#instead he's so dedicated to seeming normal that it loops back around to being weird

[waitineedaname]

joking about ritsu liking emo music is funny and all but it will never be as funny to me as the canon truth, which is that he doesn't listen to music. him liking mcr or whatever is too ordinary, him not listening to music at all is so out of left field and hilarious to me. ritsu is the funniest character because he tries so hard to seem normal and then he says shit that makes you go "wait. what the fuck" as soon as you think about it for more than three seconds

[kylorengarbagedump]

Defy Your Authority: Chapter 3

Read on AO3. Part 2 here. Part 4 here.

Summary: You always hated tagging along on boys' night.

Words: 3300

Warnings: tw//kassanovella

Characters: Kylo Ren x Reader

A/N: HI LOOK AT ME I GOT THIS OUT IN TIME. I did indeed test positive for COVID so this was wrought through my fatigue--and may be why there is a delay for the next chapter. We'll see!

I hope y'all enjoyed this. I am doing my best to respond to all the feedback, but I'm like... so tired LMFAO. Thank you so much for your support and engagement. It literally means the world to me and is so encouraging.

I love you. ❤️

It didn’t matter how many times you told yourself to calm down. Your pulse bounded like a rabbit, every thump a reminder of your tightening chest. The walls of the Steadfast washed past in black-silver blurs, your mind wild with fear. Hux’s words replayed over and over, a cruel broadcast in your brain. Requests for response from the officers stationed there have gone unanswered. 

Realistically, that could mean anything. Pessimistically, everyone was dead and you were homeless.

The thought of losing your crew weakened your knees. For four months, they’d been your solace and something akin to a family. Not like you’d had other real options on that little butthole of a planet--but you’d gotten lucky. You’d made a home out of Orinda; a home where you’d planned to return. 

Lip pinched in thought, you joined Kylo in a new turbolift, crossing to the corner again as if he were a disease you wanted to avoid. You folded your arms over your chest, stared at your shoes. If you were homeless, it was anyone’s guess as to what you’d do or where you’d go next. It was clear that your supposed… whatever he was didn’t care for your presence. 

Leather gloves scrunched in the silence. The lift arrived, and he stormed off, in expectation that you’d follow. You rolled your eyes, trailing behind him, allowing the need that had burgeoned between your thighs to deflate. 

He’d said he would punish you. But you couldn’t think of a punishment worse than going four more months without his touch. 

Kylo broke through another set of blast doors into the hangar, officers and Stormtroopers alike snapping to attention in his presence. If he noticed or cared, it didn’t show--he pushed through the quiet floor, furious stride carrying him toward one of the ugliest ships you’d ever seen. 

Black durasteel panels formed a long, cylindrical frame, the bow outfitted with a row of rakish teeth and bordered by two guiding flaps. The engines looped like two smooth bricks at the stern of the vessel, the two ends connected by rows of external piping and guarded by a sprinkle of gunning stations. Its blocky build bore a resemblance to a prison transport--if that prison transport was then modified by an eager, unsophisticated halfwit. 

He climbed the descended ramp in thundering strides, and you skulked in his wake, only to be greeted with one of the mercenaries you’d seen earlier. You paused, but Kylo passed the soldier, marching toward the stern and abandoning you in the main corridor. The man--at least, you were fairly certain he was a man--wore a mask embedded with breathing tubes, a huge, heavy club in his hands. The weight of his gaze anchored you to the floor. He said nothing.

“Uhm…” You tried to find an introduction, but none seemed appropriate. Grimacing, you offered him a half-hearted salute. “Sir.”

The man did not respond. Face burning, you scurried into the ship, hot on Kylo’s heels. 

Few lights rimmed the interior of the vessel, your only guide the resonant thump of his boots along the durasteel slats. It was as dim as it was dank--the deeper you delved, the heavier the air. It was sticky with the stench of war, weighed with iron and brimmed with smoke. And underneath that, a scent you’d only describe as one owned by a pack of panting massiffs.

A chill crept over your scalp. This ship was empty of kindness, barren of mercy. You didn’t need the Force to know that nothing good had ever happened within these walls.

Your fear had you scampering to keep pace. Kylo led you through a flickering hall and turned a corner, swiped a switch. A set of blast doors opened to sharp steps, another pair of doors at the top. Those parted as you approached, light spilling from the Steadfast hangar through wide slats of red transparisteel. You’d arrived in the cockpit.

Six chairs lined the wrap-around dashboard. Two as pilot seats, two positioned at gunning and weapons systems, and two plugged toward the back, each in front of a monitoring station. One seemed to handle communications--or lack thereof, the radio receivers and wiring were all almost entirely torn out--and the other dedicated to internal surveillance. At the latter, a matrix of screens with live feed of the interior of the ship.

Even through the shadowed halls, you could distinguish a handful of prison cells. Each of them was torn apart, littered with metal scrap and half-shorn weaponry. The walls themselves were adorned with sloppy graffiti, one of them decorated by a mural of a massive, five-legged lizard beast. A huge red beam was bursting through its neck. Within the tiny walls were separate collections of cultured artifacts. You knew enough about war to know they were trophies.

Every room also possessed a rumpled, dirty bed. A flash of hall light near one cell, illuminating notches in the durasteel where the head of the bedframe met the wall. Like the frame had been slammed against it. Over and over and over.

You swallowed. On one of the feeds, a body slipped through the hall like a living shade. Pausing, you watched until it disappeared from view. The sound of footsteps whispered, then hummed, then roared. You spun, seeking out Kylo, finding him by the co-pilot’s chair, and darted into the pilot’s spot as if this was a totally normal occasion and you weren’t on a weird deathship surrounded by his weird death bodyguards.

Kylo turned to gaze at you, and the blast doors opened, stealing his attention. In the frame stood another would-be man, outfitted with a ribbed-weave robe and carting a huge plasma rifle. Filth smothered him from his boots halfway up his legs, and his head was obscured by a helmet, not unlike the one you’d known Kylo to wear. This one had two blinders on either side, like this man was a predator. 

Like he was a hunter.

Whatever fear you felt for him, he certainly did not feel it for you. He glanced between you and Kylo, trying to ascertain the relationship that resulted in your presence.

“She’s in my seat.” His voice was grainy, like glass on stone, distorted underneath his mask.

You held up your hands in deference. “Hey, sorry. I had no idea this was your seat.” You went to stand, frowning at Kylo, who was studying your every movement. Really had to love how helpful he was being.

“Hurry up,” the man said. 

Nodding, you wriggled around the chair with your hands still raised, as if this would offer any form of protection between you and this fully armed guard. He squared his feet and stalked toward the pilot’s seat. You side-stepped him, but he shoulder-checked you despite it, and you stumbled back, wincing. 

“What the f--”

Kylo Ren’s saber screamed to life, slicing a divide between the hunter and the chair. He stalled, fists balled, neck rolling to stare at Kylo. You gulped, rubbing your arm, your eyes flipping between him and the crackling rod of plasma only a foot away from the man’s waist.

“Sir.”

“Careful,” Kylo said.

He snorted. “Of a Lieutenant--”

“Kuruk.”

Kuruk pivoted to you, and you met his stare somewhere behind the shield of metal. Whoever was underneath the helmet was rending you apart in his mind. 

He shrugged his shoulder and looked back to Kylo.

“Excuse me. Sir.”

The saber disappeared, and Kuruk took his seat at the dashboard. You flushed. At least he’d done that much. You snuck to the back of the cockpit, thinking to sit at the surveillance station, but pausing there too. Every one of these seats could have an owner whose name you didn’t know. Glimpsing Kylo, you threw up your hands in confusion.

Kylo caught this, but did not acknowledge it. “Resistance activity was spotted on the scanners. Get Cardo and Trudgen on the turrets. Ushar gunning.”

“Yes, Master.” 

Your eyes widened. Master? 

Kuruk fussed with the dashboard, relaying the information, and you gazed at Kylo, examining his body in the same routine you’d practiced nightly with your hands between your legs. Fuck, he was big--the thick expanse of chest rose with a slow breath, and you watched it fall, then watched his neck tense as he turned, attuned to your observation. Heat rushed your spine when you linked eyes. His jaw stiffened.

“Get in your seat, Lieutenant.”

“Oh,” you replied. “Is this my seat? I didn’t know.” You sank into it, shooting him a wide, sparkling smile. “Thank you, Master.”

Kylo swallowed.

The blast doors opened again, the soldier you’d seen at the entrance bursting through and tromping to a gunner console--you assumed this was Ushar. He tossed his club to the side, flicking on the controls and calibrating the sights. The ship itself bellowed to life, rising from the floor, and you gripped the seat, unable to force your focus from Kylo--just as he was unable to force his from you. 

The two of you were in competition. That much was clear. 

You just couldn’t figure out what the loser would be impaled with--or if that would make them a winner, instead. 

The Buzzard shot into the stars, coasting in a direct path toward Orinda. You broke the staring contest, glimpsing the little planet through the cockpit, pulse picking up again. Requests for response unanswered. Once you got on the ground, you’d go find your crew and make sure they were safe. That’s all you needed to know. Whether or not Kylo wanted you to come back was irrelevant.

You met his gaze again, his irises hiding a storm. Blood bit your cheeks.

Mostly. 

“Nothing detected on the sensors,” said Ushar. 

Kylo glanced at him then turned toward the transparisteel, searing you with a leer before he sat at the dash. You shivered. Whatever you’d done to make him feel this way, his brief glimmers of favor only made it worse. Maybe you did want to fuck him so you could get a chance to figure it out. Or maybe it was just frustrating to know him in ways no one else had while simultaneously knowing almost nothing at all.

The three men operated in silence as you approached Orinda. From space, it seemed normal. With no starcraft popping up, there was a chance it was a false alarm. That it had been a fly-by. You held your breath when you broke the atmosphere, flames whipping the transparisteel. The Buzzard trembled with gravity, diving toward the ground, greens and browns and blues splitting to trees and fields and sea. 

Then a flash of light, smog blooming to life, tiny fires swallowing your narrowing field of vision. Air froze in your lungs, nails biting the hard back of the seat. 

“Fuck.” You launched from the chair, scrambled toward the dashboard. “No, no no…”

Kylo spun to face you, but you ignored him, shoving between the two pilot seats to crane over the console and peer through the transparisteel. 

He stood, looming over you. “Back to your seat.”

His words swum in the tsunami of your mind. The outpost was smothered with smoke. The closer you drew, the dimmer the horizon, until the Buzzard landed on the border of the eruption, the entire sky encompassed with billowing black fog. Every muscle in your chest felt like wire around your ribs, forcing the breath from your lungs. You shook your head, hands starting to tremble.

They were out there. They could be dead. 

The blast doors opened, and you whirled to leave, but Kylo caught your shoulder and stilled you. 

“What the--”

“Gather the rest,” Kylo said. He was speaking to Ushar. “Spread out and secure the perimeter.”

Ushar nodded, grabbed his club, and disappeared down the steps. Huffing, you wrenched yourself free from Kylo’s grip and stomped toward the exit only to be paralyzed by a very familiar nothing. You growled, unable to even make a fist.

“Dude!”

“You will remain on board the Buzzard until I return.”

The fact you couldn’t turn to look him in the eye made you even angrier. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you said. “That’s my crew. They’re my responsibility.”

“Stand down.”

You snorted. “Hell no.”

Two long, slow steps brought him behind you. His presence consumed you like a black hole, crushing you in darkness. 

His chest met your back. “Every one of your little quips has gone unchallenged.” Another step, and his mouth fell to your ear. “Do not test me here.”

Warmth flooded your thighs. If he didn’t like being challenged in front of his soldiers, he shouldn’t have put you all in the same space. His own fault. 

“I don’t care,” you said. “These are my crew members. You don’t know them. I do. Let me go.”

“No.”

“Why are you even doing this?” you said. “You’re the one who fucking brought me here!”

A pause. Silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant noise of destruction and your anxious, heaving breath. You heard him exhale.

“Kuruk,” he said. “Scout and support.”

Behind you, Kuruk stood, followed by the metal click of him grappling his rifle. You watched, stuck to your spot, as he charged through the cockpit and down the steps. The blast doors to the stairs shut behind him. Then the ones to the cockpit. And you two were alone.

Kylo snarled, snatched your throat--he was a swoop of rage, swiveling and slamming your back to the wall. You seethed, squirming under his grip, unable to hide the smirk curling on your lips as you tried to pry his wrist away. He subsumed you like a star subsumed space, bright hot and pure, and you were a simple nothingness, addicted to his heat.

“You think you have earned my submission,” he muttered. “You have not.”

You wheezed, gazing into his eyes, finding an electric spark of hunger and fury within them. Four months without this had been far, far too long. As long as he was treating you like a stranger, you didn’t want to give in. But that wouldn’t stop you from making this torture for him, too.

“Then what have I earned,” you purred, “Master?”

He sucked in air through his teeth, pinning your body flat--his chest rolled with excitement, his voice raked over lust. “The further you push me, the worse your earnings.”

You bit your lip, bucking your hips against his, feeling a growing bulge between his legs. “You’re ridiculous.” You’d thought he’d wanted you to go to Orinda. Maybe you’d been wrong. “What, is this because I left?”

A huff. “No.”

“Then I don’t get it.” You rolled your pelvis into him again, and he jerked forward, crushing you to the wall. “Why don’t you want me around? What did I do?”

Kylo shifted, panting into your neck, his mouth centimeters from your skin. “Not what you did,” he said, clutching your throat tighter. “What you saw. It will not happen again.”

Some bit of that stung. You saw inside of his mind. “You act like I made you admit it!” It was difficult to speak under the pressure of his palm. “You could’ve just let me go.”

“Hm.” His hand squeezed, and he dragged his hardening bulge along your thigh. “Perhaps I should have.”

So that’s what this was about. Whatever had happened, he’d decided that what he’d shared with you was weakness. And being Supreme Leader meant he couldn’t be weak. Meant he couldn’t have room or time for you. All you were was a living regret. 

Frowning, you glared at him, driving your thumbs into the meat of his wrist and throwing his hand from your neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, shoving him back. “Perhaps you should’ve.” His eye twitched. A screeching blast broke the air, and you tensed. “I’m going to find my crew.”

You stalked out of the cockpit, blast doors parting for you as you hit the stairs and cut through the halls back to exit the Buzzard. It was one thing to abandon you. One thing to make you leave. One thing to act like he’d never held you, kissed you, or whispered your name. 

But it was an entirely other thing to imply he wished it never would’ve happened. The thought pierced your heart, and you steeled your jaw, tried to pull the pain free. You didn’t have time to play Kylo Ren’s newest Game of Repressed Emotion. You had friends to find. 

The ramp to the Buzzard was already down, and you hurried to the ground, smacked with the scent of blazing fuel. Embered ash battered your eyes, and you coughed, covering your face with your arm. Under the wailing wind of heat, you heard Kylo approaching the exit, so you trudged toward the outpost, seeking out any hint of life.

“Tonis!” Your voice was eaten by the flames. “Mirna! Lin!” Narrowing your gaze to protect it, you pushed toward the hangar, knowing that if they were anywhere, they’d be there. 

Sweat crawled down your nape, scattering over your lower back as you drew nearer to the fire. The mercenaries were nowhere to be found, but you supposed that was okay, since they didn’t seem very fond of you regardless. The hangar was beyond the completely engulfed fueling station and therefore impossible to see, but as you curved around the fire, you could discern slivers of it. Edges of the building, and then whole sections.

And your stomach dropped.

Another couple of steps, only to discover the hangar scorched, collapsed in on itself like a shattered greenhouse. You stopped a scream and bolted, careening toward the wreckage to see if you could find anyone or anything among the debris. Thick durasteel girders stuck out of the heap like nails, the ridged ceiling crumpled in pieces and mirroring the fire’s light.

“Tonis!” Your back burned from the heat, but you didn’t care. You tried to find a way in, a way to pull something apart, a way to find someone. “Mirna!” You grabbed a huge wooden beam, hands slipping on the soot, but you fruitlessly tugged anyway. “Lin!”

A ragged shard of wood ripped your palm, and you shrieked, cradling it to your breast in shock. Cursing, you left the mass alone, following the foundation around the corner, hoping against hope they escaped out of the back and were huddled behind the hangar. You approached the corner, calling their names, louder and louder. They weren’t coming to meet you. Again, and louder, and you turned the corner, pleading with the Force that they’d be there.

Of course, they weren’t. 

In front of you was a cluster of discarded starship parts, all outdated or malfunctioned or busted. It was a collection you’d gathered since you’d arrived--arranged and created when more parts were added. Each fragment was unique, and when building it with your crew, it sometimes resembled a sculpture. Under the clouds of smoke, it looked like a pile of junk. 

Growling, you rushed it, kicking the base and sending it all tumbling to the ground. Your furious hands found purchase and hurled whatever they had grabbed to pieces. A scream shook your chest, and you jammed your foot against a solar array panel, cracking it in half. Underneath, you found an old, pretty fuelcell splinter. You grabbed it in your bloody hand and hissed, pulverizing it with your fist. Grunting, you threw the dust into the air, watching as the firewind ate it all.

You heard the rustle of grass behind you. Your shoulders sagged.

“There are no signatures of life remaining at this station.”

Sighing, you turned to Kylo. He was watching you, face blank.

“Yeah.” You wiped your palm on your pant leg, smearing it with blood. “I know.”

His eyes flicked to your hand for the shortest, sharpest moment. Then he met your eyes. “The silencer is still in need of repair.”

You frowned, averting your gaze. “I don’t want your pity.”

“You’d prefer to sleep outside in melted trash.”

“Maybe.” You shrugged a shoulder, crossed your arms. “Dumpster fire and all that.”

Kylo Ren held you in his stare, cape fluttering and hair rumpled in the breeze. Tears stung your eyes. You wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

“Come.” 

He turned the corner. Clearing your throat of sadness, you followed him. You allowed him to guide you through the devastation, past the flames, and up the ramp until you were safe in the Buzzard cockpit. And then he left, likely to gather his men before departure.

And then you were alone.

[incidentreport31]

Episode Three: Gather raw meat of any kind, red preferred, human is fine TRANSCRIPT

(You can listen to the show wherever you get your podcasts.)

Recorder clicks on.

SFX: papers shuffling as Val decides on an account to focus on for the day.

ARCHIVIST:

(humming Under My Skin by Jukebox the Ghost for a few moments as they decide) Which one for today, then? Christ, this place is a mess.

[they stop as they pick up one covered in grime]

ARCHIVIST CONT.:

What in god’s name? What’s all over this one… (they scoff) Great, Val. You’re asking the damn recorder questions now.

[beat, then to the recorder]

Although I suppose you’re good enough company even if you can’t answer… (fondly) aren’t you?

[an awkward beat, a little too long]

(they clear their throat) I suppose I’ll be getting this one over with…

[SFX: shuffle of paper as they pick it up]

Certainly seems the most interesting given the…

[SFX: another shuffle as they flip it back and forth and take it in]

-residue… on it. (they sniff) God, the smell of it. Almost like rotten meat.

(they shudder)

(sighing) Right. Best get right into it… (muttering) it’ll be over sooner.

For the consideration of their parents: Bryn Fischer’s retelling of their time traveling alongside their road bike expedition through Massachusetts and- Dear Lord- a - what does this mean- a… a meat rain? (they sigh, exasperated) Yes, a “meat rain” that they came upon while driving.It seems Mx. Fischer is requesting their parents to pay fully for their next vacation… I’ve said it before, but (sighs) Rich People. Surprisingly, though, this account does seem to have a date written in: July 21, 2001. Regardless of my disbelief in the fact that the previous Archivist finally did something competent, their account begins as such:

[ACCOUNT STARTS]

I used to drive support for my parents’ long distance bike rides. They used to go out for anywhere from 90 to 200 miles a day with only a few stops in small towns where they could meet me at the car and grab new waters before heading right back out. They’re big bike geeks and I was the one person they’d always had at their disposal for the longer trips. Once I turned sixteen and properly had a driver’s license, it seemed to occur to them that they didn’t really have to ask their other long-distance riding friends to drive alongside them. Instead, they turned to me to make sure they were safe and sound on their excursions. Which was honestly fine for a while! I mean, when I’d first gotten the freedom of driving, it felt like such a treat to go on these trips and be able to just drive for hours and hours with someone else paying for my gas. And beyond that, it was nice to see everything out on the roads. I always found something good on those days where my parents were tirelessly trekking across the state highways. I loved seeing things I’d never seen before, whether it was the weird trinkets at rest stops or patches of snow hiding under dense forests I’d never seen before. I loved the exploring of it, but if I’m being honest, the thing that really amazed me was my parents. The dedication it took to willingly submit yourself to that much physical exertion with nothing but the few waters they could carry on their bikes between our meeting spots… Well it wasn’t something they’d passed down to me, that’s for sure.

