#i just love paladins so much

[chaos-burst]

i wish sooo much for the cast to give me a full on paladin next campaign. 

[voltaical-art]

whadya mean he didnt tell you he loves you??? his eyes literally went soft when he looked ur way...

[sketchthetofu]

Pspspspsps I’m back from the abyss and have silly fishy paladin art ;)

I love him so much he’s so creature and silly <3. Don’t worry I got art of Chip & Jay on the way too!! Gotta draw the whole crew, they all deserve all the love, they are so silly and traumatized.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

EDYN TIDESTRIDER, CHALLENGER OF THE UNDERSEA, RIVAL OF THE DEEP. WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOUR BROTHER WAS CHOSEN TO BE A WEAPON OF THE GODS? HOW WILL YOU UNDO WHAT THEY HAVE DONE TO HIM?

[ubejamjar]

⚔︎ If you'll be my sword, I'll be your shield ⛉

[gobald]

"Your love's put me at the top of the world"- WIP

[orchid-n-petals]

So I've already shared parts of this on a discord server, but I have to scream about Ketheric Thorm on here as well. Obviously spoilers about the character under the cut! It's a long one.

The entirety of act 2 is about him, right? Jaheira, Shadowheart and numerous other NPCs shit on him for his fickle faith. First Selune, then Shar, then, as we meet him, Myrkul. You hear about his changes of faith on a whim, you hear that he's the person responsible for the shadow curse, he is painted as a villain, plain and simple.

You can figure it out pretty early on that Isobel was resurrected and that she is his daughter; the detail as well that he wants Isobel alive is so on the nose, it gives him away completely but there are still a few questions that remain unanswered, mainly about his faith.

And then you get to the mausoleum and the picture assembles; this entire tragedy, the death of hundreds if not thousands and the complete ruination of a landscape was all, ALL because you had this absolutely wrenched, heartbroken father who had lost everything and nobody answered his grief. He was left woefully alone, the Goddess whose daughter his daughter was involved with did nothing to save Isobel.

Imagine outliving your wife and your daughter. Imagine dedicating your life to fight the Lady of Loss, your Lady of Silver's enemy, and then be left so completely alone and in silence with your grief, with your loss. It's so, so poetic how and why he turned from Selune, and it's so understandable as well; he broke. His spirit completely broke. He couldn't deal with that void of having lost the only two important people in his life, seemingly undeservedly so. He was going mad with this and a lot of his ire was likely targeted at Aylin who, in his eye, represented Selune; she's literally her daughter, after all, and it was implied that even before the deaths of his family, he sort of saw Aylin courting Isobel as Selune taking his daughter from him, despite his service. This relationship was clearly not seen by him as a boon of "giving his daughter to the Moon-maiden".

His ways in the past clearly didn't spare him from tragedy and having to cope with it (which he clearly didn't, he snapped under the weight of his grief). He was clearly angry and unable to do anything, furious and helpless, which is a dangerous combination. A good part of his first change of heart must have been fuelled by a sense of revenge.

But then Shar didn't provide any balm to his aching heart either. If you read his letters in Grymforge and in act 2, he is so focused on enacting the will of Shar because he believes that healing lies in oblivion. Everything would be easier if he could just forget, if the damn world could just forget, if nothing was remembered because without Melodia and Isobel, nothing was worth remembering.

Then came Myrkul. Literally the only god who was not only able, but WILLING to give back his daughter to him. Imagine spending your all, EVERYTHING you have to serve two gods who would not give a single shit about the greatest suffering in your life. You were basically nothing, your loyalty didn't matter for shit, everything that was taken from you amounted to no recognition whatsoever: you should simply cope and seethe. Your grief will not simply go unanswered (which is not inherently antagonising) but ignored.

And then comes this supposedly evil entity who can alleviate your pain just like that, snap of a finger and it's a done deal.

I am so serious when I say that I believe Ketheric's main incentive was to extend Aylin's immortality to Isobel as well. You can read in her diary that she feels a taint after having came back, and there are things not even Selune can cleanse, but at this point, Ketheric doesn't care about Selune, vengeance is secondary if not tertiary, he's done that war during his Shar years and what did it give him? Literally nothing.

