#little does he know every time is just a try and fail on keiths part | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

johnnyutah · 1 year ago

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i finally finished this old wip for @stonathanweek (and coincidentally also @stoncyweek2023!)

prompts: canon-verse (day 5), long distance relationship (day 7) summary: Steve comes up with an awesome plan to make Nancy jealous. It backfires in the best way. rating: explicit ships: stonathan, stoncy, established jonathan/nancy, past steve/nancy (and future? 😳) steve and robin being best bros word count: 5660 content info: drinking, phone sex, miscommunication, smut & feelings, pre-polyamory, set before season 4

Also on AO3!

The front door of Family Video slams shut on yet another failed attempt at flirting, and Steve’s head falls into his hands yet a-fuckin-gain. “This is it, Robin,” he declares, elbows digging into the cheap melamine counter and fingertips digging into his temples just above his furrowed brows. “This is it. We’ve got no prospects.”

“That isn’t true,” Robin, the light of his life, tells him, soft and kind-hearted as ever. She pats his shoulder and goes on to correct him, “You’ve got no prospects. I’m just in the wrong city for love; you’re on the wrong planet.”

“The wrong p— you’re a real asshole, you know that?” Steve glances up from between his fingers just to check that she knows that. Robin’s sweet smile doesn’t falter for a moment, confirming her own theory. He’s sure that if they did live in another place, or perhaps another time, Robin could have a girlfriend in no time at all. Steve, however, is doomed. “What am I supposed to do with that, huh? I can’t exactly set off to Mars.”

“You could try changing it up,” Robin suggests. It’s the third time this week she’s suggested that he change. He’s starting to feel like she might mean it. “Instead of ‘ahoy, ladies’…”

She scrunches up her nose, thinking. Steve rests his chin on his knuckles and watches her. “Ahoy… fellas?”

“Ha-ha.” Robin pushes his shoulder again, this time not to comfort but to chastise. “I meant maybe coming up with a different approach.”

“I don’t do the Scoops routine anymore.”

“Right, you’ve switched to local video store geek recommending all your favorite flicks.”

“Geek! I’m not a geek! What about this,” Steve gestures up and down his body with broad, sweeping motions that draw out a flurry of giggles from Robin, “says geek?!”

“Like, all of it,” she laughs. “Every part of it. The hair? Dork. The smile? Total nerd smile— see, look, you’re offended but you’re smiling!”

Through his not-smile, Steve hisses, “What am I supposed to do about my smile? I’m freaking screwed!”

“Calm down, you’ll be fine!” It’s hard to take Robin’s consolation seriously as she struggles not to laugh. Some consternation must show on his face as she finally relents, wiping an eye dry before leaning away, and repeating, “You’ll be fine. You’ve got plenty of time to work out the new Harrington act anyway, and in the meantime, you’ve got good friends who look out for you.”

“I thought you said Dustin and the gang were annoying little kids.”

“God, I meant me, you dick!” This time he’s ready for the blow to his shoulder and he dodges it effortlessly, ducking under the slap and then swatting it away. It’s a good thing Keith left right away after his morning shift, as he hates when they squabble like this in the front end of the store. Not that there are any customers. Steve has apparently frightened them all away with his utter and total lack of charisma. Fantastic.

After he loses— quite badly, really, Robin, where was this killer physique and athleticism when they were being held hostage by enemies of the state— and they resume their work, Steve doesn’t put up much of a pretense of actually working, far too distracted by his foreboding future. The loneliness gnaws at him deeply, scraping down to his marrow until he starts fidgeting, uncomfortable with his own turbulent emotion.

Robin hadn’t meant it, and god knows she’s got it worse than he does, but… it does suck, not having someone and not seeming able to find anyone. Even when things were bad with Nancy there had still been things. And before her, when Tommy and Carol had dragged him to each and every party like a prized stud ready for the auction, he had felt wanted. He can’t remember when he last felt wanted.

Before he can voice this pathetic thought to Robin, she sighs, taking obvious pity on him. “You have any plans tonight?”

“Take a wild guess,” Steve grumbles.

Unaffected, she continues, “Sooo… my parents went to this big Christmas party last weekend, and they brought home these two huge gift baskets they apparently won in some raffle. And one of the baskets had some bourbon, and, um, I don’t really know anything about drinking, so, I… uh, I brought it, and I thought maybe it’d be fun if we. Drank it.”

Steve twists to stare at her incredulously. No part of the story makes even a lick of sense— what kind of parents let their eighteen-year-old daughter drink liquor freely? What kind of parents bring gifts home without occasion or cause? Who throws a Christmas party in January? Baffled, he echoes, “You brought it?”

“I brought it,” Robin confirms.

“In… what, in your backpack?”

“Yeah, in my backpack.” Both of them glance at the staff area, and she says, “What, you don’t want to? If you don’t want to, it’s—”

“Hold on, they just let you have it?”

“They don’t drink.”

“Well… what kind of bourbon is it?”

“I have no clue, doofus. I don’t drink.”

“Never?”

“I’ve never had anyone to drink with.” This confession lingers in the air for a heavy moment— not necessarily a bad one, but it weighs them both down, together. Then Robin coughs, and changes tack, “What types of bourbon are there?”

Steve doesn’t actually know. He’s not sure that he’s actually ever tried bourbon. It sounds both quaintly Southern and exorbitant, but the likely high price tag only adds to the allure. “Alright, we’ll just have to make sure we don’t leave anything for Keith to catch onto us. Guy would flip his freaking lid. But… we could try a glass, or two.”

“Neat,” Robin grins, eyes practically sparkling. “Yeah, I probably won’t have more than a sip.”

Steve sits— well, crashes— down onto the counter beside Robin. His legs dangle over the edge, while she keeps hers crossed. “I think I lost my voice,” he tells her, and in response she passes— well, slams— the bottle into his hand. “No, Robin, I’m serious, I think I sang too hard.”

“They’re making another one of these.” She points, and Steve follows her gaze to the TV set up in the corner over Comedies and International, which is currently playing The Evil Dead, but set to the soundtrack of the album Steve has been blasting over the Family Video intercom. “With the same director and everything. I bet it’ll be terrible; sequels always are.”

“Not true,” croaks Steve. He drinks the bourbon. It tastes a little better with every sip, although it still mostly tastes like he’s hiding in a cleaning closet and drinking heavy acid instead of hanging out with his friend and drinking actual good liquor. If this is good liquor, he thinks he’ll stick to cheap beer. “Dawn of the Dead.”

“Remake, not a sequel.”

“No way, it’s a sequel.” Steve passes the bottle back, massaging his throat. “Zombies and shit.” AC/DC comes to the end of howling ‘Back in Black’, thank God, no more falsetto— and the tape switches to ‘You Shook Me All Night Long’. He starts tapping his heels against the counter to the rhythm.

On screen, Ash’s buddy Scotty shoves one of the zombified girls away with an ax. Robin watches. Steve grimaces. Scotty swears his head off on mute. Brian Johnson wails, “She was the best damn woman that I ever seen!”

“I love women,” Robin sighs, deep and emotional.

“Me too,” agrees Steve fervently.

“And I don’t hate bourbon.”

“Me either.” He reaches for the bottle and she takes a sip before sharing; it burns when it hits his already scratchy throat. Scotty locks the zombie in the basement. Robin reaches back for the bottle. The confession squeezes out before Steve can think any better of it: “I miss Nancy.”

“Oh my god.”

“I mean it—”

“I know you do—”

“I love her, Robin.”

“Oh My God.”

“Listen,” Steve says, hopping off the counter with grace and precision. He completely misjudges the distance between them and the floor, and ends up crash-landing hard; but at least he doesn’t fall over. Robin laughs harder than she needs to as he steadies himself. “Listen. She was my best damn… the best girlfriend that I’ve ever had. And I was so stupid to her. And she left me.”

“I thought she left because she didn’t have feelings for you anymore.”

“Could you just—” Steve flails for a moment, trying not to throttle his best friend and also trying to sort through his drunk thoughts to find the words he needs. “Yes. Okay. That may be true. But feelings come and go!”

“Fine,” says Robin reluctantly. “But, and I hate to put a damper on your drunken dreams of winning her back, but! In this case, Nancy has already moved on to someone else… right?”

Steve snaps his fingers. Jonathan— of course! That’s why that stupid horror movie seemed so familiar; he remembers seeing the freaky poster hung up in Jonathan’s room from when he and Nancy and Jonathan had fought off the Demogorgon the first time around. Steve hasn’t thought about Jonathan in a while, which seems odd given that he used to waste so much time thinking about the guy. Even before their team-up— actually, especially before they had teamed up, he had a penchant for watching the weird Byers kid. “Right,” he exclaims. “Yeah, yes! She’s moved on!”

“So,” says Robin, with the patience of a schoolteacher. “Don’t you think it’s time that you move on too?”

“Totally,” he agrees, catching her off-guard. “Yes. I’m gonna make her so jealous.”

When he looks over, Robin is fully chugging the bourbon. Steve snatches the bottle away, laughing somewhat maniacally— except not at all, this is awesome, he has a totally awesome plan.

Step one is get on the work computer and misuse his employee privilege as a Family Video store clerk. When he fails to type in his password correctly a third time, Robin sighs, finally hopping down from the counter. “I want it on record that this is a bad idea,” she declares, typing in her password anyway before heading to the back room. Steve takes advantage of her absence to quickly scan through their alphabetized account list. Thankfully Byers, J. is close to the top.

He scrawls the phone number down on the back of an empty receipt as Robin closes down the store— beginning with the music, then the lights. They are left alone with only the computer, which Steve quickly shuts off, and the television, which Robin misplaced the remote for. Neither of them can find it in the dark and so they leave Ash and friends to face their inevitable demise at the hands of the zombie demons. It won’t be the worst close they’ve ever done, and Steve refuses to believe that Keith’s opinion of him could sink any lower.

Robin grabs the nearly empty bottle, shoving it into her backpack. Steve grabs his jacket, pulling it on with a wince as they step out of the store into the January night air. “It’s too cold to drive, and I’m too drunk to walk,” says Robin, arms already tightly folded over her chest but teeth not quite chattering yet. “I mean… no, wait, maybe that is what I mean.”

“I got this,” Steve assures her. It’s then that Robin notices the receipt, and lunges for it. Maybe if Steve had full control of his faculties he would be able to hold it out of her reach. She snatches the paper and Steve moans, “Aw, c’mon, give it back! You’re messing up my whole plan!”

“Your plan to get back with your ex by making her jealous? Oh my god, you’re serious.” Robin laughs, shoving the receipt back at him. Her grin is too wide and goofy to cause any real hurt, especially when her eyes crinkle up in the corners and she teases, “Look at that, Harrington! You finally got a girl’s number.”

Steve, smiling back, doesn’t correct her.

The only cab in Hawkins surely isn’t the only cab in Hawkins, but it feels that way as they drive down the otherwise dormant city streets. Most people, Steve reckons, don’t stay up late drinking with their coworkers on a cold weeknight in January. Or if they do, they probably go to a bar close to their office downtown, or even a nightclub.

In the backseat of the only cab in Hawkins, Steve and Robin lean against each other like siblings on a road trip, slouched together thanks to the late hour and all the drinking. He’s sure they smell like shit but they feel amazing, smacking each other’s arms to point out passing landmarks or giggling about the music on the radio. The driver hasn’t commented, leaving them to their own devices as they joke about how they feel like New Yorkers, or like superstars.

The taxi drops Robin off outside her home first, and she leans over to give Steve a bourbon-soaked hug. He relishes in it, trying to remember the last time he got a hug from anyone. Hell, it was probably Robin, and before that, he has no clue. Dustin has been busy with his new Dungeons and Dragons group, and Lucas and Mike were never big on hugs anyway. So he hugs back, still laughing at Robin’s terrible Bronx accent, and as he does she whispers, “You got this, dingus.”

“Thanks,” Steve whispers back, feeling tipsy and joyful and supported— until he realizes that she meant he’s the one on the hook for paying the taxi driver. He settles back into his own seat to sulk.

On the radio, REO Speedwagon choruses, “I’ve forgotten what I started fighting for; it’s time to bring this ship into the shore, and throw away the oars, forever…” and the driver hums along.

Steve’s hand finds its way into his jacket pocket, where his fist closes around Jonathan’s number.

“Hey,” Steve nearly sings, as soon as the call goes through. “Hi. Sorry, I— I know it’s late,” which is technically true, even if he has no idea what time it actually is. But based on the moonlight streaming through the window in the kitchen, he’s breaking several social rules. “I just… It’s, um, it’s Steve. Harrington, in case, uh, you know any other Steves…?”

A woman answers. The receiver slips right out of Steve’s hands and he curses modern, cordless technology, fumbling to grab it before he drops the phone, or worse, the call. “… afraid I don’t know any Steves at all. Can I help you, young man?”

“Oh, shit.” The woman inhales sharply, and Steve’s mind supplements an image of Byers, Joyce. Shit. Of course. “I’m sorry, uh, I’m calling for Jonathan? If he’s even home?”

Sounding much less friendly, the woman pauses. “I don’t know who you mean, but this is a new number. If you’re trying to reach the Byers family—”

“Yes, exactly, yeah, Jonathan Byers—”

“They don’t live here anymore.” Steve crumples up the paper and tosses it, furiously, into the sink. “I have their forwarding number, if it’s very important…?”

“It’s urgent,” Steve assures her, scrambling to find something to write on. He ends up grabbing his father’s fountain pen and writing Jonathan’s new number painfully across the back of his hand.

After apologizing and wishing the wrong number a good night, Steve stares at those messy, ink-blotted digits. Before he can give himself cold feet, he dials the number; he doesn’t breathe once the whole time it rings.

The line picks up again. This time Steve is more cognizant that it might be Joyce, or even worse, Will— the kid would definitely recognize his voice, and while Steve is sure that Jonathan’s impossibly kind younger brother would support him in this late-night endeavor, he’s also sure that Mike Wheeler would definitely hear about it. Which would ruin the entire scheme, of course.

The scheme, which seemed so infallible back at Family Video, swims and wavers in his head now. Steve tries to go through the plan point by point, but it all falls to pieces when a groggy, familiar voice says through the receiver, “Hello?”

“Hey,” Steve says. He leans against the kitchen island, exhaling all the air in his lungs. “Hi. It’s Steve. … Harrington.”

“I only know one Steve,” Jonathan says, dry as a desert. Steve smiles nervously. “Why are you calling? Is something wrong?”

“No, no, all quiet on the Western front.” This nets him a chuckle from Jonathan, so he soldiers on: “I was just wondering, you know, uh… if you wanted to come over?”

Puzzled, Jonathan asks bluntly, “What? Why?”

“I was thinking about you,” says Steve, leaning into it hard. He has charisma, or at least, he once did— he knows how to do this part. “Thinking maybe you could come over and we could fool around.”

Nobody has ever hung up so fast.

Steve stares at the dead phone in his hand. He wonders about the vicious gossip that he’d heard back in high school about Jonathan Byers, that he was more than just weird and a loner. Maybe those rumors really were nothing but rumors spread by small-minded townies. Steve’s parents aren’t home. It would be so easy for him to break into his father’s liquor cabinet. He could probably knock himself out within the hour, and sleep off this whole bad idea. He could laugh about it with Robin tomorrow night at work— I wanted to do what last night? I got some girl’s phone number out of the system? Man, no, I went straight home and went to bed. On an unrelated topic, I need to update the contact information on the Byers file.

Steve presses the redial button.

It rings for a little longer this time, and he can just picture Jonathan deciding whether or not to pick up, leaning over his own kitchen counter with a vein jumping out of his forehead behind his messy, home-cut bangs. Sure enough, when the call does get picked up, Jonathan sounds even more stressed than usual. He demands, “Is this a joke?”

If he’s wrong, and Jonathan’s not that type of person, and he tells Nancy… Steve shakes off the doomed train of thought. “No,” he says, firmly. “Not a joke.”

Jonathan swears softly, so soft that Steve was sure he wasn’t meant to hear it, then: “Are you drunk?”

“Well, yeah,” he admits. Jonathan sighs loud enough to nearly blow the speaker. “What about you?”

“No.” A pause. “I think I should probably be a lot less sober for this.”

“That’s the spirit,” Steve cheers. “Where are you? Can you come over?”

Just as he’s starting to get butterflies, Jonathan cuts through the excitement with a deadpan, “California.”

“California?” He squints at the number on his hand. Is eight-one-eight the area code for California? “What the fuck? Is Nancy there with you?”

“Um.” A very pregnant pause. “No?”

“What… are you… Are you on vacation?”

Once more, Jonathan sighs. “What do you want, Steve?”

“I told you,” he replies, and even to his own ears he sounds bitchy. He adjusts, softening his tone a bit. “Just wanna make you feel good, Jonathan. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“You haven’t exactly kept in touch,” Jonathan retorts, although his voice sounds different now. Steve listens keenly but he can’t hear anything else on the line except the complaining. “I mean, you thought I still lived in Hawkins, and I’ve been gone this whole school year.”

“Well, we’re not exactly friends,” Steve parrots back. That shuts the other boy up alright. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think about you.”

“Steve—”

“Even tonight, hanging out with a friend, I was thinking about you. Should’ve been thinking about girls. I was thinking about you.” Steve frowns. “You and stupid Ashley Williams.”

“Listen,” tries Jonathan. “You’re just drunk—”

“Even back when we were in school together I would think about you,” he admits, low. “Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? I heard what everyone said about you. Couldn’t get it out of my head. It wasn’t the first time I heard that someone could be… like that, but it was the first time I saw a boy and thought that I might be like that.”

What had the scheme been again? Call Nancy Wheeler’s queer boyfriend, rile him up a little? Get him to tell Nancy about it and make her all jealous? What is his endgame here, because only boys who like boys talk to boys about the things he’s talking to Jonathan about right now— and Jonathan isn’t even really reciprocating.

The soft breath is the only sign of life from California. Steve closes his eyes, swaying against the kitchen counter. “And I was so, so fucking stupid back then. That’s how I lost Nance, and that’s how come I treated you like… just like garbage. I broke your stupid camera, and I pushed you around, and when people gave you a hard time I didn’t say shit. I basically made your life hell.”

“You bought me a new camera,” says Jonathan quietly.

“Aw, c’mon, Nance.” Steve grimaces. “That was supposed to be a secret.”

“And I wasn’t the best person back then either. I mean, I can’t think about how I acted in junior high without dying a little bit on the inside. But… um… doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate it,” Jonathan tells him, in that same quiet voice. Steve wonders if he’s trying to stay quiet so he doesn’t wake up his family. Even when Jonathan had repulsed Steve, he’d always been secretly jealous of the closeness of the Byers clan. “And… uh, all that stuff you said, um… I used to think about it too. About… you and Nancy, mostly. It was wrong, I know, and—”

Steve interrupts, “Was it?” He sounds as wild as he feels. “Was it wrong?”

“Um…”

“You home alone, Jonathan?”

“I, uh.” Now there is a rustling on the other side of the line. “Will and El are at a sleepover camp thing for school, and my mom’s working nights this week at this temporary… um… Are we really— I mean, are you really…”

Steve hums. “I’m home alone. Didn’t even ask where my parents are, and they didn’t volunteer the information. But it means I’ve got this big place all to myself.”

Shallowly, Jonathan sucks in air. “Where are you?”

“The kitchen.”

That shocks a surprised laugh out of the other boy, which in turn makes Steve smile bashfully. “You can’t— you can’t have phone sex in the kitchen,” he scolds Steve. “People make food in there! Go to your bedroom, you fucking freak.”

“Look who’s suddenly an expert on phone sex,” Steve teases.

He goes anyway, heading slowly and normally towards the second floor until Jonathan casually drops, “Well, I have been in a long-distance relationship since September.”

Steve trips up the stairs, dropping the phone for the second time tonight. When he picks it up Jonathan is still there, breathing just as softly. Steve takes the rest of the stairs four at a time. He lunges for his bed and collapses there like a dead weight, still wearing his work clothes. Shit, he’s still wearing his shoes. He hears soft laughter coming down the line and, embarrassed about his heavy breathing, demands hotly, “You and Nancy have phone sex?”