[beat]

But, that’s all to say that after a while of driving for them, it eventually lost its charm. They eventually found a route they loved above all others and decided that they were going to make it their annual ride. As I’m sure you can tell, the whole “seeing new places and exploring” thing went away pretty quickly a few trips in. I was a stupid teenager, you know, and started griping about it to them two years in when they decided the perfect time for their next ride was over the weekend that my eighteenth birthday fell on.

ARCHIVIST:

Sometimes, Bryn, parents don’t have an ounce of self-awareness, I’ll give you that much, but this is getting past the point of exposition and I’d suggest you get to the point lest you sound like a writer who got to write in more background details than usual because this is a two-part episode.

[ACCOUNT]

After that, well I decided they could get their friends who actually gave a damn to go along with them. And even then, I was going away to college in Boston soon, so they’d have to stop relying on me eventually, so it was as good a time as any.

[beat]

Well, that’s my rambling exposition for you, I suppose.

ARCHIVIST:

Thank God.

[ACCOUNT]

But of course, by my sophomore year in university I was growing away from my parents and our calls had become less frequent. As much as I hated to admit it, I missed them. So when they called me and briefly mentioned they’d tired of their old route and would be taking on a new ride that summer, namely one that would loop right by me in Boston, I jumped at the chance, telling them to please not bother any of their friends with the trouble of driving and to let me come along. They were thrilled, of course. It had been a while since I’d willingly gone with them on their trips and they agreed without a second thought, inviting me to stay at their hotel with them like old times. I’ll spare you the details of the trip as a whole, I suppose. It was 119 miles along Wachusett mountain and there was a lot to look at. I mean I could go on and on about the sights I saw and the nostalgia that bloomed in my chest when I remembered the first few drives I’d taken with them.

ARCHIVIST:

(mocking) Heaven forbid you go on a tangent.

[ACCOUNT]

The important thing is the fact that, although I was so sure I’d checked all the maintenance lights off beforehand, by some twisted turn of fate, the lights on my dashboard flicked off, and stopped functioning altogether. It would have been fine, I mean it was in broad daylight still, but without a working speedometer, I was screwed. Now, my first thought was rage, of course, quickly followed by worry about my parents. I was lucky enough to have broken down where there was still cell service and to have my father pick up when I called, the two of them having momentarily paused to sight see. He assured me that it was okay. They’d be riding through where my car had stopped in about an hour and would be able to refuel their waters and snacks, but that they were going strong and should be fine to continue the ride. He told me just to call Triple A and make sure to get myself back to the hotel we were staying at safely and to leave the waters and things by a tree if by some miracle my car was fixed before they got to me. I tried to stay calm and called for the repair guy, who informed me he wouldn’t be there for about an hour and a half which was… just perfect.

ARCHIVIST:

Now I genuinely cannot tell if this is sarcasm or not as it’s written down so it’s anyone’s guess really.

[ACCOUNT]

I thought for a while and decided it would be fine if I walked around the nearby woods for a little while. Like I said, I really did love the exploring aspects of these trips and I figured that if I would be stuck here for a while, I might as well make the most of it as long as I kept my phone on me and kept track of the time. And honestly? It was some of the best fun I’d had in a while. Staying in the city for college had put my love of nature on hold indefinitely and I was happy to have it, even if for a short time. After a little while of walking around, I found this nice secluded area right on the edge of an open field and took a seat within a bush where the branches grew haphazardly enough that there was a decent sized hollow space for me to rest. I closed my eyes, just enjoying the moment in spite of my circumstances.

[beat]

SFX: Eerie music begins playing.

And… that’s when I heard it. There was this slight whooshing noise followed up by a few wet squelching sounds as whatever seemed to have fallen bounced once or twice along the damp earth.

My eyes snapped open, but as I scanned the forest floor, nothing immediately caught my attention. Everything seemed normal. And then as I was staring open-eyed at the field in front of me, it seemed as though the sky opened up. But… not with rain. Instead of water, there were fleshy colored chunks of all sizes just plummeting down from the sky into the field. They flopped as they hit the ground in a way that was both comical and simultaneously made me afraid I was going to lose the continental breakfast I’d had at the hotel just a few hours earlier. And that’s before I even noticed the smell. In the end, that’s what really made me realize what I was looking at. The smell that permeated the air as the shower continued suddenly clicked in my brain: rotten meat. There was nothing else that could smell so repulsive and sickly as the mass of meat chunks that had begun to collect on the field before me.

[RECORD SCRATCH]

ARCHIVIST:

What.

[beat]

[ANOTHER BEAT]

(they clear their throat) Right.(somewhat shakily) Moving on then.

[ACCOUNT]

By now, I was holding my hands clasped to my mouth, trying not to panic and furthermore hoping that the meat shower would stay central to that one area. Honestly I didn’t know if I would be able to handle any of it coming near me and I was thankful for every second it didn’t. It went on like that for several minutes through which I finally resolved to keep my eyes firmly shut.

[beat]

And then all of a sudden, the wet flopping sound ceased. For a moment, I could almost believe I imagined it, with my eyelids still pressed together. And yet, the smell still hung in the air. I slowly opened my eyes, hoping not to see what I deep down knew I would. What had once been a gorgeous fertile field full of lush grass and the types of wildflowers that would have been classified as weeds by those without any sense-

ARCHIVIST:

You mean botanists who likely have PHD’s? Hmm. I see.

[ACCOUNT]

Well, it had been turned into a literal hellscape. Not only was the meat layered on itself in clumps of already rotting material slowly heating up in the mid-day sun- which yes is as nasty as it sounds- but even the areas where the meat hadn’t settled were covered in that kind of slimy residue that comes off when you pat pre-packaged meats dry before you cook them. Pretty awful in every sense of the word.

[beat]

I sat on the ground for a few more minutes hidden safely within my bush before I realized that it had probably been about forty-five minutes since I called the Triple A man and figured now was a good a time as any to try getting back to my car, especially since I wasn’t keen to get caught up in any second round of meat rain.

SFX: Eerie music starts playing.

Unfortunately for me, the moment I decided this was exactly the moment the man and little girl walked out into the field. They came in from exactly the opposite side from where I was attempting to stand up, so of course they saw the bush shudder even with the cover it gave me. I hoped against everything that they would pass it off as an animal, perhaps drawn towards the display looking for dinner, and it seemed that, even standing up as I was, I was lucky enough to scrape by on that front.

I guess you’ll be wanting a description of them, yeah? The man was a little older, maybe in his late thirties and seemed positively pleased to be walking through the field of gristle and gore. At the very least, his smile beamed as he passed his eyes back and forth across the field. The girl next to him seemed to be so young, a toddler: maybe five at the oldest? I don’t know, I’ve never been good at discerning children’s ages. But young as she was, she didn’t seem put off by the scene around her in the slightest, skipping along next to the man with her hand swinging along in his.

I wish I knew what happened next. You ever have one of those moments where you suddenly realize you’ve been holding your breath? That’s the only thing I can chalk it up to I guess. Maybe it was the terrifying notion of them noticing me any further, a freeze fear response, or just subconsciously trying to keep the smell out of my nostrils, but no matter the reason, I realized I hadn’t taken a breath in far too long a few moments too late and I fell forward into the bush.

[beat]

Loudly. Loud enough that when I came to my senses a second or two later, halfway fallen out of the bush where they could see me clear as day, I could see both of them staring at me with their heads cocked to the side. As frightened as I was, though, I remember clearly that the two of them shared the same calm, kind face, the pleasant demeanor dimmed only by their surroundings. And then, with my head still cloudy, I heard him call out to me.

“Are you alright over there?” And that was the moment I knew that-

[SFX: paper being turned over frantically and then a beat]

ARCHIVIST:

(frustrated) Hm. It seems that the account ends there if I’m not mistaken. Though it seems the story does not. I suppose maybe there’s another sheet around here with the rest of the story, although how I’m going to find it in this mess I can only guess. (muttering) Guess I’ll just have to keep a look out for another paper coated in this grime, which I am now unfortunately being led to believe is meat… juice.

Either way, I’m afraid that with the few details I’ve been given so far I cannot confirm anything about this case one way or another. I would love to dismiss it right off the bat and write off the… grime on this paper as a practical joke, but until further research is done or I get a hold of the rest of this story, I’m afraid I can do no such thing. (a long, drawn out sigh)

[SFX: the listeners become aware of the sound of a camcorder whirring at some point in this closing as Chris approaches]

[As Chris begins, the Archivist yelps in surprise, maybe a little desk clatter]

CHRIS:

Do you think you could do another take real quick? Maybe up the acting a bit during the meat rain, really sell the emotion?

ARCHIVIST:

Bloody hell—who are you?

CHRIS:

Oh, sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.(then, trying to be cryptic, but she’s too over-the-top for it to be scary) Or did I?

ARCHIVIST:

(confused) You—how long have you been in here?

CHRIS:

Uh. The whole time? I thought you’d say something to me eventually, but you were really lost in the sauce there for a bit.(trying to be funny) Or, lost in the meat juice, I guess. (she giggles at her own joke.)

ARCHIVIST:

Well, my sincerest apologies, but you weren’t supposed to be in here in the first place. Who are you? Is—is that a camera?

CHRIS:

Oh, I’m Christine Lewis, one of the researchers!

[Val tries to speak, but Chris cuts them off.]

CHRIS:

Just Chris is fine. Anyways, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to get some footage for my channel.

ARCHIVIST:

(slowly) Your...channel…

CHRIS:

(she hums.) I’m kind of going for like, a Buzzfeed Unsolved type vibe, you know?

ARCHIVIST:

I’m afraid I don’t know what that is.

CHRIS:

Damn. No culture in these archives. Maybe if you stanned Ryan Bergara, this never would have happened.

ARCHIVIST:

Look, Chris, as...flattered...as I am to be the subject of your web series, I don’t appreciate being recorded without my knowledge. At least I have control over when this girl here turns on and off.

CHRIS:

Did you just call the tape recorder a girl…?

ARCHIVIST:

(overlapping) Not the point. Could you please get back to doing your job, and save the videos for when you’re not at work?

CHRIS:

If you insist. It’s gonna be worth it, though. You’ll get a shoutout in my one million subscribers video, just you wait.(mumbles). Just gotta get to ten subscribers first. Maybe if I was more active on Twitter. Say, do you think we could make an account for the [REDACTED] Institute?

ARCHIVIST:

(they are at their limit) Chris?

CHRIS:

Yeah, boss?

ARCHIVIST:

Get back to work before I tell HR to write this up.

CHRIS:

Yeah, yeah, I’m going.

SFX: Chris begins to walk off.

ARCHIVIST:

(they huff a sigh.) End recording.

Recorder clicks off.

CREDITS:

Incident Report Number 31 is a podcast made by Three-Eyed Frog Presents. This episode, “Gather raw meat of any kind, red preferred, human is fine,” was written, directed, and produced by Val West and Luka Miller with sound design by Luka Miller. This episode featured Val West as the Archivist and Jesse Smith as Chris Lewis. Music is produced by Luka Miller. To keep up with the show and find transcripts, make sure to follow us on our Twitter at @IR31Pod and on tumblr at @IncidentReport31. To contact us with any questions or concerns, feel free to email us at incidentreport31@gmail.com. Thanks for listening.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Run like Hell

Part 21

Turns out, I was so put off by my lack of writing over the last week or so and annoyed at my sickness that I decided to shove through this chapter as well. Took me so much less time to write than usual.

I only have... Two more chapters planned out for this fic and I'm pretty sure that'll be the end of this. Maybe snippets that didn't fit the story line or the likes will come after, but the official end is almost upon us.

CLOSED LIST of the following dedicated readers: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @emjrabbitwolf @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Old habits die hard when you try for cold turkey. Jason and the team knew that for a fact. It's why they ended up switching up miraculouses and patrolling random cities on intervals. It also helped in that it made their existence more world surfacing. Random sightings across a global scale of humanesque animal figures prowling the nights, taking out petty crooks and villains alike. Lurking in shadows and watching the nightlife unfold below them. Guardians to all. One miraculous never appeared with the same figure in one city for more than a few nights, not since Paris. 

No one needed to know it was just their group becoming restless from inactivity. 

For that same reason, it came second nature to switch hands and even travel to collect different kwamis that night for a patrol around the Gotham rooftops. Not a one of them commented on the assassin or little bird that followed them from a mile off. Marinette and Tim had the right to their own restlessness and surely Tim wished to study their team further. To determine how they worked together, their dynamic, their morals. 

Damian had pitched a fit until Mari made him promise to stay home so as to keep his existence unknown to the Bat, allowing him to stay watch over the remaining kwamis for the night. The boy had settled down right away and curled up on the couch with his pocket sized pets.

Occasionally the two behind them would stop a little ways off, the assassin pointing out their figures as they made specific choices or movements and explaining how it worked, how they made the decision, and how to replicate it. The sheer trust she instilled in her bird companion threw them all for a loop, but they refused to question her in this, especially in front of him.

Other times, he stopped her to point out different aspects of the city that had changed or ask an opinion of her. They couldn't help but wonder if the boy knew they all had enhanced senses in this form and knew every word that came from their lips. If he did, he made the choice to allow them to hear, obviously trained enough to keep out of even animal hearing ranges if need be. Otherwise, he thought them far away enough or simply didn't care if they could. Jason hoped he knew, hoped Mari informed the bird and allowed him the choice. It was always a toss up on if she felt the need to be open and honest or to deceive those around her. Normally, Jason could tell, but not quite from this distance.

The comm unit Marinette picked up from Babs picked up halfway through their night, "B's in your route," Oracle informed.

"Any chance you can derail him?" Mari asked, as Jason turned to stare back at the twitching form of Robin. Nothing else gave him away, the face emotionless and stance as relaxed as a vigilantes could afford, except the slight twitch at the words being spoke into the two's ears.

"Not a chance. He's caught sight of a curly tailed figure in pink ahead."

Chloe.

"He's likely to run in to the bunch then. We'll split from here and make our way around," Mari responded as the bird took a step closer to her, hand reaching for his own ear.

"He's livid, isn't he?"

"Beyond so."

"Presumptuous over my disappearance?"

"Barely took note until a few nights ago. Now under the impression they stole you to get back at him."

Jason watched as the kid suppressed a flinch and ground his jaw instead, "He thought I went to the titans, didn't he?"

"Yup. Only made his second theory after a check in with them revealed you never came by. You know, for the world's supposed greatest detective, he refuses to use even a quarter of his brain towards people he claims to care about."

"When has he ever claimed to care about me?"

"Touche," the comm went quiet again as the two started in another direction and Jason began to turn towards where he knew Chloe would run into the man soon enough.

"Shit!" He whipped back around at Oracle's curse.

"He's caught sight of you, Robin. Sorry Tim, you've got to make your choice now, he's headed your way," she let off a stream of curses as everyone froze for a moment before everything went into motion once more.

Jason directed his team to intercept as the assassin gestured the bird forward, allowing him to run ahead of her away from Batman as the others took on the Bat, attempting to distract the man from his goal. 

He hated the idea of forcing Tim into facing off with Bruce at this point. He deserved the time to make his mind up first. That however seemed to be off the table as the bat evaded them all as best he could, taking advantage of their using miraculous they were less familiar with to escape and continue his pursuit of the red, green, and yellow suit running away from the scene.  At his juncture, all he could do was keep on the man's cape, following him leap for leap towards the two getaways.

The two were lithe and agile, keeping pace together as they bounded from rooftop to rooftop, slipping around corners and scurrying up walls with not a moment to spare as the Bat's size prevented him from making the same moves.

Robin would yank her down side alleys and up hidden ramps he left about the city as she guided him through the less savory parts of town that she grew up with Jason in, knowing hidden pathways and spaces too small and unknown for the bulk of the larger pursuants to follow, losing distance while trying to relocate the two without slowing down. Sure, Jason knew those paths as well as she did, but there was no way he would give that away, forcing the man to continue moving to evade him, even without a clear direction of which way they went.

At one point, Batman landed a hair too close, hand snagging into the cape of Robin's uniform. It was sheer luck on all of their parts that his companion noticed a second earlier and unclasped the damned thing a moment before, the cape coming loose in the man's hand right above a hundred foot drop, fueling the anger in Jason's blood at the blatant disregard for the boy's safety. He felt his eyes tilt green, but fought off the urge, forcing his focus on keeping up with the three to ensure the man never caught up with the two.

They swerved off path and Jason wished he could say he realized what was happening, but unfortunately couldn't as they landed directly in the path of the two, cutting them off from their escape.

Robin lurched back into the Assassin's chest, where she steadied him before offering for him to hide behind her despite the similarity in stature not offering much in the way of coverage. Jason gave props for the way Robin shook his head and stood firmly in place, once more emotionless. Not guilty as the first Robin might've been, nor defiant as he would've. Simply closed off in a glacier ice in contrast to Batman's thunderous storm.

"Robin. You look well," the bats eyes narrowed.

"Well thank you, I appreciate your noticing," he responded in the clipped tone of the backhanded socialites he was raised around, knowing how it irritated Bruce when the sarcasm was laced with sincerity.

"With such health, I must wonder why you've yet to return," Batman hedged, starting to put together the pieces.

"Simply observing all my options as I was advised. Would hate to miss out on a better opportunity due to negligence."

The man growled, hearing the accusation for what it was. Jason moved closer behind him, ready to intervene if needed. The figure behind Tim closed in as well, resting a careful hand on the boy's back. The man before them only seemed to tense up at this, lurching forward, only for the way to be blocked.

"Oh hey, Birdy. Looks like you have some interesting company here, mind introducing me?" Nightwing casually strolled over to Robin, draping his arm across smaller shoulders and leading him away, smiling at the assassin, eyes cutting to Batman in a challenge, "I'm sure the Bat won't mind seeing himself out so I can catch up with my baby brothers."

The man tensed up, taking in their figures, three of which he trained himself, another that received the same, if not more training than him. Then glancing up to the four dark figures watching from further up, ready to descend at a moment's notice. Looking back to his eldest, his scowl deepened, but he nodded and took off from the group.

Jason couldn't help but wonder if it were due to the likelihood of his loss or just not thinking Tim worth the effort. As much as the latter pissed him off, he couldn't help but be glad for the lack of a fight. He's not sure how long he could hold off the pit madness had it come to blows.

As soon as the Bat fell out of range, Robin looked up towards Nightwing, "You're here as well?"

"Oracle sent me in. I think we have some catching up to do," he smiled at the boy, then looked up towards Jason as though to include him in his words.

Marinette chose this moment to speak up from under her guise, "Oh hey, Richard. Fancy seeing you here."

[cutegirlmayra]

If you are taking fan fiction requests, can you write a story about Sonic will be injured when protecting Amy, Amy will take care of him. She will calm him down. Thank you. 😄✌️

I’d be happy to oblige ^^

PROMPTS ARE ON SHUTDOWN! Don’t send any in till I post the grand announcement, okay?

(Thank you to @aadoodledoodle (x) For her Preview Image to this prompt! It’s perfect for this story, you’re the best! -If you’d like to have your art featured as a Preview Image, please feel free to submit your artwork with a link for your credit! I’m excited to have more images to use for my prompts, and to show off your amazing artworks to the world!)

Prompt:

‘This doesn’t look so good…’

Sonic squinted his eye open, trying to feel the heavy breath pump his blood through him for added strength. He held one hand tightly on his bent knee, trying to remain standing.

‘Doesn’t feel so hot either…’

Metal Sonic had set the whole place up to blow, but with such a deep cut in Sonic’s chest, there was no way he could run through the pain and find it in time. ‘If I knew where it was… that might help, but at this point…’

Metal Sonic readied himself, sharpening his blade-fingers before a loud cry sounded out.

“Wha..? Amy?!” Sonic fell back, watching her fall from the top of the broken pillars and slam into Metal Sonic. “Ah!” he looked at his large gash across his chest, and quickly tried to hide it with his hands, smiling weakly as to disguise the true pain he was going through.

“Right on time.” He tried to sound fine, coming up with his best charming tone and line, but sadly… he still looked pretty beat up.

‘How do I play this off so she won’t be worried about me? I got to keep my composure…’

Amy continued to fight but Metal Sonic just flew up into the air, showing the ticking clock in his hand,… the bomb would go off soon.