He doesn't even care about the fact that Isobel is still her cleric. He cares about the single most important fact: Isobel is back. Life is worth living again, there is something for him, and it was not Selune or Shar who gave it to him but Myrkul, and for this singular gift, he would raze the world for the Lord of Bones. Like people can clown on him for being disloyal but the man has the loyalty of a dog bonded to its owner.

He is powerful and is willing to go to insane lengths for crumbs. What is raising a single life for a god? Nothing. It has happened and it will happen again. But Ketheric will go to the ends of the earth to serve the single god who actually listened to him. The one god who didn't ignore him.

He knows that what he does is not the morally upright thing! He is so insanely self-aware that allying with Orin and Gortash and doing this entire plot with them only to then betray them is morally reprehensible at the best of times, he knows that people hate him, etc-etc. He was a Selunite at one point and he's not stupid. He just doesn't care; it could be literal Asmodeus and he wouldn't care as long as he got what he wanted, no matter the price.

He is probably the only one from the three of the chosen who has complete clarity over his situation, he almost sways (if you pass the check during his confrontation), he is not an inherently evil man blinded by power.

But he is inherently loyal to those deserving, and as of the story's standing, completely broken by his grief. In his eyes, at this point, the only one deserving loyalty is the one who actually listened to him. Isobel lives. It doesn't matter that she hates him, that his entire life has fallen apart, that literally nothing else that is good has come of it, because Isobel lives.

I don't think he regrets a single thing. His consciousness might tear at him at the end, but I believe he would do everything over again, exactly as he did, because in the end, his daughter was brought back. Because what would a grieving, broken parent give to bring back their child? Everything. Absolutely everything. And it's such a simply given answer, no second thoughts, no doubts.

Nobody can tell me that this man is fickle. Nobody. This man was willing to burn the world to the ground, create a Boudica destruction layer all by himself for the one single thing he wanted. For any God that would listen.

I don't know, I just have a lot of thoughts about his character.

[autisticlancemcclain]

Keith is well and completely aware that his boyfriend is, objectively, a bad bitch.

He’s seen him shoot through the crook of someone’s arm to disable an entire warship. He’s seen him wink and brush by seasoned Blade and send them stumbling. He’s seen him choke someone out with his legs alone. (He’s been choked out by Lance legs. Several times. He’s even instigated that happening.)

But one thing Lance is before anything else; before he is a paladin, before he is a friend, before he is a badass, before he is anything, he is a complainer.

“You never take me anywhere,” he is fond of whining, as if they are not on a floating hunk of metal and polymer in dead space at all times. Or getting shot at. They are in the equivalent of the cross-Atlantic highway at three in the morning in a century old car that breaks down every two hundred miles like clockwork, and also sometimes they just get bombed out of nowhere. That is their life.

We never do anything, he says. Bah. Sometimes he thinks he is going to scoop his boyfriend up and — throw him at something.

But he knows that would never. Not really. As much as Lance drives him batty (and he does drive him fucking batty — he’s been huffy at Keith for a week because Keith didn’t listen to him on a mission, in a dream, and died. He has had an attitude for six days), he really and truly loves Lance more than anything. He loves the way Lance snorts when he laughs and trips over his own two feet more often than not and talks in his sleep and forgets English words and shrugs about it. He loves the magnitude of Lance’s smile and the endless brown of his eyes and the way he always kisses Keith’s clavicle before bed and doesn’t know he does it. He loves the way Lance leans into him without thinking when they sit next to each other and holds his hand when they walk. He loves how Lance fights for a way to meet his eyes when missions go to shit and asks him what to do next just to help Keith focus on something. He loves the way that his jacket was mysteriously fixed the time the old thing wore a hole along the seams and Lance played dumb about it like it could have been anyone else. He loves the way Lance coos over every animal they stumble across, no matter how horrifying, the way he cries his eyes out at every single movie and smacks anyone who looks at him. He loves the way Lance’s entire person always just seems to bubble out of him, like he’s holding his bleeding heart with open fingers.

Keith loves him in a way he didn’t think he deserved. And so it bugs him, really, that he can’t take Lance places, can’t buy him every ugly flower he wants or take him to hole-in-the-wall clubs to dance like Keith knows he wants to or even just go to the space mall with him.

Floating junkmobile in space or not, Keith is going to treat him or die trying. He is.