“It would be pretty hard to have any other kind of sex two thousand miles apart.” That dry humor is doing terrible, insane things to his body right now. Steve chews his lip, closes his eyes, and fumbles with the button on his jeans. “So you get pretty good at discussing, and imagining. And waiting.”

“The first two sound alright.”

“Waiting can be fun too,” Jonathan tells him gently; his voice is so soft and low that Steve doesn’t realize he’s being seduced until his pulse has already risen. “But, yeah, talking is Nancy’s big thing. … I’m sure you remember that.”

Steve makes a face, giving up on his zipper. What he remembers about his sex life with Nancy is mostly too sad to dwell on, except during his most pathetic, embarrassing shower sessions and wet dreams. Things were good between them, of course— she’s the most beautiful woman on the planet— but after that pivotal time at the party, in this very bedroom, things were never the same. Sex with Steve had begun to remind Nancy of her dead friend, which would have been a mood-killer for Clark and Lois. Really, he shouldn’t have been surprised when she dumped his ass for Jonathan.

“What about this?” Steve imagines that Jonathan is right next to him on the bed instead of two thousand miles away. He turns his head to face the other pillow, but his eyes stay firmly closed. “Shouldn’t you… talk to Nancy about this?”

Once again, Jonathan effortlessly flips his world upside down with a sentence: “We did.” He sounds almost amused. “That’s why I hung up on you. I freaked out, and called her.”

Steve sits up so fast his head spins. “You called her? You— what did you tell her?”

“I told her you were drunk and trying to hook up with me,” says Jonathan, like it’s not a big deal at all. “And then her mother kicked her off the phone and chewed me out for calling the house so late.”

“But,” splutters Steve, “what did Nancy say?”

“She was really excited,” Jonathan admits. Steve, himself, is really excited— in fact, he thinks he might throw up for reasons entirely unrelated to the consumption of alcohol. “She asked for details, and I said I’d let her know if you called back. Then Mrs. Wheeler got on the line.”

He stares at the empty walls of his room, desperately trying to make sense of what Jonathan is telling him. “She wasn’t mad?”

“She was furious. Kept going on about time zones and all that shit.”

“Jonathan, I mean Nancy.”

“Steve, I know. I’m just teasing. You sound so tense.” Steve wonders how any man could feel relaxed while hearing this information. “Yeah, she was excited, and… a little nervous; she warned me it might have been a prank or something, but then I said ‘what if it’s not’, and she said ‘well, if it’s not, then obviously’… yeah.”

Steve gapes. “Obviously?”

“Yeah,” Jonathan echoes. “And asked for details.”

“Makes sense,” he says, weakly. “She’s a great reporter.”

“So, details.” Jonathan’s voice sinks down again, and Steve mirrors the change in tone, lying back down. He’s still reeling from the news that his plot to make Nancy jealous has been found dead in the water, and instead it seems that Jonathan and Nancy have machinations of their own. “Did you listen to what I said?”

“About Nancy?”

“About leaving the kitchen. Where are you now, Steve?”

“Oh. The— my bed.”

Jonathan exhales, “Good,” and Steve starts to melt. “And what are you doing right now in your bed?”

“Taking my shoes off,” he answers honestly, which startles another laugh out of Jonathan.

“That’s… a good place to start, I guess. How drunk are you, man?”

“I just feel… I don’t know. I feel good.” Keeping up the honesty is probably a good bet. “I like that you told Nancy. I like that she… likes the idea. She’s thinking about it, maybe.”

The line is silent, but live with Jonathan’s breathing. Steve’s chest rises and falls in sync. “Thinking about what, exactly?”

Right. Details. “This isn’t what I’d pictured,” Steve tells him. “I never imagined you out in California. In my head, you’re still the same scrawny, skinny kid forever stuck in Hawkins. Doesn’t make sense, you living so far away. Do you have a tan now?”

“Not really,” he admits, sounding sheepish. “I look pretty much the same. Taller, maybe.”

“I doubt it. Bet you’re still small enough for me to pick you up, toss you around.”

“You could try it,” Jonathan huffs.

“Bet you’re used to taking the lead with Nancy,” Steve continues, closing his eyes again. He kicks off his other shoe. “You ever been with someone bigger than you? I mean, someone who could really put you where they wanted?”

“You’re not so big,” says Jonathan. He sounds uncertain— it sends goosebumps down Steve’s arms. “Where would you want to put me?”

“I’d like to pin you down and watch your face as I get you off.” The reaction is immediate— the bitten-off gasp is a sound Steve will treasure forever. “I would want you in my bed, in my car… I don’t know. Everywhere. I’d want you to ride me.”

“Jesus.”

“I’d ride you too,” Steve hastens to add. “I’m not totally unfair.”

Jonathan makes a noise somewhere between a cough and a whimper.

“I used to think about making you suck me off, back when I was still kind of learning what blowjobs were and so they were pretty much all I could ever think about. You have a really pretty mouth,” he goes on even as Jonathan’s breath hitches, “and I think you would look good on your knees.”

“I do,” Jonathan says. “I mean, I would, I— Nancy tells me all the time.”

“What, you suck her off?” Steve laughs, except the noise kind of dies in his throat because Jonathan doesn’t laugh too. He puts the phone down, suddenly desperate to be free of his clothing. Throwing his work vest and shirt towards the dresser, followed by his jeans and briefs, he lies back down and repeats his question. “You go down on her?”

“Of course,” says Jonathan, kind and sweet and kind of dirty. Steve shuffles around until he’s comfortable under the blankets, and he can hold the phone in one hand and his dick in the other. He would usually grab lotion from his bedside table, maybe stop at a non-family video store on the way home from work to pick up a tape. Right now he doesn’t need any of that; he’s too close just from the sound of Jonathan’s voice. “I could do that for you too. I never thought it was something you’d want.”

“Well, you know what they say, Byers.” Steve palms himself, fucking in and out of his fist slowly. It’s too hot, too sensitive, too intimate. He clenches, his muscles tightening as he thinks about Jonathan doing the same. “If you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours.”

Sure enough, there’s a quiet noise other than Jonathan’s voice. The connection isn’t clear enough for him to hear everything, but he can connect the dots. Jonathan says, still sounding strangled, “Did you manage to get your shoes off?”

“Yeah, now I’m working on getting my rocks off.”

A groan, low and a second too long. “Ugh. Nancy could’ve warned me you liked to tell jokes in bed.”

“What, am I not cool enough for you, California? Should I, like, tone it down, brochacho?”

“You’re kidding, but I do actually have a friend out here who sounds exactly like that.” Steve speeds up, his hips thrusting forward in small, jerky movements as Jonathan talks. God, he’s in so much trouble if he’s just getting off to the sound of the guy’s voice. He twists his wrist for a better angle as Jonathan continues, “You’re plenty cool enough for me, Indiana.”

“Hey, you’re Indiana too,” Steve reminds him. “God, I’m so— can you do more of the phone sex stuff?”

“Who says this isn’t the phone sex stuff? Maybe two guys jerking off together, talking about the state they grew up in is high-quality phone sex,” Jonathan teases. Now who’s telling jokes in bed? “You want me to give you the serious script, Harrington?”

“I want you to stop fucking around and put me on loudspeaker,” Steve gasps.

For a beat, Jonathan is silent. Then he does; the audio quality is slightly different, and Steve can more clearly hear skin-on-skin. Jonathan picks up the pace and Steve matches his rhythm, groaning through grinding teeth. When Jonathan speaks, he sounds nervous now. “Better?”

“Almost,” Steve says. “I want you to touch yourself. Keep touching yourself, the way you do when you do this with your girlfriend.” Jonathan’s breath hitches, and the sounds pick up— they are filthy in the best way. Steve is beyond glad they’re both home alone. His legs shake as he keeps going. “Except it’s different, right? When Nancy gets off she seizes up, right, like her whole body goes tight. With us, it’s different, and I want to hear you, wanna hear every part of it. I want you to ruin those fucking sheets.”

“Fuck,” gasps Jonathan. Steve tightens his grip too. “I wish—” and then before he can deliver that wish, he’s grunting, loud and primal and unmistakably masculine, as he comes all over himself. Steve can just picture it, those nimble, pale fingers wrapped around his dick— except he doesn’t exactly know what Jonathan’s dick looks like, so he has to make do with thinking about his own. And right as he’s about to sail over the edge, Jonathan breathes, “I bet Nancy’s getting off right now too.”

Well. It’s embarrassing how instantaneous Steve’s orgasm is after he hears that.

After all the discussing and imagining, as Jonathan had called it, they both come down slowly and in shared, comfortable silence. Steve sinks back down to sober, cold Earth like a fluttering leaf, and even after the reality of what just happened hits him he still doesn’t feel ready to accept it. The hard, unflinching truth is that Steve feels better right now than he ever has after sex, and Jonathan isn’t even here. He thinks he almost feels better right now than he ever has in his entire life. Uh oh.

“So,” Steve finally breaks the quiet post-orgasm haze lingering between them. “Are you coming home for spring break?”

#stonathanweek2023 #stoncyweek2023 #stonathan #stoncy #stranger things #fic blogging

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sundaynightlive · 1 year ago

Text

True Blue (Klance)

Live, laugh, stream Boygenius.

Disclaimer: I mention autism in this and that Keith might be on the spectrum. I'm not neurotypical but I don't believe I have autism, so if the way I did it was in any way insensitive, PLEASE lmk so I can rectify this. My roommate (and best friend) is autistic and while I don't necessarily know their experience I have spent a ton of time with them and have had long, in depth discussions about their experience which is why I felt comfortable writing it. It's a little in line with my own experience, which is why I think it might be slightly off? If it rubs you the wrong way, for sure drop a reply. Peace and love, sweetpeas <3

Also, can y'all tell I'm in a secret relationship? That obvious, huh.

It’s when everybody has dispersed back to their rooms, Shiro giving one last worried glance over his shoulder, that Keith finally walks up to the healing pod, pressing his forehead to the glass (or whatever clear, Altean material this thing's made of) and heaving a deep, shaky breath.

“Idiot,” he whispers.

Lance isn’t usually the kind of guy to be in the midst of the action. Keith’s sharpshooter tends to stick around the high ground and well-covered edges, but today has been an exception. The hallway of the ship had been tight, with little cover and little room to move. He found himself right there in it at Keith’s side, and for the most part he’d held his ground—blocking with his gun, tripping enemies, watching Keith’s back.

For a moment, a fleeting moment, Keith had actually felt incredible fighting at his boyfriend’s side.

And then that moment passed, and everything came to a screeching halt.

It’s a deep flesh wound in the meat of the shoulder, a puncture in the right thigh, and a broken rib. Not enough to kill, but enough to send Lance crashing into Keith’s side, out like a light—and more than enough to give Keith an absolute heart attack.

He sighs heavily, and crumples in on himself to the floor. He’s tired, bruised, and worried. Lance is going to be fine, he knows (he does), but that doesn’t stop the ache that crawls up and through his feet and hands and lungs.

He never wants to see Lance unconscious like that again.

A few hours later, Allura peeks in and tells him they’re having dinner. Keith isn’t the slightest bit hungry—actually, he’s rather comfortable, back pressed against the pod, drifting in and out of sleep and distant memory.

“I’m okay.”

She frowns.

“You should come eat, and change,” she says. Keith shakes his head. No way. Absolutely not. He’s not going anywhere until Lance can come with him, and if it gets too dire, there’s a bathroom a few feet away. A shower, even.

That’s good enough for him.

“He’s alright, Keith,” Allura tries, “Just a few days in there and he’ll be—”

“I know,” Keith interrupts. She regards him for a moment, a long look of concern and confusion, and then relents with a heavy sigh.

“Alright. If you need anything—”

“I know,” Keith repeats.

She hesitates a few moments, and then leaves. Keith closes his eyes, and rests his head back against the pod that contains his boyfriend.

8 months earlier Lance McClain had entered Keith’s room, unannounced, and miraculously ducked out of the way of a boot flying towards his head with worrying accuracy.

“If you’re here to gloat, get it over with,” Keith hissed in his direction, a wild, untamed anger alight in his eyes. He’s… frustratingly beautiful, Keith, with his mullet of dark hair, indigo eyes, and lean muscle. He’s half-dressed, the top part of his flight suit hanging from his waist. Lance tries not to look down at his chest, and fails miserably.

He swallowed that away.

“Keith—”

“Actually, you know what?” Keith basically charged at him, which was terrifying for the first few moments. A finger pressed firmly into Lance’s chest, and he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. He really didnt' want Keith to hit him—that would be a worst case scenario. “Fuck you. Every other mission you’re the fuck up, so I don’t want to hear—”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Lance said, shame and embarrassment burning something fierce in his gut at being called a fuck up. It was difficult, but he swallowed that away, too. “I wanted to see if you were okay.”

That's when Keith faltered.

The finger retracted, and so did the boy, stalking over to sit heavily on the edge of his bed, and then burrying his face in his hands. There was a few moments of silence, and then Lance followed, sitting gently down next to him, putting a warm hand on his back.

He wanted, then, to smooth his hand down porcelain skin, but he refrained.

“I… know what it’s like for someone you look up to to chew you out like that,” Lance explained softly, “And Shiro’s not really a big brother to me, or anything, but I know if Marco or Luis were that hard on me… especially for something so stupid—”

“It wasn’t stupid,” Keith argued, rubbing his face and then looking up at him. Lance swallowed again—Keith was so pretty it was fucking with Lance’s head. Damn this stupid crush he had—it was interfering with his ability to be an effective teammate. He wanted this to be more than that.

Which was so not cool, at least not now.

“I fucked up. Big time.”

“That doesn’t mean he should yell at you like that in front of the whole team. Especially when the whole issue was communication.”

“I should’ve known better.”

“How?” Lance deadpanned. Keith’s eyebrows scrunched up, and he turned to study the wall, as if he was really contemplating. Here’s what had happened—

They planned to infiltrate from different points of the ship, and take it quietly so as to not alert any other nearby patrol ships or junkers. Then, with free range of the ship and a hostage situation, Keith and Pidge would be free to search through databases and stockpiles to see what tech or resources the Galra had been laundering through—a fairly simple endeavor.

What they had not accounted for, however, were the Galra mercenaries posted in certain sectors of the ship. When Shiro had gone to warn Keith of this over the comms, Keith had taken that as—the plan has changed, we’re pursuing action against these mercenaries, and upon following that mindset, had landed him and Pidge in the middle of combat they had not been prepared for, and alerted the ship’s staff before Shiro had gained full control of the hull. This made for a spiral of chaos that was swiftly quelled, but apparently got on Shiro’s nerves, even though the mission had been overall successful.

He was always so worried about unnecessary casualties. Fair, Lance supposes, but they are in the middle of literal war.

“I… don’t know,” Keith admitted finally, “I could have… hesitated?”

“And gotten you both killed?” Lance asked. Keith sighed. He flopped back and Lance followed suit, stretching a little bit. Keith was so close Lance could feel the body heat wafting off his torso. He tried not to think about it too much.

Too much was a relative term.

“Whatever, I’m over it. Let’s talk about something else—what are Marco and Luis like?”

And the rest is history.

They spent the next two months connected at the hip, or at least, sneaking into each other’s rooms late at night to talk about everything and nothing. If Keith needed to vent, he went to Lance, and vice versa. If they were bored, they found each other in an empty part of the castle and found something to entertain them. If Hunk or Pidge were being shitty, or Shiro was being too much, or Allura was being especially pushy, they would give each other matching looks, and go giggle about it elsewhere.

It was wildly beneficial, for Lance, at least. He stopped feeling lonely, and he stopped feeling useless. Not only did Keith convince him vocally he was a necessary addition to the team, but just being friends with him made Lance feel like if nothing else, Keith needed him. Keith liked having him around.

And that was more than enough.

Lance was Keith’s first real experience having a friend. He had a dad, he had a brother, but Lance was a friend. He chose.

Keith could never have avoided falling in love with him.

Being with Lance was easy in a way that’s hard to explain if you don’t already know what he means. Like the way breathing is easy. Keith didn’t even have to try to do it, he just did it.

That, for him, was love.

He’d never really been good with people, or at reading people, or at understanding arbitrary social rules and expectations. It just didn’t… click for him. But with Lance, it didn’t have to click.

“That… kind of upsets me,” Lance said.

Keith started. He looked up from where he was sprawled on the floor, perplexed.

“What?”

“What you just said,” Lance explained, “That I’m the “comic relief” or whatever.” Keith furrowed his brow. His first instinct was to defend himself, and explain why it didnt' make sense that Lance was offended by that, but he stopped himself. They’ve talked about that--getting defensive about other people’s feelings instead of listening to them.

Lance was looking at him expectantly.

“I’m… sorry,” Keith said, finally, “Why?” A distant cousin of a smile passed over Lance’s features for a moment, and then he shrugged.

“I don’t know. I guess it makes me feel like… a joke to you guys.” Keith’s eyes widened. That was not even remotely what he’d meant by it. He was fairly certain that’s not what anyone meant by it, but he supposed he can see that side.

Jeez, had Lance thought that the whole time?

“Of course you’re not a joke to me—us,” Keith corrected, feeling a bit of warmth creep into his cheeks, “I’m… sorry.”

“Getting better,” Lance praised, “What did you mean, then?”

“Well,” Keith said slowly, because what did he mean? “I thought we were just saying you’re good at lightening the mood, you know? It would be… really quiet and depressing without you.” Lance nodded, but he didn't look entirely convinced.

“Well… thanks, I guess.”

“I won’t say it again,” Keith said firmly, because how could he? Lance thinking he was a joke was just about the last thing Keith wanted—he felt bad enough about calling him a fuck up a few weeks ago, even worse now. Damn it, had they all been operating under the assumption Lance got that these were all jokes? Less than jokes, even.

Fuck.

“Thanks, man. That means… a lot.” Keith laid back down, flat on his back, staring up at Lance’s ceiling. The glow in the dark star stickers weren't glowing because it wasn't dark, but he still felt a little warmth at seeing them there. Ironic that Lance could just go to the hull and stare at a hundred-billion real ones, but incredibly endearing besides.

His insides twisted up.

Fuck number two.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Mmhmm?”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“Telling you what?”

“That what I said upset you,” Keith explained softly, staring up at those stars, hoping Lance wasn't looking at him. He was pink—very pink. “I don’t really… get when I’ve said something shitty. And most people just get offended and stop talking to me.” Lance laughed a little at that.

“My niece, Nadia, is on the spectrum. You know, autism? She’s just like that—she struggles with social cues, so we walk her through it just like I did with you. It’s really no problem—actually, it’s the least I can do.”

Keith tried to work out what he meant by that, but he couldn't, so he just stared up at the ceiling for a few quiet moments, contemplating. He wanted to live in Lance’s space forever. He wanted to stay in this room with him, silently existing near each other, no words necessary. Nothing necessary.

God, what did that mean?

“Do you think I could be on the spectrum?”

He heard Lance’s shrug against the mattress.

“Maybe.”

And nothing more was said about it.

Lance kissed Keith for the first time two months after that day in his room, and when Keith melted headfirst into it, he nearly broke away to jump for joy. He didn’t read the signs wrong—this was happening. He and Keith were happening.

“I like you,” Lance said when the kiss broke, “I like you so much.”

“Got that,” Keith replied, pressing his forehead into Lance’s. Lance felt giddy and warm and buzzed all over. He felt like he could fly—like he could launch Blue a thousand feet in the air and jump off and soar. He dragged his fingers over Keith’s neck and through his hair and across his cheeks, almost like he was checking to make sure this was real.

It was real.

“Kiss me again,” Keith breathed, and so Lance obliged him. He’d do anything the boy asked. Forever.

“Did I say stop?”

“No, sir.”

Keith stays in the infirmary for the next 72 hours. Shiro worriedly brings him a change of clothes and Hunk drops by with the occasional meal. They keep insisting that he leave, that Lance is fine, that it wasn’t his fault—he knows that. He didn’t stab Lance, that’s obvious.

They don’t understand when he tells them no.

At first, keeping their relationship a secret was just a means of making sure when they did tell everyone, they’d have a few months under their belt as proof that this was serious, and not a terrible, Voltron-ending fling.

Then it became second nature.

