Somehow, Lance gets the feel he’s not talking about his and Krolia’s.

“Our future?”

Keith’s breath tickles his neck. Lance doesn’t dare move. Goosebumps pimple his skin and he lets them, shivering, warmed.

“Yes. So much, all the time. More than anything else we saw. Just — tiny snippets, here and there; your face when you sleep, your fingers on a bow, you dragging me on a surfboard and a million other places I woulda followed you to anyway.”

One of his hands slides down Lance’s ribs, fingertips light enough to make him shudder, and rests, cupped open at his hip. “I saw this,” he admits. “Not — the whole conversation, or why, but my hands on you, in this bed, in the moonlight. It kept me going.”

Lance closes his eyes and tries to imagine. Stuck in a strange place where days don’t seem to pass with a stranger who claims to be his mother, watching visions of himself in the future, over and over again.

“No wonder your head was all wonky.”

“Yeah.”

“You’d already been with me. For two years.”

“For twenty. Thirty. Seventy.”

“…That’s a long time, Keith.”

“God, I hope so.”

Lance smiles. “You gonna stick with me that long, hotshot?”

“Like glue, darlin’.”

Lance looks up and, sure enough, Keith’s eyes are closed, face slack. He’s clinging onto consciousness with every bit of strength in his body, things like keeping his accent in check losing priority. Lance settles again against him, guiding them gently so they lie comfortably against the pillows, and breathes out, slow and long.

“Tell me about our future.”

“House on th’beach,” Keith murmurs. His words are slow and pulled apart. “Stone’s throw from your mama’s.”

Lance traces sleepy circles on his skin.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Little boy with hair like yours followin’ every little thing you do.”

His breath hitches. He hadn’t thought about that — hadn’t let himself think about it. It’s dangerous, for more than one reason.

But tonight they’re safe. Under the silvery moonlight, with a bed three times bigger than they are, nothing can touch them.

“What about a little girl with your smile?”

“You got it.”

Lance’s smile is warm and giddy, tucked into Keith’s arm, etched there like it’s permanent. “Good. Goodnight, mi alma.”

“Night, baby.”

This is how it stays, forever and ever and always.

[motherofdogs1010]

Of Messiahs and Seeds III (Dark!Paul Atreides x Reader)

Summary: The game has begun of one monarch against another, and with the fate of the colonies at play and winter fast approaching, Y/N is forced to think of hard decisions to make just to keep her people safe.

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW dark!fic, obsessed Paul, yandere! Paul, eventual forced marriage, eventual pregnancy, talks of war, eventual NONCON/DUB CON

Dividers @firefly-graphics Banner @vase-of-lilies

Part I Part II

The Apollo Colony was the first to lose contact and it felt like the beginning of a long game; one where Y/N knew her rule was soon to be tested.

And the dreams had only gotten worse and more frequent; Y/N found that practically any time she closed her eyes, Paul was there to whisper in her ear and it was beginning to be difficult to figure out what was reality.

Y/N looked at the heirloom crystal in her hand as she sat on her balcony; she wondered how her mother would be handling this right now.

The moon hung bright and full as always with her scaly children sleeping below as she stood up, her nightgown clinging to her body as she saw the city around her with the people happily bustling around for the night life.

She sighed as she walked into her bedroom, winter was coming in a few weeks and the winters were always harsh on Terra M above the equator. It looked like a tundra when the winters arrived and felt like the inside of a ice cube, which prompted so many resources to keep everyone afloat.

Paul felt pleased with himself as he sat in his room, the hologram of his future bride in front of him. He had invaded her dreams, filling them with their promised future that he had seen; he could practically feel her hair through his fingers, and hear the newborn cries of their son as he came into the world.

It was all falling into plan, Terra M was about to go into its harsh winters and be left vulnerable if he was correct. They heavily relied on their built-up resources to make it through the three-month-long brutal winter since the population lived above an equator.

Those dragons of his beloved would go into hibernation underground; that would leave one defense gone and away. He wouldn't dare to hurt them, they were an extension of his love and he knew how she cared for the scaled beasts.

"Paul", his mother said as she entered the room.

Her blue eyes bore into his as she said, "It's been taken care of, Irulan will no longer sand in your way."

Yes, everything was falling into place.

There was just one final thing left to do...

The smell of ash made its way into her nose as she felt the harsh winter air against her skin, she breathed out and saw her icy breath as she exhaled. Her skin prickled from the cold as she looked around, seeing the white, virgin piles of snow around her as she tried to get her bearings.

"Hello, my love."

Quickly turning around, Y/N saw him, saw Paul standing there with his cheeks and nose pink from the cold.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, "Terra has done nothing to the Empire."

"It isn't what Terra has done, but rather what you have done, my Queen."

Paul slowly began to circle her, the crunching of snow under his weight as he did. Snowflakes fell at a soft, slow pace as he spoke, "You have overtaken my mind, left me vulnerable to feelings that I thought I was immune to feeling again."

"That is not my fault", she argued.

"Oh, but it is", Paul smirked, "your very existence is your fault and that is something that your people will pay for."

Jolting awake, Y/N found herself alone once more as she scooted up the bed and pushed her hair back. She tried to steady her breathing as she felt as if it she looked out into the darkness, she would be able to see the glimmer of him smirking.

🌎

"We must devise a plan", Sir Lance argued, "they have taken the Apollo Colony. The only logical choice for them to grab next is the Athenian Colony and we must devise a plan of attack."

The Council meeting was buzzing with ideas, and arguments of what to do as Y/N listened to the proposed ideas. It was true, she needed to confront the Empire and its might but it has to be logical, fool-proof.

"Lord York", she finally said, the man looking at her. "Get as much information on the Great Houses and the Empire's armies. There will be a weak spot."

"And once we have the weak spot, your grace?"

"We rip them out like a weed, one by one."

TAGLIST

@ninastyless @james-bucky-barnackle @astarborntowrite @maggiecc @radiantdanvers @croatianprincess @deluxeplanteater @szapizzapanda @khaleesihavilliard @deathsimp @frickyea-guacamole19

[leclerc-s]

snow angel - track four

series masterlist // previous // next

DECEMBER 2022

JANUARY 2023

EARLY MARCH 2023

liked by lilymhe, alex_albon, mickschumacher and others

rheareynolds the council sending me off for filming.

tagged: lilymhe

view all comments

user1 somehow all three are very grumpy about rhea leaving.

↳ rheareynolds they were. although the boyfriend has no place to be complaining. he's constantly travelling.

user2 the boyfriend is hot.

↳ user3 you can only see his hair and arms?

↳ user2 and?

vancityreynolds stop lying, i bet they're thrilled.