He flew off, as Amy sighed and quickly dropped her hammer to rush to Sonic.

“Sonic! I’m so glad I found you, what happened?!”

“N-n…” He wanted to say ‘nothing’ but didn’t feel like lying. ‘A small fib wouldn’t hurt.’ he decided instead. “Never you mind me, where’s that bomb?”

“Bomb?!” Amy’s eyes widened, “Y-you let me deal with that, just get out of here, okay? Here,…” Gently, a little too sweetly, she began to loop her arms around his waist.

Sonic twitched, worried that if he made a sound, it would call out his bluffing. “Th-that’s okay, I’ll be fine, Amy… I can help-” before he could finish, Amy lifted him up.

The pain caught his breath and left his mouth open, no sound escaped but his eyes shook as his spine seemed to carry the weight of his body up like an escalator straight to his brain. He couldn’t handle being on his feet.

For the first few seconds, he almost lost consciousness, and his full weight fell into Amy.

“S-Sonic!” Her eyes now scanned his legs, wondering why he couldn’t stand. Her grip became tight in her panic at his sudden limpness and finally–

“Ahh!” He let out a sharp cry.

“What?!” Amy draped him over her shoulder, lightly bending her knees to let him lean on her as he regained his consciousness.

‘I… I can’t walk.’ Sonic’s eyes shook in fear. ‘A…Amy…’ he put his arms, quivering, around her.

Amy felt the sudden tight pull and straightened out, ‘What’s happening? Is he okay? Why can’t he stand..?’ she looked to the side of herself, trying to see his face but couldn’t.

She saw that his hands had moved from his chest and realized that he was severely injured.

“Sonic…” Her breath almost felt like a warm plea. Don’t die… Don’t die…

“Sonic, look at me!” She suddenly found a strength course through her, unimaginably blocking out her own fear.

He slightly lifted his head.

“You’re going to be alright! I’ve got to get you out of here. If this place blows, it blows! Nothing can destroy a Chaos Emerald, right? It’ll just be flung in the explosion.” She knew they needed that last emerald… but if Sonic couldn’t even stand, how was he to become Super Sonic?

Then again, if he was Super Sonic, he might rapidly heal…

‘I’ve gotta found that emerald… It’s Sonic’s best chance.’ She took a deep breath and began to sling Sonic over her, carrying him like a soldier in war.

Sonic’s pride was abolished in that instant, but it was replaced by an even deeper feeling of comfort.

As his vision blurred, the pain jumping with the bounce of her footfalls, he was quickly reminded of a small but tough little girl he once met so many years ago.

“I can help too! I-If you want me too… One day, Sonic! I’ll repay you ten-fold! Then you’ll have no choice but to marry me!”

He found himself falling deeper into that memory, “Amy…” his eyes drooped, he was losing too much blood. “You’ve grown up… so fast…” he closed his eyes, his head falling down and his body turning into a ragdoll in Amy’s grip.

“Hang on, Sonic!” Amy called back, moving through the debris as the whole building began to shake as though experiencing an earthquake.

Outside, Metal Sonic had his arms folded. He was standing on a sturdy tree branch and checked the clock in his hand. 00:30… seconds away from destroying his arch-rival.

“Sonic,… Sonic, wake up!” the frantic voice had Sonic’s eyes blink open. “Oh good! I’m glad you’re back, at least… somewhat.” She tapped his face, and he could tell by the night sky that only a little time had passed. The building was still there… Amy was still there… Amy…

He loopily blinked his eyes, trying to focus them, but he couldn’t exactly see her. There were many versions of her, and his hands weakly moved up to try and feel where she really was.

“Amy… Amy, where are we..?”

“Outside the base.” Immediately, as though reflex, Amy gripped his grasping hands to let him know she was there. “I promised, didn’t I? For all the times you’ve helped me out, I would help you too.”

“Heh…” He smiled, “I remember… It’s weird, I haven’t seen you like this… not sense… sense…” his eyes began to get tried again. “I swear, I’m not this unreliable.”

She chuckled through her tears, placing his hand against her cheek, “You’re not anything but perfect, Sonic. Stop that. You’re hurt. There’s nothing you could have done about it.”

“I’m reckless, Amy… But what about Metal? The Emerald..?” He felt some strength, pushing up off the ground somewhat.

“You don’t know?” Amy blinked, amazed.

“Know… what?” he suddenly looked to his arm.

Then his body…

The gash…

He was glowing bright yellow.

Amy giggled through her exhaustion, lowering her head before smiling up at him again, “You’re in your super form, Sonic… I got the emerald.”

The building exploded.

In an effort to regain himself, and return the favor, Sonic instinctively wrapped his arms around Amy.

A burst of Chaos energy shielded them from the blast, but as the light faded and the embers flared, Amy was shocked to see that he was still holding her firmly, his face serious and angled in a powerful dedication to keep her safe.

“S…Sonic! That was-!” she was about to dote on him but noticed his super form fading. “Sonic… Sonic, wait-!” She felt his arms fall and his body sway to the side. “No!!!” she grabbed him, shaking him as he returned to his normal form.

The gash was healed, but even with Chaos Energy, his natural strength couldn’t control how much chaos energy he used. “Sonic!!!”

Metal Sonic landed behind the two, watching the scene as he revved up his engine.

Amy looked behind her, holding Sonic still and glaring to Metal Sonic. “Don’t you have a heart!?” her mercy cry didn’t faze him.

He threw back his hand, ready for a showdown.

“I won’t let you hurt him…” She held him tighter, “You’re gonna have to get through me first!”

Without hesitating, Metal Sonic dashed forward and went to strike right through her to get to Sonic…

But Sonic smirked, opening his eyes.

“Thank you… for still letting me feel like your hero, Amy.” He pushed her forcefully aside to the ground as he swung a fist to Metal Sonic.

“Ahh! Sonic! No!” Amy rolled to the ground…

—

The last thing Sonic remembered was having a sharp pain in his chest again but also seeing Metal Sonic’s head fly off his body at his own impact.

His fist hurt… but not as badly as the numbing from all over his body at the chest pain.

His heart didn’t seem to beat as fast as usual.

Sonic also now felt surrounded in water… strange.

He blinked his eyes open, but the water blurred his vision and stung a little, so he tried to bat his arms about to get out, but his head bumped the top of the machine.

“H…Huh?” His voice sounded muffled. He tried to touch his mouth but something was in it’s way… a life mask?

He breathed in and out, even though he was surrounded by water, oxygen was still being pumped through him, and his muzzle was completely dry under the mask.

He put his hands to the clear cylinder and looked around. ‘Where am I? This doesn’t look like Tails’s place…’ then he looked down.

Surprise, Surprise…

Sonic smiled.

Amy was on her knees, her hands bundled together and up in a prayer with her eyes diligently closed in respect for whatever higher power she may have been begging with.

He felt–not pain–but adoration for her then. He knocked lightly on the clear glass, “Amy… Amy, look up.”

When she heard the banging, she wiped some tears from her eyes and gaped at him. “Sonic! You’re awake!”

He winked and gave her a thumbs-up, “I’m okay.”

She jumped to her feet and ran to the glass, placing her own hands up to match where his were, “They said you might not make it, but I knew, I knew you would!”

That feeling sank deeper in Sonic, soaring a relaxing feeling throughout his weary body… Amy… She really had grown up to be an amazing young woman.

He was listening to her, but most of his attention was on her lively eyes, glossy from previous worry, but filled with absolute, undeniable love in them.

“I waited here for you. So did Tails and Knuckles, Cream and Vanilla, we all were right here waiting for you! They said it might take days or weeks, but it’s only been a day and a night! I knew you’d pull through!”

He lightly moved his head to the edge of the glass, ‘Amy…’ her words weren’t the only thing comforting him, but her actions were healing him too.

She was smiling. She believed in him. Her whole body was jittery at his presence and she was moving from foot to foot, eager to embrace him, he supposed.

She turned her head to embrace the glass, “I’m glad… I’m so glad I could help you. You saved me again though… I guess my debt is never to be repaid enough.” she wiggled her head against the glass, as though nuzzling her affections through it to reach his heart. As her head swayed around, rubbing the glass, Sonic noted the wagging tail and grinned even more.

He then leaned his head further against the glass, “So you’re alright, then? My heroine?”

She suddenly blinked at the strange term and moved a little back, looking at him clearly now. “Your..?”

He gave her a kind look, “Well, you don’t think I’m not grateful, do you?”

“Oh!” she jumped right up, “No-no-no, of course not! B-but I’m usually the one who’s thanking you…”

“Nah, I always appreciate everything you do for me, Amy. Even if it’s a bit excessive, just seeing you happy and alive like this… it’s enough to make me want to say it too.” He beamed, bubbles coming out from the clear oxygen mask to spray around the healing water container he was currently bobbing in.

“Say… what again?” she tilted her head, blushing.

“Pfft! Oh no!” Sonic leaned away from the glass, “You’re really gonna ask me to say it again? No way!” he shook his head, before feeling a tinge of pain and playing it off, just rubbing his neck. “Ouch… that’s cruel.” he pretended he was acting as though Amy’s antics were painful to bear, but it only made Amy giggle and smile brighter.

“Hey, is that a rosy cheek?” He tapped where her cheeks were, “I’d better watch out, if I keep making you smile like this, your cheeks may hurt and forever be stained red!”

“Oh, you!” she patted the glass, “Shut up, shut up, shut up!!” she covered her face, turning her body back and forth like the lovesick girl he always knew.

“That easy, huh?” He muttered to himself, but he seemed to enjoy the exchange. “So? Metal me blasted?”

“Yep!” she hopped back from the glass.

This… made Sonic swim–to the best of his abilities–up against the glass again to see her. “And the Chaos Emeralds?”

“Safely back on Angel Island!” she swayed her body, still swooning at his eyes on her.

“…And I can see that your rascal nature hasn’t changed.” he flirted slightly, seeing her tail more vividly now that she was turning away from him. “Tell me, which moves faster? My feet or your tail..?”

“AH!” she slapped her hands to her butt to block the view of her tail and turned around with a face brighter than a tomato, “Scoundrel!” she teased, “Quit looking there!!!”

It hurt to laugh, but also felt so… so good!

“Hahaha! Never change, Amy!” he felt his body sink down a little in the cylinder before Amy stomped right back up to him.

“You need to be careful, you silly hedgehog… Hmph! The Doctors here at G.U.N say that you’ll need to make a full recovery before-”

“I think I want to see it up close…” He smirked, his eyes darting up to her in a playful threat.

“…H-HUH!?” She fidgeted a moment before realizing he was about to-…

“S-Sonic! H-hold on a second! This isn’t-! Ahhh!!!” She at first tried to persuade him otherwise but seeing him angle his feet to the back of the cylinder… she knew his mind was already made up. She waved her arms out and then finally bolted as he spin dashed through the observation glass, dehooking himself from the machine, and spinning the oxygen mask off of himself.

Water sprayed everywhere as Amy jumped out of the way, before looking up through her hands to see him stretch out his body, fighting through any lingering pain and getting his muscles back into shape.

“Now then…” after a few more stretches, he playfully smiled to her, “How should I repay my darling hero..?”

“You’re… You’re teasing me and I don’t like it!” she shook her legs out and got up on her feet, trying to scurry away, “I knew you would beat everyone’s expectations but I didn’t think you’d beat out my own!” she admitted, still blushing as Sonic laughed.

‘She thinks I’m serious, doesn’t she?’ the innocence of that notion left Sonic utterly moved by her affections for him. He gripped his heart in a teasing fashion, ‘She’s still as cute as ever, but I’m sorry, Amy. It’s only an act.’ He sped off in a different direction…

However, while searching for a way out, spooking some G.U.N soldiers along the way, he noticed the whole place was a maze…

When finding Amy, he would nip at her dress, as though still giving her the illusion he was after her… Though she safe-guarded her tail every time, he thought it endearing that she really thought he was after her…

‘I’ll have to remember that…’ Sonic mused to himself, ‘How to make Amy really happy after saving my life? Give the girl a scare for a bit. After all,’ he flicked his nose, feeling something delightful stir in his heart.

‘I do owe her an unrepayable debt.’

[panda-noosh]

Butterfly {The Rockstar Series}{Lance x Reader}

The Rockstar Series: a series of fics documenting rockstar!Voltron falling in love.

Words: 17.5k (oof)

Summary: Relationships never seem to work out for Lance. Maybe he was just destined to be the player. 

Genre: angst 

Warnings: nothing really 

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions! - aaaaand the rockstar series is over :( i had so much fun writing these characters in this world, and i hope you guys enjoyed reading their little adventures, too. until next time, i suppose :) xx 

---

The sound of the door slamming was becoming much too familiar.

  Lance didn't even flinch this time. He simply closed his eyes, continuing to lean forward with his head in his hands. The argument he and Allura had just suffered through was replaying in his head, her strained voice, the reason she failed to see – he was a busy man, and she knew that. He had a career to focus on, and yet she insisted on thinking she should come first at all times.

  Maybe she should. At this point, Lance was so unsure about his own feelings that he could very well have been wrong. Maybe he was the bad boyfriend. Maybe it was him who needed to put more effort in. Maybe Allura had a point.

  Whatever it was, Lance was too tired to focus on it right now. He let the echo of the slamming door ring out for a few more seconds before he stood up, grabbed the notepad of lyrics and threw it at the wall. He wanted to scream, but the others were in bed. He wanted to cry, but he wasn't even sure what he would be crying over, so he bit his lip and clenched his fists and hoped it would have the same effect.

  It didn't. That night, Lance crawled into bed – on his own, yet again – and tried his hardest to convince himself that everything was going to be fine. Up until this point, his life had been everything he'd ever wanted it to be. He played venues. He had fans. He was on tour with some of his best friends – he had no reason to be upset.

  The routine would continue; Allura would realise she had yelled for nothing, come crawling back to Lance, and the two of them would be fine for another day or two. The next argument – Lance could only hope – would be a little less explosive, something he could handle with a calmer voice.

  However, the more Lance thought about it, the more he was beginning to think that perhaps it was no longer his job to handle it. Maybe he should just stop trying.

  ---

  When Lance and Allura first met, it had been an immature case of love at first sight.

  Lance will admit to that. He had fallen in love with her looks long before he'd fallen in love with her personality, though he would be a liar to claim her personality hadn't won him over in the end. She could be snarky, a little bossy, a little self-obsessed, but these were all things Lance could deal with, because she loved him and he really, truly believed he loved her, too.

  It was just difficult sometimes. Nights when he showed up to bed late, she would yell at him and start crying, asking him why he prioritised everything else over her. Lance would grab her elbows and try to calm her down, tell her on a continuous loop that his workload was just a lot right now, that Allura was always in the back of his mind, that he was sorry, sorry, sorry.

  Over and over again, he was sorry.

  During their first few meetings, Allura had Hunk's partner on her arm. The two of them were best friends, and seeing Hunk and his partner get on so well – even after all this time – put Lance under a bit of pressure to show off the same amount of affection for his partner. Whilst Hunk and his partner giggled and whispered in the corner, Lance grew increasingly uncomfortable with the way Allura was looking down at her phone, ignoring him completely despite her previous protestations about the fact they didn't get to spend much time together.

  And Lance knew it was bad to compare relationships – Allura was trying, but it was getting to the point where Lance didn't even want to try any more. Yes, Hunk and his partner managed to make it work, but that didn't mean Lance had the same skill.

  Maybe he was just forever destined to be known as the player of the group.

  Maybe he should just learn to embrace that name. It was easier than dragging this out.

  “You know, Lancey-boy.”

  Lance's head snapped up. He hadn't even realised he'd been holding it in his hands again.

  Hunk was stood in the kitchen doorway, wearing a pair of duck pyjamas. On his face was a green face-mask. Under his eyes were dark circles.

  “Next time you and Allura start fighting, can you maybe tone it down a little bit? This is the third night in the past week I've been woken up to the sound of Allura stampeding through the fucking hallways.”

  Lance squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing his knuckles into them as if he could somehow push the memories away. “Yeah. Sorry, man. I'll – uh – tell her to tone it down.”

  Hunk scoffed. “As if she'll listen.” He hopped down off the single step and marched into the kitchen. He tugged open the fridge, examined the contents thoroughly. “What were you two fighting about this time, anyway?”

  Lance winced. He hated that term – this time. More than once. A common occurrence. And yes, he knew he and Allura had been fighting a lot, but that didn't mean he liked being reminded of it.

  “Uh, just something stupid,” Lance replied.

  “The usual?”

  Lance raised a brow. Hunk spared him a glance over his shoulder, a Ritz cracker hanging from his mouth – Keith liked his biscuits cold, because he was strange.

  “You know what I'm talking about,” Hunk said. When Lance remained silent, he scoffed and clarified. “She doesn't like that you work late, you're too caught up in your music dream to not work late, the two of you clash, yadda yadda yadda. So on, so forth.”

  Lance blinked. “That is eerily accurate.”

  Hunk shrugged. “I only base my conclusions on what I've heard, and that seems to be the majority of your arguments.”

  “Do you think it's bad?”

  “Every couple argues.”

  “Not as often as us.” Something squeezed in Lance's chest. He wanted to burrow away and hide. “And not about the same thing, over and over. There's nothing I can do about my work schedule. We're busy people, and she knows this.”

  Hunk sighed, kicking the fridge closed. With the packet of cold Ritz crackers still in his hand, he leaned against the fridge door, staring at Lance through the creepy eye holes in his face mask. “You could come to a compromise.”

  “We've tried. Allura doesn't want compromise. She wants me.”

   “Like a girlfriend would,” Hunk said. “She wants to spend time with you. Do you want to spend time with her?”

  “Of course I do-”

  Hunk narrowed his eyes. “Lance.”

  Lance froze.

  Voice low, Hunk said, “Do you want to spend time with her?”

  And, in that moment, Lance could have honestly punched Hunk square in the face.

  The little bastard knew Lance so well. That was the complications that came with being best friends with someone for longer than seven years – Hunk knew Lance like the back of his damn hand, meaning Lance could get away with absolutely nothing, no matter how hard he tried.

  Lance pursed his lips and looked down at the table. “Does it make me a bad person?”

  “Look, Lance.” Hunk kicked away from the fridge and walked over, placing a heavy hand on Lance's shoulder. “It's normal for feelings to get lost. Allura's a pretty girl, but looks won't entertain you. Looks won't appeal to your personality. You two are just. . . different. You want to rock out and have fun on stage, and she doesn't. Maybe you've just grown out of each other.”

  Lance closed his eyes. Grown out of each other.

  “So what do I do?”

  “You end it.”

  Lance's head shot up. Hunk popped another cracker into his mouth, winced and said, “Does Keith really eat these like this?”

  “How can you say that to me so casually?” Lance exclaimed, voice shriller than he meant it to be, heart thundering more than it should have been.

  Hunk reeled away. “What?”

  “You just told me to break up with Allura like it was no big deal!”

  Hunk pointed the packet of crackers at Lance. “It's only a big deal if you make it a big deal.”

  “Oh my-”

  “To be honest with you, Lance-a-million, I never really liked Allura in the first place. She's always had a vendetta against me for that whole mishap with H/P/N – you know, where I thought she liked you instead of me.” He chuckled at the memory. “Yeah, Allura's never gotten over that, even though H/G/N and I have been going out for nearly a year and a half now.”

  Lance groaned. “You're too blunt, man.”

  “You asked for my advice. I gave it to you.”  

  “But you could have sugar-coated it for me. I'm sensitive.”

  Hunk shrugged, patting Lance's shoulder a final time before he started towards the door. “If you need help with anything, you know where I am.” He glanced back at Lance. “Right behind you, playing the drums on stage. Don't forget our show tomorrow, Lancealot!”

  Lance rolled his eyes, trailing his hands through his hair as Hunk disappeared down the hallway. His mind was a boggled mess. He knew he wouldn't be sleeping well tonight, but at least he had tomorrows show to look forward to.

  He could lose himself to the crowd then. He could forget his problems – just for a few hours.

  ----

  God. Butterflies were beautiful.

  You had countless songs dedicated to their beauty – as weird as that was. You didn't write songs about people you thought attractive, didn't write songs about true love, or struggles in general; you wrote songs about butterflies.

  To the untrained eye, you supposed the songs could be interpreted as something completely different. A person in the midst of heartbreak might very well listen to your song and think wow, I relate so much only to find out later on that you'd written the song about the gorgeous pattern of a lycaenidae's wings. You would never tell them they were wrong – you loved discovering different interpretations of your lyrics.