Just as their friendship had been, it became familiar and meaningful to keep their personal relationship to themselves. They were each other’s safe space, and as such, it didn’t feel right to go around announcing to the world that they found comfort in each other. Hell, it felt invasive to even think about.

It feels invasive even now. That’s why he doesn’t explain himself—he just let’s the team think he’s gone completely nuts, and makes himself comfortable at the base of the cryopod, occasionally gazing up at his beautiful boyfriend, looking so peaceful.

In the 74th hour, Lance wakes up.

“I seriously think that shit is bad for humans,” is the first thing he grumbles as Keith helps him out and down onto solid ground, “God, it feels like I have the worst hangover.” Keith can’t help but laugh a little, and Lance grins over at him. “Let me guess—you slept in here on the floor like a dumbass.”

Keith’s smile turns sheepish.

“I couldn’t leave you,” he explains softly, and Lance sighs, shaking his head.

“I’m okay. You, on the other hand, should’ve been sleeping in bed.”

“You were really hurt,” Keith argues as long tan arms slip loosely around his waist, “I was worried about you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy,” Lance replies. Keith melts. He wraps his arms around his boyfriend and holds him close, careful to keep his face above Lance’s shoulder, no matter how badly he’d like to press his nose in it. Lance’s hands smooth over his back softly, and he almost shudders at how nice it feels. It’s so good to be back in Lance’s arms after the past three days of watching him in that pod, so close and yet impossibly far.

Lance presses a kiss to the side of his head. He feels at home.

They stay like that for a while, safely inside each others’ embrace, breath intermingling, and bodies coming loose—Lance from the stiffness that comes with being inside that stupid tube for many hours, Keith from stress.

“Hey, Lance?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you.”

Lance presses another kiss to the side of Keith’s head. He had said it long before this, absolutely ages ago. Not even two months into their relationship—

I love you. Don’t say it back—I wanna watch you fall.

And here Keith is, at the bottom, resting safely in Lance's arms.

“I know, mi amor. I know.”

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shatterinseconds · 2 years ago

Text

blood

Keithtober ‘22 day 10

There is so much blood, so much. Keith’s pale hands are stained red; there’s a red smear on his face from where he tried to wipe the sweat off his forehead. None of this blood is from him.

“I swear to every god in this universe that if you die on me, I’m going to kill you.”

Lance giggles, a little woozy from the bloodloss. He grins up at Keith. “I’d like to see you try.”

Keith scowls. “Don’t even joke about that.”

This dumbass took a shot for him without a second thought; Keith will never be able to repay that act of selflessness back. The only thing he can do, has to do, right now is keep Lance alive until they can get him into a healing pod—he will not fail. He applied pressure to the wound on Lance’s side, and once the bleeding stopped for the most part, he wrapped and cleaned it the best he could.

“You’re the one who’s making jokes all of a sudden,” Lance argues, pouting for a moment.

“I’m completely serious.”

Lance reaches up to boop him on the nose. “I like it when you’re funny,” he says suddenly, without hesitation, and Keith’s heart stutters. “You’re really funny, you know. In your own special way.”

Shocked, Keith sits back on his heels. He’s not entirely sure how to take that—it’s part insult and part compliment, but it’s coming from Lance which is the most confusing aspect about it. “Uh.”

“You’re also really pretty. Like really gorgeous. You don’t realize that either,” Lance easily admits—it causes Keith’s cheeks to pink despite the situation. Lance even laughs at himself. “I stare at you all the time; I can’t get your dumb mullet out my mind, even when I go to sleep.”

It’s too much for Keith. He slaps the comm device in his ear, opening up a channel to the rest of the team. “Lance is losing it; you better get here now.”

“Oh man, what has he been saying? He’s going to hate all of this when he gets better,” Pidge says, probably in an attempt to lighten the mood. And Keith agrees with them; Lance is not going to like what he’s just been spewing, whether it’s the truth or just unintelligible babbling caused by being steps away from death. Shiro confirms that they will all be there soon.

“Hey.” Suddenly, Keith feels a hand on his cheek guiding him to look at Lance again. Lance’s face is ashen but his dark eyes remain clear. “I’m going to be okay. I trust you.”

Nodding in agreement, Keith absentmindedly wraps his own hand around Lance’s and keeps it against his cheek for a moment. His skin is still warm, a very good sign. “You’re going to get better, and once this is all over, you and I are going to have a long chat about what you’ve been saying.”

Lazily grinning, Lance allows his hand to fall back to the ground. “Looking forward to it.”

And that’s exactly what happens. Keith witnesses one of the worst moments of his life but also gains a boyfriend because of it. He claims it as a win and so does Lance, after his complete and utter mortification when he’s fully healed of course.

#klance #voltron #vld #keithtober #keithtober 2022 #klance fic #keith x lance #my writing

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actress4him · 3 years ago

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Black, Yellow, Blue, Green, Orange, Pink... Red

Part 11.

First | Previous | Next

Warnings: referenced gunshot wound, conditioned whumpee

Hunk wakes up from a stint in the pod with no recollection of how he got there. All he knows is that Lance apparently also got out of a pod right before him - still in the infirmary being doted on by Allura and Coran - and that he had been in the middle of cooking what should have been an awesome dinner. The batter is still all over his fingers, dried up into a gunky, stiff mess.

The last thing he expects to hear is that he was shot by Keith.

Of course the whole story is explained to him, and it’s horrifying to think of what Keith’s been through, and it’s obvious as soon as he sees him the first time that he’s not himself.

But still, Hunk can’t help but feel...nervous. He feels bad about it. But the guy did try to murder like, the entire team.

And he’s pretty sure he’s not the only one feeling awkward around Keith in some form or fashion. Coran is the only other one who acts a little shifty, like he’s worried about a repeat incident. Allura and Pidge tend to just stare at him with sad gazes anytime he's in the room. Lance has been avoiding being around him as much as possible, though he’d argue if someone pointed it out.

And Shiro...poor Shiro has taken this whole thing the hardest of all, which is to be expected with the two of them being so close. As usual, he hides how he’s really doing behind positive words and a smile, but everyone can tell that he’s struggling. Seeing his best friend like this is tearing him up inside.

So Hunk definitely tries to keep his anxieties in check when he’s around their leader, but just in case, he keeps his eye on Keith. He hopes he doesn’t actually have to worry about him trying again, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

————————————

Everyone stares at him.

They stare at him, or they avoid looking at him altogether. There’s no in between.

He’s pretty sure they think he doesn’t notice, but he does, even though he doesn’t understand the expressions on their faces when they do it. They look sad. He can’t figure out what he’s done to make them sad.

Then again, he can’t figure out much of anything in this strange place. No one will tell him what his purpose is. They haven’t given him a job, haven’t punished him for not doing a job, won’t tell him anything he’s supposed to do. They only suggest, or prod, or even ask, like they actually expect him to decide things for himself.

He knows he’s a weapon. He’s just waiting for someone to point him at whatever he’s supposed to kill.

Or...or maybe he’s not a weapon anymore. After all, he failed horribly the last time.

He doesn’t know what he is.

————————————

Keith won’t do anything without being ordered to. According to Shiro, the very first night he stayed awake all night because the lights were on and he thought that meant he wasn’t allowed to sleep. He won’t eat, shower, or leave his room without being led or prompted in some way. As far as Lance knows, he hasn’t even spoken a single word since he’s been back.

And Shiro refuses to order him to do anything. Yeah, it’s awkward, it’s not right, Lance gets that, but he has the distinct feeling that ordering him is what it’s going to take. If he thinks he needs orders to do anything, then he’s not going to choose to do it on his own. If they go ahead and order him to take care of himself, then maybe he’ll get used to doing it eventually and not need to be told anymore.

So one day, a few days after the incident that brought this strange, not-right version of Keith back to them, Lance decides he’s tired of the whole not speaking thing. It’s so difficult to tell what the guy needs and wants when he refuses to speak. He pulls the chair next to him out - much more slowly and carefully than he normally would, since every tiny movement makes Keith jump - and sits down.

“Hey Keith.”

That gets him immediate eye contact, though it’s the jumpy, frightened mouse kind of eye contact that has become Keith’s new norm. It freaks Lance out. The Mullet isn’t supposed to be timid and scared, he’s supposed to be grumpy and headstrong and reckless and unable to back down from a challenge.

He ignores it, and the concerned stares of the other Paladins in the room, and plows ahead with his plan.

“From now on, whenever you have something you want or need to say, you need to say it. Out loud. Got it?”

“Lance…” Shiro warns, but he holds up a finger and keeps his gaze on Keith.

“Got it?”

Keith’s eyes have gone impossibly wide, his chin trembles, and he looks like he might be sick. Lance is starting to reconsider this idea. He didn’t want to scare the poor guy, he just wants to help him get used to being...well, human again.

Finally, Keith’s mouth opens the tiniest bit, and he whispers an almost inaudible, raspy, “Yes, sir.”

Sir. That’s not...he didn’t…

Keith should not be calling him sir. The old Keith, the real Keith, would die before calling him sir.

But he spoke. He actually spoke, so...Lance accomplished his mission. Even if now he’s definitely regretting his method.

“You don’t...have to call me...sir. But, uh...yeah. Good job.” He forces a smile onto his face. “That was good, keep it up.”

He gets up from the table without looking at Shiro and escapes to hide in his room for a while.

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yikesharringrove · 4 years ago

Text

His Fault.

Thank you @thinger-strang for the commission! 💕

Read on Ao3

Steve took Max first, grabbing her around the knees and lifting.

He didn’t know which kid was which, just picked them up and shoved them through the hole in the ground.

No thoughts in his head besides getting the kids to safety.

He was still dizzy from the fight, from Max’s wild driving, from being thrown into low oxygen conditions.

He grabbed Dustin.

The last kid to get through.

There was a rumble.

The ground shook.

And Steve stared death right in its face.

A pack of demodogs, heading right for them.

He grabbed Dustin, thought maybe, maybe he could shield him.

If this kid dies, it’s all my fault.

But the ‘dogs passed them by.

On their way to protect from El.

Because their plan didn’t work. Their carefully crafted idea to help El was bullshit.

He pushed Dustin up to safety.

He had brought these kids down here for no reason.

They had all gotten hurt for no reason.

All because of him.

Steve’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel.

He was trying to get himself to get up, get out of the car.

Staring through the windshield at the small service.

Barb’s funeral.

The girl that died right outside his house. The girl who died in his pool.

The girl he killed.

By being too preoccupied with Nancy. By being too much of a stupid fucking jock.

It’s all his fault.

He got out of the car, stayed mostly to himself throughout the service.

He hugged Barb’s parents afterwards, offered his condolences.

He got the feeling that they never really liked him.

That’s okay. He doesn't really blame them.

And if they knew, if they knew what he did to their Barb-

They would do more than just not like him.

He spent the rest of the day in bed, thoughts of your fault your fault your fault whipping through his brain.

He killed Barb.

Steve was trying to think quickly.

It was a little tricky, what with the pounding in his head, the hits he was taking right to the gut.

He needed to somehow talk his way out of this.

Which sucked because talking has never been his strong point.

But he brought Robin into all of this. He had let Erica climb through those vents to get them into the elevator. He had helped Dustin suss out what the message meant.

Actually, he hadn’t.

He had been too fucking stupid to help with that.

No.

He had just encouraged the translation that was happening around him.

Had just walked three people right into the clutches of the Upside Down, and these violent goddamn Russians, and-

That one hurt.

He woke up sometime later to Robin yelling.

“Hey, will you stop yelling?”

“Steve! Oh my God! Steve!”

She sounded, actually relieved.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this.”

Robin was sitting next to him, both wrapped in thick blankets.

They had their own ambulance, Nancy and Jonathan in the one next door.

He had watched them take Billy off on a gurney, watched them slam a defibrillator to his body until his heart started beating again, watched them load him into the back of an ambulance, and take him off to the hospital.

The adrenaline, the heavy drugs, it was all out of his system.

And he was crashing.

“I shouldn’t have roped you into this. I shouldn’t have talked Dustin into translating the tape, I shouldn’t have-”

“Okay, Dingus. Let’s get some things straight. I’m pretty sure Dustin talked you into the translations. I don’t know if you’d be able to talk Dustin into anything. And you didn’t rope me into shit.”

“I mean, I mean with the Upside Down. This whole fucking conspiracy. You deserved to go your whole damn life without knowing any of this.”

“But Steve, I know about it now. The milk has been spilled. So stop crying.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Yes, it is.

“Hi, welcome to Family- Nancy?”

Nancy had stopped in the doorway, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Steve. I didn’t know you were working here.”

“Yeah. You know, with the mall being all, burnt down. And stuff.” She nodded slowly, stock still in the doorway. “Can I help you find something?”

“No. Thanks. I’m just browsing.”

“Well, uh, let me know if you need help. Or ask Robin, maybe. She’s better with the recommends.” Nancy seemed to startle, stepping into the store properly.

“Thanks, Steve.” He smiled tightly at her.

They really hadn’t talked since breaking up.

Of course, they’d spoken in the summer, but that was less exchanging pleasantries, more how do we stop the giant fleshy monster that’s trying to take over the whole world?

Which isn’t quite the same.

She browsed through the aisles, Steve doodling on the carbon pad next to the register.

She smiled tightly at him, a few tapes in hand.

“So, uh, how are you?” They hadn’t spoken since that night. Since he wandered over to her ambulance, checking in with her and Jonathan.

“I’m okay. Just working and stuff. Obviously.”

“And how’s Billy?”

“Managing. He’s in all kindsa therapy and stuff now.”

“That’s, that’s good.” She was all stiff as he handed her her change. “It’s good to see you, Steve.”

“Yeah, Nancy. Yeah, you too.”

He hated how shitty and awkward that had been.

Hated that she was the person he felt closest to for the better part of a year, and now they’re stuck with light conversation and forced smiles.

He pushed her so hard.

Always poking and poking.

Always too clingy, always too emotional, not emotional enough. Too insensitive, or just too much work.

He doesn’t know how anyone puts up with him.

“Hey,” Billy smiled softly at him. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, now that my little nurse is here.” Steve rolled his eyes, smiling back as he sat on the bed next to Billy.

He had brought him to his house from the military hospital.

Billy still had a long road of healing. His scars were pulled together, and the wounds were closed, but everything was still pretty rough.

“Can I get you anything?” Billy reached over for him.

His hands were scarred and rough, and he was still trying to regain feeling, the nerves having suffered far too much damage.

“Nah. Just sit with me.”

Steve took one of his hands, stretching his hand like the doctor had shown him.

“Have you eaten today?”

“Nah. My stomach’s all outta whack today. Don’t know if I could keep anything down.” Steve furrowed his brows.

“Are you, can I make you something? Soup?”

“Stevie, I’m okay. One day’s not gonna kill me.” It felt like the bottom dropped out of his stomach. Something must've shown on his face because Billy was trying to sit up. “Sorry, that was a shitty joke.”

“No, I just-”

“It’s okay. Sorry.” Steve tried to gather himself.

“Don’t like jokes about you dying. Thought you were dead for, for like a week, you know. Before they told us you were stable.”

“Baby, it’s alright. I know it was hard on you.” Steve blinked rapidly.

“But I mean, it’s like, youwere the one, the one in the hospital I shouldn’t,” he stood up, Billy wincing as the bed shifted. “I’m gonna make you something.”

He was holding back tears as he spread peanut butter and jelly onto saltine crackers.

Billy had the best luck keeping it down when he felt sick.

He felt like shit whenever he did that. Got all mopey on Billy.

Billy was the one trying not to die in a hospital bed. Steve was just, doing what Steve does.

Making everything about himself.

He brought Billy the plate, kneeling next to him in bed.

“You okay?” Steve just shook his head, plastering on a nice smile for Billy.

“I’m fine, Bill. Just try to eat? For me?”

Billy managed three of the crackers before he heaved into the garbage bin placed next to the bed.

Steve felt like shit.

Billy’s core muscles were still healing, and throwing up only made him sore, made him tired and in pain.

“Billy, I’m sorry.”

He shouldn’t have made Billy eat. Shouldn’t have tried to make himself feel better by force-feeding Billy while he felt bad.

When he finally stopped, Steve helped him to the bathroom to wash out his mouth.

“I’m sorry.”

“Steve, it’s not your fault.”

“But you said you didn’t feel good.”

“You’re just trying to take care of me.”

Keyword here being trying.

Trying and failing at taking care of Billy.

“Steve, are you busy tonight?” Dustin had thrown open the door to Family Video stomping inside.

“I mean, no but I thought, isn’t tonight your big tournament?”

Dustin sighed dramatically.

“The arcade is closed.”

Dustin had been saving up for months, using the end of the summer to mow neighbors’ lawns.

Steve had even paid him to mow his own lawn.

He and the gang were going to rage for hours, Dustin organizing a special secret prize for whoever got the highest cumulative score.

He had put so much thought into everything, had been so excited.

And the arcade was closed.

“Can I talk to Keith?”

“Be my guest.”

Dustin pushed into the backroom.

Steve could hear his voice, could hear him arguing with Keith.

He came back out, Keith following behind.

“Harrington, I told you, customers aren’t allowed in the back.” He pointed to the Employees Only sign on the door. “Can you even read?” Keith rolled his eyes. Steve studied his shoes.

“And Henderson, I told you, the arcade is closed for renovations. A pipe burst in the storeroom.” Dustin Huffed. “Just, rent a movie or something. But you know, don’t ask for Harrington’s recommendation.”

Keith laughed to himself as he retreated to the back.

“Like I would ask you for a recommendation. I know what kind of movies you like.” Steve forced a smile at him.

“Sorry about your game night.” Dustin shrugged.

“I thought it’d be fun. We haven’t played DnD since Will moved. It just feels wrong without him, I guess. I thought this could bring us back to the fun spirit.”

“It’s a good idea. I’m sorry you’re gonna have to postpone.”

Steve just kinda lived with a big ol’ bit in his stomach these days.

But every time something like this happened, something where his friend was sad, and Steve was completely useless to help him, the pit seemed to grow.

He wonders what happens when the pit gets too big.

Billy stretched his arms above his head, wincing slightly.

“You okay?”

Billy blew out a breath, rubbing his chest.

“Yeah. Just cold. It hurts.” They were standing outside, waiting for the kids to be finished with school.

Steve drove Dustin and Max home, usually brought Billy along with him.

Neil had been one of the flayed, the only casualty Billy said he didn’t feel bad for.

So Max had moved with her mom into a tiny two-bedroom house.

Billy was still staying with Steve for the time being.

“Oh! I got a sweater in my trunk.” Steve ran around to the back of the car, unlocking the trunk and digging through.

He kept his car pretty clean, just his bat, some jumper cables, and a go-bag.

So he should see the sweater right away.

But he didn’t.

He frantically shifted everything around.

“No, no.”

The sweater wasn’t there.

“Fuck are you, are you serious?”

He genuinely could cry.

Billy was blowing into his hands, rubbing them together when Steve slumped back over to him.

“Billy, I’m sorry. It’s not in there.” Billy squinted at him.

“That’s okay.”

“I thought it was, but I must’ve taken it out, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize. Just, you know, come here and make it up to me.” He had a lazy smile on his face. “Come keep me warm.”

Steve wrapped himself around Billy, burying his face in his neck.

“I wish I could keep you warmer. I wish I had that sweater.”

“Baby, I’m okay. Just achy.”

Steve made sure to turn up the heat full blast when they got back in, the kids in the backseat.

“Fuck!”

The bottom of the box had given out, tapes crashing to the tiled floor.

He had been on his way to reshelve everything, after spending all day in the back rewinding.

But here he was, checking each plastic tape for cracks as he tried to find something else to put them in.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington.”

Ah, yes. That’s what he needs right now. Keith standing over him while he cleaned up the mess of tapes.

“What’d you do now?”

“The box, it just fell apart.”

“You know, Robin really went out on a limb to you to get this job.” Keith was standing over him, staring down at Steve sill kneeling on the ground. “Maybe I should just fire you both.”

“Wait, no!”

Steve’s heart was in his throat.

It felt like he was gonna choke on it.

“You, you can’t, I don’t care if you hate me, okay, just, just don’t fire Robin!”

Keith loved to do this. Dangle his measly power as manager over Steve.