“So we’re not even close to something with gravity?” Keith clarifies, perhaps a touch desperate.

“Farther than your brain can conceptualise to even an asteroid,” Coran confirms, with no subtle amount of amusement.

Keith purses his lips. “Could we, like…travel there?”

Coran holds his gaze for a moment, eyebrow raised, then returns to the medical supplies he was sorting through.

“I’m afraid not, dear.”

“Why not?”

“I’m quite fond of not getting ambushed.”

“What if you just dropped me off? Then you can go back to not getting ambushed.”

“No.”

“I’ll keep my comm on! For real this time! Just a couple vargas.”

“Unfortunately not, Number Three.”

“Please?”

Keith does his best to widen his eyes the way Lance does it when he’s trying and succeeding at getting his way. He somehow dilates his pupils on command, which Keith doesn’t know how to do, but he figures he can most certainly try. Coran likes him, anyway. He said so.

“Child.” Look of amusement still slotted firmly on his face, and also somehow sporting a piece of wizened reading glasses that he was not wearing three seconds ago, Coran carefully sets down the equipment he’s holding, standing to walk over to Keith. He places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and leans in. “I am not dropping off one of the leaders of Voltron alone on a swap moon for a ‘couple vargas’. You understand why.”

Keith sighs petulantly. “I would get super murdered.”

Coran hums. “You would get super murdered, yes.”

He claps Keith’s back heartily, nearly sending Keith sprawling, then turns back to his sorting. Keith waits til his back is turned to silently and dramatically fall to his knees and mime screaming like Troy Bolton in the third High School Musical Movie (Shiro has too much of an influence on him). He had really hoped Coran would magically have a solution.

“Although,” Coran says, making Keith jump and scramble to his feet (thank every deity to ever exist that Coran keeps his back turned or Keith would crumble to humiliated dust), “if you’re looking for a change of scenery for whatever reason, there are lots of secluded places in the castle.”

Keith flushes red. He knows that’s not how Coran means it — only Hunk knows about them, having magically been able to keep his mouth shut after the whole found-your-lion debacle — but he can’t help where his mind goes, and he’s standing in front of someone who is for all intents and purposes his father, basically, or at least one of them, and it’s horrible and embarrassing and the worst. Imagining that in front of Coran, who once cried and told him he’s just so proud of the man he’s becoming, is just — no. He can’t handle having a father figure again. He’s going back to being a sad orphan.

Well. No.

Whatever.

“Okay bye Coran,” he says loudly and tellingly, practically sprinting out of the room in mortification. He considers ducking into his room to see if Lance is there, but he knows Lance will ask what’s up, and the idea of explaining to him and then hearing him laugh himself to tears adds a beautifully shiny cherry to his sundae of suffering and he decides otherwise.

He ducks instead into the kitchen, hoping it’ll be empty at this time so he can eat his feelings away, but of course that’s not the case. Hunk stands with his hands on his hips at a counter, knife clenched in his right hand, glaring at what Keith hopes is a vegetable of some kind.

“Hey, Keith,” Hunk calls, slowly moving his knife so as to not startle the vegetable.

The vegetable twitches. Keith pretends it doesn’t, choosing to ignore its existence and hoisting himself up to sit on the counter while Hunk is too distracted to stop him.

“I have a dilemma,” he whines when Hunk fails to ask further questions.

“You and Lance are slowly morphing into the same person,” Hunk comments idly. “I have to deal with two of you now. It’s exhausting. Go back to hating each other.”

Keith smiles. “No.”

“Ugh.” He makes a sudden move towards the nightmare vegetable and it panics, throwing itself off the counter in sad vegetable suicide and splatters on the floor. Hunk sighs for a very long time, then reaches for a rag. “Tell me about your dilemma then, catboy. I am looking forward to clowning you.”

“I need to take Lance on a date,” Keith says. “An amazing one.” He tries to be cool and normal for three seconds before remembering that Hunk caught them making out on a moon when they still pretended to hate each other and knows there is no worse shame. “One that is worthy of him, you know? I want him to feel treasured.”

Hunk raises his eyebrows. “Take him to the space mall to commit crimes again. He loves doing that.”

“Coran said no.”

“Observation deck?”

“Makes him sad.”

“Pool?”

