#lance voltron

[stratos-ane]

the requested “keith as ziggy stardust” (featuring lance because the blue suit was him coded and i couldn’t resist)

@iamurpaladin you’re a GENIUS this was the most fun i’ve had drawing them like ever

[bluemantics]

throwing old stuff back in ur feeds as i frantically pen a new fic

Lance breathed in a ragged breath.

In, out.

The soot fogged up his helmet, choking him up, but he still pushed onward. Step after step after step. In, out. His breathing was labored. His armor was dirtied. His limbs ached.

“Keith?” Pidge’s voice rang out over the comms.

Keith had come after Lance when the Galra had made the threat, when Lance dove down into that waste of a planet. At first, he’d been held back by Shiro. Keith was somewhere on this planet now, but Lance couldn’t focus on him. He had other priorities. Keith would be fine.

In, out.

Lance focused on his breathing instead, tuned out the outside sounds of the paladins calling for Keith and him. With each struggling step, his bayard illuminating the way, he dragged himself over to the cave home.

It’s curtains were drawn, and no light came from within. The only sign of life were the heat signatures his helmet picked up.

Fuck, the air was rough.

“Lance, your helmet is broken,“ Allura started.

Lance shut off the comms. Anything distracting him was preventing him from reaching /them./ He pushed his way through the curtain entrance.

There she was.

Huddling under a table in the corner was a small girl, a blue-scaled dragonling humanoid with bright red eyes. She was trembling. Lance got down on his hands and knees, crawling over to her.

In, out. His throat hurt.

“Hey,” he said softly, a rasp tickling his words. “I’m a Paladin of Voltron. I’m here to save you from the fires.”

The alien girl croaked out a whimper. She clearly didn’t recognize him, but her planet was a member of the coalition… fuck. Lance knew what he had to do.

He removed his helmet.

“See?” Her eyes lit up with recognition.

“Loverboy!” she exclaimed. Lance winced at his stage name, laughing outwardly to reassure her.

“That’s right, and I’m here to save you,” he agreed, reaching his arms out to her. Without the meager protection of his helmet, he was really starting to feel woozy. Still, that didn’t matter.

With shaking hands, he picked her up and began to walk outside the cave home and back to Blue.

This time, though, the trek was worse. He couldn’t see as well without his helmet, couldn’t recognize heat signatures or the fastest path back. Instead, he relied on lighting up his footsteps and retracing his steps.

That didn’t last long.

After 20 steps, Lance began to feel dizzy. He lurched, which caused the girl to make a series of clicks.

In, out. He patted her back and continued on.

After 50 steps, Lance started to lose the edges of his vision to blackness. He could feel the mucus in his throat fighting his inhalations. He fought back harder. He would have to reach a level of survival that went beyond what he could handle. To save her.

In, out.

Finally.

120 steps.

Lance fell to his knees.

The girl screamed.

Lance was only a football field from Blue. He had failed.

The girl scrabbled her claws at his armor, wailing, her cries embellished by the distant sound of crackling fire. Lance closed his eyes, listening to her pain, letting it soak in. He’d failed her, and this was his punishment, to lie prone and to hear her suffer. He had failed.

In, out.

He felt a tug to some hidden darkness inside of him.

“Lance!”

Oh, that wasn’t supposed to happen.

Lance felt more than heard the pounding footsteps of Keith Kogane as he ran to his side, kneeling by Lance’s head and cradling it in his hands.

“Stay awake, Lance, I have an O2 mask and we can get the girl to safety—“

“Loverboy!” The girl insisted.

Keith’s head snapped up. Lance chuckled weakly, coughing at the end.

“What?” Keith asked.

“She knows… shows,” he muttered in response. Keith huffed a breath, fogging up his helmet.

“Oh.”

Lance coughed again, and Keith panicked, pulling a mask from his belt. “Stay awake.”

“Loverboy,” the girl insisted again, tugging on Keith’s shoulder.