Robin said it was some kind of revenge fantasy for how shitty Steve was to him in high school.

Steve just figures he deserves it.

Bottom of the food chain now. That’s where he is.

The guy that thought he was the hottest shit to walk the Earth. The guy that barely graduated. The guy that had to linger around his hometown. The guy has no life. The guy that has no future.

“Why not? She vouched for you.” Keith was eating a pack of M&Ms, crunching each one loudly between his teeth.

“Just, just don’t.” Steve felt like he could cry.

“Then get this cleaned up, and I’ll consider letting you both stay.”

Steve just nodded.

He didn’t think his voice would work without cracking all over the place.

He found a crate in the stockroom, stacking the tapes as quickly as he could.

He liked reshelving.

The organization system made sense, and he could do it easily without having to know anything about the movies, without having to know anything besides the alphabet, and the genre sticker each tape had.

Robin was better with customers.

Better at making change and recommending movies. Better at talking to people without sounding like an idiot.

But he finished reshelving, and had to retreat behind the counter.

“You’re being weird today.”

Steve had zoned out, staring through the front windows.

“Sorry.”

“Bad night?” he just nodded slowly. He didn’t want to tell her about Keith’s little threat. She would just go on a rampage. Probably yell at him a lot. And if Steve being a fuck up didn’t get her fired, defending him for sure would. Plus, it’s not like it’s a lie. Most nights are bad. “Steve, are you sure you’re okay? It feels like,” she glanced around. “It feels like you’re getting, like, worse.”

“Sorry.” She furrowed her brows.

“That’s not something you need to apologize for, you know that, right? I’m just worried about you.”

“Sorry.” Her face pinched up even more.

“Steve.”

“Yeah, I, just you know. Not sleeping much.”

“I could come over? You said it’s better when there’s sound in your house. I can stomp around for a while.” He huffed a laugh through his nose, giving her the biggest smile he could muster.

“That’s okay. I’m managing, Rob.” She raised one eyebrow. “And besides, I, uh, I won’t be home tonight.”

She made a face at him, pursing her lips so she didn’t smile.

Billy had gotten his own apartment with the money the government had given him, a little thank you for your discretion gift when he was released from the hospital.

He had spent nearly a month in a coma, a month in which Steve had only left his room a handful of times. After waking up, delirious, and in pain, he had spent the next six months in heavy rehabilitation, in daily therapy, both mental and physical, in which Steve practically lived at the hospital with him.

They had bonded more than Robin could ever know, both boys spilling everything to one another, every dark thought, every bad memory.

Long story short, they were inseparable.

“Then have a fun night. And talk to Billy. Tell him you’re struggling.”

“I’m not-”

She stomped her foot, giving him a stern look.

“Yeah, okay.”

“Shit.”

Steve knew he had a key to Billy’s apartment.

But it wasn’t on his key ring.

“Are you kidding me?” He knocked on the door.

It took Billy a few minutes to come get him.

“I’m sorry, I, I lost my key.” Billy looked tired . It was Thursday. Billy was a stockboy at Meldvald’s on Thursdays. His doctor said getting a job would be nice, that it would help him rejoin society, make him feel good to support himself, all this shit.

Mostly, it just made Billy’s sore.

“It’s okay.”

“No, but, it’s not on my ring! I don’t know where it fell off, it could be anywhere, you might have to change the locks or-”

“Steve! It’s fine. Just get in here.”

Steve snapped his jaw closed. Billy shuffled back to the couch, groaning as he sat down slowly.

“Can I get you something? Have you eaten? I can rub your back if-”

“Harrington, just come sit with me.” Billy was giving him a little half-smile.

Steve stumbled over to the couch, and tucked himself right under Billy’s arm.

“What are we watching?”

“Some soap. There’s been a marathon all evening. It’s the worst thing I’ve ever seen.” Steve leaned his head against Billy.

He had no clue what was going on. Had a question on the tip of his tongue, ready to ask about the plot points, the characters.

But he’s bothered Billy enough tonight, making him get up to open the door, always, always bothering-

“Hey, where’d you go?” Billy was stroking one rough hand through his hair.

“Nowhere.”

“Robin called me from the video store.” Steve sighed, burying his face into Billy’s neck. “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be. I’m okay.”

“Yeah, you’re always okay.” He said it like he was mad, like he was frustrated with Steve.

He pulled back, sliding to the other end of the couch.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry.” Billy was staring blankly at him. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not mad. What are you even-” he cut himself off. “Steve, talk to me. You’re getting, distant.”

“I’m-”

“Please stop apologizing.”

Steve swallowed thickly.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you. You’re slipping through my fingers, and I don’t know how to help you.”

“I-” Steve’s throat was closing up. “I don’t know what to do.”

Billy shifted stiffly, reaching out for Steve’s hand.

“Talk to me, Baby. You know I’ll listen.”

“I, uh, I just.” His jaw was moving, but he couldn’t form any words.

Billy took his hands, pulling him gently.

Steve let himself be tugged, let himself fall into Billy’s lap.

“It’s all my fault.”

“What’s your fault?”

“All of it.”

“Can you, maybe elaborate?”

“Everything. It’s all my fault.” His chest felt pulled tight, and he couldn’t fucking breathe. “Everything, everything. My fault.”

Billy had no fucking idea what to do.

Steve was breathing sharply, his eyes squeezed closed.

He had both hands in his hair, pulling roughly.

“Steve, hey.” He took his wrists, trying to stop him. “Steve, I need you to breathe, okay? Can you do that?” Steve shook his head.

“Just, just try to take as deep a breath as you can, okay?”

Billy was trying to remember what his shrink had told him, the tips for dealing with his own panic.

But watching Steve fall apart, well. It was hard for Billy to keep it together.

He sat with Steve, holding his hands until he opened his eyes, until he was breathing without Billy reminding him to do it.

“Steve. Sugar. Talk to me.”

Steve was still slumped over, still had his head in Billy’s lap.

He turned to bury his face in Billy’s thigh.

“Sometimes I feel like the world is crushing me. And I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Can you explain that to me? You said everything was your fault.”

“Like, like Barb. She, it was my fault she died, and my fault the kids almost got hurt in the tunnels, and my fault that Dustin and Robin and Erica got stuck in the lab, and, and, and I’m so bad at taking care of you. I can’t do anything right.”

Billy could feel his tears, wet patches soaking through his sweatpants.

“You do a lot of stuff right!”

“Keith told me he was gonna fire Robin today, because I messed up again.”

“Fuck Keith. No way that creep has firing power. And maybe you should talk to Robin. Or go to your boss about him. He just likes going on a power trip with you.

“And as for, well everything, Pretty Boy, none of that was your fault. Barb was killed by, by a monster-”

“At my house, at my party, in my pool.”

“Still not your fault.”

“I thought she had left, you know? I didn’t know she was out there.”

“That just proves my point! You didn’t know she was out there, you didn’t know what was going to happen. That whole event , it had nothing to do with you. And the kids like, fully kidnapped you to bring you to the tunnels. If anything, that’s my fault for, you know. Doing what I did.”

Billy took a deep breath.

“I know a lot about guilt. I know how it feels like you’re just, you’re drowning. And you’re never gonna get to the surface, but that, that stuff. People make their own choices. You can’t control what other people do, you can just control what you do. And you, you do nothing but good. You just love, and you love, and you love. You always do what you think is best, and that’s what matters.”

“I feel bad all that time. Like, like right now I feel bad because, because of course you feel guilty, and I’m saying shit that doesn’t matter, and my problems they don’t-”

“Don’t you dare say your problems don't matter.” Billy was tangling his fingers through Steve’s hair, playing with it gently. “Your problems matter . They matter to me. It hurts me that you're struggling. It hurts me that I didn’t notice.”

“Billy, it’s not your fault.”

“You say that like it’s so easy. You take my guilt and you ease it. And that’s what I want for you.” Steve wasn’t crying anymore, but he was still curled up on the couch, still had his face pressed against Billy’s leg.

“I don’t know how. I’ve been so thoroughly crushed under all this that I’m scared of what happens if I claw through it all.”

“Maybe you won’t feel like shit all the time.”

“Feeling like shit is the easy part. It’s predictable.”

“I know. It’s safe .”

“Yeah. What do people even think about if they aren’t thinking about all the problems of the people closest to them and finding ways to blame themselves?” Billy laughed at that. Steve could feel his belly moving next to him.

It was a nice moment.

“I don’t know. That’s what movies and books are for. When you’ve got shit else to think about because you’re not trapped under a mountain of guilt.”

“Probably why I’ve read so few books, then.”

“We need to start watching more movies.”

“We need to talk about Steve.”

“Hi, Robin. It’s great to see you. How’s your day?” Robin rolled her eyes. She was leaned over the counter at Family Video, flicking through a magazine.

“He had a break down last night.”

“Finally. He’s been hanging on by a thread for weeks,”

“Yeah, try years.” She looked up at him.

“What do you mean?”

“He like, unloaded fully. He still blames himself for the girl that got killed in his backyard.”

“Wait, he thinks that’s his fault?”

“Yeah, and the kids in the tunnels, and also you and Dustin and Erica being brought into the whole mess. And also that he’s bad at taking care of me? Which, don’t know how he got that one. He does a really fucking good job taking care of me.”

“Jesus. He’s like, stressed.”

“To put it lightly.”

“So, what’s up? Where do I come in?”

“I’m planning an evening. A We Love Steve Harrington party.”

“I can be snack duty.” He smiled at her, clapping her on the shoulder. “It just us?”

“Yeah. I figured to leave the kids out of this one.”

“Good choice.”

“Be over at seven.” She nodded once, giving him a two-finger salute.

Steve was curled up, Billy spooned up behind him when there was a knock on the door.

“Go get that, will you? I’m all stiff.” Steve turned around, looking at Billy all concerned. “Go on. I’m okay.”

Billy had to shove him away before he finally went to answer the door.

“Oh, Robin, uh, hey.” She pushed one of her shopping bags into his arms.

“I was invited for an evening of bolstering you up.”

Billy came lumbering in, throwing himself down on the couch.

“I, don’t get it.”

“Robin’s here because you need some lovin’.” Steve’s bottom lip wobbled.

“That’s really nice.”

“You deserve it.” Billy was looking at him seriously.

Steve tucked himself into Billy’s side, Robin shoving herself next to him on the little couch.

Billy had pulled out all his lumpy blankets, and they had already torn into a box of cookies.

Steve was all warm.

Curled up in the blankets, watching The Aristocats.

“Thank you, guys. For this. It means a lot.”

“Can it, Dingus. Thomas O’Malley’s gonna sing.”

#sorry if this looks like shit on mobile #yikes writes #steve harrington #billy hargrove #harringrove #robin buckley #fav platonic soulmates #Dustin Henderson #harringrove fic #commissions #fic commissions

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harley-sunday · 4 years ago

Text

Encore [epilogue]

Summary: The new Disney+ show ‘Encore’ brings together former castmates of a high school musical, tasking them with re-creating their original performance in a high school reunion like no other. Emotions run high as you face faded friendships, long-forgotten controversies, killer choreography, and an ex-boyfriend you haven’t seen in eighteen years.

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader [unnamed OFC, nicknamed ‘Ace’)

Warnings: Language. NSFW

Word count: 3.1k

AN: This is it... The epilogue of Encore’s Encore. What a ride, huh? I had so much fun writing this, diving into this backstory, and making sure these two knuckleheads found their way to each other in the end :) Hope you’ll enjoy the last part, but please let me know what you think! ♥

eL, I owe you something chocolate for all the hours you’ve spend in this daydream world with me. Thank you so, SO much, sweets!

Masterlist

“Nic,” you answer with a smile, putting your phone on speaker, “we’re almost there.”

“Ok, good,” she says, “cause these potatoes are done.”

Chris chuckles beside you, “Two minutes, Nicole.”

“Step on it, Evans,” Nicole groans, “I’ve got two very impatient kids here who, I’m sure, aren’t above killing their mother if we don’t start eating soon.”

“Nicole,” you laugh.

“What? I’m serious,” she protests. “Please tell me you remembered to bring the-”

“It’s in the trunk, Nicole,” Chris reassures her with a smile. “We’re pulling up now, so you’re good.”

“Oh thank God,” Nicole says as she hangs up.

“I’ll leave the door open for you,” you tell him, before you give a kiss. “See you soon.”

He winks and sits back, trying to hide from view as you make your way to the front door.

The door opens before you even have a chance to ring the doorbell and you are greeted by two very excited boys who both run up to you and throw their arms around your waist. You run your hands through their hair, “Hi guys,”

“We’re gonna watch you and mommy on TV!” Robby exclaims, while he takes your hand and leads you inside. Leo’s still wrapped around your waist, his feet on yours, and so you penguin walk through the hall and into the kitchen, where you find Nicole and Keith.

“Hi,” Nicole says with a smile, planting a kiss on your cheek, “you had a good flight?”

“Not too bad,” you tell her as you give Keith a hug.

“How’s the apartment?” She tells Leo to let go of you then, and when he doesn’t listen right away she throws him one of those mom-looks that makes him do exactly what she wants.

“It’s fine,” you tell her, taking the glass of wine she’s offered you, “I’m not sure all my stuff’s gonna fit, but-”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t just move in with him, I mean-”

“Nicole,” you berate her, one eyebrow raised. “Have you met me and my commitment issues?”

“Yes, I know, taking it slow, blah blah blah,” she says while she pulls a face. “You know you’re just gonna be at his place all the time, right?”

“I know,” you agree with a nod, “but it’s nice to have, like, my own place, at least until he gets back from filming Knives Out, you know? I don’t- It would be weird to stay at his house when we’re not technically back-”

“Oh, come on!” She throws her hands in the air then, “You know what, I give up. Just let me know if you need help decorating the new place or whatever.”

“I love you,” you tell her, making a kissing face.

“Uhu,” she says, trying to keep a straight face but failing. She pulls you in for a hug, “It’s good to have you back, babe.”

“MOM!”

“Oh shit,” Nicole curses quietly and lets go of you. “Here we go.”

You pulls up your texting app and hit <send> on the draft you typed earlier, which simply says:

Now.

“Mom, Leo hit me!”

You follow Nicole into the dining room where you find Robby, a red spot on his cheek that confirms his story, and a very guilty-looking Leo. Before Nicole has a chance to say anything there’s a knock on the front door and you see the confusion on Leo and Robby’s faces when they quickly realize an unexpected guest has shown up.

It’s then the door to the dining room opens and you see the boys’ eyes widen in shock when they see who has just stepped into their house. You throw Nicole a wink and step back, letting your back rest against the wall as you watch the scene in front of you unfold with a smile.

“Hi boys,” Chris says, using the deeper voice Steve Rogers is known for. Holding Captain America’s shield in front of him he salutes them, before he sets the shield down and walks over to where they’re seated, kneeling in between them.

Leo finally seems to have found his voice again and looks from Chris to Nicole, “Momma! Cap’ain America is here!”

“He sure is, baby,” Nicole says with a smile.

As if on cue, both boys jump out of their seats and throw their arms around Chris’ neck, giggling when he stands up, carrying them to the living room with ease.

“Come on,” you nudge Nicole before you set your glass down, “Chris can handle those two, I’ll help you get everything on the table.”

She tells Keith to go take some pictures, maybe even a video so that, when necessary, they can help Leo and Robby remember about the deal they made with Captain America about being kind to each other. Once you’re in the kitchen she lets out a staggered breath, “I really hope this will help with all the fighting.”

“It will,” you assure her, gently patting her arm. “Captain America shows up, you listen, right? Those kids, oh Nic,” you let out a laugh, “they’ll be on their best behaviour from now on, because Captain America will find out if they’re not.”

After a dinner filled with stories from Leo and Robby, trying to impress Captain America with whatever they can think of, you settle down in the living room, your episode of ‘Encore’ just minutes from airing.

You and Chris sit down on the couch, Robby on his lap, while Leo snuggles up on yours, but only after both boys agree that Leo gets to sit on Cap’s lap after the second commercial break. Keith and Nicole are snuggled up on the love seat and you watch them out of the corner of your eye, smiling when you see Keith tickle Nicole which earns him a gentle slap on the wrist, followed by a kiss.

The episode starts then, the boys clapping and cheering loudly whenever they catch a glimpse of their mom. You can’t help but cringe when you see the footage of that first day, the awkward hug you gave Chris of course shown in its entirety. That’s the only time there’s any focus on you and Chris, which you’re thankful for, glad that whatever was going between you two didn’t transpire in rehearsals enough to make it into the final cut.

You smile when you see parts of the performance on screen and look away in embarrassment when they show the scene between you and Chris, making out in Kenickie’s car. Keith wolf whistles and Nicole winks at you, while the boys look up at you and Chris, confusion written all over their faces.

Robby, now in your lap, takes the lead, “You kissed Captain America.” It’s not so much a question as it is a statement and you’re not sure how to reply.

Chris steps in, “She did, but it’s super secret, so you can’t tell anyone that you know, ok?”

Robby and Leo nod fervently, excited to share another secret with Captain America.

“So, am I dropping you off at your place, or-” he says with a grin.

You shake your head and laugh, “You can, but then you’d have to drop yourself off there as well and I don’t think Dodger would be too excited to spend the night alone.”

“That’s what I thought,” he says as he drives past your apartment, speeding up a little to make his point, a cheeky grin playing on his lips.

You turn towards him in your seat and stare at him for a few seconds, memories starting to flood your mind now that you’re driving through Sudbury again together for the first time in eighteen years. You let your bottom lip roll between your teeth while an idea starts to form.

He looks over at you, “What?”

You shrug, “Remember that time you took me for a drive and we ended up at Great Meadows?”

“Yeah-”

“Yeah.” You reach out your hand and let it rest on the top of his thigh, “Wanna take me there again?”

He swallows hard, the double entendre not lost on him, and he just nods, gripping the steering wheel just a little tighter.

You let your hand travel further up his thigh and cup him through his jeans, drawing a sharp breath from him when you squeeze ever so slightly. It’s about five more minutes to the parking you were referring to and you keep your hand in place for every second of them, your thumb rubbing back and forth in languid strokes.

His breathing picks up and you can tell he’s trying to keep his cool, but the way he grows harder under your touch betrays his efforts. He curses quietly, “Fuck, Ace.”

“Uhu,” you reply with a sly smile and another squeeze.

He pulls up to the parking then, and you’re relieved to find it empty, not sure what you would have done if there’d been other people around. Before you have time to say anything he’s unbuckled his seatbelt and puts his hand over yours, keeping you in place, grinding against your hand.

You take your hand out from underneath his and unbuckle your seatbelt, while you tell him to slide his seat back. He does and watches you intently, no doubt curious to see what you’ll do next. You throw him a wink and move around in your seat, your ass now hitting the dashboard. Planting one feet firmly on the ground, you throw the other over his leg and slide onto his lap. It takes some effort, but finally you find yourself straddling his thigh.

Your skirt has ridden up and you can feel your soaked panties press against his jeans, a shiver running through you when you feel him flex his muscles. You cup his face and pull him in for a kiss and as you do you buck your hips, sliding over his leg, a moan escaping you from the friction it creates.

“Ace,” he breathes against your lips, his hands on your hips to keep you in place.

You give him another kiss and let your hands fall to his jeans then, your fingers unbuckling his belt with ease before you undo his button and zipper. One hand finds its way into his boxers and takes him out, and you press yourself against his leg when you see he’s completely hard.

Your thumb runs over the tip, coating it in precum. Pulling back you look at him and you feel the heat rise to your cheeks when you let a bit of spit fall onto your hand, your eyes never leaving his. Both hands are on his cock then, working in tandem, while he grabs onto your hips and helps you ride his thigh in earnest.

It isn’t long before his head falls back against the headrest, his breathing more ragged now, and you can tell he’s getting close from the way he thrusts into your hands.

“I’m right there with you,” you whisper, feeling your orgasm starting to build.

He flexes the muscles in leg again and pushes you down harder as he slides you from his knee to his hip and back.

You keep running your hands up and down his shaft, faster than before, and then you lean forward and put your mouth to his ear, “Come for me, Chris.”