↳ rheareynolds just because blake always throws a party when you leave doesn't mean my friends and boyfriend do.

lilymhe you couldn't have found a better picture of me?

↳ rheareynolds i think you look very cute

↳ alex_albon that's my girlfriend!

↳ rheareynolds what's your point? she's literally my wife

charles_leclerc have fun but not too much fun!

user4 okay but her cat is literally the prettiest cat i've ever seen.

user5 see i personally love that rhea met lily and the other drivers through lando but they still picked her over him

↳ user6 to be fair they are friendly with lando but you can tell it's not the same as it was.

↳ user7 well lando cheated on his girlfriend and not the other way around.

LATE MARCH 2023

lilymhe and rheareynolds posted new stories

breakfast with the prettiest girl ever.

prettiest surprise visit ever.

charles leclerc rhea come home the children (me and lily) miss you

lily muni he please come back!

max verstappen added two people

logan sargeant bonjour!

logan sargeant i don't speak french

oscar piastri hello?

charles leclerc piastri i swear to seb if you tell nowins about this i will crash into you. alex albon jeez give the kid a chance to breathe sharl

rhea reynolds i wrap filming in may!

rhea reynolds oh hello. oscar piastri and?

logan sargeant i'm logan sargeant, alex's teammate. when will we be getting new music?

yuki tsunoda yes, when can i get new material to further torment norizz?

rhea reynolds july.

lance stroll BOOO!!

rhea reynolds but a single in june

pierre gasly IT'S BARELY APRIL?? THAT'S TWO WHOLE MONTHS AWAY?? mick schumacher sucks to suck charles leclerc YOU LET HIM HEAR IT BEFORE US?? YOUR BEST FRIENDS?? charles leclerc WHAT HAPPENED TO BROS BEFORE HOES?

george russell GIVE US THE TRACKLIST TO MAKE UP FOR YOUR SINS!!

rhea reynolds talk too much, i hate boston, poison poison, gemini moon, snow angel, so what now, the wedding song, pretty girls, tummy hurts, i wish, willow, 23.

charles leclerc claiming snow angel lily muni he claiming pretty girls max verstappen you two are too much sometimes. but i claim so what now.

rhea reynolds his ass is grass. trust.

oscar piastri trust i will be playing this in my drivers room.

MAY 2023

rheareynolds posted new stories

💞💞

i just woke up why the fuck is everyone blowing up my phone? did my nudes get leaked, not that i have any, or some shit? worse, what the fuck did ryan do now?

mick schumacher who fucking spilled??

esteban ocon i spilled milk earlier, why are you asking?? and how do you know??

rhea reynolds how the fuck did some spanish paper find out that i was dating mick??

charles leclerc oh no.

max verstappen YOU TOLD CARLOS??

charles leclerc HE PROMISED ME HE WOULDN'T SAY ANYTHING!!

pierre gasly HE'S FRIENDS WITH NO BITCHES!! WHY THE FUCK WOULD HE KEEP IT A SECRET??!!

oscar piastri this is bad. so bad.

lily muni he OH COME ON!! SERIOUSLY CHARLES??

charles leclerc I FUCKED UP OKAY?! I GET IT! I WILL SPEAK TO CARLOS!

george russell NO! NO MORE TALKING TO CARLOS!!

charles leclerc HE PROMISED!!

max verstappen HIS PROMISES MEAN SHIT! WE BOTH KNOW THAT!

rhea reynolds WHAT THE FUCK CHARLES??

charles leclerc I WAS ALSO DRUNK AND I TRUSTED HIM!!

pierre gasly i thought we learned our lesson after last time?

alex albon this is bad. this is so fucking bad.

rhea reynolds yeah no shit alex.

alex albon you didn't read the article did you?

lily muni he i swear to sebastian that i will be castarating both sainz and norris for what's being said. rhea reynolds oh fuck me.

are you dating mick schumacher?

rhea?

i know you're seeing these

are you seriously dating mick? my friend?

that's rich coming from the guy who cheated on me with a friend.

and if i am i don't think i owe you an explanation.

i also wasn't aware you guys were friends. you take one picture with a guy and suddenly you're friends.

are you fucking kidding me reynolds?

you're dating him?

him of all people

literally fuck you norris.

tell carlos to pull the fucking article or i'm suing his ass for defamation.

for what? telling the truth?

you and i both fucking know that article is straight bullshit. i never did anything to you. i was committed to our relationship more than you ever fucking were.

either he pulls the article or i swear i'll sue him.

fuck you and i hope you choke.

taglist: @emilyval @ihateyougunthersteiner @lesliiieeeee @firetruckstuckley @cashtons-wife @landonorizzz @yoremins @nikfigueiredo @badassturtle13 @cataf1 @silentreader128 @taylorsatl @alessioayla @greeneyesandsunshine @wisteriafence @mrscharlesleclerc @sesamepancakes @localwhoore @vettelsebastianvettel @Pinksstrawberry @yourbane @bborra @aandreea2005 @nichmeddar @asparklysoul @landossainz @scarletwidow3000 @cha-hot @ssararuffoni @cherry-piee @vroomvroommuppett @shineforever19 @kissesandmartinis

strikethrough means i couldn't tag you

CLICK HERE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST

¡leclerc-s speaks! i do know that the mick quote in the grill the grid video is in reference to seb, but the opportunity was right there so i had to go with it!! if i had a nickel for everytime i made carlos out to be an asshole i'd have two nickels, which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice. I PROMISE I DON'T HATE HIM!! I ACTUALLY LIKE HIM BUT HE'S LIKE BESTIES WITH LANDO AND IT WORKS OUT SO WELL.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

[shatterinseconds]

julance '24 week 2 : fire

Lance strikes the makeshift flint and sparks catch the tinder, igniting into a nice roaring fire by the time he’s done feeding it. Pleased, Lance sits back on his heels and grins at Keith.

“I know you didn’t learn that in Boy Scouts,” is all Keith says, staring blankly at the fire that will certainly help keep them alive until their teammates rescue them from the forest moon they are currently stranded on. A little gratitude would be nice.

“That’s insulting; I feel very insulted right now.” Lance forces his face to fall in mock outrage. “How do you know I’m not a boy scout? Don’t think I have what it takes?”

“Please,” Keith mutters. “You’d probably be too distracted trying to climb a tree or something.” 

“Eh” —Lance considers Keith’s reasoning— “I guess that’s accurate. Still, next time start your critiques with, ‘thank you for saving us, Lance.’”

Keith shakes his head, though the corner of his mouth twitches—slight but present. “‘Thank you for saving us, Lance.’”

“Perfect.”