  You lay back in the grass. It scratched at your nose. Bees buzzed around you, but they were easy enough to ignore when you left them alone. Your fingers were splayed out on either side of you, your lyric book discarded with the pen clipped in the centre crease; you didn't want to think about work right now. The world was bright, and you didn't want to miss it.

  “What are you doing?”

  You tilted your head, just slightly, just enough to make out the shape of Mikhail as he waded towards you. He was wearing a big coat, the collar flicked up, a wide-brimmed hat on his head that completed the look of detective you knew he wasn't going for, but had somehow stumbled upon anyway. Tiny blonde hairs pricked him in the eye, but he merely winced instead of brushing them out of the way.

  “Gathering inspiration,” was your reply.

  Mikhail raised a brow; he did that a lot when he was looking at you, but you'd grown used to it. It no longer made you feel so small. “Right. And you're finding that inspiration by laying in a field? Do you not have hay fever?”

  “Only mild.”

  Mikhail hummed and lowered himself into the grass beside you. His long legs folded beneath him, he reached forward and started twiddling the grass between his fingers. You closed your eyes, turned your head back to the sun. A spider scattered across your arm. Mikhail swatted it away when it was clear you weren't going to bother.

  “I just came to tell you about the show tonight,” he said. “You know the venue you wanted to busk outside today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Apparently some band is playing tonight, so you can't. The police will be everywhere.”

  You frowned, the only outward sign of your disappointment. “What band is it?”

  “Oh, I don't know.” Mikhail sprinkled the grass on your arm. You shuddered, the breeze whisking it away. “They're called Smokey Saturdays, I think. A rock band. All the kids are excited.”

   “I'm a kid.”

  “You're an adult.”

   “I'm a young adult.” You opened your eyes and propped yourself up on your elbow. “Should we go watch them play?”

  Mikhail raised a brow again. “Neither of us have the money to buy tickets,” he said. “And I think they're sold out anyway.”

  You frowned, flopping back into the grass. “So basically, you've come to inform me that my entire night has been destroyed.”

  “Afraid so.” Mikhail laid a gentle hand on your arm. It was meant to be comforting, but his fingers were so cold, and your skin was so warm – you were surprised there wasn't condensation left in his wake when he pulled away. “We'll try again when they've left town. They're probably only gonna play a few shows, and then we get our spot back.”

  “But that's a few nights spent doing absolutely nothing. We're gonna be set back, again.”

   “These are the hurdles we have to deal with whilst making our way to the top.”

   “I don't think there's supposed to be more hurdles than straight road.”

  Mikhail sighed. “Just give it some time.”

  “How much more time do you think we can give?”

  “As long as it takes.” He patted your shoulder. “You just keep lying in the grass writing our songs, and we'll get there.”

  You grunted. You didn't like being negative – you had spent such a long time trying to drive Mikhail out of his own negative mindset, but it was difficult to follow your own advice when the world kept throwing curve balls like this one; you were good. You and Mikhail were good, and you'd been told that on so many occasions, it was nearly uncountable. You had fans, a decent Twitter following, plenty of eyes on you when you finally got the chance to play – but none of it was pushing you forward.

  It really wasn't like the movies, and this realisation was just putting a damper on your mood.

  After Mikhail bid you farewell, claiming his shift at Burger King started in an hours time, you stayed in the grass. You tugged at the green strands and sprinkled them upon your stomach. A bee buzzed by your ear, and you smiled as it sailed past without a care in the world. There were no butterflies around, and part of you thought that might have been a metaphor for how your life was going right now – bees, no butterflies. Ripped strands of grass sprinkled on an old t-shirt. Hands splayed out in grass, roots crawling along your arms, pulling you into the depths of the earth.

  You welcomed it with a smile on your face.

  With these images in your head, you let out a tiny “Hm,” before rolling over, grabbing your pen and getting to work.

  ----

  The venue was big. Lance liked big venues.

  From where he stood backstage, watching Hunk test out the drum kit on stage, he could see his friend was nervous. The thousands of empty seats staring back at him, the seats that would soon be filled with screaming fans – it was daunting for the big fellow, and Lance could see that in the way his brows furrowed, the way his concentration wavered when he tried making sure the drum kit was making the right noise. One of the volunteers had to take the drum sticks out of his hand and test it out himself, as Hunk was lost to his own thoughts.  

  Keith wandered up beside him. Even without saying a word, without making a noise, Keith Kogane had an energy to him that was hard to ignore. Lance flicked a glance his way, noted the tensing of his friends jaw and smirked.

  “Everyone's on edge, eh? Not ready for a big show like this one?”

  “Allura wants to talk to you.”

  Lance froze. His fingers clenched into his biceps, arms folded over his chest. Suddenly, the sheer size of the venue wasn't enough. His thoughts raced, and when he turned to look at Keith, Keith was staring right back at him with a raised brow.

  “What?” Lance snapped.

  “You two can't argue two hours before one of the biggest shows of the tour,” Keith replied, forever speaking in monotone. If Keith's voice had a colour, it would be beige. A dull grey. Nothing – just air.

  Lance hollowed out his cheeks and waved his friend away, strolling back into the backstage area with his shoulders drawn back in what he hoped was a confident stance; honestly, he felt anything but confident. Since their fight the previous night, Lance hadn't made the effort to go and talk to Allura about the problems their relationship had been facing – he didn't have the brain space to concentrate on such a thing when he was about to perform in front of thousands for the first time.

  She wasn't going to be happy.

  Lance found her sitting in the backstage lounge. She was chatting with Pidge, a smile on her face. Her hair was pulled up into a tight ponytail. She looked gorgeous, and for a second, Lance could convince himself that he still loved her.

  However, as soon as she turned, Pidge let out a grunt and fled the room. Lance and Allura were left entirely on their own, Allura staring up at him, Lance staring at the wall.

  He should say something. He knew he should have said something, anything at all, because silence wasn't going to get him anywhere.

  Lately, however, words weren't getting him anywhere, either, and maybe that was the first sign of a failed relationship – when silence was becoming a safer option than talking.

  Allura coughed. “I didn't think Keith would actually come and get you.”

  “Why didn't you come and get me yourself?”

  “I didn't think you wanted to see me.”

  Lance stayed silent.

  Allura looked away, hurt. “I don't want to argue, Lance.”

  “Then don't argue.”

  “But you're still fucking oblivious.”

  Lance closed his eyes – it was happening again. She was losing her patience so quickly, before Lance even had a chance to explain his side of the story. “Allura-”

  “You didn't even come to bed last night! Where were you?”

  “I slept on the tour bus.”

  “Oh, with Keith's partner? Were they better than me? Better company?”

  Lance's eyes snapped open. “What are you on about?”

  “You seem to be sleeping in that tour bus a lot more often than you sleep with me. Is there something I should know?”

  Lance couldn't believe his ears – it was one thing having her yell at him for not coming to bed, a completely different thing to accuse him of sleeping with his best friends partner.

  “Allura,” he spat out, flabbergasted. “You can't be serious. K/P/N wasn't even on the bus!”

  Allura scoffed, as she always did when she was wrong and she knew it. She folded her arms over her chest and turned away. “I can't believe I'm here. I should have just stayed home.”

  Lance was furious. His heart was pounding at a million miles per hour. He wanted to punch something, and this was so unlike him, so far beyond his usual, bubbly personality that it scared him just that little bit. He curled his fingers into his palms, indenting crescents into the skin.

  He spoke through gritted teeth. “Yeah, Allura. Maybe you should have stayed home. This tour would be ten times easier if you just fucked off.”

  And that was all he could handle. He knew he wouldn't be able to handle her expression. He could tell from the gasp that echoed throughout the room that she was upset, and he didn't want to be here to continue the argument; he'd had enough arguing for a lifetime.

  So, with that, he span on his heel and left the room. He had to push past Pidge on his way through the hallway. She called after him, but he ignored her, because the walls were closing in and he really was about to punch something if he didn't get out of this shit hole in the next ten seconds.

  He burst out the front doors, gasping as soon as the fresh air hit his lungs. He didn't get very far before he crumpled on the first step, wrapping his arms round his middle, gulping down shaky breaths as he battled with the urge to cry. It sped in his system, showing no mercy, giving him no time to catch his bearings before the tears were rolling down his cheeks, down his nose, sinking into the concrete.

  A single butterfly fluttered past. Lance wanted to crush it.

  The front steps were such a dangerous place to have a breakdown. He should have gone out the back. He should have done what Keith had done on numerous occasions and just lost himself to the back alleys, made friends with some drug dealers without actually buying any drugs. That seemed like a nice place to settle right now.

  But here he was, curled up on some steps in front of the place that was meant to hold the best night of his whole life. The tears rolling down his cheeks should have been tears of absolute joy. The trembling of his hands should have been induced by excitement.

  It wasn't. Nothing was turning out right.

  It was the sound of a guitar being played that brought Lance back to earth. His band didn't have an acoustic guitar, but he could still appreciate the sound of one when he heard it. Slowly, he looked up, curling his hands against his knees in his attempts to control himself, as if he was somehow only worthy of listening to the soft strum if he was pulled together.

  Two people sat on the bottom step; a man, strangely tall with gangly limbs and long blonde hair that blew in his face despite the lack of wind. A wooden guitar was perched on his knee, and he swayed to and fro as he played it.

  Beside him – you. Smaller, hidden beneath an oversized jacket. The hood was pulled up, and beneath it, Lance could see the small band of a beanie peaking out. You were gazing lazily at the passing crowd, a leather notebook open on your knees, a pen tapping against your lips. You looked completely dazed, and for a second, Lance wondered if you were on drugs.

  But then you glanced over your shoulder, and he realised he'd never seen someone with such a clear expression.

  The glance you gave him was one that revealed the fact this wasn't the first time you'd turned to look at him; you probably heard the commotion, him throwing himself through the doors, him collapsing on the tarmac, curling in on himself, quiet sobs racking his body for a reason that was becoming more and more unclear the longer he stayed seated.

  He looked back at you now. Surprisingly, you didn't flinch away from his gaze when you noticed he'd caught you – you offered up a smile instead, and your left hand rose in a half-wave that made Lance feel a little better.

  He waved back. It wasn't with his usual enthusiasm. He wasn't sure when that would refill, but it would take time.

  You leaned towards the blonde man then, whispering something in his ear. Without stopping the drift of his fingers along the neck of his guitar, the man nodded. You stood up, and Lance couldn't stop himself from straightening up when you stumbled up the stairs and sat down beside him.

  “Hello.” The first thing you said. So simple, so light-hearted. After the argument with Allura, Lance wasn't sure how he felt about such a simple greeting. With the state his mind was in right now, he half expected you to spit on his shoes in favour of hello.

  “Hello,” he replied nonetheless. “Your friend's good at the guitar.”

  “Thanks.” The compliment wasn't for you, but the response didn't feel weird; somehow, Lance got the feeling a compliment to the blonde man was a compliment to you, and vice versa. You both had that connection that even strangers on the street were able to see, Lance included.

  It was silent for a few seconds after that. Lance spent the time nibbling on his lip, wondering where his natural charisma had faded off to, wondering why he wanted it back, who he wanted to impress.

  Then you spoke. “You don't look like you're having a very good time, buddy.”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?”

  Lance raised a brow. “Why would you want to help me?”

  You shrugged. It was only then did Lance notice you tugging on the grass at the side of you, pulling it from the floor and sprinkling it across your slightly-ripped shoes. “I don't know. I don't like seeing people cry.”

  “I wasn't crying.”

  You poked his cheek. “You're still crying.”

  Lance swatted your hand away, scowling. He didn't bother wiping his tears away. “Alright, so what?”

  “Soooo, I want to see if there's anything I can do. I'll get Mikhail to play you a little song if you want.”

   “Mikhail?”

   “The tall dude. He's Russian.”

  “Ah.”

  “I can get him to play a song. He won't mind.”

  Lance pondered over this for a moment; it would be such a waste of time. He had a show to put on in two hours time, a show in which he was going to be centre stage. There was absolutely no justifiable reason for him to be sat out here listening to a stranger play his acoustic guitar.

  But he glanced to the side, just to make sure you were being serious, and he saw you staring at the butterfly that had been making an appearance every now and then. Your eyebrows were knitted together, the evidence of a tiny smile threatening to pull on your face – it looked like you were trying to hide it, lest Lance look over and see you being happy. Apparently it's a crime to smile when the stranger beside you is in tears.

  “That's a swallowtail butterfly, I think.”

   Lance started, head snapping towards the butterfly you were talking about. “Huh?”

  You nodded towards it. “It's a swallowtail, I think. It's quite big, and it's wings are really colourful.” You shook your head, clapping your hands against your knees. “Should I call Mikhail up here, then?”

  Lance blinked. You took that as answer enough, standing up and shouting to your friend. He swivelled round, raised his brows at you, and Lance was struck by how handsome this strange man was; a toned face, eyebrows perched on a muscled forehead, bright blue eyes that glistened when he looked at the sun.

  “Come play a song, will you?”

  Mikhail didn't even hesitate. He stood up, wandered over and sat down. He didn't offer up any pleasantries, didn't introduce himself, didn't wait for an introduction – he just started playing. You sat down next to him, leaning back on your palms, tilting your head to the sky with your eyes closed.

  Lance stared. He couldn't help it. The tears that once stained his cheeks had disappeared, and now instead of sadness, it was awe that overtook him.

  You started singing.

  Lance wasn't even surprised. Your voice just sounded right, like it was meant to be heard over the guitar Mikhail was playing, like the two of you were just made to fit together. His guitar playing and your voice seemed like the most natural thing in the world. Lance didn't feel like you were complete strangers. He didn't even feel like he was with you – he was in a box somewhere, music playing out of some unknown speaker hidden in the ceiling.

  He closed his eyes and rested his forehead on his knees.

  The lyrics were beautiful. You spoke about life, and beauty, and making decisions that had to be made even though they were difficult, and god it was like you were speaking directly to Lance. It was as if you'd taken his current situation and put it in lyrics, and it made his heart squeeze and his hands tremble all over again, but for reasons so different to the reasons from before.

  Slowly, the music and the lyrics faded to a stop. Lance inhaled, scared his breathing would somehow shatter the delicate moment he'd just been cocooned in.

  And then Mikhail spoke. His voice was rough. It was exactly as Lance expected it to be. “Happy?”

  “Thanks, Mikhail,” you said. You bumped your shoulder against Lance's, forcing him to look up. “Happy?”

  He smiled. “Who wrote that song?”

  “I did,” you replied. “Only the first draft, though, 'cause Mikhail didn't give me time to finish it before.”

   Mikhail scoffed, already standing up and marching back to his spot at the end of the stairs. “Always blaming me.”

  “Because it's always you!” you exclaimed, throwing a sunflower at him. There was humour in your voice. Lance had forgotten the last time he held something like that to his tone. It made him sad.

  You turned back to him, rolling your eyes with a fond smile on your face. “Well, there you go. I don't know how much that did, but-”

  “It was amazing.” The words were jumbled. Lance just needed to say them. “It was . . . . yeah. Amazing. Really, really good.”

  Again, it fell silent. It was only brief, and it wasn't awkward – it was just heavy. Filled with thoughts, because Lance had a lot to think about, and you just had an energetic brain.

  “Do you make music?” you asked. You had bunched your knees into your chest, resting your chin upon them. In your hand, you continued to fiddle with a blade of grass, one of the few you had yet to release to the wind after ripping them from the soil.

  “Yeah,” Lance replied. He couldn't quite understand his relief at the fact you didn't know him. It made your actions seem that little bit more genuine. “I prefer rock, though.”

  “Aaaah,” you mused. “So our indie style didn't really get you going, did it?”

  “It's not something I listen to.” He glanced over. “But I would definitely listen to you two if you ever came out with something official. Have you got anything out yet?”

  You hollowed out your cheeks. “Afraid not. It's a work in progress.”

  “Just starting out?”

  “Honestly, I feel like we haven't even broken the surface yet.”

  Lance could relate. He remembered all them years ago, struggling to convince his small group of friends to help him out, feeding them all the positives that came with being in a band. He remembered late night practices in Pidge's garage, trying to ignore Matt Holt's yelling for them to shut the fuck up before he called the police on his own sister. He remembered sitting up all night, the rest of Smokey Saturdays (and Shiro) sprawled around his room as he idly clicked through the internet, searching helplessly for a record label that would suit their style of music.

  But now he was here.

  Crying on a step outside one of the biggest venues he'd ever seen.

  He closed his eyes and rested his cheek against his knee. “I get that.”

  “You do?”

  “We did it eventually, don't get me wrong – it just took a long time. And I'm not exactly the most patient person in the world.”

  You snickered. “Nah, me either.” A pause. Brief. Heavy. Filled with thoughts. “So you made it eventually. You're doing what you want to do?”

  “In most areas of life, yeah.” He turned his head, pressing his other cheek into his knee. Opening his eyes, he saw you staring at him. “I'm a very lucky man.” He paused, frowned. “Hey, I never got your name.”

  “Y/N,” you replied, as if your name didn't really matter. “What about you?”

  “Lance.” It felt nice introducing himself – he hadn't needed to do it for a while now. Introductions became irrelevant when the whole world knew who you were already.

  “Well, Lance,” you said, spreading your fingers against the concrete. “I hope whatever bullshit is bothering you today sorts itself out. You seem like a nice guy.”

   “You seem nice, too.”

  “Good.” You pushed yourself up from the ground. “That's always the goal. I'll see you around, yeah?”

  Lance smiled. “Yeah. You will.”

  ----

  You weren't doing what you were supposed to be doing.

  Mikhail was off to work. You'd promised him you would be sat at the kitchen table, waiting patiently for the phone call to come through – but it hadn't come through yet, and you were growing restless.

  You hadn't been out busking in ages. Sure, the two of you had sat out on the stairs a few days back, but that wasn't nearly close enough to what you wanted to do; you wanted to sing. You wanted a crowd to form. You wanted to lose yourself in the music, just like you always did when people were there to watch. It was as if you became a different person when there was a crowd.

  So, two minutes after the phone call was meant to happen, you found yourself thinking it was no use; there was no point sticking around for something that clearly wasn't going to happen. So, you plucked your phone from the table, threw your hat on and headed out onto the busy streets. People were everywhere. Nature was everywhere. Inspiration was everywhere.

  You remembered the man from a few days previous – Lance, his name was. He'd been plaguing your mind for quite a while recently, mainly because he was attractive. You weren't going to sugar coat it, or trick yourself into believing it was anything other than what it was – he was a good looking man. He'd captured your attention with looks first, and personality second.

  But your attraction to his personality was definitely there. It was definitely growing, and had been growing from the moment you sat down to talk to him. The way he closed his eyes when you started to sing, the way he'd seemed genuinely interested to hear about the lyrics you wrote – you wondered if he interpreted them differently, or if he thought you were crazy for writing a song about an insect.

  Nonetheless, he hadn't been judgemental; merely curious. That was good enough for you.

  You waded down the street, smiling at anyone who made eye contact with you. The weather was beautiful. You were heading directly for the stairs – your stairs – and though Mikhail was not there to play the guitar, you would sit down on the steps and write out all the ideas buzzing through your mind until his shift finished. Then, you would pick him up and force him to come with you to start the real fun of the day.

  You arrived at the steps in record time. You seated yourself down against the railing, tugged your journal from your pocket and opened it to the first blank page. You spotted a woman pushing a baby stroller and started writing out her thoughts; what could she possibly be thinking, and how could you turn those thoughts into a song? She looked stressed, curly hair glued to her forehead with perspiration. In the stroller, two babies who didn't look too far in age from each other were staring into the tiny circular mirrors hung up on either side of them; one of them reached out and snatched it from the top of their car seat. The woman said “ah, ah, ah!” before wrestling it out of the infants hands.

  You scribbled down a few words, and then the world took you away, as it often did when your ideas had been bottled up for a while. You wrote until your hand cramped, and then you looked up and wrote some more. The page was filled, not with coherent lyrics, but tiny little fragments, smashed pieces that could join together to form something promising if you just put your mind to it; but for now, it was fine like this. It was fine not to have a coherent idea just yet – it would form eventually.

  You smiled down at your work. Mikhail would be happy. He enjoyed the process of puzzles, piecing together whatever random lines you'd come up with, making them into songs that he could play to, write a melody for, lose himself in.

  “Y/N? Back again?”

  Your head snapped up. The pen rolled from the centre of the journal and landed on the step beneath you; you didn't reach for it, instead choosing to stare up at Lance with wide eyes.