He shakes his head while he tightens his grip on your hips, lifting you up, and you whimper at the loss of contact. He kisses you, hard, and then puts one hand on your lower back, pushing you against him, while the other takes his cock from your hands. “Wanna come inside of you,” he growls, his voice low and dangerous, and you almost come right then and there.

You put your hands on his shoulders and slowly lower yourself onto him, a moan escaping your when he fills you up effortlessly. His hands are back on your hips then, helping you ride him, setting a pace that you know will get both of you there quickly.

Burying your face in his neck, closer now than you were before, you sneak one hand in between you to play with your clit. You want to tell him you’re about to come, but then he bucks his hips at the same time he pushes you down and the words get stuck in your throat because your orgasm washes over you instantly.

You feel him come inside of you not much later and he wraps his arms around you, cradling you against his chest and whispering sweet nothings in your ear as you both come down from your high.

When you wake up the next morning Chris’ side of the bed is already empty and you figure he must have gone out for an early morning run. That is until you hear Dodger bark somewhere on the other end of the house, which is weird, because Chris told you he usually takes his dog along on his runs. You decide you might as well get up, feeling well-rested after your early night yesterday, but still longing for some coffee.

You start to make your way to the kitchen, but halfway there you are greeted by an excited Dodger, who you give some well-deserved scratches before continuing your mission to get some coffee. Your brows knit together when you see a bouquet of red tulips on the kitchen counter, which you are sure weren’t there yesterday.

“I was just gonna get you,” Chris says as hands you a plate with two Danish, and a cup of coffee while he pulls a face, “I hate to rush you, but we have an hour before we need to leave, so you kind need to haul-”

“What?” You look at him, shaking your head, “What are you talking about?”

“I can’t- It’s a surprise,” he says with a wicked grin. “So just- Eat your breakfast, and I’ll go take a shower, ok?”

“Ok,” you draw out, even more confused. You watch him walk out of the kitchen and turn towards Dodger, who’s at your feet hoping you’ll drop a bit of Danish, or maybe just both. “You in on this?”

Dodger barks quietly, which doesn’t really help. Still, you sneak him a bit of your Danish before you sit down at the breakfast bar and try to figure out what the hell is going on.

You’re in the car about an hour later and Chris still won’t tell you where you’re headed, but when he turns onto the I90 after twenty minutes or so, you are fairly certain you’ll end up in Boston, even though that leaves about a thousand places he could take you to.

He’s unusually quiet and so you figure it must be something important but there’s just no way of telling what is happening right now. When he pulls up on Salem Street about thirty minutes later you’re even more confused, almost certain that you’ve never been here before.

When you round the car to join him on the sidewalk, he takes your hand and leads the way down the street until you get to what looks like a barber shop. It confuses you even more, because are you here to watch him get a haircut, or?

You follow him inside and you’re surprised when the guy behind the counter greets him as if they’re old friends, telling him Dave will be with you guys in a second.

“Chris,” you whisper, gently tugging on his hand.

Before he has the chance to respond a guy walks through the curtains behind the counter and walks up to you and it takes everything you have not to stare at him, because he’s almost twice the size of Chris. This must be Dave, you figure, and you watch as he gives Chris a hug.

“How you doin’, kid?”

“Good,” Chris smiles. He nods towards you then, “This is Ace.”

You throw him a look because why would he use your nickname, but it’s then Dave gives you a hug and you find yourself a little stunned at how gentle he is for such a big guy. Before you have the chance to ask any questions, Dave beckons you and Chris to follow him through the curtains and it’s there things get even more confusing.

There’s a chair set up, but it isn’t a barber’s chair, and you glance at Chris, hoping to finally get some answers.

“I’ll just eh-,” Dave says then, “I’ll just go grab something from the back,” and disappears through another curtain, leaving you and Chris alone.

Chris takes your hands in his and gives them a gentle squeeze, “Remember when I told you that I got that ace of hearts tattooed on what was supposed to be our ten-year anniversary?”

You nod, slowly starting to maybe connect the dots, but it isn’t until you realize what today’s date is that you let out a gasp, “Oh.”

“Yeah,” he nods and smiles, “Happy twenty-year anniversary, Ace.” He tugs on your hands, pulling you close before he wraps his arms around you, his mouth close to your ear when he says, “It’s time to start fixing things.”

Dave reappears then and asks Chris if he’s ready. Chris nods and takes his sweater off, before he sits down in the chair and Dave starts prepping his skin. Chris holds out his hand to you and you’re quick to take it, standing next to him and watching in awe as Dave starts to fill in the broken line of Chris’ tattoo, the colour red he’s using matching that of the existing heart perfectly. You give his hand a gentle squeeze to let him know that Dave’s done not much later and let go then, so Chris can get up out of the chair and admire his tattoo in the mirror that’s hanging on the wall.

Dave throws you a wink, “Everything as it should be.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a smile, for some reason feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, as if the enormity of what Chris has just done only now hits you. You watch as Dave places what looks like saran wrap on Chris’ chest before he hands him a tube of cream and some instructions on how to take care of it the next couple of days.

Walking out of the shop not much later Chris looks at you, a tender look in his eyes, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you nod, a moment of clarity suddenly hitting you.

“So,” Chris asks, hesitating a little, “am I dropping you off at your place or-?”

“No,” you say as you let go of his hand and turn towards him. You cup his face ih your hands and push yourself up so your lips ghost against his, “You’re taking me home.”

#chris evans x reader #Chris Evans fanfic #Harley Sunday x Chris Evans #chris evans #Encore

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f-117-nighthawk · 3 years ago

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Playlist Update? From MY Brain? More Likely Than You Think

can't remember the last time I posted these all together but I just put a few new songs in. I've been playing Arknights bc STARSET songs keep being used in the trailers, and then I was listening to Transmissions while making dinner, and uhhhhh there's two new Transmissions songs on the playlists, plus whatever else the spotify links needed to update to my ever-changing apple versions.

This is just the main playlist, because this one is now 3h 40m, and the other three playlists are about an hour each. I’ll give them their own post tomorrow. Under the cut, because it's also Write Random Snippits and Include Important Lyrics time

Dark Matter

Surprise surprise, this one’s got probably the most work done on it. A lot of that is moving things around, a few deletions, and the additions.

DM now starts with Your World Will Fail, Dark Matter, and Eater of Worlds. Turn the Lights Out still kinda applies, but I stopped vibing with it starting everything, and wasn’t really sure where else it should go so it got dropped. It’s role is sort of picked up by a UtA song later? Anyway, the opening three are still very much about not only the birth of [REDACTED], but the birth of the universe itself. And that’s why it feels better to start out with YWWF. Because it is the start.

(Your world will fail my love/It’s far beyond repair/Your world will fail my love/It is already there)

(Bring me your soul/Bring me your hate/In my name you will create/Bring me your fear/Bring me your pain/You will destroy in my name)

(Can’t imagine the violence/The rage and the love in my madness/I am the eater of worlds and I’m looking for someone to feed me)

Remnants of Stars is a hook to Filaments at this point, but stays way up here because the thing it’s about connects back up to those three ^ and is something slowly realized by the Paladins throughout the series. There’s kinda three different points that they realize something new about this (at the moment, I Am the One, Cosmic Vertigo, and Centigrade).

(Shed all you know and make way for a galaxy of light/Answers found hidden inside the smallest stone/Bringing forth a new way of life/Open your heart to the sky)

Apocalypse 1992 hasn’t changed. Still about The Fall, still the turning point for the entire damn war. Still about poor Krolia. Still the Rogue One of DM. It happens between parts of Awakenings, detailing the rise of [REDACTED] and the final hours before the destruction of everything sentient species knew beforehand.

(Fly high through apocalypse skies/Fight for the world we must save/Like tears of a unicorn lost in the rain/Chaos will triumph this day)

Apex is the final moments of Apocalypse 1992 from the Red Lion’s perspective, and connects nicely (just as in the albums lol) to the next UtA songs. Which we’ll get to in a bit.

(Brother mountain/Now we sleep/For a thousand years/I will see you again/Something is coming/Coming for me)

You Keep What You Kill covers the slow degeneration of the Empire between The Fall and the Battle of Arus. The knowledge harshly taught by the Thuanial War is forgotten under the influence of Zarkon, Haggar, and [REDACTED]. Marzin and Galraasa quickly rise the ranks as the Empire’s left and right hands, like omens of destruction before them. The four are the ‘holy half-dead,’ the ones who shape the devouring of the universe before them.

(Defying dimensions/These ruthless creatures will steal your soul/Breaking away from the chains of mortality/They won’t be taken down/Bow now to the holy half dead/The master to death mongers calls)

The Glory and the Scum is partially here bc I missed having Delain, I’ll freely admit that. (Delain split up! Like six months ago! I’m still sad!) Here, it’s (most) of the reason why Krolia isn’t around until MGHM. Think Winter Soldier-ish. It’s also from Krolia’s perspective as she’s talking to Kolivan in a conversation I implied in Shatterpoint. Perhaps it shall see the light of day.

(Look at what we've done/Take a step back/Shake your head at what we have become/We're the glory and the scum)

The Seven Sisters is about Keith, mostly, and connected to Closure via its influence on Child From the Stars (Lost in the Dark) and also to Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Also the thing about the Pleiades has kinda become A Thing associated with my two favorite halfbloods.

(I cast my hope upon The Pleiades/The Seven Sisters who would come for me/They’d fall to Earth to grant a child’s dream/But I’m still waiting)

Starlight is the Adashi song. Here, it’s the sad part, based around the time that the SFSS Genesis launches for Kerberos. It also is sort of about Shiro’s thoughts throughout the war as he watches ‘from distant skies’ (and influences String Theory kinda)

(At night the earth will rise/And I’ll think of you each time I watch from distant skies/Whenever stars go down and galaxies ignite/I’ll think of you each time they wash me in their light/And I’ll fall in love with you again)

Waking Dream and Abyss are Awakenings. They’re specifically the Red Lion waking up on Sendak’s ship to her new Paladin, but also sort of the rest of the Lions as they find new Paladins for the first time since The Fall (and, also, an accidental hook to the end of Filaments just by virtue of being on the same UtA album…)

(Centuries like flowing streams as years go rushing by/Waiting in the dark for afterlife)

(Open my eyes in a daze/How long has it been? Am I so out of place?/Warmth I can no longer feel/My mountain is gone, I’m surrounded by steel/The strangest of structures arises ahead/Seems to be held up by nothing/Where have I gone, do I dream?/How can the stars be all I can see?)

Who Will Save You Now is about the Paladins in First Contact. It’s the video messages they send to their families, the warning that Something Is Out Here that they need to prepare for. It’s a declaration of protection for Earth, but a recognition that the Paladins may not be able to do what they say.

(I will not take from you and you will not owe/I will protect you from the fire below/It’s not in my mind/It’s here at my side/Go tell the world that I’m still alive)

Then there’s The End of the Beginning. Which is, well, the eponymous fic. And don’t forget the String Theory connection! Fun fact: part of the last chapter leads directly into part of String Theory at the moment.

(Every night I die just a little/All this time, I’m caught in the middle/All your life, you fought with no winning/This is just the end of the beginning)

A Simple Plan is about anything but a simple plan. Lotor is making his secret bid for the construction of the Sinkline ships, but there’s one more thing he needs before it can come to fruition. Haggar has suspicions, and knows one thing that she needs to keep from both him and Voltron. Team Voltron is still struggling to fit into their new roles, especially with a Black Paladin who adamantly does not want to be Black Paladin, and is in desperate need of one thing to fix the last of the damage done during the Battle of the Sarnan Nebula.

(How long can we hold off ending?/How long can we pretend we’re ok?/No one goes on fighting it forever/I know I’m better this way)

Memories of a Girl I Haven’t Met. Such a short song for such an important fic. It skips all the way over Naxzela to the Mission to the Baaria Shipyards, the first major offensive that isn’t somehow connected to canon (even if only a very very small part of it is actually at the shipyards lol). This is also the song that solidified Keith’s very queer identity in Dark Matter. And more Pleiades stuff!

(In this lonely place, bathed in silence and thoughts of you/I can’t see your face but I’m trying to envision you/So are you really out there? Are you awake with memories/Of a boy you haven’t met yet who’s wished upon the Pleiades?)

There’s another fic in here that I’m still waiting for a song to catch my ear, but it’s pretty big so I’m putting it in here. For the moment, it’s called MGHM 2.0: Electric Paladinloo. Featuring the Whispers, Voltron, and a few mullets.

And then. Hoh boy. The beast of beats. TRIALS (reimagine), Dark On Me, String Theory, and I Am the One. We’ve got [REDACTED], we’ve got [spoiler], we’ve got the first major turning point in the entire war, and the first revelation of the true nature of [REDACTED]. Hence the honor of being the separation point of my two main DM folders. TRIALS is the first part, the horrifying realization. Dark On Me and String Theory itself are from Shiro’s perspective. I Am the One is… an image song? I guess? That’s all I’ll say on that. (I would like to note that the STARSET songs bar OWtT tend to be about the Shiroganes…)

(Hear me from the bottom/Forged in regret, I'm the silversmith/Doomsday, you we had it coming/Marching the streets with an iron fist/Obey no more in silence/The steel in our hearts will be monuments/Today, they'll hear the violence/We'll rise from the dark like Lazarus)

(You're the cause/The antidote/The sinking ship that I could not let go/You led my way, then disappeared/How could you just walk away and leave me here?/Light the night up, you're my dark star/And now you're falling away)

(You don’t believe in space/You don’t believe in light/You don’t believe that anything is well beyond your might/We walk across the sky and beneath the ocean floor/We’re never going anywhere we’ve never been before)

(I am the one/I am the architect to rule your fate)

House on Fire is the aftermath of String Theory, and a large vibe of We ARE Struggling Together! It’s about family, never letting go of something you care about, and the slow act of trusting.

(So I’ll just hold you like a hand grenade/You touch me like a razor blade/I wish there was some other way right now/Like a house on fire we’re up in flames/I’d burn here if that’s what it takes/To let you know I won’t let go of you)

Belgrade is The klance song! It is a) a bop b) always stuck in my head because it is That Good. The line in the chorus about ‘sweet songs of seduction’ is eternally funny to me bc a)they’re both ace and b)QPR’s don’t usually involve seduction. Belgrade also leads almost directly into…

(We pretend in the darkness/We pretend the night won’t steal our youth/Singing me the sweet songs of seduction/Let me be the fool, fool, fool/Who will live and die for you)

Here to Save You is about Sam. Mostly. It’s also about Pidge. And Zaivorge cannons.

(A slave for humankind/I made sure I would survive/To stay alive/Now it’s time to move on/When there’s nothing left to prove/I’m coming to get you)

Iron is the third Closure fic (the second is End of the Beginning, forgot to mention that. They’ve slowly moved away from actually being related to it in anything but name and general idea). It’s about Keith coming to terms with parts of himself, and learning how to use them to great effect. Also has a huge info dump about the Blade.

(You can’t live without the fire/It’s the heat that makes you strong/‘Cause you’re born to live/And fight it all the way/You can’t hide what lies inside you/It’s the only thing you know/You’re embracing that, never walk away)

The second major turning point in the war is Monarch, Birthright, and Firewall. I really recommend reading the whole lyrics for Monarch, because the entire thing is very much a Lotor song. I had a bit of trouble picking a lyric to use here. Monarch is here because Lotor is also the ‘singer’ of Birthright, and both songs are to a very specific high-level target of the Coalition. Firewall is a little different as it’s a Team Voltron song not a Lotor song, but happens because of the same thing the other two do. They’re all not exactly a direct result of Iron, but they wouldn’t happen how they do without it, and then [REDACTED] swings back into the fray and things learned in String Theory/the framing story for Through Apocalypse Skies hit in full force.

(I am not the person you remember from before/The one you patronized and stepped on, the one you hurt/And I have pulled the arrows, now my skin has become stone/No longer am I prisoner to your empty fucking words)

(The voices in my head have all begun to sing/(The voices in your head have all begun to sing)/And they sure as hell hope I am listening/(I sure as hell hope you are listening!))

(They come to your dreams with illusion/They come to bring shape to your mind/You know how to stop the intrusion/We all have to fight for our lives)

and then, The Day the Earth Collapsed

(How much time has been elapsed/Since the day the earth collapsed?)

Here Comes the Reign doesn’t come into full effect until several months after Birthright/Firewall, but starts with The Day the Earth Collapsed. It’s largely about Haggar and [REDACTED]

(You made something they can’t take away/Now bring the fire of the burning sun on everyone)

Supersonic is here… kinda as a placeholder? Things have shifted around since its original purpose, and frankly it’s here still as a framework for what I like to call The Meme Battle. It’s generally about the increase in Coalition support and general winning as they go after warlords in the aftermath of Feyiv, culminating in I Need a Hero which is, of course, The Meme Battle.

Yes, it’s the Shrek version. It’s the Meme Battle.

(Supersonic, polyphonic, this is our war/Mustering the armies, marching faster than before)

(I need a hero/I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night/He's gotta be strong, and he's gotta be fast/And he's gotta be fresh from the fight)

But Tonight We Dance isn’t exactly a klance song, but it’s here for them. On a diplomatic mission gone wrong, the Red and Blue Paladins of Voltron uncover a literally-buried government conspiracy, a rebel cell, and nearly die. A normal days work for the two of them. But they’ve really gotta stop having relationship milestones in the middle of a warzone.

Another reason it’s here is Tonight We Dance is a very aro song to me. “A language universal, but I speak not its tongue” hits hard. I felt like I needed a bit in here to remind listeners/readers that romance isn’t a language Keith speaks. And it becomes very explicit in this fic, just like Belgrade.

(Tomorrow we might wake in servitude and silence/I will give you everything if only you would have me/Tomorrow we will sweat and toil/Our hands will quiver, caked with soil/Tomorrow we'll give it one last chance/But tonight we dance/But tonight we dance!)

But Tonight We Dance is the last of the Closure fics, which is why it’s here. Closure in general is a lot of Keith’s character development and some of the struggles he goes through to accept his place in the universe and the fact that yes, he does have people that care about him. The last fic is me shining a brighter light on Closure’s chorus and taking a ‘last goodbye’ as never needing to say it again

(I am the child from the stars/That got lost in the dark/Between heaven and hell/I am forced to live on/I am the cause when you sin/I am the demon you skin/But there is no more tears to beautify/This is my last goodbye)

Then we step back into the universe-level action with Soulbound. Revelations from String Theory and Firewall swing back in with a vengeance on a joint Whispers-Voltron mission, leaving them reeling and Krolia questioning her very identity.

(Soulbound, endlessly forever/Locked between the darkness and the light/Don’t drown in the swarming, blackened rising/Hold on to humanity and fight)

About three months after that is My Darkest Hour and Faster Than Light. Haggar realizes something and goes searching for her fifth [spoiler], sending the Blade and the rest of the Coalition scrambling. These also lead directly, and I mean directly, into…

(When the sun comes crashing down/When the world is spinning round and round/I will face what must be my darkest hour)

(Once more we’re flying fast as light/Dark matter passing in the night/Pursued by a force we can’t outrun/As we hurtle towards a dying sun/We maneuver through the remnants of a moon/On the solar winds of supernovas/There is not a place to hide, the Matriarch is close behind/It’s plain to see she’s coming for us all)

Cosmic Vertigo and Other Worlds Than These. Together they are the second of two revelations in what, exactly, is [REDACTED]

(Banish me like burned down planets/Write my fate with sparkling lies/I am the universe; you're just one sky)

(Pull the wool out from your eyes/It won’t shade your frail belief/In the end we cannot hide/There are other worlds than these)

Godhunter is Team Voltron, well, hunting for gods, even as one of them disappears.