Lance returns to tending the fire, working to make sure it will remain stable for the next few hours, as they set up their camp in silence. They gather all the necessary supplies from the crashed Altean pod—emergency rations and a couple blankets—preparing to wait hours for a rescue and hopefully not days. Though, their team has to realize they’re missing first. But when Lance can no longer ignore Keith’s curious gaze boring into him, he sighs. 

“One of my uncles is a survival nut,” Lance explains, giving into Keith’s silent version of excessive questioning. “I went on way too many camping trips with my siblings.” But he whips around, pointing at Keith. “I just don’t understand why Mr. Lone Wolf who lived in a freakin’ desert for a year doesn’t know how to start a fire.”

“I always had matches.” Keith shrugs. He’s at least made himself useful by gathering logs for firewood and clearing out a space on the forest floor for them to sleep. “And there was a convenience store a couple dozen miles away that I could get gas at.”

“Oh my god. Your impressive meter has just dropped like a good five levels.”

Keith raises a single eyebrow that disappears behind his bangs. “You’re impressed by me?”

“No,” Lance quickly corrects his mistake. His cheeks heat. “I just think you’re too good at too many things for your own damn good. Be human for once.”

“I’m half Galra.”

Lance rolls his eyes. “Be half human, half alien for once, my god.”

“I have no issues saying that I’m impressed by you,” Keith comments as he tugs his hair into a stubby ponytail—not that it makes his hair any less mullet shaped. 

“Oh really?” Lance suddenly brightens, changing his whole demeanor. He lays on his side; his arm props up his head as he bats his eyes. “Tell me more. I love hearing how clever and handsome you think I am.”

Scowling, Keith lifts his leg and gently shoves Lance off balance with the toe of his boot. “I only said you're impressive.”

“I can read between the lines.” Unperturbed, Lance flashes him another grin, even though leaves and dirt tangle in his hair now as he sprawls out beside his hand-made fire, where no help was needed, thank you very much. Yeah, he is impressive. “Got a B+ in Literature once.” 

“That’s just so hot,” Keith deadpans, and Lance cracks into a gut-wrenching roll of laughter. 

The next few hours are going to be fun.

[klance-headcanons-official]

Some angst for you all because I like despair. Fanfic style.

"I just don't understand!" Keith yelled, the very air shook with the weight of the tension, "You keep telling me that you "Just need time to figure yourself out." And then you pull something like this!" He could see the conflicting look on Lance's face illuminated by the moon's light that seeped through the curtains.

"Is it so wrong for me to question and experiment?!" He half-yelled back, he had his fingers to his temple as if he were trying to rid himself of a headache, or sooth a burn in his eyes.

"It is when you know that I love you, Lance!" Tears began to roll down the sides of his face, landing on the carpet with angry whispers. "I can't do friends with benefits. If you're going to kiss me, at least have the decency to be my fucking boyfriend."

"Keith, you know it isn't that simple-"

"But it is, Lance! Is it! You either like me, or you don't! You need to pick a side, because I just can't keep doing this."

"I do like you, Keith." Lance said, his breathing had begun to shake, he could hear the way his heart pounded in his chest, beating in unison with the rhythm of Keith's words.

"Then why!?" Keith clenched his fists at his sides, and he spoke through gritted teeth. "Why won't you go through with this?"

"Well, you know what, you don't exactly have the best history of staying, either."

"That isn't even related! I had to leave Voltron for you! So that you had a place on the team! So that YOU were happy!! Did you really think I wanted to leave you, Lance?"

"Yeah, Keith, I kinda did! Do you even know how long I have wanted to be with you!? How long I have waited for the day when you maybe, actually want me too?! And now that I'm here, I'm realizing how scared I am to be with you, because I don't know if you're going to fucking stay with me!"

"Why wouldn't I stay with you?! Lance, you know what I feel, you know what I want, why would you ever think that I'd leave?"

"Because I'm not good enough, Keith!"

"What?"

"I'm. Not. Fucking. Good enough for you. You're strong, you're kind, you're smart, you're important, you actually have a thing! And I'm just... Me. I only ever move forward when you do something first. At the Garrison, I only got into the fighter pilot program because you were expelled. In Voltron, I only stayed on the team because you left to be in the Blade. I live in your shadow, I only ever see the back of your head. I'll never live up to that, I'll never be on your level."

He paused for a moment, letting droplets drip from his eyes.

"All I want is to walk beside you for once. To be able to look over and see you looking back."

"Why didn't you just tell me that? We could have avoided all of this if you had just talked to me, Lance." Keith tried to move closer, but Lance only took a step back. "You didn't have to lie to me if you wanted my affection-"

"I wasn't lying. I do need to figure myself out. I need to figure out if I could ever measure up, I need to figure out if I could ever be strong enough to actually do my job, I need to figure out if I'm okay, if I can let myself love someone after Allura... I need to figure out how to let myself be loved by someone. To be loved by you."

Keith reached out, pulling Lance into a hug before he could protest. He held him tightly and whispered, "I'll wait for you."

There was a long moment of silence before he spoke again, "But please, for the sake of my sanity, don't kiss me anymore. Not until you're ready to love me. Until you're ready to let me love you."

Lance nodded, "Promise."

Okay, I know this was long but it was actually so much fun to write. I feel like writing a part two and make it extra fluffy because writing angst for these two breaks my heart. Let me know if that's something you guys want.

[revserrayyu]

2.4 Xianzhou continuance thoughts [part 3]

**SPOILERS** for the end of this patch’s mission, covering all the drama happening down in the Shackling Prison, so advert thine eyes if thou have not finished the story as of yet.

Once we found out we were actually able to visit the Shackling Prison during this update, I was eagerly waiting to see how Dan Heng would handle returning to this place. It certainly makes him uneasy, even before entering this cold place, and Nicholas does such a great job conveying all those anxieties into every one of Dan Heng’s lines whenever his past is brought up while here. The level of concern we hear from the Trailblazer is sweet too, like I audibly “aww’d” at this brief exchange.

I admire your confidence, Moze, but please don’t do anything reckless! But hearing how he’s a jail-breaker doesn’t really surprise me. There’s a bunch of shadowy figures of him bound by chains in his splash art and recent leaks showing off his skills can back up how he’s so swift in his escapes. He managed to avoid capture towards the end of this quest too.

Huzzah, another Jingliu mention that only surprises me because I haven’t bothered to read any of the relic’s descriptions of the Prisoner of Deep Confinement set. And how does one possibly manage to avoid eating for several centuries?

Not only did this beast apparently not starve, but he also endured unrelenting pain every day? Frightening. Hoolay is really out here surviving purely on hatred and a need for revenge.

Once glance at these notes and I just knew someone was gonna yap about Jingliu in front of him. Definitely wasn’t disappointed when it happened either.