  He grinned down at you. Beside him, a muscled man wearing a yellow hoodie and faded blue jeans was standing with a raised brow, glancing between you and Lance as if he'd never seen Lance interact with another person before.

  “Lance.” It was all you could think to say.

  He looked good. Stupidly good. The kind of good that really shouldn't have been a thing, considering he wasn't even trying; his outfit consisted of a light blue button up shirt, tucked neatly into a pair of denim jeans, a brown belt slung around his tiny waist. His hair was messy, choppy bangs resting against his forehead. It made you think he'd gotten glammed up the day he first saw you.

  He smiled. “Where's Mikhail?”

  “He's working.”

  “Oh. Shame. The place is a little dull when you can't hear his guitar.” Lance turned then, pointing to his friend. “Y/N, this is Hunk. Hunk, this is Y/N, the singer I was telling you about.”

  Hunk's eyes snapped to your own. You nearly shied away from his gaze, though you weren't sure why – you were never a very shy person. In fact, you thrived off of social interaction. However, there was something about the way Hunk was staring at you that made you want to curl up in a ball, or perhaps ask what you'd done wrong.

  “Hi,” he said slowly. “I'm Hunk.”

  “Yeah, I just told them that,” Lance mumbled, before turning back to you with that excited grin plastered on his face. “What are you doing back here?”

  “Work,” you replied, gesturing towards your journal. “You seem to be in better spirits today than you did the last time I spoke to you.”

  Lance laughed, an awkward ha ha, yeah, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

  However, it was Hunk who offered a genuine explanation. “Allura's out with Pidge right now, so he has the freedom to do what he wants.”

  You didn't understand.

  Lance whirled around, slapping a hand against Hunk's chest. “Would you-”

  “Who's Allura?”

  Lance drove his knuckles into his eye, exasperated. “My girlfriend.”

  “His enemy that he sometimes sleeps with.”

  “Hunk!”

  You looked away. Okay. That shouldn't have hurt as much as it did.

  “Look – uh – that's not important,” Lance continued, trying to shuffle the conversation along. Hunk stood beside him with a smirk on his face, beefy arms folded over his chest. “It was really nice seeing you again, Y/N. Tell Mikhail I said hello, yeah?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “That's all you've got to say?” Hunk suddenly exclaimed. The boom of his voice made your heart jump. Lance, however, simply closed his eyes.

  “What are you-”

  “You went on for ages the other day about Y/N's voice, and now you're just gonna walk off and leave them here?”

  Your eyes widened. Hunk was certainly outspoken, but it sounded planned. It sounded like this was something he didn't usually do; he was just. . . trying to annoy Lance, maybe?

  Lance blushed. “I'm sure Y/N has other things they're trying to get done that don't need our input. Right?”

  “Uh-”

  Hunk scoffed. “Alright, yeah. That's the reason.”

   Lance grabbed Hunk's collar then, leaving no room for further argument. You barely had a chance to say anything, not even a goodbye, before Lance was hauling the taller boy away, giving you a quick, half-hearted “See you later!”

  You raised your hand in a half-wave, watching them go, wondering why your heart was beating so quick.

  ----

  “You idiot!”

  “Ay, ay! Watch the shirt, for crying out-”

  Lance shoved Hunk into the backstage lounge and slammed the door. “What the hell did you do that for?”

  “Do what for?”

  “Don't act stupid – you know full well what I'm on about. You just . . .  You just said all that stuff, with me standing right there! You made me look like an idiot!”

   Hunk scrambled with his shirt, trying his best to fix it as he replied. “What's the big deal?”

  “The big deal is that Y/N probably thinks I'm some kind of creep now. Did you really have to go and tell them that I'd told you about their singing?”

  Hunk scoffed. “You did more than just tell us about their singing – you were downright gushing the other day!”

  “They didn't need to know that!”

  Hunk patted his collar down and fixed Lance with a stare that unsettled him – Lance had seen that stare only a handful of times, because it was very rare Hunk ever needed it. The man was bubbly, kind, wanting the best for everyone at all times – it was rare he ever got this look in his eye.

  His voice was low when he said, “Why does it matter so much what Y/N thinks of you?”

   Lance opened his mouth to respond before quickly slamming it closed when he realised he didn't really have an answer. Why did it matter so much? He'd met you once, and yes, you had left him in awe, but that wasn't something he could blame his sudden anger on – not without sounding obsessed.

  Which he wasn't.

  He liked your voice, yes, but it was more than that. There was a feeling mixed in there that shouldn't have been there, because he already had everything he wanted; a career, friends, a girlfriend who he . . . who he loved. He really did. He promised.

  But then he met you, and it was a bit weird because he was fairly certain every box in his life had been ticked off. Now, however, he wasn't so sure.

  Hunk was smirking when Lance looked back up. With his arms folded over his chest, he seemed to tower over him more than usual; Lance wanted to shy away, but held his ground when he said, “No reason.”

  Hunk sighed. “Naive little Lancey-boy.”

  “What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I think they like you, too, if that helps.” And he said this so off-handedly, turning towards the mini fridge hidden beneath the table. Lance nearly missed it's meaning, because Hunk just said things so casually that it took a minute to process the weight of his words until a moment too late.

  However, they processed eventually. “What?”

  Hunk kneeled by the fridge, leaning on the door. “Whenever I mentioned Allura? Man, the look on their face – it was the saddest thing I've ever seen.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Like a kid getting it's favourite toy snatched away.”

  “Hunk-”

  “Kind of like what you look like when you're having a laugh and Allura walks in the room-”

  “Would you stop going after Allura all the time?”

  Hunk poked his head over the top of the fridge door. “Only when you admit to yourself that this relationship you're in is toxic as fuck, and making both of you miserable.”

    Lance gritted his teeth. Again, that urge to punch something was surging in his bones, and he was fairly certain he was going to snap this time. He didn't want to hold it back. He had a show in seven hours, and he was willing to break his knuckles before then. Maybe that would make him look more rockstar. Maybe it could work in his favour.

  However, he stopped himself and instead leaned against the door behind him. Through the oak, he could hear Allura and Pidge laughing about something he didn't care about, something he should care about, because it was his girlfriend and he should care about the things that amused her.

  But he just didn't.

  He closed his eyes. “You shouldn't be telling me to break up with her. She's your partners best friend.”

  “And you're my best friend.” Hunk cracked open a Diet Coke can, took a sip of it and placed it back in the fridge. “I'm not saying any of this to be malicious, Lance-a-botamia. I'm saying this because I care about both of you, and seeing you make each other miserable is making me miserable.” He took a bite of a carrot. “And I don't like being miserable. Not when life is so good right now.”

  “So you think I should just end it? Right now. On tour.”

  “What better place to do it?”

  “You want me dead.”

  “I want you happy. As soon as possible, preferably.” Hunk sighed. “Do you think Pidge will let me drink some of her Sprite?”

  “Touch my fucking Sprite, and I'll rip your hand off.”

  Lance stumbled away from the door just in time for Pidge to push it open in her usual, over dramatic way. Behind her, Allura trailed inside the room, too.

  Lance pressed himself against the wall. He and Allura made eye contact. The room went silent, even though Pidge didn't know what was going on, and Hunk was still sipping at a Diet Coke he didn't even want.

  Lance forced a wobbled smile on his face and said, “Hey, babe. How was your walk?”

   Allura shouldered past him, grabbed her purse from the counter and walked back out again.

  Pidge whistled. “Trouble in paradise?”

  Lance closed his eyes. “We haven't been in paradise for a long, long time.”

  ----

  This was going to be so easy. It was going to be so, so easy. Lance just needed to do it. He just needed to say it. He needed to bundle up the energy he'd had on stage tonight, lock it up, and release it only when Allura was in front of him.

  The crowd had dispersed. The lights were back on. Outside, the sky was black and the stars were bright.

  Lance bit his lip, waiting on Allura to appear from the backstage lounge. It didn't take long – it never did. Allura liked kissing Lance after a show. Seeing him on stage always excited her, let her forget about the real problems for a little while. Even though she was mad, her boyfriend was still a rock star – she didn't want to lose that.

  Lance was getting pretty tired of only having a happy relationship when it suited her.

  She came skipping out of the backstage lounge, ponytail swishing back and forth. She was wearing a pair of shorts, hidden beneath an oversized yellow shirt that was cinched at the waist with a corset belt. She looked utterly stunning.

  It wasn't enough.

  Lance pushed himself up from the stage just in time to catch her. She dove into his arms, pressing kisses to his cheeks that did not make his heart flutter like they used to. She kicked her legs up, squealed in his ear, and it just annoyed him.

  He set her down. She kept her arms on his shoulders.

  “You did amazing! That girl threw her damn bra at you, babe! That's another thing to check off the bucket list!”

  Lance forced a smile. “Can we talk?”

  Allura paused. Even in her excited state, she could tell something was wrong; she was air-headed at times, but not oblivious, not stupid. She'd known Lance long enough to tell when he was being serious.

  Slowly, Lance took her hand and guided her through the front doors of the venue. Behind a closed door, Keith played a bit of his bass guitar – that was his way of winding down. Pidge and Hunk's voice came through the same closed door, repeating a mantra of “Rock, Paper, Scissors!”

  Lance wanted to be with them. He didn't want to be with Allura.

  That really settled things for him.

  He led her out into the darkness. The stars cheered him on. The moon might have been disappointed – it wasn't full tonight. In fact, it was barely visible, nothing more than a tiny slice of crescent glistening amongst the blinking stars that dominated its sky tonight.

  Lance inhaled. Allura squeezed his hand. He waited for a response, something physical that could convince him this was a bad idea, that could remind him he'd fallen in love with her once and maybe he could do it again.

  But nothing happened.

  “Baby. You're scaring me.”

  Lance glanced at her. He wasn't sure if she could tell in the darkness. “There's nothing to be scared of. Not really.”

  “Not really? What's that supposed to mean?”

  “I just. . . I don't think either of us can ignore the problem any more, Allura.” There it was. The beginning. He was dropping crumbs, hoping she would understand the big picture without him having to explicitly spell it out for her.

  She stared at him. “Problem. What's the problem?”

  “We're the problem.”

  She spluttered. “Us?”

  “We argue non-stop.”

  “We're not arguing right now-”

  “You're already getting hostile, and I haven't even-”

  “No I'm not!” She squeezed his hand. “Lance, this is ridiculous. Tour is making you tired. You're not thinking straight.”

  His heart raced into his stomach; she sounded upset. Genuinely upset. The kind of upset that told Lance she was still in love with him, even though he was not in love with her.

  “Allura, please,” he mumbled. “I'm not tired. Not of . . . Not of the tour. I'm tired of arguing. I'm tired of not being happy.”

  Allura reeled back as if she'd been slapped. Her fingers unwound from Lance's, and she took a step back. “You're not happy?”

  Lance rubbed his forehead. He was starting to get a headache. “I'm not.”

  “You should have said something. We could have fixed it-”

  “We've been trying to fix it, but we always end up right back at square one. You think my life needs to revolve around you-”

  Allura gasped. “So you're going to blame me for this?”

  Lance groaned. “There you go again, putting words in my mouth, getting angry before you've even heard the full fucking sentence!”

  “Don't swear at me, Lance McClain. Don't you dare.” She inhaled shakily. Lance could hear the tears in her voice despite her clenched teeth. “I'm not going to apologise for asking my boyfriend to pay attention to me sometimes. I don't just want the title of girlfriend and that's it – I want you to treat this like a relationship.”

  “I do treat this like a relationship!” Lance shot back. “Well, I did. Now I don't see a point to it.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “There is nothing to save any more, Allura. You're miserable. I'm miserable. Anyone with a working pair of eyes can see it.”

  Allura scoffed. “I was never miserable, Lance.”

  Lance shrugged. “That doesn't change the fact that I was.”

  Allura fell silent, because that was the comment he didn't really mean to say; it had been on his mind, an absolute last resort if things got out of hand, but he didn't think he would have to use it. The words tasted sour, a little harsh, but maybe the truth was just meant to be harsh sometimes. Maybe this was just something he couldn't help.

  She sniffled. Lance couldn't see her tears in the darkness, but he heard them. “Okay then. Okay. I – uh – I tried with you, Lance, but clearly my efforts were wasted. Clearly you can't put someone who loves you before your own selfish needs.”

  “Selfish needs?”

  “You just want fame. You're so focused on getting famous, being at the top all the time, that you forget the people waiting on you at the bottom.”

  “That isn't-”

  “Well, I'm done. The day you finally crash and burn, don't expect me to be there.” And with those words spoken, she span on her heel and left.

  Just like that.

  Everything was so backwards.

  Lance had been the one to initiate the break up. He'd been the one to lead her out, to have it all planned out in his head – and yet he was the one left standing on his own, unsure of what to do or say. His entire body felt numb, and it was no longer because of the nights chill.

  He wrapped his arms around himself, wondering how easy it would be for him to just start running. He had no destination in mind, but he needed to move. He needed to get away. He needed the adrenaline to pump through his body again because he hated feeling dead and he wanted to feel alive again but the show was over, the fans had left, and he was feeling deflated all over again.

  This was the life he'd forced himself into. Everything was boring until he got on stage again. He relied on the audience and the fans and the music to get him through the day without bashing his head against the wall, and as soon as it was over, he just. . . . died.

  “If it helps.”

  His breath got caught in his throat. He did not turn around.

  “I don't think you'll crash and burn any time soon.”

  He closed his eyes. His head fell forward. His neck strained, and the tears hurt when they slithered down his chin, but he was too far gone by now. His shoulders shook, only stopping when your arms wrapped around his middle and you pressed your face into his back, pulling him into an embrace he didn't realise he needed until now.

  “Was that Allura?”

  Lance sobbed. It was a response.

  You squeezed him tighter. “You're gonna get cold out here, you know. Have you got any friend you could call to take you home?”

  “Don't wanna go home,” Lance croaked out. “Don't make me go home.”

   You paused, a little uncertain. “Do you want . . . I mean, I have a sofa that you're welcome to use.”

   I want to run away. Get away from this place. Sleep.

  Lance sniffled, swiping a hand under his nose. “Mikhail won't mind?”

  “It doesn't matter.”

  Lance turned his head, glancing at you. You were still clinging onto his back, though when you looked up and met his gaze, your eyes widened a little bit and you scrambled back, adorably folding your hands in front of you.

  Lance sighed. “If it's not too much trouble...”

  “Of course not,” you replied, taking his hand. “A five minute walk, if you don't mind.”

  “Lead the way.”

  ----

  When Mikhail walked in, he didn't need to ask.

  Lance was curled up on the sofa, head buried beneath the pillows. You'd draped a throw blanket over him, trying to keep him warm, but he still shivered. He still trembled. He still refused to lift his head from the corner of the sofa, and it was the most heartbreaking sight you'd ever been subject to.

  Mikhail came and stood beside you. He was so tall, blonde hair pulled into a spiky ponytail. His ice blue eyes stared down at Lance, a hint of sadness evident in his gaze; though he didn't say it, you could tell he enjoyed Lance's company. The compliments Lance had given had stuck with your old friend.

  “What happened to him?” Mikhail asked.

  “I think he got in a fight with his girlfriend. A pretty big one.”

  “And he came back here?”

  You sheepishly looked at the floor. “I kind of offered him the space.”

  Mikhail's eyes snapped up, burning holes into the side of your face. You refused to look back at him, instead nibbling on your bottom lip with your arms folded over your chest. “Y/N...”

  “He said he didn't want to go home.”

  “But this is our home-”

  “It'll just be tonight. Just until he gets his head on straight. I'm sure one of his friends will be round here soon enough looking for him.”

   “And what are we gonna tell them when that happens?”

  “That he got his heart broken, and we took care of it.”

  Mikhail sighed. “You took care of it.” He shrugged his massive, thick coat off, draping it over the back of the very sofa Lance was sleeping on. “I'm going to bed. Which is something you should think about doing, too.”

  You waved a dismissive hand. It was answer enough. With yet another sigh, Mikhail left the living room, left you standing over Lance's sleeping form, a million questions spiralling through your head; you would ask him about them tomorrow, if he was comfortable with such a line of conversation.

  You sat down on the other sofa, pulling your knees into your chest. It was with hesitant hands you reached into your bag and pulled your journal out; you'd had plans this evening to write some lyrics under the moonlight, but those plans had been ruined when you stumbled across Lance and the tall, pretty girl he'd been yelling at.

  You wrote songs about butterflies. You wrote songs about nature, and grass, and plants, and all the beautiful things in the world.

  You looked down at your page and wrote His tanned skin glows.

  ---

  Lance would have gladly spent all day in bed if it hadn't been for the insistent ringing of his mobile phone.

  He'd always known his friends would come chasing after him; he had a moment to himself, but it would never last long. That wasn't possible when you were a world famous rock star.

  With a groan, he rolled over and swiped his phone from the floor; it hadn't been on charge all night, but when he looked at the screen and saw it was currently 4:00am, that didn't seem like much of an issue. The name glaring back at him was Hunk, but when Lance pressed 'ACCEPT' it was Shiro's voice that rang out.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Well, good morning to you too.”

  “Lance, I'm not fucking about.” Lance nearly flinched. It was very rare Shiro cursed. “Where are you? We've been looking for you for hours.”

  “You can put your search on hold, then, because I'm fine.”

  Shiro grunted. “You're acting so calm about this. Are you drunk? High? Your mother's gonna kill me if she finds out-”

  “I'm neither drunk nor high, my good man.” Lance rolled over onto his back and glared up at the ceiling; through the curtains, a tiny sliver of morning sun was beginning to peak through. Lance had a sudden urge to go out and watch the sunrise; maybe it was just because he was in your house, and you gave off the vibes of someone who loved watching the sun. “I'm doing fine.”

  “You said that before. It's no more believable now than it was the first time.”

   “You're worried about me. That's sweet. I'm flattered.” Lance used his foot to drag the coat off the back of the sofa. It landed on his legs. He wondered why he'd done it. “Did Allura get home okay?”

  Shiro went quiet.

  Lance sighed. “You can tell me if she's mad, you know. We didn't exactly part on the best of terms.”

  “She was packing her things when I went in to ask where you were,” said Shiro. “I think she's gone now.”

  “None of you tried to stop her?”

  Again, Shiro went quiet.

  Lance closed his eyes. No, of course they didn't try stopping her; nobody in the group liked her, and Lance knew that from the moment things started getting serious. The late-night talks with Shiro, once disguised as brotherly love, where Shiro asked if this was really what Lance wanted, if Lance was sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman. And Lance, naïve as anything, had always said yes, because at the time, Allura's thick locks and her snarky attitude and her sharp tongue was all he thought he needed.

  He let his head fall against his shoulder. “I bet she hates me, doesn't she?”

  “No one can ever hate you, Lance. You're too good for that.” He paused. “She's just a little angry. Is that you two over then?”

  “I suppose so.” It seemed like an unsure answer, not the whole truth. Lance was positive it was over, because he really couldn't see himself going back this time. He couldn't see himself ever loving her again, ever loving anyone again, as he lay across this strangers sofa, glaring up at an unfamiliar ceiling at four in the morning. He didn't want to be put through this ever again.

  “Are you coming back soon, Lance?” Shiro asked. His voice was a little quieter now, and Lance had the sudden urge to hug him, as he often did when Shiro got upset. Shiro was an emotional man, but it still seemed wrong for him to be sad.

  Lance fiddled with a loose thread on the sofa. “I'm gonna have to, aren't I? We've got a tour to complete.”

  “Fuck the tour. If you're not in the right mindset, we can take a break. Go on a bit of a hiatus. We can all have a bit of a holiday. God knows you deserve it; you're the one that's worked the hardest out of all of us.”

  Lance scoffed. “Shucks, Shiro. Take a boy to dinner first.”

  “I'm serious. If you need a break-”

  “I don't need a break. I've had enough breaks to last me an entire life time. Just. . . . Just give me the day, yeah? To get my head back on straight.”

  Shiro paused. “Are you coming back, Lance?”

  Lance closed his eyes. “I'll be back, Shiro. Don't worry.”

  “You'll call me if you need anything, right?”

  “Of course. You're my go-to credit card.”

  “Ha ha. Don't get yourself into any trouble. I'm not picking you up from the police station.”

  “Some friend you are.”

  “Goodbye, Lance.”

  “See you later, Shiro.”

  And then the phone went dead.

  Lance dropped his hand to his chest and inhaled deeply. He kept his eyes open, afraid of falling asleep again, wasting the day that was slowly rising behind him. He wanted to get up and get himself back on track; if he let himself fall any deeper into whatever this was, he wasn't sure he would ever be able to pull himself back out of it. That was a risk he certainly wasn't willing to take when he had the whole world watching.