Keith tilts his head to the side, considering. “Well, maybe. But we do that all the time. Plus anyone could just walk in on us.”

Hunk groans loudly, chucking the dirty rag at Keith’s face. Keith manages to dodge but only barely.

“You two and your stupid sneaky shit. Do you have any idea how annoying it is to cover for you two so you can giggle about your secrets?”

Keith grins guiltily. “Love you, Hunk.”

“Shut up. I hate you. When everyone finds out I’m going to point and laugh. I don’t even understand why you bother.”

Keith shrugs, twisting the rag sound his fingers. “It’s not…” He sighs. Hunk must sense the shift in the air, because he stops what he’s doing and hoists himself up next to Keith, even though he hates it when people sit on the counter, and leans against him. Keith shoots him a small, grateful smile.

“There’s something special when it’s just the two of us, I guess. Like being in our own little blanket fort. The lighting’s low and every sound feels muffled and it’s hard to breathe and everything else fades, for a bit.”

Keith doesn’t know how else to describe it. His Pa used to build him blanket forts, when he was really little, and he would stay in there until it collapsed on top of him. The same safe feeling settles in his chest when he lies in bed with Lance, when they stand back to back in battle, when they’re as closely pressed together as they can be. Like he’s wrapped in blankets and floating on air.

“Do that, then,” Hunk says softly. He grabs Keith’s hand and squeezes it softly. “Lance loves you, dude. He just wants to spend time with you. He complains because of who he is as a person, but he doesn’t…he swoons about you, man. It’s honestly kind of embarrassing.”

“It is, isn’t it.”

For all of his poking and whining, Lance was the one to move his stuff into Keith’s room. It was Lance who pulled him in with a smirk when Keith knocked on that door, asking what they were next. Lance who pulls him back under the covers in the morning and peppers kisses to his skin, Lance to whisper their first I-love-you, fast and near silent like a gasping inhale, Lance who thought Keith was asleep when he whispered you make me happy like no one else into his hair.

Lance wants him. Plain and simple. In whatever way they have, floating piece of junk or not.

“You got something?” Hunk murmurs.

“Yeah,” Keith says softly. He smiles at his friend, eyes crinkling when he grins right back. “Yeah, I got something.”

He thinks about blanket forts and low lighting and feeling like floating. He thinks about the first time they were ever a team on the castle. He thinks about all the picnic dates in all the romcoms Lance makes him watch.

Suddenly he can’t sit still for another moment. His blood feels like it’s buzzing, and his fingers twitch. He has an idea and if he doesn’t implement it immediately he’s gonna die.

“Get out of here,” Hunk says tiredly, shaking his head in amusement. “You stress me out. Go bother Lance.”

Keith presses a smacking kiss on his cheek because he is, at the core of him, annoying. The action startles a laugh out of him, because at the core of him, Hunk is not nearly as much of hater as he pretends to be.

“Bye Hunk! Love you!”

He runs out of the room to Hunk’s rolled eyes and his own wide grin, heading straight for the pool — he’s got some prep to do.

———

He’s shifty the whole day and he knows it. Lance knows it too, based on the narrowed, judgemental eyes, long, considering glare, and the way he flicks Keith on the forehead mid-spar and says “You’re being shifty, weirdo.”

Keith grabs his hand and kisses it just to make Lance smile on reflex and then scowl about smiling when he’s trying to be mad. It’s all very predictable and amusing.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says lightly. He even pitches his voice to sound more innocent and everything, just like Adam taught him.

“Ugh,” Lance responds.

They go back to sparring, and Keith can’t keep the smile off his face for the life of him. He’s just — so excited. He can’t wait. (And, also, his refusal to answer Lance’s questions is visibly pissing him off, and that’s always fun.) He makes an excuse after a couple hours, kissing Lance loudly and obnoxiously on the cheek before running off, leaving him in the training room and circling the castle three times to make sure he’s not being followed before ducking into the kitchen. As Hunk had promised yesterday when Keith had explained his plan, there are dozens of supplies laid out on the counter and a detailed instruction manual. Keith makes a mental note to clean Hunk’s tools until they are shining in thanks.

Keith, says a pink post-it note on the manual, you’re a whipped loser. Love, Hunk.