Hey Moze’s defiance is valid! Never take random medicine from people! But in this case, yeah, it’s for your safety sir, “just swallow it already.”

Okay so there was like one or two instances before this where Jiaoqiu also noticed shape-shifted Borisin by their scent and makes me wonder how he could tell the difference. I assume Foxians have stronger noses than we do so perhaps it’s easier for someone like him to notice, or perhaps it’s a similar feeling to him being around Feixiao so often since she also suffers from Moon Rage? He did refer to it as familiar later on. Either way, he really should’ve spoken up about his suspicions earlier.

Y’all..these two are absolutely delivering each line perfectly and the emotion is squeezing my heart so tightly. I love the bond the Express crew has with each other so darn much! The hand pat is cute but let me hug this man please! He needs several!

The feels keep on coming as I was kicking my feet and squealing all giddy when Dan Heng jumped in to save us from being crushed. I know he’s literally doing his job as the guard of the Express but.. aww. I’d probably have a better screenshot if I wasn’t too stunned by what I was seeing with my own eyes, but alas. I fangirled too hard to care.

We always resort back to our trusty baseball bat, huh? I get how pulling out the Watchmaker’s hat probably wouldn’t be as epic or helpful, but I’d like to see us wield the flaming lance a bit more during cutscenes like this. Having us use it during the cutscenes with boss battle Aventurine were nice. Makes me wonder if Dan Heng will call upon his Imbibitor Lunae form if the situation ever gets too dire.

Ohh, and with all that chatter about poison to March and the kids before, I believe he’d be successful in creating such a medicine too.

His dedication to cure Feixiao’s condition is extraordinary and I’m wishing so hard for him to achieve it somehow.

On a side note, I am glad this whole mission continued with that split character perspectives feature that Penacony had so we could try out Jiaoqiu in battle a few times. I’m still quite fond of him, but after mixing him in with my team, I couldn’t really find a decent place for him. I may wait for his rerun before I pull but we’ll see if my mind gets swayed before his banner starts.

Getting a little sneak peak at what Moze can do was cool but sadly didn’t last long enough. Still hard to believe this man is a four-star but at least he’ll be easier to level up.

It’s funny to me seeing Moze go nuts with his abilities and sharp weapons, then you got Jiaoqiu fighting with a fan. And spices. And cooking enemies in a giant hot pot. The strange fighting methods fit right into Star Rail and that’s one of the many things I love about this game; how literally anything can end up as a weapon.

But yeah, as expected, Hoolay managed to escape with the helped of the many Borisin who transformed themselves to look like the prison guards.

Xueyi gets absolutely wrecked after a failed attempt to stop Hoolay and I probably would’ve been more shocked if they hadn’t shown her lifeless on the ground in the 2.4 trailer.

Yeah, thank Aeons she’s a puppet or else this really would’ve been her end.. and with how casually Hanya mentions such damage has become somewhat of a reoccurring thing, I guess we’re all worried for nothing. Even less so as Xueyi later pilots a conveniently placed cycrane up and out of the prison to inform Jing Yuan of the disaster that happened.

Dan Heng literally saying that he rather die than having anything bad happen to us.. aahh. He’s such a good boy. I feel bad for never using this regular form of his, until I remember Imbibitor Lunae is most likely my strongest unit, so all is well. But how about neither one of us dies, okay? That’s more ideal.

Jiaoqiu thinking about Feixiao first before the entire wellness of their home.. god, he’s so committed to that promise of his. Love that for him.

Hearing him quite literally triggering Hoolay was to be expected, but also sly of him to conveniently leave out that our former sword champion is no longer on the Luofu. I think one of the nearby Borisin noticed and corrected this information to Hoolay anyways, but whatever. It manages to keep our medic alive as a hostage.

After seeing Dan Heng throw Cloud Piercer in an attempt to stop the prison’s doors from closing, I wanna assume we managed to escape, but it’s still kinda vague. I’d hope we did because I certainly don’t want our faithful Express partner to trapped in this nightmarish place any longer than he already has! He deserves to be free from his past!

Heeyyy there, queen. Missed you but definitely can’t end this rambling without you. My expectations after this first part have been raised significantly so if anything, I better see her go all out and fight like crazy in 2.5.

Tell me how exactly. How does one manage to lose sight of a huge, menacing Borisin like Hoolay? Unless he’s also capable of shape-shifting, which would make perfect sense if he can and used that little party trick to escape, but damn.

And with that, I’m finished. Until the next update, of course.

[somethingsomethingwords]

Good evening *said sliding down a ramp*! Here's another fic. It started as a study of shadows and light, then it got derailed. As always thanks for reading. Enjoy 💜

When Fernando raises his eyes to the window, he is surprised to see it is already late at night, his watch reading at 00:30.

The moon shines, yellowish and full, creating a path of bright squares and dark lines.

The desktop in front of him is starting to become blurrier and blurrier, and he definitely needs a break.

He raises his arms, stretching and hearing the pops of his back. He stands up, deciding for a reinvigorating midnight snack, when he remembers he is supposed to have company.

The screen on the desk in front of his own is still on, but from his position he can't see anyone looking at it.

It is only when he walks around the table that he solves the mystery of his missing companion: Lance is sleeping sitting at the desk, face on his bent arms and soft breaths leaving his slightly parted lips.

The bright artificial light gives him a white hue, ghostly pale. It only serves to highlight the bags under his eyes.

He's pushing himself too hard, Fernando thinks, feeling worried seeing the toll the season is taking on his teammate.

Sighing slightly, he reaches for Lance's shoulder. He wants to lightly shake him, but in the exact moment he touches the other, Lance flinches away, waking up and looking around, searching for the disturbance.

When his eyes land on Fernando, he relaxes a fraction, before diverging them and starting staring at the screen, not saying anything.

"Lance, is late. Let's go home" he says softly, not wanting to disturb the quietness of the room.

"It's ok, you can go. I'll just stay for a couple more minutes" Lance tries to smile, but Nando can see it doesn't reach his eyes.

"Lance, we came together, remember?"

They didn't. They are strict about trying to keep their private lives separated from their professional ones.

But Lance seems so tired Nando isn't sure he can drive back home. And with the silence stretching, with Lance trying to figure out why he doesn't remember it, Fernando is sure it is the right call.

"We... did...not?"

Fernando is actually going to pick him up, put him on his shoulder and carry him to the car.

"No, we didn't, but you thinking about it this long tells me you shouldn't drive"

Lance has the audacity to look annoyed, before sighing and admitting defeat.

"Yeah, fair enough. But I still need to analyse the data from the last race. I'll call an Uber" he says, before turning to his computer and seemingly starting ignoring Fernando.

I love this man, and arguing will lead to nothing, Fernando has to remind himself.