  And they were watching, would be watching for the rest of his life. He needed to be prepared for that.

  It was on shaky legs that he stood up, bundling the random throw blanket around his shoulders. He crept towards the kitchen, separated from the living room only by the kitchen counter, and went for the fridge. He was still dressed in his day-clothes, his hair still slightly gelled from the show the night before. His voice was still a little croaky, and his ears still rang with the evidence of screaming fans and music blasting through his skull.

  He ducked his head down and searched the contents of the fridge for anything he could have for breakfast. There was eggs, some vegetables, a packet of Haribo's that were open, sprawled across the glass shelf. He reached out, plucked a gummy bear from the pile, popped it in his mouth-

  “That's not a very good thing to have for breakfast.”

  He tilted his head against the door. “Of course you'd be awake at four in the morning.”

  You settled on the kitchen floor beside him. Your legs were bare, your pyjama shorts hidden beneath an oversized shirt. Your knee hit against Lance's foot, somehow coaxing him to shift his position so he, too, was sat on the kitchen tiles. He kept his head pressed against the fridge door, trying to hide the blush that rose on his face; you'd been the only other person to see him yesterday. He'd cried in your arms. You'd offered him a place to stay.

  Overall, Lance had made himself look like a complete idiot. How was he ever meant to explain this to you?

  “I don't sleep very well when it's cold,” you said. “That doesn't explain why you're awake, though.”

  “My friend called me. He just wanted to know where I was.”

  You paused. “Did you tell him what happened?”

  “I think he knows. I think they all kind of know.”

  You nodded as if this was explanation enough, even though it wasn't and Lance knew it wasn't – what you had seen yesterday wasn't even the start of it. That was just the tipping point, the product of months upon months of constant arguing and internal battles that had exhausted Lance far beyond anything he'd felt before.

  But you didn't push him to answer any more questions. You just sat beside him on the kitchen floor, legs folded, hands messing idly with the edges of the blanket wrapped around Lance's shoulders. He remembered you saying you couldn't sleep well in the cold and wrapped one half of the blanket around you. For a second, you stiffened beneath it's light weight, before Lance felt you slump against him, giving in to the heat.

  “You should really go back to bed, though,” said Lance. “You're gonna be tired.”

  “I'll be fine. I don't really want to waste the day.” Your eyes lit up then, snapping to his. “We should do something today.”

  And the request was so sudden, so innocent, that Lance nearly choked on air just trying to process it; your eyes were wide, smile even wider, but then you saw his shocked expression and your own face started to drop.

  Lance hurried to compose himself. “D-do something?”

  “Not – like – No. I'm not asking you on a date. I'd give you a bit longer than a day to get over your ex before I made my move.” You laughed awkwardly. Lance couldn't help but grin, amused by the way you dug yourself further and further into this hole. “But we could do something fun. Like – uh – when I'm bored, I go busking. Or I'll go and sit out on the steps and write some lyrics.” You paused. “I go butterfly watching sometimes, too, but that's a bit boring, isn't it?”

  Lance shook his head. “I don't think it's boring.”

  “Really?”

  “We can do whatever you want,” he said, already getting to his feet. “I have the day off, and who better to take me round the sights than someone who butterfly watches?”

  Lance offered you a hand. You took it, and he hauled you to your feet. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, and Lance could feel the itching of words in the back of his head, but couldn't quite put his finger on what it was he actually wanted to say.

  So, he just shrugged and turned away. “Do you have any spare clothes I could borrow?”

  “Oh, so giving you my living room wasn't enough?”

  Lance smirked, not turning to look at you. “Well, it is. But you'll have to suffer walking around town all day with a guy who smells like sweat.”

  There was a pause. And then, “Okay. The shower's at the end of the hall, last door on your left. I'll sneak in to Mikhail's room and get you something to wear.”

  ----

  Watching the butterflies was usually a very personal thing for you.

  You hadn't realised it until now, but having Lance beside you made you feel a little embarrassed. You led him through the field, his fingers threaded through yours so he wouldn't fall flat on his face, and the entire time, you wondered why he'd agreed to this in the first place.

  He was just being nice. That was probably it; you'd given him a place to sleep, and now he felt in your debt. You wanted to tell him he didn't have to – he could have gone home this morning if he really wanted to. You wouldn't have minded. You wouldn't have been surprised.

  Nonetheless, he was with you, and you were in the field, and there was no point in bringing it up now.

  You led him to the middle of the field and sat down. The grass brushed against every bit of exposed skin you were showing off, and you wriggled a little bit before finally finding comfort and flopping down onto your back. Lance stood over you, looking around with his hands dug into his pockets; the white shirt he was wearing was much too big on him, and you'd been forced to pin up the sleeves in any attempt to make him look less like a joke and more like a man borrowing a taller mans attire.

  You shielded your eyes from the sun. “Would you prefer to stand?”

  His eyes snapped down. “Is the grass not irritating you?”

  “No. Well, yeah, but you get used to it.” You patted the ground next to you. “Come on. It's comfy down here – unless you have hay fever.”

   Lance scoffed, as if the idea of him having hay fever was a ridiculous one. He shook Mikhail's jacket from his shoulders, laid it out on the grass beside you and followed shortly after; his elbow clipped yours as he shielded his eyes from the blinding sun, the two of you looking around for the butterflies you'd come here to admire.

  And Lance was very close to you.

  This train of thought was so stupid, and you knew that. You weren't a teenager any more – you couldn't go round thinking every little movement your crush did was somehow in direct link to your feelings; but you couldn't deny the sudden thumping of your heart, the sudden realisation that Lance was so much taller than you, and he smelled like the shampoo Mikhail always used, and he was staring up at the sun right now, waiting for butterflies.

  You closed your eyes fully, hands flopping to your chest.

  “This is actually really nice,” Lance said.

  You hummed.

  “Can you tell me what kinds of butterflies come around here?”

  You creaked open an eye, turning your head just slightly to get a glimpse of him. He was still staring into the sky, searching for them. He looked to be showing a genuine interest. It warmed your heart more than you cared to admit, both to yourself and anyone else.

  “All sorts,” you replied after a moment of silent admiration. “There's brimstone butterflies – they're the most common ones.”

  “Which ones are they?”

  “They blend in with the leaves. You won't see them unless you're really looking, but they're there, and there's a lot of them.”

  Lance hummed. “Any others?”

 You shifted, pushing a strand of grass away from your ankle. “There's the small tortoiseshell butterflies.”

  Lance snickered. “Really? That's what they're called?”

  “They're the orange ones. The orange and black ones, you know?”

  “Oh! I see those everywhere!”

  “Yeah! They're pretty. I like writing about them.”

  Lance paused. It took you a moment to realise exactly what you'd said – was it a confession? At this point, you weren't even sure. You sang about butterflies, their beauty, but you'd never told anyone that was what you wrote about. It felt like ripping a bandage away after so long of covering a wound.

  Slowly, Lance turned to face you. You continued staring at the sky. “You're writing about butterflies?”

  “Most of the time.” You remembered the previous night, writing things that weren't about butterflies, that could not be traced back to butterflies, that could only ever be traced back to one person.

  You swallowed thickly. As if the heavens could somehow sense your sudden desperation for a conversation change, a butterfly fluttered overhead. You gasped, slapping Lance's arm, using your free hand to point at the pretty specimen.

  “What? What is it?”

  “It's a peacock butterfly!” you exclaimed.

  “A who?”

  “A peacock butterfly.”

  “That means nothing to me.”

  Your hand dropped back to the grass. “It's pretty. You're missing out.”

  “You're meant to explain this stuff to me. Where did it go?”

  You shook your head, grinning. “It's gone now. You probably scared it off.”

  Lance's head snapped round. “Me? I wasn't the one yelling my head off!”

  “I got excited!”

  “Yeah, well, you shouldn't blame me for your precious little peacock butterfly flying away when you raise your damn voice.”

  “You're yelling right now.”

 “I'm not yelling. I'm scolding. There's a difference.”

  It fell silent. It lasted only a second, the only sound being the swish swish swish of the grass as the breeze combed it's invisible fingers through the blades.

  And then Lance started laughing.

  It started out as a quiet, sudden pfffft sound, before he was rolling onto his side and laughing full force into the grass. You stared at him for a second, before your own laughter erupted and you were doing the exact same thing, curling an arm round your middle. The butterflies flew away, startled at the sudden noise, but you didn't care. Not right now. Not whenever Lance gripped your arm to steady himself before he face-planted the dirt.

  “Okay, sorry, sorry,” he gasped, flopping onto his back again, catching his breath with a fist curled into his stomach. “That was so fucking stupid.”

  You continued to giggle, swiping a hand beneath your eye. You didn't even have anything to say – not really. The moment was perfect on it's own, and you didn't want to risk ruining it by replying.

  Looking up, you could tell Lance was staring at you. His eyes burned holes in the side of your face as you bundled your hands in the grass and continued to giggle, until your stomach hurt and you had to roll on your back again just to catch your breath. On his face, a glimmer of a smile was present – not too obvious, not too big, but enough that you had to look away to hide your own embarrassment.

  Lance had the kind of gaze that made someone think they were the only person in the whole world. He had the kind of gaze that rock stars had, eyes meeting, stage to crowd and back again.

  You bit your lip and shook your head, staring back up at the sun. “We should sing something.”

  He didn't question it, simply nodded, placing one arm behind his head. “What have you got in mind?”

  “I'll sing anything.”

  Lance pondered, until finally he started singing, all on his own, with no explanation to the song he was singing; it was one you had heard only vaguely on the radio, when you and Mikhail would be driving between different places. It would come on, and you remembered enjoying it, but never stopping to listen to the words.

  So you just listened to Lance. You closed your eyes, the lyrics sinking into your brain for the first time. His voice was beautiful – so, so beautiful. He called himself a rock fan, but the voice that carried these words was not the voice of a rock star. It was something else. Soft spoken, a lullaby, some words dipping into a mumble before he raised his voice a little higher to be heard over the breeze, over your thundering heartbeat.

  When the song was finished, he inhaled. You cast him a glance, biting your lower lip. He had his eyes closed, one hand curled in his brown hair. His chest rose and fell, and you wondered how many times he'd sung that song in front of someone.

   “Beautiful,” you whispered. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  He looked at you. His eyes were backlit by the sun, making the blue so much more obvious and clear. It was like staring into an ocean; so blue, so much undiscovered. He was a mystery and a force all at once, and you were suddenly overcome with the need to just lean over and press your lips to his, to swallow the words he'd just serenaded you with.

  You looked away, reminding yourself sternly that he'd just broken up with his girlfriend. You needed to be there for him as a friend. You needed to stop letting your selfish thoughts get in the way.

  “That's called Welcome to Hell,” he explained suddenly. “My friend Shiro wrote the lyrics. I just sing it.”

  “You sing it beautifully.”

  “It's usually a bit more upbeat than that. Pretty sure Pidge screams in the chorus, but I thought I'd sing the downplayed version since we don't have the band here.”

  You grinned. “I like the downplayed version. I'm more a fan of the soft music.”

  “Well then I guess I'll have to play some more soft music.”

  “I guess so.”

  ----

  Lance didn't really want to go home.

  Home. He didn't even know what counted as his home any more, considering he was never in a single place long enough to figure it out. Hotel rooms. The tour bus. An old inn he'd crashed in once because he'd been too drunk to make his way to the hotel; could he count those places as home?

  However, he had to get back to his band mates. He said a halting, slightly emotional goodbye to you and wandered off. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt the way he did, why his throat was constricting, why his stomach clenched with every step he took away from you; maybe it was because he could imagine you going back to square one, sitting on the steps with Mikhail playing the guitar and your voice ringing through the square in front of the venue. You deserved so much more than that. You wanted more than that, and it killed Lance to know he could do nothing to help you along the way.

  He arrived home. Allura's stuff had been moved out of the tour bus. Keith's partner awkwardly explained the situation, and then nobody asked any questions; nobody really needed to. They'd all seen this coming. They all knew Lance and Allura would not last, and it didn't embarrass Lance as much as he thought it would; he was doused in relief more than anything else. Relief at the fact he was finally free. Relief at the fact both he and Allura could move on with their lives in peace, figuring it out from this point onward.

  Lance spent the first few days back writing lyrics.

  The shows had been put on hold at Shiro's request. They were given a two week break, a break Lance didn't know he needed until it was upon him. He could have slept the entire fourteen days away, but he forced himself into a stable sleeping pattern because you liked to call him at nine am every morning, asking him if he was on his way to the venue, and he always was, because the thought of seeing you excited him more than anything else.

  Lance was happy he'd managed to stay in touch with you. Every morning, he'd brew up his coffee and put it in his thermal, and then he'd walk to the steps he'd grown so fond of. Sometimes Mikhail would be there, and he and Lance would laugh over some absurd inside joke that they'd developed surprisingly quick. Sometimes it would just be you, scribbling lyrics in your notebook. Lance would sit beside you, lean his head back against the steps, trying to memorise the names of the butterflies you so excitedly pointed out when you thought he wasn't paying attention.

  “That's not even a butterfly; that's a moth.”

  “It's still pretty!”

  Lance would roll his eyes and you'd grin and then you would sit and talk for hours. Sometimes Lance would sing for you. Sometimes you'd sing for him. Sometimes you would just sit in silence and that on it's own was perfectly fine.

  Lance was spiralling. He could feel it, the shift from heartbroken to being stitched whole again. It was strange, scary. He didn't want to risk it just yet. He didn't want to get his hopes up.

  He walked back to the tour bus on the twelfth day of their break, empty thermal in hand, a coat pulled tight round his body. The collar was up, shielding his ears from the blaring wind that suddenly decided to hit the area. He jogged onto the bus with a hearty brrrr to really exaggerate just how cold it was.

  Hunk sat by the window. No one else was in sight.

  “Where has everyone else gone?”

  Hunk didn't look up from his phone. “They went to dinner.”

  Lance raised a brow, pausing in the action of stripping his coat off. “Why didn't you go with them?”

  “I wanted to wait for you.”

  “Right. . . Why?”

  Hunk looked up. There was a glint in his eye, part mischief and part all-knowing; it made Lance want to run right back to the stairs, just to get out of his way.

  “I wanted to talk to you.”

  “You're a creepy bastard-”

  “Come sit down, Lancey-pants. We need to have our Big Boy chat.”

   Lance nearly gagged. “Please never say that again.”

  “Come sit down.”

 Lance rolled his eyes, tossing the coat on the back of the chair before he flopped down on the sofa beside Hunk. The bigger man made room, even though there was plenty, and Lance reached into the packet of chocolate digestives, taking a bite out of one as he waited for Hunk to start talking.

  He didn't push the conversation. He wasn't sure if he wanted it to start or not.

  “Wanna explain to me where you were?”

  “I was out with Y/N.” It was the simple answer. The truth.

  Hunk nodded, smirking around a biscuit, like he knew something Lance didn't.

  Lance leaned forward, trying to meet Hunk's eyes. “What are you smiling at?”

   “Nothing. I'm not smiling. I've never smiled a day in my life-”

  “You're getting flustered.”

  “Why are you so observant-”

  Lance slapped the biscuit out of Hunk's hand. “What have you done?”

  Hunk's eyes lit up. An amused grin spread across his face, a sharp laugh escaping his throat. “I haven't done anything!”

   Lance frowned. “Then why are you smiling?”

   “I'm just happy for you, bro!” Hunk shook his head, grabbing another biscuit and dipping it into his tea. “Honestly. How long were you out in that cold weather for?”

  Lance slowly leaned back, refusing to take his eyes off Hunk's face. “Why are you happy for me?”

  This caught Hunk's attention. His ears twitched. His smile wavered a little bit, like it wanted to get bigger but Hunk wasn't letting it.

  “I just. . . You and Y/N. I haven't seen you that happy in a long time.”

   Lance's stomach curled. “Hunk...”

  “I'm not suggesting anything,” Hunk hastened to add. “Although, if there was something going on, I don't think anyone would really mind. Not like we did with Allura.”

  By now, the blush had long since crawled up Lance's throat, attacking his cheeks in a way he could not hide. He looked to the left, fighting off the slow panic rising in his throat – why was he even panicking? It wasn't like he'd made any attempt to hide his friendship with you. He went out with you almost everyday, and nobody had an issue with it.

  But Hunk was looking at things from a completely different angle, and he was pulling Lance on it. Lance didn't really have a response, though, because his brain was short circuiting and he was fairly certain he was going to explode into giddy giggles at any given moment.

  “You like them, don't you?”

  Hunk's voice startled him. Lance's head snapped round. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to dispel this crazy idea, but he found words failing him. His mouth slowly closed, and Hunk's eyes widened just a fraction.

  “Wait-”

  “Don't say it.”

  Hunk leaped up, pulling his feet beneath him on the sofa. He whirled on Lance, grabbing his shoulder. The chocolate digestive he'd previously held fell from his grip, landing behind the sofa cushion, but Hunk didn't seem to care. His eyes were alight, fireworks burning into Lance's skull.

  “Oh my god, really? I knew it! I fucking knew it! Shiro owes me a tenner!”

  Lance swatted Hunk's hands away. “Would you shut up? It's not like they like me back, and honestly, getting into another relationship right now just sounds scary.”

   This was the moment Hunk frowned.

  His hands slid off Lance's shoulders, landing in his lap. His eyes had gone dull, his mouth pulled into a frown that contained more disappointment than sadness. “You're kidding.”

  “I'm not. That break up with Allura-”

  “Was meant to happen!” Hunk exclaimed. “It was meant to happen so you could find Y/N!”

  Lance's eyes widened. “You're not really that cringe, are you?”

  “I'm being honest.” Hunk flopped back, folding his arms over his chest. “I can't believe you're doing what Keith did. That whole I want to stay single thing. If you've found someone who makes you happy, why would you waste time?”

  “I'm not wasting time-”

 “You and Y/N hang out every day. You come home looking like a giddy school kid. You wrote a fucking song about them, for crying out loud – did you ever write a song for Allura?”

  Lance paused. “That's not the point. The two aren't comparable.”

  “My point exactly; you like Y/N. I think you might even love them-”

  “Hunk, don't start with that.”

  Hunk shrugged. “I just think you're being stupid holding off your own happiness.”

   Lance looked away. Whenever Hunk got like this, he was never sure how to reply – he had his reasons, and he didn't need to list them to anyone, but Hunk also had a point. Why was he holding off so much? His entire life motto up until this point consisted of doing what makes you happy, fuck what other people think, and yet here he was, overthinking everything because his brain had been a jumbled mess for days now.

  He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on top of them. “Y/N's different, man.”

  Hunk tensed.

  Lance continued. “You know they write about butterflies? Not men, not women, not. . . attractive people. They write about butterflies, but you'd never be able to tell. And then they sing, and it's like. . . . I mean, it's so different to what I enjoy, but I enjoy it anyway, you know? They have that kind of voice, that level of skill. I don't know. . . I don't know how they do it.”

  Lance turned his head, closing his eyes. “And the laughs we have together – I honestly couldn't even tell you what half of the jokes mean, but we just find them so damn funny. They get teary-eyed when they laugh too much, and they snorted once, and it was the funniest thing I've ever heard, so we just laughed some more. An old man even came up and asked us what was so funny.”

  “He probably thought you were a couple. It sounds very couple-y.”

  “It kind of was.” Lance pursed his lips. “Except we're not a couple.”

  “No.” Hunk's voice was sombre. “And whose fault is that?”

  ---

  The crowd was screaming.

  Lance could hear his name jumping around. Nothing major. The crowd wasn't just here for him, and he wouldn't have it any other way; mixed in with the sounds of his own name came Keith's, Hunk's, Pidge's, a few Shiro's being tossed back and forth.

  Lance closed his eyes, leaning his head against the wall. The pre-show nerves were beginning to settle. He needed a moment to catch his bearings, to focus his brain on the task at hand before he jumped out on stage and put on the best performance he could.

  It was the last show in this town, and Lance was ready for it. His nerves ate away at him, but his hands twitched, his fingers curling round the microphone, his ears ringing with the cheers that were already so loud, so enthusiastic, even though they stared at nothing more than an empty stage at the moment.

  The count down began. Hunk, Pidge and Keith emerged from backstage, fastening ear pieces into their ears, straightening their hair and their clothes. Hunk clapped his drum sticks together and gave Lance a smile that should have made Lance suspicious, but he was so deep in his own head at the minute that he barely gave it a second glance.