(She’s been watching for a century/With hatred, and with scorn/If you know the hunter’s coming/Then you hide or keep on running/'Cause she’s slain the gods before)

Trophy Hunter, Ember, and Redemption are the culmination of Godhunter. I’ve been thinking of them as akin to the suicide mission in Mass Effect 2, if that gives you an idea of what the hell they run into. Also I switched which specific Redemption is on the playlist, because I was listening to Red Handed Denial again and their Redemption was vibing way more than the Hammerfall one. They link up to Godhunter and Soulbound in subject matter, and lead directly into…

(You, you won’t escape me, I’ll rise from the deep/In this final moment, no words left to say/I can’t let you be when a life fades away/You, you won’t escape me ‘cause I’ll set you free)

(Dark matter falling from the sky/Dancing flames reflecting in your eyes as you watch them burn/Watching all your riches witches burn)

(Remember me not for the mess I’ve made/But who I could have been/Finally I’m going home)

World On Fire, This is a Call, The Reckoning, The Wind That Shapes the Land, and Louder Than Words. Switched the order up a bit so it makes more sense chronologically, because the message ‘sent by forces beyond salvation’ has to get there before the reckoning can begin.

(World on fire with a smoking sun/Stops everything and everyone/Brace yourself for all will pay/Help is on the way)

(This is a call to action/This is a call to arms/All lives for one, together/There are no false alarms)

(I see your face, find peace of mind/Between the madness and the sadness and the fire burning/The end of war, the great divine/We’ll see the day of reckoning)

(Search within/Uncover the will to win/Turn against the tide that washes o'er/Find the strength to fall and rise again/Open up the gates, unleash the force/I am the wind that shapes the land/Old as time and twice as strong/Oceans arise at my command/I alone can carry on)

(We have the force to fight/We have the blinding light/A war is more than heard/Coming in louder than words)

#i am dark matter; your road to ruin #dm playlists #guess who spent two hours on this! again!#as usual!#long post #i'm teaching in the morning and it's one am #oops

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snaileer · 4 years ago

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Chips & Salsa, Chp 8

Keith had decided that Altean medical beds were the worst thing to curse the universe since the discontinuation of 2-in-1 hair products.

At least he definitely thought so from the last 30 minutes he’d spent sitting on one. Coran was still looking for the right salve or something for his bruises. He’d tried to get out of it but Shiro had stared him down all the way from the armory to the Medbay.

Even Keith wasn’t immune to ‘The Look.’

“Aha!” Coran jumped in triumph, holding up a small container like treasure, “I found it!”

Keith tried to get off the bed again, “I told you, Coran, I don’t need any treatment or-”

“Sit.” Shiro rumbled.

“But I-”

“Sit, Keith.” Shiro glared back. Keith would never admit that he pouted as he settled back on the medical bed, it was only a little childish spitefulness. His brother sighed again, “I know you hate doctors but it is only by the grace of god your nose isn’t broken. He almost-”

“Actually, his face is mostly unharmed.” Coran piped in as he got closer. Shiro raised an eyebrow in confusion as the Altean started applying the cream to Keith. “Yes, Lance certainly did a number on him, but there is a degree of restraint. His nose is bruised, a little bloody sure; but it wasn’t hit with anywhere near enough force to break it.”

Keith winced at a bloom of pain on his jaw and growled, “Then why does it hurt so much?”

Coran scoffed and moved to collect more salve as he mumbled, “Probably because I chose the one without pain relievers in it.”

“Coran…” Shiro gave him a stern look, but Coran shrugged it off and kept applying the cream.

“What? I’m not team leader, I have no problems showing favorites,” He said incredulously, “And besides, restraint doesn't mean he didn't hit hard. He just avoided your important bits, y’know, eyes and such. Could be much worse. In fact, this one time Alfor and I had a nasty run-in with some street thugs on a Gaali planet. Nearly ripped my ear off those fuc-”

“Not the time, Coran.” Shiro stepped in, handing Keith his jacket as he hopped down from the bed. “Keith, you need to talk to Lance.”

“What!? He hit me!”

“I don't want to hear who started it Keith,” Shiro followed him out of the room, “You and Lance have always been at each other’s throats, but this is different.”

“It really isn’t, Shiro.”

“Yes, it is. We both know that Lance wouldn’t have commented on your scoff, wouldn’t have taken it that far.”

“Yeah, obviously, I got that. So, what? You want me to just shut up? Stop talking to him?”

“No.” Shiro sighed, “We don’t need to be walking on eggshells around him, god no; but we still have to recognize that he’s gone through something traumatic. Is still going through it.”

“So did you Shiro. And he took advantage of your sympathy. I’m not going to give him mine, because clearly, he only cares about himself.” His voice grew in agitation.

“That’s not true, Keith, and you know it.” Shiro said, trying to convince Keith to just stop being so stubborn.

“Then why can’t he act like it!”

Shiro looked back over his shoulder, then over the other.

“What the hell are you doing, Shiro!?” Keith shouted. He was sick of his brother always-

Shiro crossed his arms and glared down at Keith, “I’m trying to find who you think you’re yelling at, because I know for damn sure it’s not me.”

Keith growled and grit his teeth, “I’m not up for your stupid-”

“Try again.”

“I don’t-”

“No.”

“What do you mean ‘no’? I was trying to-” Keith threw his hands in the air at Shiro. Shiro and all his stupid vagueness.

“I mean, no. You don’t get to write him off this quickly. I want you to give him a chance.”

“I already did!”

“Then give him another one.”

“Why!?” Keith shot back.

“Because he deserves it,” Shiro answered, his words solemn enough to shut Keith’s mouth with a snap. “Don’t you think, that after everything, everything we’ve been through, everything he went through, everything he went through for us.. don’t you think he deserves another chance? Don’t you think he deserves a few chances?”

“But I- But he- We can’t just-” Keith shuffled through refusals, but each one fell short.

“I’ve been where he is, Keith. And it isn’t as easy as ‘go back to normal.’ Surviving that… it takes everything.” Shiro took a deep breath to steady himself, “You can’t afford to be kind, or caring, or selfless. And even when every, single, part of you rushes to save somebody,” He paused and made eye contact again, “You have to push it down.”

Keith stood silently for a moment, looking back at Shiro. Sorrow, guilt, regret washed over his face because he hadn’t been able to save Shiro.

Not just Shiro, his brain reminded him.

Keith shifted his eyes away, staring at his shoes. “Is it really going to be that hard to get him back?” He said softly, the air fragile.

“We still have to try.”

Keith twitched his lips back and forth, clenching and unclenching his jaw. Rolling the debate over his tongue. He hated to back down from an argument.

“So?...” Shiro questioned, raising an eyebrow and leaning back on his hip. Keith sighed dramatically.

“Fine.” He threw his hands up for good measure, “I’ll give him another chance.”

“Finally! God, I thought I was gonna have to bribe you or something.” Shiro dropped his arms from his chest in exasperation, “I swear, for how much you two care about each other, it’s ridiculously hard to get you to just talk.”

“What?”

Now it was Shiro’s turn to sigh, “Nothing. Just… trying to get this team to function is like pulling teeth. And I very specifically refused my parent’s desire for me to become a dentist.”

Keith gave a breathless laugh, “Ha!” He looked Shiro up and down, “Like you’re any better.”

An affronted look grew across Shiro’s face, “I’m not-”

Keith took that moment to dash down the hall, away from any more lectures.

“I’m not that bad!... And apologize to Lance!” Shiro shouted out after his rapidly disappearing shape. Keith threw back a rushed ‘will do!’ as he made his escape.

Shiro stood in the hallway, unmoving for a second. Thinking.

“Oh! Number one, you’re still here,” Coran walked out from around a corner, “Did you need something? Why are you just standing in the middle of the hall?”

“No reason…” Shiro paused, “I think I’m just now understanding why my grandmother got paid so much to be a matchmaker.” He stared off into the distance; his face the picture of resignation.

“Ah! A noble profession indeed! Y’know, one could say that I’m responsible for Alfor and Melenor getting together. Pah! The kingdom would have fallen without me!”

Shiro resisted the sudden urge to remind him that it did.

Instead, he listened to Coran regale him with tales of how he saved the castle (“more than once, might I add”), while they walked, side-by-side, through the corridors.

-x-x-x-

Lance ran his hands across the grass. Trying to pick out each blade of green beneath his fingers. He couldn’t.

It made sense, honestly. In a weird sort of way. Same reason the clouds never moved across the picturesque blue sky. Same reason that though he could see the wind shift the grass, he couldn’t feel any breeze on his skin.

It was fake. A hologram. The wonders of alien technology to create a world that seemed so real and yet-

Wetness dripped onto his cheek.

Lance squeezed his eyes closed tighter and tried to ignore it. To relish in the momentary sense of peace.

The peace that always came after a fight. As petty as it’d been, his fight with Keith had helped. He needed it; to fight, to fight without restraints or routine practice. Just to fight, to grapple for the right to exist like he had in the-

Something blocked the light in front of him, casting a shadow over his face. He peeked open an eyelid… Just in time to see a blob of saliva dangling right above his eye.

“Kaltenecker!” Lance flung himself out of the cow’s drool range. He groaned, awkwardly rubbing his cheek against his shoulder in a desperate attempt to wipe it off.

“That’s so disgusting!”

“Mooooo,” Kaltnecker glanced up with half-lidded eyes as she continued to eat at the spot where he was just laying.

“I can’t believe you’d betray me like this! Oh, the pain!” Lance put his hand to his forehead dramatically, “How ever will I go on?!”

Kaltnecker, seemingly unbothered by him, continued chewing. Lance tried to sneak a glimpse at her without breaking character, disappointed to see her lack of reaction.

“Oh, tough crowd, huh?”

She turned to the side, flicking her tail at him dismissively.

“I bet…” he paused and got to his feet, “THIS’LL change your mind!” Lance jumped at her, aiming for surprise, “Raahhh! Oof.” He hit her side like a brick wall, Kaltnecker sparing him no more than a look.

“I think I’d forgotten how hard it is to mess with cows.” He narrowed his eyes at her, then shrugged and smirked, “Oh, well.. Guess I’ll just have too....” Lance took a couple steps away, before turning back, “Lay on you instead! Ah-Ha!” He leapt onto the cow’s back like a starfish, searching for enough grip to stay attached.

He leaned his head down to her eye-level, “Still nothing, huh girl?” She blinked at him, smacked her lips, …. And then kept chewing.

“Lance?” Both cow and paladin’s heads shot upright at the voice. Hunk stood in the doorway with a bucket and a weird container next to him.

Kaltenecker found this infinitely more exciting than Lance’s efforts at bothering her and a loud ‘MOOO’ came from below Lance.

Uh oh.

Kaltenecker galloped for the door, suddenly full of energy, hauling Lance along with her as he held on for dear life.

She finally stopped in front of Hunk’s feet, pausing for a moment until-

“Hoe, don't do it-” Lance scrambled to get off her in time, but failed as she plopped down on top of him. Sitting like a dog.

Lance groaned at the sudden weight, resigned to trying to keep her tail from slapping him in the face.

“Hey there big girl! Excited to see me?” Hunk’s words only served to make her tail slap harder. Lance struggled to lean around her enough to see what he was doing.

Hunk pulled a package of some type of ‘alien-hay-feed’ out of the container at his feet. Hefting it into his arms, he carried it over to the small stall they had for the cow, Kaltenecker following behind him dutifully. Finally releasing Lance.

“Are we sure you’re not giving her too much of that stuff?” Lance groaned and rubbed his sides.

“Nah, Pidge calculated the perfect amount, I just don't think you're supposed to have cows sitting on you.” Hunk waved him off as he emptied the food into the trough. Hunk perked up like he’d remembered something, “Oh! Pidge! I promised her I’d help fix the glitches in the-”

“Then go, I’m sure Kaltenecker will be fine,” Lance assured him as he got closer.

Hunk glanced from the cow, to Lance, to the bucket he left by the door, “But I have to-”

Lance followed his line of sight, “Oh! I can do it buddy! Just go do your computer thing,” He smiled at him and went to grab the bucket.

“Are you sure? ‘Cuz I can stay if-” Hunk’s hands started fidgeting as he crumpled up the feed package and came closer.

“Gooo. I’ve done this before! Or did you forget who taught you?” Lance got behind him and playfully started urging him out of the room.

“Who? Your Uncle Leo?” Hunk said as he dug his heels in.

“No, me!”

“I think I distinctly remember Leo teaching-” Hunk caught Lance’s eyes, joking glare and all, “Fine. Fine, I’ll go. But I’m making ice cream for dessert so make sure to bring the milk by the kitchen so you can help before dinner.” Hunk smiled back at his friend as he was pushed out of the room. It was nice to have someone take over with Kaltenecker, he was finally free to work on stuff with Pidge like he’d been putting off.

Behind the doors, Lance picked up the bucket and faced Kaltenecker with determination.

“Now you have to pay attention to me, pretty girl.”

-x-x-x-

By the time Lance had finally, finally gotten Kaltenecker to cooperate enough for him to milk her, he’d already wasted half an hour.

So he had absolutely no qualms about leaving her alone in her ‘pasture’, and he was definitely not sulking.

Still, the whole process satisfied something in him. Something about the actions just brought him back to his childhood trips to Uncle Leo’s dairy farm.

And yeah, they were in space, not south eastern Cuba. And yeah, the cow they had was definitely genetically or hormonally modified by aliens to keep producing milk.

But it is what it is. And Lance would take what bits of home he could get.

Home.

A surge of homesickness rattled through him. It ached. A bone deep ache that he hadn’t paid attention to in so long and-

It was quickly pushed out by ringing.

Right. That.

Lance pulled his mind away from thoughts of his family, of any happiness he used to have. It was all gone for him now, and the ringing seemed to hate any happiness he even tried to scrounge together for himself.

Something clicked. If the ringing grew every time Lance thought about his family, or his home or-

Ow.

With the Galra, when he’d thought the ringing was self-inflicted, that it was his punishment; it’d made sense for his happiness to make it worse. Why should he get to be happy, when he’d taken that from somebody else? Why should he get to keep his family? When he’d ripped someone away from theirs, permanently.

And he’d thought hearing the screams of his opponents, his fights, his kills, his victims was fair. Justified. Why should he get any peace when he’d taken any chance of it for them?

No.

This wasn’t on him. Yes, he deserved the guilt he felt. And yes, one day, he’d see retribution for his actions, but that wasn’t what this was.

This was Haggar.

Haggar trying to rid him of his memories. Of his home, his family. Of his team. Haggar trying to rid him of his hope.

Rid him of weakness, a voice whispered, No weaknesses, nothing to chance.

The memory of that phrase made him grit his teeth.

Haggar was such a bitch when she was being condescending.

Lance took a break from his thoughts to peek his head into the kitchen. Still empty, thank god.

He loved Hunk, he really did, but there was no way he was sitting through another awkward team meal. Especially not right before they did something potentially hazardous to his mental state.

Again.

He quickly dropped the milk on the counter and left as fast as he could. He had somewhere to be, things to do, and a theory to test.

But first, a change of clothes.

x-x-x

Keith was sick of looking for Lance. I mean, seriously! The guy is over six foot, he shouldn't be that hard to find! Keith grumbled as he turned another corner in his search.

It was just his luck that he’d been chosen to ‘collect’ Lance. Shiro wasn't even subtle about it! ‘Give him another chance’ ‘He deserves it’ ‘blah de blah de blah de blah.’

“Hey Dipshit,” Keith glanced down at the phone in his hand, not at all surprised to see Pidge’s face on the screen.

“Yes?” He said irritably.

“He’s in the pool room.”

“Fine. Meet you guys in the Lounge room.” Keith quickly shut off the phone and spun around to go the right direction.

Of course Lance would be wasting time swimming while they were all waiting for him. It was becoming unfortunately normal for him to skip team meals. And everybody else just let him! Shiro never let Keith skip meals.

Keith opened the pool doors fully ready to shout at Lance, --

Only to find himself stopped short and mesmerized by the blue paladin.

Now, one thing you have to understand is, Keith grew up in a desert. He didn’t really like pools. The community pools were generally cesspits of germs and packed to the brim during the Arizona summers. And that’s if he could convince a foster parent to bring him along.

This was decidedly not the case for Lance.

Even from the doorway, Keith could tell where Lance had haphazardly thrown his towel to the side before jumping in. And based on the amount of water collecting on the sides of the pool, he’d been here for a while.

Keith watched as Lance flipped off the wall, turning into yet another lap, without even a pause. He hadn’t even realized how close he’d gotten until he felt water splash his boots.

He growled at the wetness soaking into his feet. Shouting it was then.

“Lance!” Keith yelled. Nothing, “Lance! Lance! LANCE!”

There! A stutter in the smoothness of his actions.

Lance flipped around at the other end of the pool and started back towards Keith.

“Finally!” Keith crossed his arms and waited for Lance to finish. Meaning that he’d completely missed Lance’s smirk forming under the water. And that he was utterly unprepared for Lance to kick an entire wave of water at him the moment he was close enough.

Now Keith really shouted.

“What the hell Lance!” He yelled, then continued trying to get his jacket off before it would be ruined.

Lance scoffed playfully as he hefted himself out of the water, “It was worth a try to see if that mullet was any sort of salvageable when wet,” He grabbed his towel and turned a cursory glance at Keith, “News Flash: the answer is no, there’s no hope at all for the mullet, it’d be a mercy just to cut it all off now.”

Keith was left a little shocked by the almost normal comment from Lance, before he finally registered what he’d said.

“My hair is not that bad,” He growled, “And your hair’s not any better now. So there,”

“Oh, I’m well aware my hair is a disaster but unlike you, I don't make a routine of hacking it off in the bathroom.”

“It’s efficient!” Keith threw his hands up.

“It’s ratchet at best, Keith. But still, I am going to have to cut it soon, it kept getting in my eyes on my free-stroke.”

“Wouldn’t be a problem if you weren’t swimming for like 3 hours straight.” Keith said snidely. Lance paused to glare at Keith, then went back to wrapping the towel on his head.

Once he’d finished he started walking towards the door, making Keith follow, “Did you know that as it turns out, the pool’s easier to access when you actually go through the elevator entrance? Rather than some off-ramp vent airway?” Insert pointed look at Keith. Insert Keith blatantly ignoring said look.

“It was your idea that got us up there.”

“It’s not my fault you’ve never seen Emperor’s New Groove. Besides, I actually have a reason for swimming this long.” Lance answered as the aforementioned elevator started moving.

Keith scoffed, “Yeah, I’m sure you have plenty of excuses, Lance. And yet, you still missed dinner, and you’re still late to the team meeting.”

This time it was Lance who growled, “Let me talk, Keith, I’m serious, this is about the ringing.” That made Keith pay attention. He looked at Lance next to him, startled a bit by how stern he looked. Especially with a towel piled on his head.

“I’ve always loved swimming, and it’s been years since I’ve had the opportunity. The Garrison only allows the pool to be used in simulations, not for leisure.”

“Really? You call doing a hundred laps ‘leisure’? Wow, Iverson must’ve been so upset.” Keith rolled his eyes and ignored the look he got from Lance.

“Swimming makes me happy, it reminds me of my family, my home, everything I love about earth.” Lance said wistfully. But Keith’s eyes caught the slightest wince at the end of his statement. “And something that I’ve just now realized, is that Haggar didn't just want me to fight, she wanted me to lose hope too. So every time I think about my family, or I think about Earth, or even you guys, the team, I-” another wince, “The ringing gets worse.

Keith stopped dead in his tracks, not even noticing that the elevator had opened to let them out. Lance turned back to hold the door for him, and Keith rushedly stepped out, once again following Lance mindlessly.

“So you mean-.. Haggar tried to-” He couldn’t figure out how to phrase this. Was there really any good way to say, ‘Hey, an evil witch tried to make you into her own personal death drone,’?

“Yeah. And it worked.” Lance said softly. Keith hated that tone, he was becoming uncomfortably familiar with it, and much preferred Lance’s sarcasm.

“I mean, I think it worked. Not so much now that I know, but.. When I was still there… Before I knew what the ringing was… I thought it was fair that I wouldn’t be able to think about my family without it hurting. I caused so much pain there, it was only fair I felt some as well.”

“Lance, that’s not-” He started through clenched teeth, but Lance cut him off.

“And I’ve always known what it takes to get rid of the ringing. I needed some time to think. And I needed to get away from the ringing for a while. Swimming does that for me. It makes me work hard enough to drive back the ringing, but I still love it, I can still enjoy it. It’s the one thing I have that hasn’t been ruined by all of this.” Lance’s fists were clenched tightly and he stopped walking.

“And you needed three hours for that?” Keith asked doubtfully. He hadn't realized they’d already reached Lance’s room.