From the look of it, Lance wouldn't stay awake for long. So Fernando simply leaves him alone to retrieve a water bottle from the adjacent kitchen, forgoing his snack.

When he comes back, he can see Lance's head slowly losing its battle against gravity, lowering and then rising up, each time deeper and slower than the previous one.

He waits until he is once again in front of the Canadian, leaning back against the desk, then taps Lance's cheek with the cold bottle.

Lance flinches again, but he doesn't seem to have the energy to look angry or even annoyed. He simply takes the bottle and drinks a little bit, before giving it back while offering a small smile.

Fernando takes it, and waits. Still as a statue, he can see Lance looking up at him from time to time.

Lance could be patient, but nothing compares to Nando's psychological warfare methods. If he put his mind to it, he could wait until next year.

"I know you think I can't do it. But I have to. So just, please, leave. I'm enough of a pathetic show already, there is no need for an audience"

Lance's words cut deep, fast and cold, straight to Nando's heart.

"Lance, I'm the first one who believes in you. But won't solve anything on a Tuesday morning at one a.m."

"There is no more time, Nando. I've done anything I could think of, and nothing changed. I feel like I'm just wasting time and resources here. I need to get better, to do better. If not, then all I've done, the sacrifices and the things lost and the time spent would have been for nothing. I need this to work" he is basically vomiting the words, rubbing his eyes in the vain hope the tears he can feel filling his eyes don't actually leave them.

Fernando feels like he can't do anything for his lover. He can't promise him a better car, a better strategy, a better season. He can see his partner being crushed by the pressure put on his shoulders, and he starts searching for some kind of sign of when it had started.

He knows how people talk about Lance, what they say and think, but it never seemed to bother the younger man. He starts wondering how he had been so blind to not realise their words had chipped a hole in Lance's armour.

Anyway, the damage is already done. He can only pick Lance up, and support him while his shield is under maintenance, lending his own.

"Lance, it's not going to work right now. You are tired, we both are. Let's just go home, and tomorrow we start fixing this"

Lance has a moment of hesitation.

"What if there is nothing to fix. The car is ok, the tires are ok. You have good results. What if I'm the problem, and I cannot be fixed?"

Enough is enough.

Fernando takes the face of the man he loves in his hands, forcing Lance to look at him, his grip firm but still gentle.

"Lance, listen to me. The car is shit. We know it, Mike knows it, the mechanics and the engineers, even the waiters know it. I have results because I see a problem and hammer at it so hard until it goes away. You are not the problem. Doing what we do, is difficult. Training, travelling, racing. It never stops. We keep going but is hard. So just stop, for tonight. Tomorrow we start again, but for now, let's just rest"

Fernando knows it's over when he feels Lance's head falling against his chest.

He won, but at what cost?

They stay like this, Fernando caressing Lance's hair while the younger man just breathes, trying to hide his quiet sobs and the light tremble of his shoulders.

When his watch starts vibrating, reminding him time is real, Nando gently pushes the other up, wiping the tears away.

"Let's go home" he repeats, and helps Lance get up.

With their hands intertwined, Fernando leads them outside, not turning around, sure of Lance following him, close behind.

They'll be back tomorrow, so they can leave Lance's car for the night.

Once in Fernando's car, the ride is quiet, neither needing any more words, just needing each other.

They fall asleep pressed against each other, united in a mess of fears and tiredness and love, because no matter what will happen tomorrow, or the day after, they are sure they will continue to have each other's backs.

So, when they get home, and start settling for the night, it's no brainer that Lance attaches himself to Nando's body, in need of being reassured through touch and presence. Fernando is more than happy to comply, the need in him to provide and protect finally calmed when Lance is in his arms, watching the boy falling asleep, calmer and more settled, with just the light of the moon to illuminate half his face, and for the first time, he looks real and solid and alive.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, not able to limit his affection anymore.

[iciatheguardess]

She hasn't really been doing well.

Socializing did help, but the guilt and anger at everything soon crept back up. Icia watches as everyone celebrates and socializes, trying to grasp the joy she felt earlier.... each time, it slips out of reach. Even worse, the tension between Odette and Dunite has certainly gotten to her.

Her stomach is aching. The lump in her throat is growing. Her face hurts from smiling such a fake grin for so long. If it weren't for the obligation to be a good host, Icia would have turned in for the night, locked away in her room or asleep within Lance's arms.

Exhaustion drags at her mind as she ambles through the crowd. Voices blur together into joyous, incomprehensible noise. The only thing coherent to Icia is each thought and regret that runs loops in her brain, clear as day.

Why are you celebrating with Switch gone?

Mocha left, and you couldn't stop him.

Latte deserved that hug more than you.

Achilles is dying soon. And you can't stop it.

Odette and Dunite are fighting once more.

Is everyone truly safe here?

You aren't taking everything into account.

You're supposed to protect them, and here you are hosting a celebration when you couldn't even do your one job.

You're doing a terrible job.

Icia's head snaps up in pure and utter horror as Hexe's voice shines through in her mind. For a moment, she looks around, expecting to see the witch's hat and toothy grin she's grown to dread.... but there is nothing.

Everyone is okay. No one notices her sudden panic.

Icia sighs, quickening her pace to get away from the ice she accidentally left on the ground. Her dress no longer feels comfortable on her skin, bits of frost on the inside of her skirt scratching at her skin. Chills take their time rippling down her spine and sending even more ache into her stomach.

I can't keep pretending like this, she thinks. I need someone to talk to, some kind of distraction.... I need my fiancé, where is Lance, where is he....

She scans the crowd, looking for his familiar brown-to-red hair hopefully nearby....

She sees someone else, though.

Icia pauses. She's never seen her before.

The girl, who seems to sparkle under the chandelier light- from her hair to her skin to her dress- is talking with Starro and Vaga. It's hard to hear over the music, but the three seem to be having fun. She barely looks like an adult.

Icia feels her heart leap.... not in a romantic sense, but something.... something about her is just... so familiar.

The girl glances past Vaga momentarily, locking eyes with Icia. Big, deep, brown eyes.

Sounds start to feel drowned out for Icia, as the girl smiles. She waves goodbye to the boys before walking towards the courtyard.... slipping through the entrance with a grin.

Icia hesitates before following.

The courtyard, with Achilles and Isaac gone, is calm and serene... the moon shines brightly down on the bushes and flowers that line the path. The girl stands in front of an empty statue stand smack in the middle.... Icia hesitantly approaches.

"... excuse me- ma'am?"

The stranger turns to her with a smile.

"Yes, Ms. Icia?"

The formal addressing catches her off guard temporarily, but Icia brushes that off. She steps forward again.

".... do..... do I know you?" Icia asks, almost a whisper.