  The manager hit “1” and then the opening music started blasting and Lance was jumping out on stage, yelling into his microphone, asking the crowd if they were ready, if they were sure they were ready, telling them this was going to be the best night of their damn lives, and it would be because Lance was back in the game, and he refused to leave here without making every single face in that crowd light up with an emotion none of them had ever felt before.

  They screamed right back at him. In this room, they were equals. Yes, Smokey Saturdays were the performers. Yes, they were here to entertain these wonderful, enthusiastic people, but Lance had never felt so close to anyone than he did now, jumping around, singing the lyrics he'd grown to love as the crowd sang them back, all of them with different interpretations of the same song.

  Sweat dripped down his neck. The next song came on. The crowd jumped, and Pidge screamed into her microphone, and Keith leaped off his dais and ran along the edge of the crowd whilst still managing to hit every single note on his bass. Lance span on his heel, pointed at Hunk, and Hunk pointed right back-

  But not at Lance. Hunk pointed to a spot just over Lance's shoulder.

  With a grin, Lance span on his heel and followed the direction Hunk was gesturing to. His eyes racked the crowd; he made eye contact with a few people, all of whom screamed and lost their minds.

  Lance, however, could focus on nothing more than you standing in the front row, hands curled around the security barriers, eyes pouring into his own.

  He nearly doubled over, nearly missed his cue to keep singing. He tripped over his feet, caught himself and continued, but his eyes never left your own. You were dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. You were barely moving. Only your lips were making any effort, mumbling the words to Welcome to Hell, and for a second, it was as if you were singing along. It was as if you and Lance were in a duet.

  Lance turned, microphone still pressed to his lips. Hunk was smiling wider now, slamming his drum sticks into his drum kit, singing along even though he had no microphone and no one could hear him. Lance's heart thrummed with something he couldn't explain, a happiness that was too heavy to be called happiness and still have it's full meaning.

  That was the best show Lance had ever put on.

  He felt it in his bones as he jogged off stage that night, sweat dripping, soaking his shirt. He flopped against the wall, patting Keith's back when he ran past, giving Pidge a hug when she did the same thing. He got ready to throw himself at Hunk, demand answers, but the man never appeared. With a frown, Lance popped his head round the curtain; standing by the edge of the stage, Hunk leaned over the security railing, his hand outstretched to one lucky fan-

  Lance's eyes widened. He had only seconds before Hunk managed to help you on stage, only seconds to dart towards the backstage area, only seconds to comb his hands through his hair before you laid eyes on him, because he really wasn't ready for this, and he never looked worse than when he'd just bounded off stage-

  “Ooooh, Lancey-kins!”

  Lance span around. Keith and Pidge paused by the buffet table, looking round with mouths full and eyes curious; Lance's heart was beating a million miles per hour, and the rhythm only got worse when he turned to see you awkwardly standing in the doorway. Hunk had an arm slung over your shoulders. He was grinning from ear to ear, because he knew exactly what he'd done.

  Lance swallowed thickly. He was so tired. His muscles were drained, and his throat was raw, and his ears were ringing, but seeing you in front of him. . . He couldn't go to sleep. Not without talking to you first.

  And maybe he should have been mad at Hunk. The drummer had gone against his wishes, had dismissed everything Lance said to him back on the tour bus, but he couldn't bring himself to feel anything close to anger. Not when you were looking around the backstage area with eyes so wide and curious, mouth slightly open before your eyes landed on Lance and you grinned, wide and kind.

  Pidge swallowed loudly, a cartoonish gulp that brought all attention to her. “Who's this?”

  “This-” Hunk shoved you forward. Lance grabbed your elbow before you could fall. “-is Y/N L/N, Lance's friend.”

   The pair of bassist's eyes widened. “This is Y/N?”

  You laughed awkwardly. “Hi.”

  “Hello,” said Keith, surprising Lance with his sudden social tone. “It's – uh – nice to have proof you're real.”

  “Don't embarrass the lad,” Hunk hissed, shoving Keith back. “Let's give them a minute to talk.”

   And then his band were shuffling out of the room, closing the door behind them.

  If there was ever a time in which Lance debated starting a solo career, it was now.

  He still had his hand on your elbow. He flinched away like the fabric of your shirt had burned him, hastily shoving his hand into his pockets. You bit your lip, looking round the room, possibly searching for something to say, and it was so confusing because neither of you had ever struggled with words before, but there was something different about the atmosphere in this room, at this particular moment, that left barely any room for casual talking.

  Lance could tell something had changed. Something was about to change.

  Lance wanted something to change.

  He swallowed, turned to you and said, “Did you enjoy the show?”

  Your eyes met his. He had to hold his breath to stop it from escaping his system in one, obvious whoosh. “You're very good. Made for the stage, I think the term is.”

  “I've been doing it for a while.”

  “I can tell. The way you interacted with the crowd. . . That was amazing. It was one of the best concerts I've ever been to.”

  Lance bit his lip. “You mean that?”

  “I think everyone on the internet means that.”

  Lance chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes, breathing a little deeper. “Yeah, well. I messed up in the middle of it-”

  “You did?”

  “I wasn't expecting to see you standing there. It shocked me a little bit.”

  You paused. Lance didn't look down at you, but he could feel your own eyes resting on him, waiting for him to elaborate. The words were there, perched on the tip of his tongue – he could so easily explain his feelings right now, but it was complicated and he was tired and his brain really wasn't working at full capacity. If Hunk thought tonight was the ideal night to get Lance to make a move, he was very much mistaken.  

  “Was it . . . Was it a good shock?” Your voice was timid. Lance's eyes snapped down just in time to see you wince at your own words. “God, was that too flirty? I bet that sounded too flirty. I didn't mean – like – I don't usually come on so strong, but you were really good today and I just – you know – wanted you to know that I really enjoyed myself-”

  “It was a good shock.”

  You froze. Slowly, Lance brushed his fingertips against your arm, a silent question, a silent invitation.

  “Oh,” you whispered, voice cracking. “That's good. I'd hate to be a – a hindrance.”

  Lance took a step closer. “You'd never be a hindrance.”

  “No? That's good.” You rubbed the back of your neck. Lance's fingers lingered, but upon seeing your suddenly flustered state, he made to pull away.

  Your hand snapped out, grabbing his wrist and tugging his own hand into your chest. Lance stumbled forward, forced to place his hand against the door behind your head to stop himself falling into you completely.

  Your breath was ragged, a whisper against Lance's skin that was driving him crazy.

  “This is so insane,” you mumbled. “So, so insane. I'm not good at this. I feel like I need to be good at this-”

  Lance shook his head, dazed. “You're doing great.”

  “I am?”

  “What is it you want to do, exactly?”

  Your eyes flicked to his lips. Lance lost his mind.

  “Y/N,” he mumbled, growled, demanded.

  “I want to,” you whispered. “But you might not be in the right head space yet. You might be . . . You might still be thinking of your ex, and I don't want to be trailed along-”

  “I haven't thought about her for two weeks.” Lance placed his hand on your hip. He wasn't sure why – it just felt right, and he needed to feel your flesh beneath his fingers.

  Your eyes fluttered closed. “No?”

   “I promise. You're the only person who's been on my mind since I met you.” He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against your own. “And I don't know how you managed it. I really don't know. But I'm so. . . Y/N, I've never been so happy.”

  You looked at him. “Why?”

  “Because of you. All because of you.”

  “Then why are we waiting?”

  Lance closed his eyes and kissed you.

  He didn't care. He couldn't care. His mind was a jumbled mess and had been from the moment he laid eyes on you, but he was beginning to realise it might not be such a bad thing.

  Your lips moulded perfectly against his own. Your fingertips hovered over his hip bones, and it was only when Lance reached down and guided your arms around his middle did you finally take a handful of his shirt, an uncertain grip that had him grinning against your lips; you were so fragile, barely making a move, but it was perfect nonetheless, because you were here, here, here.

  With Allura, he'd never felt this way. Even their first kiss didn't have the fireworks and the understanding and the need, because their first kiss had been done purely because they felt like they had to. Allura was a pretty girl and Lance was a rock star, and how could the two possibly exist in the same universe without making out every two seconds? With Allura, kisses just felt like a necessity, a greeting they had to shove out of the way before continuing with business as normal.

  But this – Lance was lost. He couldn't describe it. His fingers trailed your jaw and your hips and your stomach, and the noises you made against his mouth were heavenly, and he suddenly couldn't imagine kissing anyone else. Suddenly, this was it.

  He pulled away first, his lips ever-so-slowly detaching from your own. You kept your eyes closed for a moment after your mouth was your own again, and Lance chuckled, running a single finger along your eyelids before you opened them and stared at him.

  He tilted his head, grinning from ear to ear. “Good?”

  He saw you swallow. “Good. I hope to – uh – do it again sometime.”

   Lance plunked his forehead against your own. “You're such an idiot.”

  ---

  “Shiro, keep your hands off of Y/N, or so help me god I will implode.”

  “He's serious,” Mikhail commented, lounging across the sofa with his guitar in hand, as he often was. He wasn't comfortable just sitting on a chair, or even sitting normally – Lance blamed it on his longer-than-average limbs.

  Shiro continued leaning over your shoulder, reading your scribbled words. Lance watched from the sofa, a smile on his face because he could always be found smiling when he was watching you work; your expression of concentration was so amusing, and so adorable, and Lance suddenly wanted both Mikhail and Shiro out of his hotel room so he could have you all to himself.

  “I just don't think this line is right for the bridge,” you explained, tapping the page. “Like, yes, it's different, but it doesn't really suit the vibe of the rest of the song, does it?”

  “I think it works great. It flows well,” said Shiro.

  Lance whooped, throwing his arms in the air. “Yes! That's my baby! You got the stamp of approval from the Big Boss, just like I said you would.”

   You turned and threw your pen at him.

  Lance caught it, blew you a kiss. “I fucking love you.”

  Shiro chuckled, glancing at Lance over his shoulder with that fond fatherly smile on his face. “You getting restless over there, buddy?”

  Mikhail snickered. “Buddy.”

  Shiro stood up straight, grabbing Mikhail by the collar of his oversized coat. “I think it's time for me and you to leave. Let's go get dinner.”

  “Are you paying?” Mikhail asked, stumbling after the older man.

  The door closed behind them.

  Lance jumped up and plonked himself down on your lap.

  You yelped, already trying to push him off. It had only been two seconds. Lance wasn't even putting his full weight on you.

  “Lance!”

  Lance wrapped his arms over your shoulders and bundled his head in your neck. It was there he pressed a single kiss, just below your ear, and as if that area was some kind of pressure point, you immediately melted against him. Lance grinned, nibbling just a bit on your ear lobe before he pulled away and glanced at the open journal on the table.

  “You're writing about my tanned skin again,” he pointed out, pretending to be disgusted despite his fluttering heart.

  “As per usual,” you replied. “Kiss my neck again.”

   Lance kissed your neck. You hummed.

  “You know,” he said, inches from your ear. “You didn't say I love you back when I said it to you earlier on.”

  “Awk, Lance, you know-”

 He nibbled your neck. “Just say it back.”

  Your voice wobbled when you said, “I fucking love you, too.”

  Lance smirked. He knew you could feel it. He wanted you to feel it. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his shirt, your body inching towards his. “Good. That's all I wanted.”

  “You're such an asshole.”

  “Mm. I'm very happy you let me be a complete asshole.”

  “I wouldn't want you any differently.”

[pass-the-bechdel]

Nikita season two full review

How many episodes pass the Bechdel test?

91.3% (twenty-one of twenty-three)

What is the average percentage per episode of female characters with names and lines?

38.91%

How many episodes have a cast that is at least 40% female?

Twelve, which is essentially half the episodes so I’m not gonna list them all here. 

How many episodes have a cast that is less than 20% female?

Zero.

How many female characters (with names and lines) are there?

Nineteen. Ten who appear in more than one episode, four who appear in at least half the episodes, and two who appear in every episode.

How many male characters (with names and lines) are there?

Sixty-two. Seventeen who appear in more than one episode, five who appear in at least half the episodes, and one who appears in every episode.

Positive Content Status:

High quality; a consistently uplifting strong-women narrative, with all of the complexity and grit to make it real instead of just flimsy box-ticking (average rating of 3.08). 

General Season Quality:

Also high quality; sometimes I missed the simpler, more contained narratives of the first season, but the expansion of scope and implication was a natural development which this season embraces to the full, and that makes for a plot that barely pauses to catch its breath, and yet never becomes too overwrought to be believed.

MORE INFO (and potential spoilers) under the cut:

Gotta say, I think this show, more than any other, keeps me guessing as to what will come next at every turn. I mean, LOST was a wild ride chock-full of plot twists, but that was a very deliberate part of the show’s hook so it was never shocking that it was shocking, if you follow. Nikita is a different level; it doesn’t have a you’ll-never-guess-what-happens-next approach, it’s kinda like the show just rolls along, doing what it does, totally oblivious to the fact that its plot is moving at breakneck speed and never giving the audience long enough to try and navigate its trajectory in advance. I am very pleasantly surprised at how well they’ve made that work for them, though as you have all seen it still kinda throws me for a loop when I’m trying to offer some kind of episode-by-episode commentary. As I’ve said before, that really ain’t a bad thing.

Like any show, they have their missteps (Sean needs work; still not exactly sold on the Cassandra/Max stuff; Amanda gets less fun the more we learn about her), but by and large they’re recognising their strengths and playing to them. Most notable and wonderful being Maggie Q as their lead character, of course; the fact that the show is literally named after Nikita might make it seem obvious that she’d be treated to the most narrative attention and given the most meaty story to sink her teeth into, but in all honesty I was still surprised by how dedicated the show is to Nikita’s position at its centre. Considering she’s a woman - and not even a white one! - I would have been wholly un-surprised if they had served us a more ‘balanced’ narrative in which her co-stars had similarly-weighted personal arcs (as much as I bemoaned Alex’s B-plot status through much of this season, it was born primarily of a desire for Alex to be more directly linked to Nikita’s story and to the relationship they had shared in season one; certainly not any desire to see Nikita herself less centralised). I believe I’ve been rather transparent about how deeply I have fallen in love with Nikita as a character and with Maggie’s portrayal of her, and I remain frankly astonished at the nuance and complexity of the work being done there: Nikita is certainly not just a Strong Female Character cliche, and as sexy and badass as she is the story never allows either of those things to be considered defining traits. 

I’m gonna talk a bit about Nikita’s relationship with Michael this season, because in a show that changes drastically over the course of a handful of episodes (to say nothing of the cosmic shifts from one season to the next), that relationship stands out to me as having formed a backbone-consistency that both builds upon the existing structure from season one, and improves vastly upon it. Yeah, the thing with Cassandra and Max was kinda weird and convenient and - while it worked out better as a narrative decision than I expected - not one of their stronger moves this season, but Nikita handled the revelation like a champ and weathered the situation with Michael as a supportive partner; even though this represented a very real prospect for them going their separate ways, the personal connection underpinning the relationship remained strong and unalterable. In the first season, I was dubious; it seemed awful cliche for them to be attracted to one another, it made for some awkward machinations sometimes in order to keep them antagonistic-but-not-enemies despite being very literally expected to kill one another at the first opportunity, and in flashbacks to Nikita’s time as a recruit Michael’s interest in her sometimes had a vaguely predatory flavour. Once they got together, however, the show made a very wise decision - supported unwaveringly throughout season two - to make that connection the least-complicated part of their lives. Which is a breath of fresh air since unnecessary romance drama is a mainstay of television despite being THE WORST, and it also allows them to explore a very adult relationship for its strengths instead of its trials. These are pragmatic people, highly trained spysassins, and it would be unrealistic for them to become ‘soft’ in relationships, since that kind of emotional vulnerability is only good for getting everyone dead. But, by the same token, they’re still human and like any human they’ll find a way to explore their emotions within their context, and since they’re both in the same boat there’s no need for them to internalise everything until it manifests in unhealthy ways. Consequently, they navigate obstacles together, they see one another’s shortcomings and work with or around them rather than trying to ‘change’ one another, and they allow room for argument and conflict in the knowledge that surface tension is normal and does not imply a rotten foundation. In short (ha, from me?), the relationship is healthy. It’s the ‘two broken people’ cliche, but believable. Full of mess, no fairy tale or magic fix, just two people being good for each other. It’s a wonderful thing.

Contrast that with Alex’s arbitrary bland-good-guy love interests; Sean is above and beyond better than Nathan, but he’s still not doing a thing to subvert the cliche and give the impression that he has any real narrative function beyond ‘but we gotta give Alex a boyfriend! For, like, reasons!’. While I appreciate that that in itself is something of a subversion of the old ‘hot-chick-with-zero-personality’ love interest cliche for male characters, it’s still some rubbishy hetero nonsense; if the character has no function outside of forming a romantic or sexual relationship with one of your actually-functional characters, delete them. Stop pretending that not being single is of vital importance, as if fully-rounded and fulfilled single people don’t exist (also, entertainment media could do us a favour and stop acting like being single for more than a couple of months is CRAZY AND UNBEARABLE. When I was a kid I was under the firm impression that dating was like a full-time job from the age of sixteen onwards, with only about a month of holiday time accrued per year during which it was considered acceptable to be single. But anyway, I digress). I am also tired of female characters struggling to make it a single season of tv without having a guy thrown at them, as though there’s some fear of them not being relatable or interesting without a man around. Hence, also, part (but not all) of my reason for being displeased at the Amanda/Ari connect, as well as the implication of some unrequited interest from Amanda directed at Percy. It’s unnecessary and it undermines Amanda’s own lust for power by combining it with a sexual interest in powerful men and an irrationality associated with romantic competition or rejection (the suggestion that she only deposed Percy after he shattered her fantasy of partnership with him; her instantaneous hatred of Carla culminating in a literal kill order). The idea that she’s secretly been with Ari for 10+ years doesn’t seem to gel with anything else and comes across more as the writers just trying to be shocking (and as I noted at the beginning of this, one of their strengths is in being nonchalant about their twists), and even if Amanda ends up turning on him as soon as he’s no longer useful to her the whole thing kinda stinks of the implication that her desire for power itself is undercut by willingness to share it or even just play second fiddle to a man; in effect, that she’s trying to ‘marry in’ to positions of power by attaching herself to already-powerful men, and that is desperately at odds with the idea that a person of her talents and ruthlessness would be hell-bent on being Head Bitch in Charge in the first place. There was no need to even mention her being interested in Percy, nor does she need to be literally in bed with Ari (for the last decade!) in order for them to be figuratively in bed as business partners. No one suggests that Ari or Percy or any other powerful male in the narrative needs to have a sexual stake in the matter in order to form an allegiance with a potential rival. I’m jus’ sayin’. Hope they resolve their Amanda issues next season instead of making them worse.

...seriously though, name me another tv show that is 1) more than five years old, and 2) has a non-white female lead character - not a co-lead, an actual singular Main Character who is neither white nor male. There are few enough I’m aware of in recent shows, but back when Nikita started, or before that? I got nothing. Please share if you think of one.

[some-cookie-crumbz]

Or Lack There of

Title: Or Lack There of - Kidge Week 2017 Day 5 Prompt Fill Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Pairing: Keidge Summary: Lance can’t catch a break, and Pidge and Keith are both immature little brats. Direct sequel to this [ link ] Standard Disclaimer: If you read and enjoy this, please give it a like/ reblog so I know if I should write more. AN: Had a lot of fun with this one. Should have today’s actual Prompt fill up in a few hours.

He had been absolutely right and he had enjoyed knowing that fact for all of eighteen hours.

After a particularly grueling battle and some serious damage done to all of them, a huge argument had erupted between Pidge and Keith – though he couldn’t exactly remember exactly, he was pretty sure it was something about Green and Pidge taking a few shots meant for Red and Keith – that even Shiro couldn’t placate. They had all stood there, awkward and confused, while Keith and Pidge shouted each other down with accusations. Accusing each other of thinking the other was too weak to protect themselves, or doubting each other’s piloting abilities, or that the other was too impulsive to keep themselves safe. Lance had found a lot of their accusations to be hypocritical – after all, he could think of no other individuals quite as stubborn and reckless as the two of them – but he had watched with excitement.

Lance knew how confessions between two extremely stubborn people typically went.

So when Pidge finally blurted out, “Did you ever think it’s not an issue of not trusting you, and more worrying about you? I’ve already lost so many people that mean a lot to me; I don’t want to lose you too!” Lance had to clamp his hands over his mouth to muffle his excited squeal. She glared Keith down for a moment while he stared at her in surprise, then slowly she seemed to realize what she had said.