Lance blinked slowly. The world was slow. Why was the ash now falling on his face in slow motion? Why was Keith putting the mask on so slowly?

In, out.

Lance blinked. The darkness came back. He closed his eyes.

“No, Lance, no.”

Lance wasn’t listening. It was more peaceful, here, to focus inwardly rather than on the voices out there. It was quiet and dark and cool. The fires couldn’t touch him here.

“Loverboy? Stay with me, please. Please.” The rawness in his voice made Lance’s eyes snap open.

“Keith? I’m really trying…”

Words were too difficult, though.

So Lance let his heavy eyelids fall, let the blackness rush in. He felt the mask press into his chin and nose.

“I know, Lance.”

Silence again.

In,

[bluemanticism]

no babe i love your fingerless gloves and your fuckass bob, but maybe you should stop hiding behind columns at important diplomatic parties, yes i know they’re scary to you, yes i know you “accidentally” called an alien a son of a bitch at the last party— oh let’s not be dramatic— you’re supposed to be the leader of voltron, babe, not the support beam of a random castle

[torveiglyart]

Don’t ask.

[salmoninzeeweed]

I want to wear red and blue for klance but what if people think I'm trying to dress up as the American flag umum I don't want that...

[mothmanavenue]

Wasteland au by @slvx0 for her 1k dtiys on insta! wanted to post this here too

[stink-art]

my roman empire is lance's back scar

[slvx0]

Klance sketches yippee!!!

Oh yeah also, there’s gonna be daily posts for this week since I’m just uploading my older art, I already have them scheduled and everything 💪

[radi0activelob1ani]

Some klance stuff ✨️

Also sorry if I'm not active often, uni is really kicking my ass

[rcci]

Lance? Why Lance?

The guy's redemption arc.

[skysmadness]

suit change

[stratos-ane]

idiots.

(happy valentine’s day klancers)

[bluemantics]

Lance threw open a set of metal doors with a loud bang, sending interns with coffee flying as he stormed in.

“Lance!” Allura rushed up to greet him. She was flawless as always, her white hair pulled back into a neat bun. She was dressed in a pink jumpsuit that somehow made her impossibly taller.

“How’s everything holding up?” Lance asked her. He was a stark contrast to Allura in his quickly thrown together jeans and t-shirt. Dark rings circled his eyes, his normally dewy skin was pale, and his whole body felt like it was going to fall apart.

“Just perfectly, don’t worry,” Allura assured him. She pulled a clipboard out of seemingly thin air, running through a checklist at rapid fire speed. “All of the collection has had quality tests and checks. The lighting crew is fully set up. The models have been briefed on what they have to convey and the message of the line… but.” She paused.

Lance felt his face go flat. “There’s a but.”

“But,” she continued weakly, jabbing a pen at her clipboard. “There’s one model that seems to be a bit challenging. He won’t listen to the directors, just keeps posing how he sees fit. It’s making the other models slightly… on edge.”

At that moment, Lance heard the unmistakable sounds of boots clomping over to the door. He looked over to see Nyma, one of his favorite models to work with, storming out.

“I just can’t work with that new guy! He’s the fucking worst. Takes all the damn spotlight and then has the gall to act like he doesn’t know. Dick.” She practically was growling as she left.

Lance raised an eyebrow at Allura. She sighed. “Fine, she’s right. He’s a dick.”

“I’ll take care of it, Llura,” Lance promised. “This is my collection. If there’s something majorly wrong, I’ve gotta fix it myself. You go deal with Hunk, I think I saw him crying over a wind machine in the room next door.” Allura looked relieved, nodding and walking toward the same exit Nyma had left through. Her tall white heels made delicate clacking noises as she left Lance to fend for himself.

Lance inhaled, straightening up and trying to summon the courage of a head designer. This was his first full collection with Altea designs. He was finally done with years of internships, assistant positions, and execution of others’ creative visions. Blue was supposed to be something revolutionary. Allura had assured him that it was unique, but not too bold for an upstart. Floating lines, dramatic blue shades, and sleek fabrics were all signatures of the original line. Lance was so proud of it.