The girl grins. "I don't know. Do you?"

"We haven't met before, I believe."

"No, we haven't. Not like this."

Icia isn't sure how to respond to that. A few intuitive feelings rise up.

"..... we've met before in some way, though."

"You could say that, yeah."

"And.... you know me."

She shrugs. "Pretty well, yeah."

Icia pauses, searching her mind for any kind of memory.....

"Allow me to introduce myself... I'm Star." Star curtsies a bit.

Star.

Star.

Icia's head snaps up.

"Wait.... you're one of the mods- aren't you?!"

Star laughs a bit more with a giddy grin.

"... oh my gods. You're my mod."

Star smiles even more. "Surprise...!"

Icia feels her breath quicken. Her mod, her creator, standing right in front of her... a bit older than most of the other mods, per say, easily one of the most 'plain human' ones... except for her hands. Her skin fades to black down her arms, white stars speckling the shadowed hands.

".... I.... it's... nice to finally meet you, Star.." Icia bows deeply, trying not to let dizziness overcome her.

"Hey, don't worry about formalities anymore... I've been wanting to introduce myself far too long for that."

Millions of thoughts rise up at once, and Icia finds herself staring in silence as she tries to decide what to say first.

"I'll answer all your questions- or at least, the ones I can think of- soon... for now, I believe you're in dire need of a hug," Star eventually says, opening her arms. Right... mods can basically read minds. Or something like that.

Icia doesn't know what to say or how to respond.... but she slowly moves into Star's arms. As soon as the hands close around her, the will to put on a strong face crashes down, and tears breach her eyes. Star hugs her tight as the guardess quietly sobs.

"I-I don't know what to do," Icia cries, not noticing as Star sits them both down in a stone bench. "Dunite and Odette are fighting again. Achilles is dying soon. Mocha's basically gone. Switch is dead. I didn't even realize Yume was missing until it was too late and she fucking died. I still need to handle Slyn, and I have a family to raise even though I'm not there for them, I need to make sure everyone- including Raina- is able to adjust to the kingdom and heal from Hexe, but I keep seeing her out of the corner of my eye, and... and...."

She pulls back, tears soaking into her gloves. ".... you're doing this to me...."

Star's smile has faded into a sympathetic look as she nods. "I am, yeah.... I'm so sorry...."

".... it hurts so bad. All I want to do is abstract in Lance's arms. Why are you doing this to me...?"

Star looks up at the sky. "... I guess you could say it's some kind of development, but also a kind of projection. But I wouldn't put you through it if I knew you wouldn't be okay in the end."

"This hurts so much. It's so stressful."

"It is, yeah. And it will hurt."

"I don't know what to do... do you have plans for me?"

Star turns back at Icia, a twinkle in her eyes.

"Many."

"I just.... I don't understand. Why....?"

"I.... don't have a direct answer. Just like how I myself don't have a direct answer for why I suffer in my own life. It's one of those things you can't quite explain..... but, in the least manipulative way possible, I mean everything I do out of love. I won't appear like this to beat you down and hurt you."

Star intertwines her fingers. "And sometimes, no, I don't really have control over what happens. A lot of times, it's how I've developed you. The decisions you make and what happens is based on your current development."

Icia nods. Somehow, that makes sense.

".... I'm just... tired."

Star covers Icia's hands with her own. "I know. I know you are. It's going to get better."

"I... struggle to believe you. Especially with everything I still have to do.... I'm amazed that some people don't hate me...."

Star frowns. "Hey... Icia, listen to me."

Icia looks up.

"There's a saying, that God gives his toughest battles to his strongest angels. You go through so much because you are so, so, so very special to me. You are the first. The original. All the way since before Ice Anon, even when I didn't know that she would become who you are today. You don't know how fucking proud I am of the way you've grown.

"It's always going to feel tough. There'll be a lot of times where it hurts, and you're probably going to be very, very angry with me. But never is what you go through simply for the cause of hurting you."

Star gently reaches up and wipes some tears off of Icia's face. "You're so, so, so, so, so strong and amazing. I've created you in a vision of who I want to be. Where even if you have weak moments. Even if you crumble and fall. Even if it hurts. You never, ever, ever give up. You're a beautiful, powerful, supreme, elegant, caring, considerate, strategic, smart, strong person..... even when it doesn't feel like it. Even when you can't see yourself in any way except your worst version. I, and so many others, will always see you as a resilient, graceful, amazing woman. I say this as your creator, who has watched people react to you...

"You're doing amazing. Even when those thoughts in your brain tell you you're not."

I'm doing terrible.

"You're doing fantastic."

I can't do anything right.

"You're doing everything you can."

I'm not good enough.

"You're perfect in every single one of your flaws."

I'm not what they need.

"You're doing your best for everyone involved."

"........."

Icia's hands close around and squeeze Star's own. Her face is stained with even more tears.

"..... will it get better?"

"It will always get better. Everything you go through is to make things better for the future."

"Am I really doing a good job?"

"I'd say you are... I may be biased, though."

"What can I do?"

"I can't answer that with words... you'll figure it out, though. You'll slowly realize what you can do."

Icia opens her mouth to ask another question.... none comes to mind.

Star grins. "I know you have more questions.... I'll answer them in due time. When we both can remember."

"... what?"

"Well, your mind tends to correlate with mine. I can't remember any more questions you have, so therefore you can't either."

"Is... is that how this works?"

"In our situation, yeah. Once I remember, you will too. Speaking of which...."

Icia suddenly remembers a few more of her questions. Star smiles.

"... woah.... so... you already know every question I have?"

"Yep. I'll give you the liberty of asking them, though."

Icia thinks a bit.

"How will things go from here...? Will we meet again?"

"Oh, certainly. I'll visit when you ask me to... but I'll also always be around."

"Will I hear you in my mind?"

Star nods. "I'll address you when you want to hear it. It'll just be like another thought."

"Got it," Icia replies. "And... the others? Do they know? ... are you the mod of everyone in the kingdom?"

"Oh GOD no- a good deal of people, yeah. But not everyone."

"You were going around to them.. I saw you talking with Starro and Vaga."

She shrugs. "Just making some small talk, I didn't tell them anything. Only you get to know who I am... they might know me, but who I am- that's a secret between you and me... alright?"

Icia nods.

"..... it will get better. Right? With... everyone?"

Star squeezes Icia's hands.

"I promise you, it will. Ode and Dunite will be okay. Achilles will be okay. Slyn will be okay. Your family, the kingdom, your friends, and you will all be okay. Even if it gets worse, it will get better."

Icia nods slightly and looks down. Star looks up at the statue stand in the middle of the courtyard.

"This would be a lovely space for a statue, don't you think...? It's a beautiful place. Surrounded by flowers... good light... anyone can find their way here quickly."