It was at that point, as Keith uttered a small, “You’re not the only one that worries, you know. I don’t want to lose you either,” that Shiro ushered the rest of the team away to give them some privacy. About an hour later, they emerged and discussed with Shiro and Allura whether or not pursuing a relationship would be accepted. Under the agreement that they wouldn’t let their personal feelings for one another hinder their ability to pilot and work with the team, they said that Pidge and Keith could date.

Lance had been over the moon when he heard that. After all, two of his best friends were finally dating! They had been dancing around one another for months and, while admittedly he admired their dance steps, he was growing tired. He knew that they could be The Arms of Voltron™, the ultimate power couple! The universe would quake beneath the might of their love and dedication!

Or, rather, that was what he thought until it actually happened.

Watching them as an actual couple, interacting day-to-day, was just embarrassing.

He growled as he watched Pidge walk into the small kitchen area, stifling a yawn but flashing a sleepy smile at Keith. He was starting up the make-shift coffee maker Hunk and Pidge had developed to get a pot going. “Morning, Honey Bun,” She mumbled as she leaned up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

He smiled, swooped an arm around her waist, and pulled her close to press a kiss to her cheek as well. “Morning, Baby Doll,”

She giggled lightly and slipped out of his grasp to get a plate and make herself some food. She grabbed the loaf of dark blue bread they had and popped two pieces into the toaster she and Hunk had rigged up. “Have you eaten yet, Buttercup?” She asked.

“Not yet, Sugarlump,” He answered as the coffee finally started brewing. He reached into a nearby cabinet and pulled out some mugs.

Lance scowled and bit in to his breakfast bagel with more gusto than necessary. At first he thought the way they interacted was kind of cute and made sense; after all, neither of them had really been in a relationship before and Lance knew the magic of the honeymoon stage quite well. He just didn’t understand what was happening with these two, given it had been several weeks since they finally got together and the newness of the relationship should have been starting to settle down. But they were still just so… Cutesy. A small part of him wondered if maybe they’d been infected by some weird virus that caused their affection for one another to escalate to uncharacteristic displays of affection. They were just always saying ridiculous nicknames and snuggling up to each other and just being so… Disgusting cute to one another. He had wanted them to hook up because he could see them being good for each other. After all, neither of them should have to compromise who they were to be in a relationship.

They fell in with each other so naturally. But now? He just found the whole thing between them uncomfortable.

Pidge got out the pseudo-peanut butter and pseudo-cream cheese, tossing a bagel in the toaster once her toast popped out. She fell into casual chatter about some project to be completed with Hunk, who was settled beside Lance at the table having his own breakfast, but Lance didn’t really pay attention to their chatter. He instead watched as Pidge and Keith prepared one another’s meal and coffee respectively. Pidge used a generous amount of their imitation cream cheese – as was Keith’s preference – while Keith added only a small spoonful of sugar to Pidge’s cup of coffee – as was her preference – and Lance shoved another mouthful of bagel down his own gullet to keep back from making some snarky comment.

This was the kind of thing he was used to seeing from them! Not everything else they seemed so fixated on doing lately!

They settled in across from him and Hunk and pulled their chairs closer together – practically sitting on the same seat, they were so ridiculous! – and snuggled up. “Thank you, Shnookums,” Keith mused lightly as they swapped the plate with the bagel and the cup of coffee.

“My pleasure, Cotton Candy Butt,” Pidge hummed back happily.

Lance slammed his hands down on the table and stood, sending his chair to the ground with a loud screech and clatter. “Okay, that’s it! I’m done! You’ve broken me! What the Hell kind of pet name is ‘Cotton Candy Butt’?” He snapped while turning abruptly and storming out. They could still hear him shouting about the sheer lunacy going on around him as he left.

Hunk stared at where Lance had been and then slowly turned back to look at the other two young teens. The two of them were laughing as they scooted to a more respectable distance, but still settling in close. “That was pure perfection, Pidge,” Keith said, holding up a fist toward her.

She grinned widely and bopped his fist in response with her own. “Only because I had a wonderful partner to work with,”

Hunk blinked then slowly raised an eyebrow. “Wait… I’m so confused. Aren’t you two normally… Like… Inseparable?”

“That’s how we want it to seem. Honestly, we just do it because it bothers Lance,” Keith said with a small shrug, taking a bite from his bagel.

Pidge sipped her coffee and nodded. “We were just waiting to see how far we could push him before he stopped whining to Shiro about it and actually confronted us himself,” She said calmly.

“So you being all… Lovey with each other?” Hunk asked.

“Whether or not we’re cuddly and affectionate in private is really no one’s business. I can tell you that neither of us really likes PDA, but we’ve been enjoying teasing Lance with it,” Keith chimed with another small shrug.

“Exactly. I mean, being in a relationship shouldn’t change how we interact that much. We liked each other the way we were; why should we all of a sudden be all googly-eyed at each other just because we’ve changed the definition of our relationship?” Pidge hummed in agreement, sipping her coffee calmly. Her hand closest to Keith slipped off the table discretely, letting it hang beside her. Keith noticed the action and shifted his own hand to gently loop their pinky fingers together under the table.

Hunk noticed as well, but decided not to say anything. He wasn’t going to bruise the little love birds’ egos’.

[isolavirtuosa]

Starting Over (For Real?) 15-16

[fanfiction] NaruSasu

Read the previous parts here.

- 15 -

  It wasn’t far to Iwa.  We could make it within the day if Naruto did the running, and that’s how I found myself awkwardly holding onto his back.

Naruto was probably starting to remember about how he didn’t want to rush into things.  And I was starting to remember how much I hated being in a relationship with Naruto.

We stopped to eat the rice balls that Sai had made for us during his long wait.

We didn’t say anything.

We continued on until we reached Iwa.

There had been a battle here.

“Can you use Susanoo if you need it?” Naruto asked.

“Yes.”

“Okay, you’re probably going to hate this, but I need you to stay close,” he said, acting like he was going to carry me on his back into town.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“I’m defenseless without you.”

“That’s your own stupid fault.”

He sighed loudly.  “Just think about it like I’m your horse that you’re riding into battle or something.”

I didn’t want to tell him that that actually did make me feel better.

Everything was silent as we entered the outskirts.

“We’re surrounded,” Naruto informed me.

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

The second the first line made a move towards us we were riding Susanoo.

“Identify yourselves,” one of the ninjas ordered.

I scoffed.

Naruto scratched the back of his neck.  “It’s kinda obvious, innit?”

The man seemed confused.

“Hey, Naruto, is that you?!”

Naruto squinted until his eyes fell on the speaker.  “Oh, hey!  Kurotsuchi!  And Akatsuchi, too!”

“Long time no see!” Akatsuchi said, waving cheerfully.

“What are you doing in our neck of the woods?” Kurotsuchi asked, coming closer.

“You can release Susanoo,” Naruto said to me.  “We’re just travelling around, looking for food sources and checking up on everyone,” he called.

“No way in hell,” I informed him, ignoring his yelling conversation.

“They’re my friends, it’s fine,” he protested.

“They’re not my friends.”

“Sasuke.”

I trusted Naruto’s judgement implicitly, I just didn’t want him to know that.  I picked him up with Susanoo instead and set him on the ground in front of his ‘friends’.

Of course, I was just looming over everyone in full battle gear while they were laughing and having a lighthearted conversation.  Not to mention the fact that I was wasting chakra keeping Susanoo active.  As long as I wasn’t facing high-ranking Iwa officials attached to Naruto’s back, though.

As everyone moved to head back into the village, Naruto stayed back, looking up at me expectantly.

I stared back.

He held his hand out to me.

I sighed, letting Susanoo dissipate and sinking to the ground.

He slid his arm around me, catching my weight when my legs finally gave out.  “Do you want your chair?”

“Yes,” I said, not looking at him.

He unsealed it and helped me sit.  “Looks like a lot of ninjas are trying to take advantage of the chaos,” he said.  “Kurotsuchi said they had to reclaim the village from some group that swooped in when everyone was still recovering in Lightning.”

“I could hear, dobe.”

“Oh, well I dunno what you were doing up there, all skulking and menacing.”

“I’m your bodyguard.”

“You’re the one who’s got assassins after him.”

“You’re the idiot who can’t use jutsu.”

“Babe, enough.”

I stopped rolling my chair forward and gawked at him.

“What?” he asked, turning back to face me.  Then his face went red.  “I didn’t… crap, uh…  It’s a term of endearment!”

“Since when are we on terms of endearment?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.  It didn’t make me feel warm inside.

“Since we mutually climaxed this morning,” he said, turning around abruptly and stalking forward.

“Sex and endearment are mutually exclusive,” I informed his retreating back, trying not to cringe at his word choice.

He whirled around again.  “What?!  You’re such a sociopath sometimes!  We are soulmates and we are in love and you should just deal with it already!”

“Oh, so you’re okay with all of this now?” I said, tilting my head to the side and staring into his eyes.  “You’ve just moved on from your wife and kids and your whole stupid fake hokage life?”

He looked down at his feet then back at me.  “Okay, no, I haven’t.”

“So don’t try and act like things are simple between us, or that you can just call me whatever ridiculous name you want.”

“Yeah, I get it.  But you’re blushing, you know.”

“I am fucking not,” I snarled, pushing my chair forward and ignoring him the rest of the way to the Tsuchikage’s.

I was surprised when I was allowed into the inner sanctum.  Did they not take me seriously because of my legs?  I suddenly wanted to make them take me seriously.

“You need a leash for your guard dog?” Oonoki asked, eyeing me warily as we approached.

I flashed my teeth at him in the semblance of a smile.

“Sasuke is my partner,” Naruto said.  “He helped me beat Kaguya.”

“Didn’t help you stop that tree though,” Oonoki commented.

“Uh, Sasuke is literally the person who stopped the tree,” Naruto said.

“A year and a half later…” Oonoki trailed off.  “Now if I had the rinnegan, I would have-”

Naruto stopped him with a look.

This was definitely Hokage Naruto.

“Anyway, we dispatched a team back to Koishi to deal with those criminals and bring back your friend,” the tsuchikage continued.  “You’re welcome in Iwa as long as you like, even your troublesome little missing nin friend.”

It quickly became apparent that things were as dire in Iwa as they were in Konoha.  The hospital was full to capacity despite the fact that most of the able-bodied ninjas had been in Lightning during the final battle, the town had been ravaged by the God Tree roots and by raiders, and there simply wasn’t enough sustainable food.

There was still a large supply of alcohol, though, that Kurotsuchi and Naruto were working hard on dwindling down in our room that night.

“So you want me to gather all of our ninjas together to do a coordinated mass pooping in our fields to make the crops grow better?” Kurotsuchi asked, swirling the sake around in her glass.

“Yes, exactly.”

“It might be the alcohol talking, but that seems like a reasonable idea,” she hummed.

“It’s like, ya gotta take a dump?  Dump it in the fields,” Naruto said with a sage nod.

“You could just have people collect their stools and bring them to a designated area for dispersal in the fields,” I cut in agitatedly.  “Why would everyone just be out pooping in a field?  Who would do that?”

They both shot me looks, like I was somehow interfering with their great ideas.

I took a long drink and went back to ignoring them in my corner.

“Stools,” Naruto said, suddenly snickering.  “You’re such a priss, Sas’.”

“Just say shit like a normal person,” Kurotsuchi agreed.

“How about you both take a shit on your shitty selves and shut up about this?” I suggested.

Naruto burst out laughing.  “Oh my god, babe, are you drunk?”

“No,” I said sourly.  I’d only had two drinks, which was like having a glass of water for me… in my fake dream world…  “Shit.”

Naruto kept laughing.

“You’re drunk, too,” Kurotsuchi kindly pointed out.

“What?!” Naruto cried, aghast.  He then paused to think about it.  “Shit.”

“It’s weird, getting used to this new world,” she said with a sigh.  “Being bad at drinking, being demoted…”

“I don’t think I mind that last part,” Naruto said, shaking his head.  “You still wanna be the tsuchikage?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said.  “Who wants that old fart in charge?”

“You were a good tsuchikage in my world,” Naruto said with a smile.

“I was a good one in my world, too,” she agreed.  “So the geezer can hurry up and retire already, I’ve been the tsuchikage for the last three years.”

“Your private fantasies and reality are two separate things, and one shouldn’t inform the other,” I helpfully pointed out.

“Uchiha, you are savage,” Kurotsuchi said, rolling her eyes.  She then stage-whispered to Naruto, “Does he ever stop being a bitch?”

“Never.”

I threw a kunai at his head.

“See!” he hissed, holding up the piece of his hair that I’d managed to slice off.

“You need a haircut anyway,” I said.

“Aw, I like your matching man-buns,” Kurotsuchi protested.

“I just haven’t gotten around to cutting it,” Naruto said, touching his hair nervously.

“We could do it right now,” I suggested.

“Um, we could do it when everyone is sober,” Naruto countered.

“Lame.”

Naruto looked at me, and I could see the alcohol slowly overpowering his new-found maturity.  “I know you are, but what am I?”

I held up my kunai.  “Scared?”

His eyes glinted.

I wasn’t a very good barber when I was drunk.  I wasn’t bad, just not very good.

Kurotsuchi laughed until she was crying.

“Why would you let me cut your hair?” I complained after she had left and we were finally alone.  My hand was buried in his hair, already missing those long, awful tresses.

“Because you made me!”

“Like I could make you do anything.”

“Babe, I gave up my life for three years to dedicate myself to finding you.”

“I already told you to stop with that.”

He looked at me blankly for a moment before it clicked.  “What, ‘babe’?”

“Yes, Uzumaki, ‘babe’.”

“But I don’t want to call you ‘bastard’ anymore.”

“Then call me by my name!”

“But everyone can call you by your name,” he complained, looping his arm around my waist.  “It feels too… impersonal.”

“You are so damn weird.”

“You do the same thing with all your ‘dobe’s and ‘usuratonkachi’s.”

I sniffed my disdain at that.

“Sasuke,” he said, kissing me softly and carefully.

“Idiot,” I whispered, pushing him away.

“You’re really red…”

I kicked him further away.  “Go to sleep.”

He pulled up his futon next to mine, and promptly started snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow.

I watched him until my own eyes drifted shut.

 - 16 -

  “Why am I so bad at drinking?” Naruto complained, rolling over to lay his cheek on my chest the next morning.

“Why are you invading my personal space?” I complained back, running my fingers through his newly shortened hair.

“Do you want me to move?” he asked, and it was a genuine question.

I didn’t answer, continuing to stroke his hair.

“Talk to me?” he requested.

“Why do you always have to talk about everything?” I asked.  “Haven’t we lived our entire lives not talking about anything?”

“And that went so well for us, babe.”

I pushed him away.

“What?” he whined.

“Do I have to spell everything out for you?”

“Yes, Sasuke, god.  You’re the one always telling me what an idiot I am.  Spell.  It.  Out.”

I let out an exasperated sigh.  “Okay, did you used to have a special pet name for your wife?” I asked.

“...yes…?”

“And what was that pet name, Naruto?”

“...babe…?”

I sighed loudly.

“It’s how I feel about you,” he said.

“That I’m a helpless infant that needs your protection?”

“It just means that I love you,” he mumbled.

“It just means that you’re trying to fill a hole from having your wife of twenty years suddenly gone from your life,” I growled.  “I’m not your hole to fill.”

The look he gave me at that shut my mouth immediately and made it run dry.  “That’s too bad,” he said, his voice low and sexual.

I couldn’t look away from that look in his eyes, and I finally mustered up a very quiet, “Stop.”

Naruto turned away, embarrassed.  “I…”

“Please just don’t,” I said, moving myself farther away from him.

“I don’t get you!” he cried in frustration.  “Well… I do.  But I don’t!”

“What is there to get?”

Naruto stood up and started pacing.

I was tired of the conversation.  Not all of our problems needed to be dissected and discussed to death.  I lay on my back.  “Do my exercises,” I said, pointing my toe at him.

He turned to me, his mouth shaping a series of words, but he gave up on each one of them before they sounded from his lips.

I frowned at him.

He huffed angrily and stomped out of the room.

I didn’t care.  I lay there and stared at the ceiling for a long while until Naruto came crawling back with his tail between his legs.

He started moving my leg carefully.  “Don’t be mad,” he said quietly.

“I’m not mad.”

“You’re something,” he said, adding more resistance.  “I’m mad.”

“Why are you mad?” I growled, trying to keep my breathing steady despite how hard Naruto was pushing my therapy.

“I’m mad because you throw grenades at me and then just move on like it was nothing,” he said, switching to the other leg.

“You just run away anyway, so what do you care?”

He had my leg almost to my chest now and I was shaking from the effort to try and push back.  “I know I shouldn’t run away, okay?  I just had to cool off, and obviously I haven’t cooled off enough,” he said, suddenly easing off of my leg.

I let it drop to the ground and panted.  “I can take it.”

He rubbed my leg absently.  “Can we just go back to yesterday morning?”

“I thought you wanted to talk things out, not fuck them out.”

“How do you say shit like that with a straight face?” he asked, blushing.

I didn’t answer, feeling the heat creep along my own cheeks.  “Say what you need to say already.”

“I… forgot…” he trailed off, his hand sliding up my thigh.

“That was fast,” I said, kicking at his chest with my other leg.

He stumbled back a little, his eyes lighting up in a smile.  “Hey, that was pretty strong.”

“You don’t have to patronize me,” I said with a scowl.

“I wasn’t,” he said, pushing my leg aside and sliding in between my suddenly very open legs.  “You’re getting stronger.”

I looked at him.

His hand landed on the futon over my shoulder as he came in closer.  “I was going to tell you that you were right.”

“I usually am,” I said, not minding his proximity so much as long as he understood that I was always right and he was always wrong.

“That’s what you like to hear, anyway,” he hummed into my neck, settling in there and letting his body relax into mine.

I bit my lip and Naruto gasped softly as we just fit together.

“I am trying to claim back my old life,” he said, kissing my neck very softly.  “It’s not like I’m confusing you with Hinata, but… yeah, you’re right, calling you ‘babe’ and stuff is just habit.”

“So you’re going to stop doing that like you stopped running away from all of our fights?”

“Yeah, sure, if you’re going to stop evading everything and constantly insulting me.”

“Hn.”

“Hn yourself.”

I slid my arm around him.  “I’m not… ready…”

“Not ready for what?” he asked gently.

I shook my head.

He kept his lips pressed to my skin, soothing and warm.  “I’m sorry I told you that I love you,” he said.  “But I do.  I know you’re not…  I’m rushing things.  I’m trying to get that feeling of intimacy back.  The thing is, you and I… we’ve always…  You’re the person I was supposed to be intimate with in the first place.”

I sighed.

“Don’t sigh at me, jerk.”

I sighed more loudly.

“What?  What now?”

“You spent an awful long time yesterday trying to make it clear that you’re not the Naruto from my Tsukuyomi world.”

“Uh, well, yeah.”

“So…”

“So…?”

“Why are you only clever when you want to be?” I complained.  “So you’re doing exactly what you didn’t want me to do, right?  The man you have all this… intimacy with,” I said as disdainfully as possible, “is not me.”

Naruto snorted.  “Now you’re the dumb one.”

“Excuse you?”

“The man I love used to be the boy picking fights with me and giving me longing looks when we were six.”

“Longing looks?” I asked incredulously.

“He’s the boy who found missing cats with me and learned how to walk on trees with me and who, who almost gave up his damn life to save me in the Land of Waves…” he paused, pressing his forehead into my neck.  “He… he’s the boy who decided to take a different path from me, but somehow we still ended up on the same side, saving the world together…  He’s… he’s the man who took my arm, but it’s okay, because I took his, too, and if that’s what it took for us to finally understand each other, then I would give up all of my arms, because that’s the man I love.”

“Good god, are you crying?” I complained.

“Yes!”

I ran my fingers through his hair.  “I did a really shitty job of cutting this.”

“Sasuke!  Focus, dammit!”

I fell quiet, stroking his hair.

“Stupid,” he grumbled.

“...who the hell is stupid?” I growled.

“I just poured out my heart to you and you’re over here being your usual cold bastard self.”

I pulled his hair.

“Yeow!”

“Can you please just give me some time?” I asked softly.

He tilted his face to look at me.  “I… yeah, of course.”

“You know how I feel about you,” I said, touching his cheek before pushing him away.  “Just… give me time.”

He sat up, studying my face thoughtfully.

“Let’s finish,” I said.

He nodded and resumed exercising my leg.