Keith grins, folding up the note and tucking it in his pocket. He takes inventory of the supplies, making a special note of the weirdo lump shaped fruit that Keith knows taste like strawberries, that Lance is obsessed with and Hunk often has to literally claw out of his hands when they’re on ship so that Lance doesn’t eat them all. (Actually, now he just puts a lock on the fridge. It’s a problem. Lance loves those strawberries more than Keith, probably.)

Confident that Hunk will keep Lance distracted and praying that no one comes into the kitchen and asks him what the hell he’s doing, Keith gets started. He chops up vegetables, whisks up batters, cuts sandwiches into cool shapes (a sword, Mothman, and an elaborate brachiosaurus) for three straight hours, tucking everything away into a basket and then into the very back corner of the fridge and hiding it behind a case of soda that no one but Keith likes. He barely manages to finish cleaning up the kitchen by the time Shiro and Pidge stroll into the room to get dinner, and both of them eye him suspiciously.

“You’re early,” Pidge says, eyebrows raised.

“You’re never early,” Shiro adds. “I usually have to go send someone to drag you.”

“I’m hungry,” Keith says primly. He’s not, really, since he’s been snacking on stuff as he’s been cooking, but he marches over to the goo machine and squirts himself a bowl anyway. He’ll pull a Lance and feed half of it to the mice, it’ll be fine.

The rest of the team files in a few minutes later; Allura with her hair stuck up in a million places and her nose nearly pressed to her tablet, Coran guiding her by the shoulders so she doesn’t walk right into the counter (again); Hunk and Lance side by side, Lance aggressively swinging their joined hands.

“Hello!” he announces loudly to the room, and it says something about him that every single one of them smiles on reflex, saying hi back.

Lance takes his usual spot next to Keith, Shiro on his other side, Hunk across from them. Under the table, Keith links their ankles together, because no one will look for it and every time it makes a pleased flush grow on the back of Lance’s neck.

“Guess what,” Lance says twenty seconds into a comfortable silence because nothing makes Lance squirm like not talking for ten seconds.

Allura sets her tablet down because she is nosey. “What?”

“I beat Keith at sparring today. Twice,” Lance brags.

Keith scowls at his goo. That’s true, but only because he fought dirty. Keith had him pinned and Lance kissed him, and what was Keith supposed to do, shrug that off? Unlikely. And unrealistic. It’s not like Lance is going to be doing that to fight enemies.

Well. He better not.

“Because you cheated,” Keith mutters.

“Nope, nuh uh, didn’t happen. You are just old and grey and losing your abilities.”

“I’m barely one year older than you!” Keith cries.

Lance smirks. “Elderly, basically. Geriatric. I went easy on you today because I was worried about your knees.”

“Oh, you fucking —”

“Boys,” Shiro interrupts sharply.

They both jump.

“One meal,” the Black Paladin sighs, hand sliding down his face. “Just — one fucking meal, where you two don’t fight.”

“I don’t get it,” Pidge comments, irritated furrow to her brows. “You guys hang out, like, all the time. You’d think you’d be able to talk without jabbing at each other.”

“I think they’re just weirdos,” Hunk says flatly looking at them with a very pointed expression. “I think they just enjoy going at each other. Like weirdos.”

Beside him, Lance averts his eyes, biting his lip to hold back laughter. Keith looks away so he doesn’t have to do the same.

“Sorry, Shiro,” Keith says, working hard to keep his tone neutral. “I’ll do my best to not rise to Lance’s bait.”

“And I’ll try really hard to be okay with stinky mullet’s presence as a whole,” Lance promises.

Shiro only shakes his head and sighs harder. Keith reaches over and pinches his boyfriend’s thigh in revenge.

After dinner, and an aggravated pinching contest that ends with them straight up brawling beside the table and the team looking like they wanted to pelt food good at them, they wait for everyone else to head out to the common room before making their way down to their rooms.

“We’re not joining everyone else?” Lance questions, looking pointedly at their joined hands, blatant as they are in the hallway.

Keith hums, lifting their joined hands and looping around Lance’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Lance stumbles into him, laughing as Keith manages to catch him and keep them both upright.

“Nope,” Keith says, smiling into his hair. He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively — God, he really is becoming Lance. “They’re all tired of us, I think. Perfect opportunity for us to have some time without any interruptions, I was thinking.”