“Like I said: it gave me some time to think,” Lance turned to face him fully, sucking in a deep breath, “I realized that I shouldn’t have fought you like that. I was desperate, but I crossed a line. I said some things I shouldn’t have and I wish I could’ve stopped myself because you didn’t deserve that from me. Not saying you don't need some sense knocked into you, but that wasn't my place.” Lance gave a small smirk, but it faded quickly, “I can’t keep lashing out at you guys like this. First it was Shiro, and then you. Who’s next, Pidge? Hunk? Coran?” Lanced sighed heavily, “I really am sorry about all of it. And you don't have to say anything back, I just didn’t want to leave it like this.” Lance barely waited before stepping away into his room, letting the door slide between them.

Keith stood there for a second.

He was really getting sick of doors closing between him and Lance. It’d happened three times today alone!

And what the hell was he supposed to say to Lance apologizing? The suspiciously Shiro-sounding little voice in his head could shut up about ‘just forgive him.’ No way.

But it was just… ugh! Every time Keith tried to think of the reason why he couldn’t, it was an actual reason. Keith hated excuses. They made him sound pathetic and weak. And honestly, screw that.

He just wanted things to go back to the way they were. Before. When Keith could argue with Lance and not nearly get his nose broken. No matter what Coran said about it.

They’d been on the road to a tenuous ‘friendship’ or whatever Lance kept calling frenemies. And… and… and he kind of liked it. Being friends that is. Because he’d never had friends. He had people he fought with. And that wasn’t what he wanted Lance to become. He wanted more than that. He-

“You’re still here?”

Keith would deny to the day he died that Lance Mcclain had actually managed to startle him. “Yeah….?” Keith said slowly, then furrowed his eyebrows, “What, did you think I’d leave?”

And for Keith, all the excuses in the world fell flat against the tiny, half-surprised smile on Lance’s face.

“Then let’s get going, Mullethead, there’s no use making them wait for both of us.” Lance said as he smiled and turned down the hallway.

“You’re the one that made us late,”

“Pffff, I made me late, you just decided to stick around and you should know by now that I have no problem being late.” Lance propped a hand up on his hip.

“Oh believe me, we’re all very knowledgeable about your timekeeping skills, except I don't understand how you’re late at all, considering you’ve got legs the size of giraffes.” Keith may have grumbled through that last statement.

But really, every step he took was easily double the size of Keith’s, it was ridiculous. He kept having to shuffle to keep up with him!

“What can I say? I’m just pumped to get to work,” Lance plastered on a sarcastically fake smile and gave him a tight thumbs-up.

Keith crossed his arms as he rolled his eyes, “You know we have to do this, it’s the only way to-”

“Yeah yeah, spare me the lecture. I get it already.” Lance waved his hand at Keith like he could physically swat the conversation out of the air.

“Who’s lecturing Lance?” Pidge’s voice cut in when the automatic doors opened at their presence.

“Nobody. Absolutely nobody,” Lance said as he made a bee-line to the couches, “We’re going to do this, get it over with and then put it all behind us. Good? Capische? Great. Let’s fire it up, Coran.”

“Don't you dare. Fire would ruin the headbands irreparably.” Coran said, clutching the headbands to his chest.

“Relax, Coran. It's just a figure of speech. It means Lance wants us to get started,” Shiro patted him placatingly as he passed the man to sit down next to Keith.

“Yeah, only time Lance’s ever been in a rush and he still wasn’t on time. Go figure. Worked out for me though, more time to process my code.” Pidge finally pulled herself away from her laptop, relinquishing Hunk to sit next Lance.

He whispered something about ice cream and new milk to Lance that Keith couldn't really hear, but Coran was already passing out the headbands.

“I’ve already modified the quintessence modules in each of the headbands,” Allura moved towards the group, “But I’ll still need to activate yours individually, Lance, so that you all end up on the same plane.”

“You won’t be joining us?” Keith added when he saw Lance hesitate at the request.

“No,” Allura paused, “Unfortunately, this will require that I act as a guide from the outside. Coran will help me monitor your quintessence levels so I can keep them stable and stay focused.”

“I’m sorry, guide? That implies the ability to get lost; is that a possibility? I mean, we’ve been to the astral plane before, right? So it should be just like that, we’re not going to get blindsided by some evil-astral creature, are we?” Hunk rattled off the random worries flitting through his head, some of which were slightly valid. At least to Keith’s perspective. Can’t be too prepared, right?

“None of that, we just need to keep the headbands from bouncing back like they did last time. Allura is simply guiding the quintessence stream around all you.” Coran chipped in as he went back to the princess’s side. Hunk visibly sagged in relief.

“Lance?” Oh right, apparently Shiro was the only one who remembered Lance still hadn’t answered Allura’s question. She’d need to get really close to him for this, something they’d all subconsciously tried to avoid.

“You can trust us, Lance. You have to for this to work.”

“I know.” Lance sighed and placed the band on his head. As Allura approached, Keith watched Lance rub his finger over something on his other hand. And yet it looked like every muscle in his body went taut at Allura’s touch.

Keith could barely catch a glimpse of Lance’s breathing picking up before the world in front of him exploded with stars. The astral plane.

It’d been a while since an astral projection had been so stable. Keith looked out and could see his teammates standing around him. Even Lance, to a degree, though he was shrouded by a thick fog. They could see it now, because unlike last time, they were actually in the astral plane, not just mentally. However, they could still feel the gap in the Voltron link.

The gap where Lance was supposed to be.

“Guys?” Lance’s voice sounded anxious, though it edged into frantic surprisingly fast, “Guys? Guys, I can't see anything, why can’t I-”

“Lance, calm down buddy, we’re here.” Hunk’s voice echoed across the void. Keith could hear it in the astral plane and through his actual ears. Hopefully Lance could too.

“Why can’t I feel any of you? Or see you?”

“Just-- give- me-- a minute-- I-” Allura’s voice was tense with effort. Keith watched in amazed confusion as the fog around Lance started to shift.

The rest of the team approached it and Keith followed. He tried to put his hand through it, as if he could just reach through and pull Lance out. But his hand hit a barrier.

The light blue fog finally whirled itself into a more distinct form as it settled.

A wall.

The outside shimmered as magic seemed to ripple across it.

“You all will have to take it from here.” Allura’s strained voice cut through once again, “I was able to shift and gather the quintessence of the block but I fear I do not have the ability to do more without losing my grip on it. It’s up to you, Paladins.”

“Absolutely, Princess,” Keith turned back to the wall with determination.

Hunk and Pidge had already started pushing on the barrier. Yellow and green magic shimmered across the surface where they touched it. All of it eventually fading back to blue as it spread out farther.

Keith’s hand caused red to join the colors. And he could see black start to ripple from Shiro’s position as well.

But all of the color seemed to disappear too quickly, none of it touching each other. Just evaporating into the shifting blue of the barrier.

“I can only barely feel you, you guys,” Lance’s voice came from the other side, “You still just look like blurry shadows. Are we sure this is gonna work?”

“Lance is right, this isn’t working, you guys.” Hunk’s voice cut in.

“Then keep trying,” Keith ground out, “We’re not just going to give up.” He clenched his jaws tighter, his teeth starting to ache under the pressure.

“No, we’re not. But maybe…” Pidge leaned away from the wall, placing her hands on her hips and looking up at it. She suddenly snapped her head to their leader, “Shiro, we need to connect all of our energies. Instead of trying to put pressure on the entire thing, we just need to concentrate on one point. If we can crumple one part, maybe the rest will come down with it.”

“That sounds like a big maybe, Pidge, I don't know…” Hunk added as he pulled back as well.

Shiro looked at Pidge with a question in his eyes. Keith had seen it enough to know what it meant, ‘Are you sure?’

Pidge nodded with pursed lips.

“Alright, everybody, come over to me and Keith.” Shiro slipped right into leader mode, bringing the rest of the team closer, “We need to connect all of the magic we’ve been setting off and we need to make sure it works.” He motioned Keith even closer.

Keith briefly stepped away before placing his hands back down about a foot away from Shiro’s. The red light flowed out, just as it had before, moving towards the black tendrils.

They collided harshly, but stuck together. The magic fused to each other and Keith found he could no longer pull his hands away. By the look he got from Shiro, it was the same for him.

“Wow, I felt that,” Lance’s voice abruptly cut in, “What the hell was that?”

“We’re not quite sure. But we’re about to do it again, be ready.” Shiro beckoned for the other two paladins, “Pidge, you next, right below Keith’s.”

Pidge cautiously placed her hands down and they all watched as the green reached out for Keith and Shiro’s. It snapped into place with a flash of light, the wall shuddered allowing Keith to catch a glimpse of Lance through the fog.

He looked…

“Lance, what’s wrong with your face?”

“Nothing’s wrong with my face! What’s wrong with yours?!” He said incredulously.

“But I saw…” Now Keith was just confused, “I saw a glimpse of you through the wall…. You looked injured.”

“What? But I’m not-”

“Injured how?” Shiro said sharply.

“Like he’d just gone ten rounds with a blender and a sentient punching bag, Shiro. It didn’t look good.”

“Excuse you, I look fabulous no matter what.” Lance’s affronted protests were heard through the wall.

“Lance, do we need to stop?” Shiro asked, “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine Shiro,” Lance’s eye roll was audible, “Keithy-boy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Shiro looked at him warily, “Keith?”

“If he says go for it, go for it. Who am I to police the actions of an idiot?” Keith tried to sound casual as he shrugged, but he still wished he could see Lance instead of just hear his scoff.

“Alright.” Shiro gave a short, decisive nod, “Hunk, get over here, Lance get ready again, we’re going through with this.”

“Aye aye, Captain,”

Keith could visibly see Shiro glare Hunk and Pidge down from responding back with ‘I can’t hear you.’ He, of course, would also deny having the spongebob song stuck in his head for the rest of the day.

Hunk hesitantly placed his hands to the wall, surprised when it jerked him closer like a magnet.

Yellow started flowing out, reaching for Pidge, then Shiro, then finally making contact with the Red of Keith’s own. Each time glowed brighter than the last.

The world around them rumbled.

“There! I saw him!” Pidge shouted out.

“I saw him too! Keith was right, he looks hurt!”

The fog had gaps in it now, places that were thinner than others, and some thicker spaces were shaded a darker blue.

Through one of the gaps, Keith could see Lance drop to one knee.

“Lance!” “Lance! What’s wrong!?” “Are you okay?!”

“I- I’m fine you guys. That blast just knocked me off my feet.” Lance lifted his head to look at them, “I always knew Keith would give me a killer headache, but I never expected it from the rest of you,” He gave them a grin that looked like it should hurt. But it seemed like he didn’t even notice the injuries on his face.

“Wait, the injuries, they keep changing,” Pidge pointed out, “Why do they keep changing?” Keith looked closer, she was right. The injuries faded in and out on Lance, never the same.

“Seriously guys, I have no idea what you’re talking abou-”

“AS GREAT as it is to see you speaking as a team, I don't think the Princess can hold all of you in the Astral Plane for much longer.” Coran’s voice echoed around them, followed closely by Allura’s.

“It is true, my grip on the quintessence is slipping, something is interfering with it. I fear I may not be able to keep it stable for-”

“What the hell is that!” Hunk’s shout forced Keith’s head to snap towards him as he watched in horror..

The pale fog surrounding Lance was starting to change color. Purple leeching across the surface, like ink in water. It trampled the blue, growing as it surged towards the team.

“Guys, you’re starting to fade out again. What’s going on? Why is it going dark? You guys?” Lance’s shouts jumped through the barrier, but no one could spare a second to respond. The world rumbled again.

A splotch of purple got close enough to touch a tendril of black, seeming satisfied when it leapt away from the color in time with Shiro’s jerk.

“I know what this is,...” Shiro answered, fear building in his voice, “This is druid magic! It’s trying to get to Voltron!”

Keith caught a final glimpse of Lance’s worried face, before the wall started to close off again. And the purple got stronger as Lance pulled back.

“Shiro! We can’t let them get Voltron! She can’t-” Lance sounded more desperate than before.

“I know Lance. Everybody! Channel your lions, we have to push this back.” Shiro’s statement ended with a growl as he pushed more into the quintessence of the barrier. Keith followed suit and could see his team do the same.

Voltron’s colors rushed out against the purple. Even if the Black seemed to push from behind the others, Keith could feel his team hold strong against the ominous pressure.

The entire wall of fog swirled with color now. Not just blue, but Red, Yellow, Green, and Black all curling across each other in smooth cooperation.

Keith had to grit his teeth to keep the flow of power steady. And by the looks of it, everyone else was in the same boat.

“Shiro, it’s taking everything we’ve got just to keep the druid magic back, how are we going to break the wall?”

“I don't know, Keith,” Shiro raised his voice to rise above the barrier, “Lance, we’ve got the druids pushed back, for now, and we’re holding strong!,” The fog returned the thinned state it had been in before, revealing Lance in the middle, curled in on himself. He looked up at them, seeming more weary than he had before.

“Is there anything you can do from your side?”

Lance shakily stood up, almost losing his balance as the ground shook around them. Keith watched Lance steady himself before reaching for the wall.

The wall glowed a bit brighter, and Keith could feel the pressure even out across the five of them. The bond grew stronger.

But it wasn’t enough.

“Paladins! You must hurry! If we are to do this, we must do it now! I cannot hold it for much longer!” Allura’s words made Keith look up to see she was correct. The world, the Astral Plane, was quite literally falling apart around them.

A loud thumping sound shook them as shards of the sky fell to the ground.

“Hey, uh- guys,” Hunk’s leg shot out to kick incessantly at his shins, “Hey, guys, guys, guys!”

“What, Hunk!?” Keith snapped as he looked at him.

“I think something’s coming towards us!” Hunk shouted. Keith turned to follow his line of sight. Sure enough, there was a growing blue light at the horizon, slowly getting bigger as it got closer.

“What is that?” By now the whole team was looking at it, Pidge trying to get a proper look with her short arms still stuck to the barrier.

The thumping sound got louder, mixing in with the rumbling of the collapsing Astral Plane.

“Focus, team!” Shiro ground out beside him. The pull of quintessence from Keith got stronger as Hunk and Pidge’s focus shifted. It almost hurt to keep the flow open.

“What are you guys seeing? Is it something bad?” Lance’s voice sounded in his ear. When he looked back, Keith was surprised to find Lance almost right against the barrier, their eyes meeting.

“We don't know what-”

“Is that-?” Pidge asked in an unsure voice.

“I think it is!” Hunk sounded giddy, making Keith look away again, “It’s the Blue Lion!”

The thumping sound grew louder as the Blue Lion’s shape became clearer, now recognizable as the sound of paws running towards them.

Hunk cheered, losing focus even more, and Keith nearly stumbled under the weight now resting on Shiro, Lance and himself.

“Pidge! Hunk! If Blue is coming, then we need to be ready. Focus on the barrier!” Shiro commanded. Pidge immediately turned back to help them. Hunk…. not so much.

“She’s not slowing down. She’s not slowing down! I repeat, she is not slowing down! We are about to be crushed by a giant charging Space Lion!” Hunk’s signature anxious voice filled the air. Pidge looked back.

“Actually, I think she’s getting smaller…she’s almost normal sized.”

‘Normal-sized’ was an exaggeration. Blue was still several times larger than a normal ‘Earth’ lion. A fact becoming readily apparent as she got closer, and again, did not slow down.

“The Blue Lion knows what she’s doing. Get it together you two, we need to keep this wall stabilized.” Shiro used his Galran hand to forcibly turn Hunk’s head around to the wall. The purple had already started to come back the moment the team wasn’t pushing at full strength.

“Yep, uh huh, got it, focus on the evil purple magic, not the giant lion. Can do, boss man. Can, do.” Hunk rambled under his breath, still sneaking glances out of the corner of his eyes.

The thumping of Blue’s feet was deafening; and when she roared, every paladin, even Shiro, had no choice but to look back at her in reverence.

She charged forwards with all the might of a mother, crashing towards Lance without pause for the wall between them.

All remnants of purple were pushed out of existence as Blue’s magic rushed through the barrier, scattering the world around them.

The paladins were thrown back into the real world with a shock, Allura stumbling backwards into the waiting arms of Coran.

Lance was laying on the floor in front of them, a smile on his face. There were even a few joyful tears gathered at the corner of his eyes

“Lance?”

“She’s back.” He whispered, the words coming out in disbelief. “She’s back. I can feel her again.” If possible, Lance’s smile grew even bigger as he sat up, the tears falling down his cheeks. “Blue, I missed you so much, girl. I missed you so much!” A rumble echoed through the castle, very clearly originating from the hangers.

“Don’t worry Lance, I think she missed you too,” Hunk smiled back. The pure happiness radiating from them was contagious, despite how exhausted everyone felt.

Pidge moved closer, peering up at Lance curiously.

“So, Lance,” She paused,

“Do you remember?”

First Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/613092735756402688/chips-and-salsa-chp-1

Next Chapter: https://snaileer.tumblr.com/post/653555387542405120/chips-salsa-chapter-9

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Ducktales Treasure of the Golden Suns Reviews: Wronguay in Ronguay (Paid for by Patreons)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to the genesis of magillicutty Ducktales with the second part of my months long look at Treasure of the Golden Suns, the mini series that kicked off the series. These reviews are a result of me hitting my first patreon stretch goal. I just did a LONGGG post outlining those here on tumblr so hit that up and help join my patreon so I can reach them and make some more moolah to help keep this my primary job.

So speaking of that job we’re back to The Treasure of the Golden Suns and the first chapter, while not bad, was a tad disappointing, especially since I really liked it on first viewing. So will the second chapter fair just as bad or be a massive improvement? The only way to find out is under the cut.

Previously on Ducktales: Donald shoved off with the navy leaving the boys with Scrooge, with both growing to care about one another... both out of nowhere

The boys ended up embroiled int he Beagle Boys theft of a wooden ship for a mysterious gentleman named El Capitan whose preferedd method of dealing with enterlopers.. was to use a chair like a lion tamer. After being falsely blamed for the theft, the boys ended up chasing the beagles to Scrooge’s candy factory, were vindicated and fought them off with Scrooge’s help , ending with the boys getting covered in choclate. while El Capitan escaped vowing to find the gold. Now knowing the wooden ship was a map, the family prepared to set off

And that’s where we pick up. The reporter from last episode comments on the beagle bust and while the Beagles are hauled off, with Burger asking if they have any milk after eating his chocolate prison. Because his only character trait is that...

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The camera does linger on an impression the ship made in the chocolate... hmmmmmm.

Meanwhile we meet FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD. As I said with Catch as Cash Can, he’s not BAD, just not NEARLY as memorable as the triumphantly insane 2017 version. He’s sitll a good villian and we’ll see why soon, he just has the unenviable task of competiting with a far more iconic versoin made decades later whose far more my type of bad guy. El Captian calls him and offers to make him the richest duck in the world, which he naturally is happy to hear him out on. El Captian as a character i’ll get into more.. but for now let’s talk about his weird fucking voice. For some reason, Jim is doing a Dr. Claw impression, to the point I thought this was Frank Welker. I will grant it’s better than a horrible latinx sterotype, and given the grand kishke and a minor character in this very episode, they were NOT above those, but its’ still just.. weird. He just sounds like he’s possesed with about 80 or 90 demons for no explained reason.

Back at the mansion, Scrooge and the Boys are both preparing to go after the treasure on the boat map: Scrooge is practicing vacuming it up using the pool and a sea safe vacum likely invented by Gyro, while the boys find the right coordinates to the treasure. Scrooge naturally.. is a bit of a dick about it, refusing to take them along despite them having found it, and saying they can stay with Duckworth. Duckworth’s response is about what you’d expect:

However before they can argue about this, there’s a bang at the door: It’s Flinty and here’s where the parts of this Glomgold I DO like, that do make him standout, if not as much sa his succesor shine: He plays scrooge, offering him 2 million for the Candy Factory. Naturally not realizing what Flinty’s getting out of the deal, Scrooge jumps at a quick and easy 2 million, since he knows it’ll cost MORE than that just to fix up the place. Flinty then proposes a contest: the two of them try to make as much money as possible from scratch in two days. No rules, no barriers, just whoever dosen’t have more money than the other by the end has to eat Flinty’s hat. Scrooge accepts.. but then realizes he has to eat crow and allow the boys along. With Scrooge sufficently blackmailed, the boys reveal where the treasure is: Ronguay, a made up south american county. Why they did so.. well just wait a second. And no it’s not just for the tile... but your close.