"... I suppose you're right..." Icia wonders why she brought that up, before Star turns back to her.

"It's almost time for us to depart. When I do, the celebration will be over."

Icia's eye widens. "Has it really been that long...?!"

"It has. Even if this world doesn't have time, it's the equivalent of... around 1 or 2 in the morning. I'd suggest you and the other residents break out some drinks, have a little fun."

Icia looks skeptical. "Are you sure that's a good idea...? Are you even able to drink?"

".... technically, no. BUT you all can. Drinking age is 18 in the kingdom and I'm making that official. But seriously, a little buzz might feel nice. You don't even have to socialize with everyone else if you want, you could go off and play piano on your own or with Lance. If Fei will do that."

Ah, right, Fei. Lance's mod. Icia nods a little.

"..... is there anything else I should know....?"

Star thinks for a long, long time. She grabs Icia's hands once more and looks into her eyes.

"Be careful."

Icia pauses. ".... what?"

"In recent events, something has come up that even I don't know about. I'm going to try and keep you safe because I don't even know if I want you to deal with it, but, just, please... be careful. Not to alarm you. You're gonna be okay, but be careful."

Icia stares for a while before nodding. After a moment of silence, she pulls the girl into a hug.

"..... thank you. It's been so nice to meet you."

Star smiles and hugs Icia back. "It was nice to finally meet you too, Icia. I'll always be here with you, think of me if you need me."

"I will."

Icia feels Star's body start to buzz in her hands, like pins and needles everywhere they're touching. When she opens her eyes, Star is gone. All that remains is a gentle flurry of small stars gently drifting up into nonexistence.

A bell at the top of the castle rings loudly. Icia stares up at the sky for a second before reentering the ballroom. Ode hands her a microphone, as the music slowly fades out. The energy in Icia's voice has ceased, now replaced with a lulling, sleepy, formal tone.

"The celebration has now come to a close.

Non-residents are free to depart for the night, although they're free to return another day. All guests, with the exception of Joy, Fynn, and Charles as honorary residents, are excused.

Residents and resident spouses and family are invited to a small informal reception with drinks.

Thank you all for attending, and on behalf of all members of the digital kingdom, we are utmost grateful for not only your time in joining us for this celebration, but we also offer, once again, our highest gratitude to all whom assisted in the kingdom rescue.

You may exist through the portal from which you came from. These ones will cease to exist after all guests have departed; however, if you wish to return- which, I do hope you one day will- there is a permanent portal near Candleton that will bring you here.

Once again, thank you for your attendance in this joyous celebration for the night. I look forward to crossing paths with you all in the future once more, please do find me if there are any questions. And with that, I officially conclude this celebration. I wish everyone a very good and relaxing rest of your nights, sweet dreams when you sleep, and safe travels for returning home."

Icia returns the microphone to Odette and starts handling the aftermath of the party. For a moment, she swears she can see a certain girl outside, peering in with a smile.... but upon second glance, there's no one.

Just the stars.

[demcnsinmymind]

@handtame gets the menace because

One of the good things that had come out of his ordeal back in Maryland was that in fact, Lance could sleep anywhere, in any kind of position, no matter how uncomfortable. Well, it wasn't like he fell asleep easily, or that sleep was anywhere near restful or peaceful or quiet. But the location truly didn't matter. Certainly not an abandoned ruin in the middle of nowhere, looking like straight out of a horror movie, dark and all.

It was almost fucking laughable. How tiny of a building it was, how unremarkable. The night out here in the desert almost bright under the full moon, certainly a lot brighter than the building had been with its endless nights. They'd been driving all day and he most certainly still didn't trust anyone out there, especially after what had happened in the diner and with Matt later. Thus here he was now, curled up on the ground, fast asleep after only a couple of minutes of tossing and turning.

Mumbling and whimpering in his sleep but half an hour later until he relaxed and his breathing evened right out. But a few seconds later his body was moving again, slower and more graceful, shifted into a sitting position, staring out of the broken window to his left. And he was doing just that for a while, staring up at the moon, mumbling and nightmares seemingly forgotten, replaced with a little smile instead.

"He didn't stop you because he was scared he didn't have it in him. Killing the little bug. Afraid that he'd freeze right up and embarrass himself in front of both of you. Silly, isn't it" Lance's mouth is saying, but it's as obvious as ever that it's not him who's uttering these words. The cadence, the calm, all entirely different. At last, it's looking over to Miriam through the dark, knowing her to be awake still.

"It's curious indeed. He is. Always fascinates me, the way his mind works. He wants that entire cult gone. Begged me to end them all. So much wrath. So much determination. And yet... he's just as scared of pulling it through as he's scared of them" A soft chuckle, a shake of his head. And his eyes with a strange...aura to them. In the dark. Menacing. Like a predator waiting in the bushes in the dead of night. Ready to pounce at any moment.

"Guess that's because he didn't like it. The first time he killed someone. That poor poor boy. Which got me wondering just now..." His pointer finger, twirling in the air, slowly, steadily like a conductor guiding an orchestra with the uttermost diligence and passion for the play. Until it stops and points right at here with amused certainty.

"About you. You liked it. Didn't you. Killing. And that moment, just before. You were waiting for him to beg for his life. Because you know that's the fun part, isn't it. Even more powerful than the act itself. Hearing them beg. For mercy. For it all to end. And saying no. Deciding who lives and who dies. Playing god. I'm thinking it's about time we had a little chat about that."

[rorimoon9597]

Lance had barely believed it when Keith reciprocated his feelings, and he'd sobbed ugly, happy tears when Keith proposed. Now, they were newly weds on their honeymoon, and Lance couldn't be happier.

Their days were spent together, exploring hand-in-hand, or swimming in the ocean together, Lance trying to drown Keith or kissing him while they were underwater. Their nights were filled with love and sweetness, cuddling with each other or doing... other things.

Lance stood on Veradero beach, where Keith agreed for them to spend their honeymoon, and stared up at the moon.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, a kiss was pressed behind his ear, and Keith rested his head on Lance's shoulder.

"Can't sleep?" He asked. Lance shivered slightly when he heard Keith's voice right in his ear. His husband's time in the quantum abyss meant that not only did he get taller and buffer (it was almost unfair, how Keith was taller than him now, and much buffer than he had been when he'd left for the blades) but Keith's voice had gotten a little bit deeper.

None of the others had noticed the changes in Keith when he got back, except for Lance, because he'd spent many nights memorizing Keith's body and voice before he left. The only other person to notice had been Shiro, and that was only after he'd been brought back was less out of it.

Lance had decided, after the first night they had been able to get alone after everything that had happened with Lotor and finding that Earth had been taken over by Sendak and his troops, that he liked Keith's deeper voice.