Lance grins. “Sounds good to me.”

The stumble into their room giggling.

———

Hours later, Lance is half asleep on his chest, and Keith traces lazy shapes onto his back. The hallways are quiet, even if he strains his ears. The only thing he can hear is Lance’s even breathing, and the steady thud of his heartbeat. He checks his watch — ten thirty. Everyone else is asleep or close to it.

It’s time, he thinks.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, lips pressed to Lance’s hair. “Wake up.”

“‘M not asleep.”

“Good.” Keith shifts slightly, forcing Lance’s head to move, which earns him a sharp smack on the arm. He grabs Lance’s wrists and holds it there, rubbing a thumb on the palm of his hands. “Up you get.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Lance.”

Lance groans loudly. “I am comfortable,” he laments. “Your tiddies are comfortable. I’m not moving, Pillow. Lie down in silence and be grateful you have the honour of sleeping with me. I’m a delight.”

Keith snorts, but doesn’t back down. “Get up or I tip you over.”

“Yeah, right.” Lance settles right back in, confident in the knowledge that Keith would do nothing of the sort.

Well, he’s wrong.

Careful to tuck his hand over the back of Lance’s head and neck, Keith flips them over at whip speeds, sending them sprawling over the side of the bed and onto the floor in a heap of skewed blankets and flailing limbs.

“You’re such a butthead!” Lance shrieks, smacking him repeatedly on the chest. Keith once again grabs both his wrists and holds tight, pinning him to the floor with his own body weight. He knows Lance isn’t really mad because he hardly puts up a struggle.

“I love you,” Keith says in response, leaning over to peck his boyfriend smack between the eyes. Lance huffs, grinning. “Come on. We’re going somewhere.”

“Ugh,” Lance groans again, but he grabs the hand Keith offers and pulls himself up anyway. He mutters derisively the entire time he gets dressed, but Keith wisely decides not to push it. “Let’s go, dingus. You better be bringing me to a five-star restaurant and then hotel.”

Keith bites back a grin. He knows his line.

“And where the fresh hell am I meant to find that, bastard?” he responds dutifully, wrapping his arm around Lance’s waist and tucking a hand into his back pocket as they walk.

Lance smiles coyly, leaning into him. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Keith rolls his eyes, smiling. “C’mon. We gotta stop in the kitchen first.”

Ignoring Lance’s pestering questions, which is one of his favourite hobbies, Keith steers them towards the fridge and grabs the basket he prepared, tucking it under his arm before Lance can steal it to look.

“If you peek I’m tossing it in the incinerator,” Keith warns.

Lance pouts. “That’s biphobic.”

“You’ll live.”

“Nope. I just found out the love of my life doesn’t accept me for who I am. I’ll try to choke it down, try to get over it, but it’ll eat me alive. Every night after you fall asleep I’ll cry until I pass out. Resentment will build. Eventually I’ll start turning away every time you kiss me. And then we’ll fight, and I will be too heartbroken to defend our relationship, and then all will crumble and we’ll be bitter exes until we die. I see it all now.”

“There are actual playwrights that are less dramatic than you,” Keith observes, looking at Lance’s gesturing in amusement. “I’m pretty sure most of them would beg for lessons.”

“They would be lucky as hell to have me.”

“They would be, baby.” He’d aimed for mocking, but his voice comes out fond and gooey and whipped and he knows it. Lance knows it too, judging by the shy little smile he sports, the pleased flush on his cheeks.

“Where are we even going?” he asks, a clear change of subject. “We’ve been walking the halls for ninety years.”

Keith scoffs. “We have not. And we’re going to the pool.”

Lance stops them mid-step, groaning. “Aw, come on! It’s nearly eleven, Keith!”

“And?” Keith asks, tugging him forward. He goes, but not without whining.

“You are the worst pool partner. You never just want to chill and float. Oh, no, it’s gotta be laps, you fuckin’ jock. Fuckin’ — olympic tryhard ass.”

Keith doesn’t even try to hold back his laughter, and through all his groaning Lance is laughing, too, and even when he’s complaining and being ridiculous and mocking Keith, Keith loves him. There’s not a second of the day when Keith doesn’t.