He was not going to let some new model with an attitude ruin his blossoming career.

Lance walked over to the set to get a lay of the land. The set itself was gorgeous; it harkened back to the underwater setting it represented without being too literal, dark and moody in some shots while light and ethereal in other places. Currently, three models were being photographed; Rolo was on the right, laid back with an open shirt, and on the left was Romelle, her skirt dazzling as she moved it around her legs between shutter clicks.

But—

And yes, there was a but—

The model in the center captivated all the attention. Whoever had given him Lance’s favorite pieces from the line was cruel. The dark-haired model was wearing a low-cut black top that rippled out into open, wide sleeves. His bottoms were dark blue and black, Lance’s take on a cross between a skirt and pants. Something that blurred the lines of gender. Even his boots were sexy. Lance wanted to cry.

Then, he saw the problem. Rolo and Romelle were mirroring each other and the energy they’d been told to capture. They were flowing, soft and gentle, shifting naturally from movement to movement.

The middle man was not at all in sync with them. He was dynamic. He was sharp. He snapped between poses, turning his head in a challenging manner or flexing his hand as if he was missing unseen action. It was not what Lance had asked for.

Fuck, it was better.

“Hey,” Lance turned to the photography director on set. “Call cut. Who’s that guy in the middle?”

“Keith.”

“Get him over here.”

The man nodded. Immediately, Romelle and Rolo gravitated toward one another. The other guy tried to stick to the side, until he was pulled over by an intern.

He strode up to Lance with a raised eyebrow, his hands stuffed in the pockets of Lance’s outfit. “You wanted to see me?”

“Hi. Lance. Lance McClain.” Lance stuck his hand out for Keith to shake, eyes trailing the low cut of Keith’s shirt for a moment before snapping up awkwardly. Keith didn’t seem to notice and shook his hand. His palms were rougher than expected for a model, but Lance found that he didn’t mind.

“What do you need?”

“I’m the designer of the line,” Lance explained slowly. Understanding dawned on Keith’s face. He hadn’t even known who Lance was. “I just heard you were having problems with the other models and, well, I can see why.” Keith seemed to bristle, crossing his arms over his chest (which Lance mourned his view of).

“Hm.”

“You don’t match the other models. You aren’t even following the directions you were given. Have you done this before?”

Anger ignited in Keith’s eyes, and he sneered up at Lance. “Well, aren’t you a nice guy?”

Lance grinned in response, which only seemed to irk Keith more. “You know what? I don’t care. Whatever this angsty rage bullshit attitude is, I like it better on this line than what I originally imagined. You added something here, captured a different part of the story.” Lance’s grin only widened as Keith’s confusion grew.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re the new face of the collection. I’m giving you solo shots. A bigger role. I don’t care that you don’t work well with that other flouncy, pretty image of this collection. You’re showing my new angle: the untameable nature of the depths.” Lance’s eyes were practically sparkling with each word.

Keith still wasn’t relaxed, just a little less outright aggressive. He slowly nodded. “Fine? I guess I'll do it.” Clearly, he was mostly confused, his gaze darting up and down as if still taking in Lance's sudden appearance.

Lance made a short, quick clap. “Great. I’ll talk to the directors, get a new spot on the set, and an intern will grab a few more outfits for rotation.” He smirked, doing a quick once over of Keith one last time. “Seems like we’ll be working more closely for a few weeks.”

He turned on his heel, not bothering to wait for Keith's reaction.

Shit, this was going to be fun.

[bluemanticism]

im like keith in the sense that i am nervous about being perceived whatsoever but im also like lance bc if i am not perceived for ten consecutive minutes at minimum, i will die instantly and dramatically

[torveiglyart]

Part 67: Definition of Our Love

Previous - Next

Beginning