"I was just thinking," Lance answered Keith's question.

"What about?"

"About how lucky I am to be married to you." He turned his head and pressed a kiss to Keith's head.

"I think that I'm the lucky one here. Younger me would be freaking out over the fact that I'm now married to someone as smart, and amazing, and incredible as you."

"Shut up," Lance mumbled. Keith smirked.

"You like being praised though," he said.

"KEITH!" Lance shouted. Keith burst out into laughter and holy crow, he loved to hear that sound.

"'m sorry," Keith managed.

"No, you're not. You know exactly what you're doing," Lance said. He poked Keith in the cheek. His husband hummed and pressed a kiss to Lance's cheek.

"You're right, I'm not. I love seeing you all flustered."

"At least you admit it."

"You still love it, though." Lance shook his head, a fond smile on his face.

"Because I love you," he replied.

"Hey, babe?"

"Mm?"

"Can you turn to face me?" Lance turned in the circle of Keith's arms to face him.

"Why?" He asked. He registered that maybe he should've asked that before turning around, but he trusted Keith. It was one of the reasons why he agreed to marry Keith despite still being rather young.

Keith answered his question by stepping away slightly and offering his hand with a small bow, a soft look on his face.

"Would you like to dance?" He asked. Lance couldn't help but smile.

"I'd love to," he said, placing his hand in Keith's own. Lance's other hand came to rest on Keith's shoulder, and Keith's other hand rested on his waist.

They started to dance slowly, with no music but the waves behind them. Lance studied Keith, the way the moonlight glinted off of his hair and lit up his face in the best ways possible. He committed the moment to his memory, not wanting to lose it. He filed it away with all the other times they'd danced together; that one time on Black's head before the Atlas launch, all of their dances at diplomatic dances and galas or whatever they were called, and their wedding, the most recent of them.

It went right there, with all of those other dances.

They moved together, perfectly in sync. Keith guided them, picking up the pace slightly every few moments. Lance moved to match him, adjusting his speed to match.

A few spins, laughter bubbling out of Lance each time. Faster, more spinning, a few dips that made Lance laugh even more than the spins, eyes closed, head tilting back to meet the breeze coming from the sea.

Faster, and faster and-

Keith dipped Lance down again, arm supporting him. Lance made contact with Keith, their momentum lost to the wind. Keith's eyes were soft with love and adoration, a look that was reserved for Lance and only Lance. Not even Shiro could get that look, and he was basically Keith's brother, like Allura was Lance's sister.

Keith pulled him upwards again. He leaned forwards and kissed Lance. He returned the kiss, letting himself get lost in the feelings he felt towards Keith.

"I love you so much," Keith whispered when they pulled apart. Lance ran a hand through Keith's hair, loving the way it felt so silky and soft in his hands.

"I love you too," he replied in a whisper. He pressed another kiss to Keith's lips.

They had to return to the post-war recovery efforts in a couple more weeks. But for now, the war never happened. For now, they had graduated from the Garrison together, and had decided to get married. For now, they were never Defenders of the Universe.

For now, they only existed with each other and for each other.

[a-world-of-whimsy-5]

The first of many glorious nights

This is for the writer's challenge (nos. 4 and 5. The smut word that makes me cringe? "Mount/Mounting") by @silmsmutweek

Pairing: Haleth x Caranthir | Location: Thargelion

Themes: Smut

Warnings: Sexual activity | Penetrative sex | Cream pie 

Word count: 615 words

Summary: Haleth accepts Caranthir's offer to stay by spending the night with him.

Rating: 🔥 | Minors DNI | 🔞 | You are responsible for the media you consume 

This ficlet can also be found on AO3.

Moonlight spilled in through the open windows, forming shadows that rose and fell with his chest.

Haleth thought him the fairest creature she had ever beheld, but now, bathed in dim light, he was positively ethereal.

And to think I nearly refused his invitation to live with him and his kin.

Haleth nearly refused a great many things: to have her people live amongst the Eldar and learn from them; to enjoy their protection, their company, his company, his bed, his body. Oh yes, Haleth nearly refused him. All of him. Wiser counsel prevailed in the end. She stayed. Accepted Caranthir for her own. Now she was here inside his bedchamber, sharing his furs and yielding to the wild demands of his hands, his mouth. Fresh desire tore through her like a white-hot blade when he moved onto his back, and she mounted him, taking him inside her in a slow, fluid movement. Her breath caught when he filled her to the hilt.

Eru save me, she thought. He feels wondrous even inside of me.

Caranthir shivered beneath her while he lay against the pelt, his walnut hair spreading out all around him like spilled ink. Clear hazel eyes—a rare sight amongst his kin—remained fixed on her, brimming with insatiable hunger. He whispered her name, his breath rough, desperate, amplified. Fistfuls of her hips filled callused, greedy hands. Such things were glorious to see and feel, and hear. Haleth arched her back, grabbing onto his arms, her hips undulating wildly every time he thrust.

Caranthir lets go of her hips. His hands glide up her belly, his palms soon filling with breasts. “Do you doubt your decision to stay?”

His thumbs trace and brush over rigid tips. Haleth smiles. It is both wanton and inviting. “No and never, my lord.”  

His smile is slow, hesitant. It then grows and mirrors her own. Caranthir closes his eyes, urging her to go faster. Haleth, on the other hand, keeps her eyes open. Spellbound, she feasts on each new expression dancing on his face, the trembling torso, and the sinful mouth that always parted when he moaned. It was for her. All of it was for her. It delighted her to no end.  

“I want you,” he breathed, his voice barely over a whisper. “I want only you.”

As she was his. Haleth makes this known. Her body hummed, grew taut, fanning the flames already coursing through her veins.

“I am close.”

“I am with you.”

Haleth pushed down, pushed hard, nearly collapsing over him even as she drowned beneath the fiery waves that rose to claim her. She could barely feel Caranthir holding her, keeping her steady, so lost was she in the all-consuming rapture that speared through her like a lance. She barely heard it, him moaning one final time as he emptied his spend inside her.

The air grew colder, and the wind slowly rose as a storm approached. The moon disappeared behind a wall of thick clouds. Haleth shivered, and found herself being lowered onto soft furs. More pelts, thicker this time, were pulled over her.

“I am glad you said yes.” Caranthir pressed his forehead against hers and stroked her cheek. “I am glad you decided to stay and be mine. I am not certain if I will be able to ever find the right words to tell you how pleased I am for all of it.”

Haleth opened her eyes. A wave of happiness washed over her. “Words are not necessary, Morifinwë.” A slow, gentle smile returned to her lips. “What you have just said is enough for me.”

It was the first of many glorious nights they shared together.