“Just come on,” he says, finally pulling them into the pool. “You’ll like it. I promise.” He holds his hands up to Lance’s eyes, raising a brow in question, then laying his palms over the top of Lance’s face when he isn’t told to stop.

Lance sighs, but he lets himself get manhandled, let’s Keith guide him up the walls like Coran showed them until they’re finally settled at the edge of the pool. Keith sets down the basket, takes a deep breath, and removes his hands from Lance’s face.

“Happy everyday,” he says quietly.

It takes Lance a moment to register the set up in front of him — the giant blow up kiddie pool floating on the real pool, layered in pillows and blankets. The projector on the wall, queueing Lance’s favourite movie — 10 Things I Hate About You, even though Keith can’t stand that movie and never lets it get picked during family movie nights. The soft lighting sending waves of dappled light reflecting all over the room, making the browns of Lance’s eyes shine gold. The scent of chocolate covered strawberries coming from the now-open picnic basket in Keith’s hands.

Lance m, predictably, bursts into tears.

“You — you jerk,” he cries, flinging himself onto Keith, who barely manages to catch him with an oof. “You are — the worst person alive. I despise you.”

Keith grins, setting down to basket to hold Lance in his arms properly, squeezing him as tight has he can, trying to — say, what he feels, with his body alone. Because there aren’t words for it, he doesn’t think, the way Lance is the first person he seeks out in any room he’s in, the way one touch from Lance has the tension melting from his body in bad days. How even when they’re at their worst and screaming in each other’s faces, there’s a voice in Keith’s head three times louder than anger that booms, don’t you dare hurt him. How he hasn’t felt this kind of safe with a person since his Pa; since he was tiny and young and not afraid of the world yet.

“I take it I win this dating thing?” Keith teases, face tucked into the crook of Lance’s neck.

Lance laughs wetly, breath still shuddering and tears still leaking out of his eyes, and turns his head to kiss him slowly, hands pressed to either side of his face.

“You’re a dickhead and I love you more than air,” he says, smile wide and breathtaking. Keith has to bite back to urge to do something insane like ask him to marry him. God. He’s so — hngh. How is Keith supposed to explain. What he is to him.

“C’mon,” Keith says instead of any of that, voice kind of hoarse. He wraps their hands together and pulls them closer to the edge of the pool, kneeling down and reaching out to steady the floatie and holding it as Lance crawls in. He hands him the basket and tumbles in after him, falling onto his chest, and he feels it shame as Lance laughs, quiet and fond, and he knows he won’t be able to move away. So he settles into him and Lance’s hands come up automatically to rest in his hair, and Keith fumbles for the remote and plays the movie and hands him strawberries and watches Kat and Patrick fall in love and thanks anyone who is out there, from every atom in his body, for getting Lance’s dumb ass tied to a tree and having Keith the only one available to save him. And for the magnetism, between them, and the way Keith has never been able to hide himself from him.

“I love you,” Lance whispers as Kat reads her poem, fingers tangled around locks of Keith’s hair. “I mean it. I do.”

Keith turns his head slightly to kiss the inside of his knee, eyes closed, breaths heavy. “I know.” He lets himself bask in it, Lance’s love, and smiles. “I love you, too.”

———

first part

based off this video

[leapdayowo]

Redstone and Skulk ch. 43

Had to draw this moment cuz it’s been eating away at my brain since I read it😭 Next on my list is EB giving them a hug

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

thinkin about all the ways that xenk and edgin parallel/complement each other

like. theyve both suffered terrible loss. edgin's is what drove him away from the harpers and 'doing the right thing'. xenk's is what drove him towards that very thing. edgin found a family despite his loss. every time we see xenk, he is doing his work alone. edgin and his family defeated the same evil that tore xenk from his. xenk brings to justice the man who nearly tore edgin's family apart. they are different sides of the same coin do you see

[justanotherignot]

What happens if you don't let Aylin and Isobel join camp:

[shorthaltsjester]

honestly as someone who has been in various fandoms for a long time now and who also watched campaigns 1 and 2 without really getting into cr fandom it isn’t Shocking but it is annoying how often people will look at the stories that cr tells and make absolute claims about the goodness of characters (goodness here meaning Moral goodness, not I Like This character and think it’s well made goodness, which is a separate post entirely). particularly regarding the gods and pc parents. and honestly like, typically in fandom i get annoyed by people bending over backwards to woobify characters who are active in their choice to be unkind and generally horrible but in the cr fandom it’s tended to be the opposite where like. a character is just. a human being (in the sense of being Average not in the sense of Fantasy Races) and huge swaths of the fandom act like that’s the most unforgivable thing someone can be. and maybe it is, but one of the most powerful things about fiction is that it tends to encourage people to expand their empathy and exercise their ability to forgive. because fictional characters, no matter how much people like to project onto them, tend not to cause anyone harm, so it’s easier to learn how to forgive and accept things you don’t understand without also villainizing them.

this is mostly prompted by the recent 4sd and the fact that matt’s response to what’s up with the dawnfather was a very insistent “He’s not bad!” and also seeing the online reaction to the mention that the matron would punish vax for saving keyleth that has taken the as usual completely bonkers tune that the raven queen (Who When Met With A Brother Asking A God To Kill Him In Favour Of His Sister, Gave Him A Job, and Later Extended His Natural Life To Help Protect The World And Have More Time With His Family And Allowed Him To Visit His Sister On Her Wedding Day) is a horrible evil abusive bitch of a god. like. can we grow up? can we understand the world and fiction that represents the multitudes of experiences found in it in shades of grey? is that too much to ask (i know it is).

but also specifically the like Extremely Adamant way that both matt and laura were like no no no no relvin isn’t Horirble he’s average. he’s not good he’s just. he’s A father, not a good or bad one. and on the surface it’s hilarious that they’re both so like. enthused to point out that he’s Average because typically when people respond to a claim of a characters badness with the level of immediacy they both did it’s a rebuttal of “no, this character is good actually.” but it was just to affirm that relvin did harm imogen, but not because there’s some aspect of his character that is inherently cruel or especially Bad. and like. yeah actually. yeah you should react like that to a claim that this average person who Has hurt someone, the way that nearly every single person has hurt someone in a way they cannot repair, with immediacy to say this person is a Person and thus imperfect and capable of great harm, but that isn’t some all encompassing judgment on their morality or capability to also do good or be fine.

anyway this is kinda just a rant post but also is just me saying i’m very grateful that when surrounded by a fandom that tends to paint characters as Good or Bad and even while using a game that can encourage that with its alignment system, cr has always told stories that see goodness as a persistent choice that might sometimes falter and that can be chosen even after a lifetime of Badness. i can’t remember exactly what the quote was so forgive me if it’s incorrect but when jester is talking to caleb after he claims he’s not a very good person and she says “good people do bad things sometimes. even bad people do good things.” that’s it! that’s one of the most consistent themes across campaigns. and yet.

[mushed-kid]

im just gonna post this as a wip

i like it a lot because i didnt even use a reference for the pose/body😨🤯and i still love how it looks

but i dont think i will finish it because the arm will cover parts i like😑

[fluffyfangirl]

Inspired by Daydream from disaster_energy

"It's a typical Thursday morning, except for the part where Will gets Chosen by the Moon Goddess and suddenly Mike's choice of which Paladin order to join gets a lot easier.”

My post for Byler Week 2023 - Day 1: DnD/Cleradin

[morninkim]

d&d tomberly... save me..

d&d tomberly

save me d&d tomberly

[luck-of-the-drawings]

THE ORDER OF PALMS An order of holy folk that serve The Helm, working to create powerful Aasimar Paladins for the purpose of protecting any who hire their help. [BACKSTORY UNDER CUT]

One day, Gjör and her peers were lead by their mentor Opheria, to a mission far from their home. On the peak of that mountain village, they saw upon the horizon, the castle of their home go up in flames. Horrified and scared, the apprentices sought to follow their mentors guidance, and followed her lead into a small barn. It was there, that Opheria proceeded to slaughter each and everyone of the apprentices. It seemed she somehow had a hand in this sudden attack on the Order of Palms. Gjör D'annevual survived a sword through the 'heart', on account of a rare condition, that places her heart on the other side of her chest. When she finally managed to bring herself back home, the Order was insulted by her survival. She had so many better peers, why couldn't any of them have survived? This runt was seriously the only thing that survived Opherias wrath? It was better to just wash their hands clean of this. Thus the Order decided to banish Gjör from their ranks. She now travels the land in search of a purpose.