No we find out why as they take the cheapest flight avaliable to Ronguay, only for the boys their going the Wrong way to Ronguay.

Yeah I love a good pun but I draw the line at desinging an ENTIRE COUNTRY for a really obvious one. I have standards on this blog! Standards that include thirsting after Keith David , DBZA refrences up the whazoo and posting this gif of David Byrne at every given opportunity.

Look my standards are weird, but their still standards. I draw the line at making a stupid pun when there’s a rich number of countries in South America. I’m not saying Carl Barks was ever against making up a country, he probably did, could be wrong, but more often than not he did his homework instead, as did his succesor Don Rosa. It feels lazy to just make up a country when you really don’t have to and could’ve just found one with a massive rainy season for your children’s cartoon. It’s not hard. I mean it’s harder than now: now I could just google “what south american countries have torrental rains”.. but it’s not like you guys could’n’t just go to a bookstore and buy a refrence book or a library and rent one. I mean if they ran out of time to do anyresearch fine, but even for the 1980′s it wasn’t that difficult to at least TRY.

Regardless it turns out the pilot is a robot pilot.. who looks amazing but as it’s a flintheart glomgold company joint is purposfuly tring to keep them off path. Look they didn’t have to unplug the poor guy. I know what he wants.

So now on the right way to Ronguay our heroes lan only to find the locals all fleeing in terror of something. Scrooge heads in for suplies anyway and finds... a VERY racist sounding clerk. Seriously just to picture this.. picture say .. Michael Scott trying to do an mexican accent. You good and cringing? If not, adapt that to your doofus sitcom character or republican senator of choice There you go. You see my point. It’s not the WORST i’ve seen.. but only because I sat through the Rediculous 6 with my best friend, one of three, Cory, for a podcast we tried doing a year or two ago. I’ve seen Rob Schinder do this for an entire movie. In 2015 no less. So my threshold for HORRIFCALLY offensive is vast and deep. But this is still garden variety racist and should not have been okay then or now.

And it really SHOULD have the warning label on it. I’m fully in favor of the content warnings Disney started using, and it’s why I got so fucking annoyed during all the talk about it when it happend to the Muppet Show, ESPECIALLY when the republicans got a hold of it and accused them of “Canceling the muppets”. This is NOT fucking cancelation, this is a way to have the past there for posterity, while acknolding it sucked and was NEVER okay. It’s the best way to do this in my opinon, and it bothers me a LOT that a bunch of jagoffs coopted it and threw a hissy fit about Disney trying to do the right goddamn thing. And i’m also okay with leaving some media out. Disney + is a family platform. While keeping classic movies and shows on there with a proper warning is one thing, it’s another to not put song of the south or that episode of the muppets where the host later turned out ot be a pedophile on there. Some things just don’t have nearly enough worth to outpace the harm they can do. And it’s up to companies and consumers to figure out what fits where.

Anyways our heroes find a llama for transport and that the map is seemingly a dead end to the desert. But Scrooge is determined to press on... and while he does El Capitan and Glomgold are following him, though the two clearly don’t agree on whose in charge, or if El Captian sounds like dr claw or not. They followed with their own copy of the map taken from the chocolate.

As things progress the rain starts.. and our heroes find out via the JWG that this is what the citzens were all running from. They loose the llama, though are able to salvage some of their suplies it was carrying, and Scrooge nearly gives up to dispair. It’s a good, if sudden, character moment: Scrooge genuinely laments that he was worried one day he’d loose his step.. and stop being one step ahead of everyone. It shows some much needed vunerablity.. that beneath his boisterious and cantankerious usual personality he’s deathly afraid his age will eventualy mean he’ll have to stop..and having to stop adventuring and stop working and stop doing eveyrthing that makes him Scrooge McDuck is a fate worse than death.

Thankfully he dosen’t as via a figure on the ship, Huey, Dewey or Louie figures out, in a REALLY amazing twist, that the desert itself was the ocean: the ship that has the treasure simply sailed here and hid it. So while our heroes reflect, Glomgold decides to take them out NOW while he has the chance over El Captian’s protests, as the good captain only cares about the gold. But Glomgold is right.. from a villianous point of view at least. leaving them alive is a waste.. granted he does so.. in a way that makes my brain cry out in pain and want to run. He lights a stick of dynamite. In a torrential rainstorm.

I mean i’d expect 2017 Glomgold to try it and have it fail.. not to have the actually clever 87 version not only try something this stupid BUT HAVE IT WORK. THE FUSE LIGHTS. IT’S READY TO GO OFF. HE ONLY STOPS IT BECAUSE HIS MAP GETS EATEN AND THEY NEED SCROOGE’S IN TACT. JUST HOW DO YOU WHY DO YOU AUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

Okay i’m.. i’m good now. So after that bit of nonsense and some taking my medication, our heroes take shelter in a cave. The grusome twosome try to sneak in while their asleep.. only to trigger the alarms the boys set up using their pots and pans, a “junior woodchuck alarm”. Clever little bastards.

The tables quickly turn though as Thing one and Thing Two trap our heroes in the cave.. as i’ts flooding. Scrooge has them press on in hopes of finding a way out, and it rises further and furthe ran excenelty tense scene. But eventually our heroes manage to find somewhere safe in time: the shipwrecked boat with all the gold. Scrooge even puts on a nifty golden conquestador’s helmet.

Naturally since we have minutes left in the episode the bad guys show up and have a gun... they never had before.

Regardless our heroes are lowered into the lifeboat at gunpoint as the ship goes out to sea and i’ts revealed el captain worked on teh ship as he knows the full manifest.

However both villians personal flaws end up doing them in: Glomgold’s need to gloat means he gives Scrooge a golden coin as he mocks him about winning the bet... only for El Captain to fly into an insane rage demanding he swim out and get it despite just how LITTLE he really needs the coin. He and Glomgold struggle over the ships canon, both no longer needing the other and eventually fire off a ball that capsizes the ship. El Captian seemingly drowns while Glomgold is forced onto the life boat with the McDucks.. and finds out he lost as while he and Scrooge both lost the treasure the coin he tossed scrooge means Scrooge still has made more money. So Glomgold prepares to eat his hat and El Captian prepares for vengance and to get his gold back.

Final Thoughts on Wronguay in Ronguay: The iffy bit with the store clerk aside.. this episdoe is easily the best 87 Episode i’ve seen. It captures the spirit of barks perfectly with plenty of intresting twists that kept me engaged the whole time, some great jokes, and two great villians who are done in soley by their own greed and neurosusi> it’s really great stuff and what I expected more and remember more from the 87 Series: top notch adventure in the barks style but wiht it’s own unique touches. While the pilot was a bit rough due to all the ground it tried to cover, this episode, now having the basic formula of the series pretty much set, is allowed to just be a fun, daring adventure story that brilliantly builds off the last episode but can be wholly enjoyed on it’s own. Hopefully this momentum keeps because I don’t remember being the fondest of the next two episodes.. and given that content warning I think we’re in for a rough time next month.

If you liked htis join my patreon, etc etc, I went into that mor eup top. Till All Are One, See you at the next Rainbow.

#ducktales #wronguay in ronguay #ducktales 87 #scrooge mcduck #flintheart glomgold #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #el capitain #duckworth #reviews #disney plus #the disney afternoon

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midnightsnyx · 5 years ago

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Matthew Tkachuk - In Your Dreams: part 2

a/n: a couple people requested a part 2 and i couldn’t help myself!! thank you for all the love on part 1!! <3 also im bad at writing cheesy romance so i apologize in advance at how bad it will be lol

part 1 here

warnings: angst, fluff, insinuated smut (i may get there some day folks but today ain’t that day)

word count: 2967

tag list: @buckybarneshairpullingkink

my masterlist

Matthew Tkachuk

“Are you sexting my brother?”

You yelp when Brady drops on the couch beside you and snatches your phone from your hand. Luckily, you were only scrolling through Instagram so he didn’t see the suggestive texts you and Matt had been exchanging all morning.

After the summer, you and Matt had been texting back and forth, trying to get used to the idea of talking without insulting each other. It was much easier than you were expecting and you discovered rather quickly that you enjoyed talking to him. He was sweeter than you’ve ever seen, thoughtful, good-humored and you were completely infatuated with him.

After a couple months of texting and Facetime, you flew to Calgary to spend the weekend with him. He wined and dined and took you to his bed and you hated having to leave.

You snatch your phone back. “No. Although I’m not sure why you would want to see them.”

“I don’t!”

“Keep your nose out of my business then.”

. . .

“Heck no.” Brady says when you meet him at the Canadian Tire Centre. “Oh, heck, no. You’re not wearing that!”

You look down at you Calgary Flames jersey and shrug. Matt sent it to you and asked if you would wear it for tonight’s game because the Sens were facing off against the Flames.

“I mean, technically, it still has your name on it.”

“You’ve betrayed me!”

You roll your eyes at him. “You’re being dramatic. Look,” you lift your jersey up to show a Sens t-shirt with number 7 on it. “See? Now c’mon, you have a game to play.”

He follows you like a sad puppy and sighs. “My own brother is stealing my best friend. You know, I think I liked it better when guys hated each other.”

You groan and shove his shoulder. “Grow up.”

Along with buying your jersey, Matt also bought your ticket so that you’d be on the visitors side. Which means he spent most of warm up showing off to you as if you’ve never seen him play before which you have but you’ll never admit it to him.

It’s an intense game and you’re not sure who you’re cheering for half the time but they go into overtime so at least they’ll both get a point.

Matt ends up scoring the winning goal and when he points to you and mouths, that one was for you, you think your heart might burst out of your chest.

. . .

The two of you haven’t put a label on whatever you are and part of you is okay with it because it is fairly new but you’re also worried about what he does when the two of you aren’t together which is quite a lot. Sure, he sends you flowers and calls you after every game no matter how tired he is. He texts you every morning and calls you before you go to bed and it makes you feel special but sometimes you can’t help but wonder if he does this for other girls and if it makes them feel special too.

It’s something that’s on your mind on a weekend that Matt brings you to Calgary. He had practice in the morning so you’re hanging out at his apartment waiting for him to come home. You’re cooking lunch when you hear the front door open, and Matt calling out to you.

“Babe, I’m back!” He shouts and your heart swells at the term of endearment but it drops when you think about him calling other girls that when you��re not around.

His arms wrap around your waist and he presses a kiss on your neck.

“Something smells good.”

“Yeah, it’s fettuccine… I think I might’ve messed it up a-”

“I’m not talking about the pasta.” he mumbles, pressing more kisses down your neck.

“Oh?” you squeak and you really shouldn’t, because you’re still worrying about not being the only one, but you let him drag you to bed anyway.

Later that night, long after he’s asleep, you’re trying to ignore the taunting voice in your head reminding you that he might be holding other girls like this. Reminding you that someone else might also wake up to his sleepy smile and messy hair.

. . .

“So you’re her.”

You raise your eyebrows at Johnny Gaudreau, who Matt had introduced you to when the two of you first arrived at the bar. He introduced you as Brady’s friend and when you looked at him, he just shrugged.

You’re not sure what you were expecting - certainly not saying you were his girlfriend - but Brady’s friend? It was bothering you and you were doing you best to hide it but you knew you were failing because Matt had been sending you weird looks all night all while basically ignoring you. He’s barely touched you since you sat with his friends.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You reply, glancing at Matt who is deep in conversation with one of his teammates.

“He talks about you a lot.” Johnny shrugs. “I thought you two were dating.”

“Apparently not.” You mumble, standing up and giving Matt a quick look. “I’m going to get a refill.”

You leave before he can reply and push through all the sweaty bodies trying to get to the bar. While you’re flagging down a bartender, someone sits on the stool next to you. You look, expecting it to be Matthew but instead it’s a stranger. A handsome stranger so when he offers you to pay for your drink you almost say yes but a familiar arm wraps around your shoulder.

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Matt says, glaring at the man until he mutters an apology and leaves. When he’s out of sight, Matt turns so he’s facing you and now you’re the one on the opposite end of his dirty look.

“What the hell was that?” He snaps and you scoff, shrugging his arm off you.

“Excuse me?”

“You were going to let him buy you a drink!” He says loudly and you glance around but nobody seems to be paying attention to you thankfully.

“It was a drink, Matthew. I wasn’t inviting him home.”

“Well I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.” He says harshly and you flinch. His eyes widen immediately and he reaches out but you hop off the stool and run out of the bar, ignoring him calling your name.

You run out of the bar and down the street until you come across a quiet diner. A bell dings when you open the door and a kind looking, older woman greets you and tells you to seat yourself.

You’ve been sitting in the diner nursing a glass of water for no more than fifteen minutes when the bell rings, signally a new customer.

You don’t have to look up to know who it is but you do anyway and you’re greeted with a very guilty looking Matt. He slowly walks over and seats himself across from you.

“How’d you find me?”

He shifts in his seat and stares at the table instead of you. “I tracked you on snapchat.”

You swear under your breath for not turning that option off. When you look at Matt again, his eyes are on you already. He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off right away, wanting to speak your mind before he says anything.

“You introduced me as Brady’s friend.” you say quietly and he nods. “you barely spoke to me the entire night and then you got possessive when that guy spoke to me.” he nods again and you sigh. “look, Matt. I’m not asking you to say something you’re not comfortable saying or you’re not ready to say - I don’t think I’m ready for it - but you’re not allowed to act like I’m nothing to you when there are people around but get jealous if someone talks to me. And you’re not allowed to say what you said to me. That was unfair.”

“I know.” he replies. “and I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled at you, I was out of line.” He looks back down at the table and you know he’s trying to think of what to say so you give him a moment. “I know it’s selfish… but I guess I just want you to myself a little while longer. I like the two of us in our bubble and that bubble is going to be popped when people find out about us. I’m in the spotlight, people are going to want to know our business and I don’t want it to freak you out.”

You nod in understanding. You were aware of how the media can be and it’s not something you look forward to.

“I’m scared.” He admits and you reach across the table, squeezing his hand.

“I’m scared too.” you tell him, lips turning up in a tiny smile. “but it’s better to be scared together than alone, right?”

He mirrors your smile and leans across the table and you meet him halfway.

. . .

You spend Christmas with the Tkachuk’s and Matthew proudly introduces you as his girlfriend and Chantal and Taryn squeal, Keith smiles and hugs you and Brady rolls his eyes and says “I knew this would happen all along. The two of you should really thank me.”

Matt blushes when his mom gushes about how glad she is that he found someone like you and that she had a feeling the two of you were meant for each other but later that night he tells you how happy he is that you gave him a chance.

The two of you debate over how it would be best to tell everyone you’re dating and you decide on a cliche but simple post to his Instagram.

It’s a picture of the two of you standing in front of the tree, his arms wrapped around you and lips pressed against your forehead. The caption reads, it wasn’t love at first sight, but we turned out okay.

It accurately sums up your relationship perfectly and you tease him about how long he’s had that one in his back pocket.

But it still makes your heart race and you want to shout I love you from the rooftops.

. . .

It’s not easy being 2877 kilometers apart and it becomes more obvious the longer the two of you are together. You fly to Calgary as often as you can but you still have school and Matt can’t visit Ottawa much because of his hockey schedule.

It’s a test for the two of you - and your relationship - and sometimes you feel frustrated and you wonder if you can do it but you think about when Matt Facetime’s you nearly every night that you’re apart from each other and you know that it would break your heart to live without seeing his curly brown hair and blue eyes and hearing his voice so you tell yourself it’s worth it.

And it is, until it isn’t.

. . .

“I don’t understand what the big deal is.” Matt says, obviously frustrated.

The two of you had been arguing for hours. You were graduating in less than two weeks so you’re job searching and when Matt brought up the idea of you moving to Calgary with him to get a job, you panicked.

You have been together for just about eight months now and you know that it’s normal at this stage to move in with someone but you were scared. There’s always been the fear in the back of your mind that one day Matt is going to wake up and decide that you’re not who he wants and if you uproot your entire life in Ottawa for him, you don’t know what you would do if something happened between the two of you.

But you couldn’t explain this to him so you kept making up lame excuses as to why you couldn't move in with him.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” You say quietly and he huffs.

“Can you please just think about it?” He pleads and you’re tired of arguing that you just agree even though your answer will still be no when he asks.

“I love you.” He says and you smile softly. One thing about Matt is that no matter how big an argument and even if it’s not solved right away, he tell you he loves you.

“I know. I love you too.” You say before he ends the call.

You flop back on your bed and even though it’s only seven o’clock, you feel ready for bed. Ten minutes later, you’re just dozing off when you hear your door open and slam shut. You would freak out but you hear Brady call out to you and you tell him you are in your room.

You expected him to come over because when you and Matt argue, he makes sure to check on you.

What you’re not expecting is to see him fuming with anger.

“You’re an idiot.” He says.

“Excuse me?” You snap and he huffs, putting his hands on his hips and glaring at you.

“You love my brother, right?” he asks and you nod. “and he loves you.” you nod again and he raises an eyebrow.

“So why won’t you move in with him?”

You roll your eyes and sit up. “It’s not that simple, Brady.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just not.” you say because you don’t actually have a valid explanation. You know most of your reasons are foolish but you can’t help it.

He sighs and sits on the bed next to you. “What’s going on in your head? We’re best friends, you can talk to me about anything.”

You look at him and can’t help but smile. Brady always had a way of making you feel better when you were kids.

“I guess I’m scared.” You admit quietly and he knocks his shoulder against yours more gentle than normal.

“’bout what?” he asks and you shrug.

“He wants me to move across the county.”

“Yeah.”

“What if it doesn’t work out?”

A small smile crosses his face. “But what if it does?”

. . .

Three weeks later you’re holding a one way ticket to Calgary in your hand and saying goodbye to Brady in the airport.

“You got everything?” He asks, passing you your carry-on. You’re pretty sure if you looked close enough, his eyes would be a bit watery but yours are too so you can’t poke fun.

“Everything I need.” You tell him, and hug him tightly. You hold on to him a little longer than usual but it’s hard leaving your best friend after being attached at the hip for so long.

When he pulls away, he grins. “I’m proud of you.”

“I know.” you say. “I’ll text you when I land. And don’t forget-”

“I won’t tell him.” he promises and you hug him once more before leaving.

You’ll miss Ottawa, but it’s time for the new chapter of your life to start and you can’t wait.

. . .

Matt’s not surprised when he opens his front door to find you standing in front of him. He just grins and leans against the door.

“Missed me, did you?”

“Yeah.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him soundly. “I really did.”

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk imagines #calgary flames imagines #nhl imagines #nhl imagine #hockey fanficiton #hockey fanfic

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calligraphist-artemisia · 5 years ago

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Souls in the Machine

Summary: Pidge and Keith go on a mission together and (as usual) things don’t go according to plan. One injury and a crashed ship later, Pidge confronts Keith about a problem she’s noticed since he joined the Blade of Marmora.

Also posted on AO3 under the username Kishirokitsune

I guess for this years Kidgeweek I’m just going to freestyle it and finish up a few one-shots that I’ve been working on. I won’t have something to post every day, but it’s a good incentive to finish up these fics that are just sitting around half-finished. Maybe it’ll get me out of my writing slump.

The title is the Goo Goo Dolls song “Souls in the Machine”.

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Souls in the Machine

Just for once, Keith would like it if things went according to plan.

When Kolivan assigned them the mission, it sounded like a simple thing. They would sneak in, hack into a terminal and obtain the information they needed, and get out. The entire thing would take fifteen doboshes at most and then they'd be soaring away back to the meeting point Kolivan set up, where they would hand over the intel and go their separate ways. Kolivan was so confident that everything would go right that he was willing to risk the life of one of the paladins, who had the skills needed for such a mission.

It was a shame that Keith was so bad at all covert missions.

He glanced over at Pidge, who was a little bruised after their rough landing but was otherwise fine. She was in the act of ripping out the wires she needed to build a communication array that was powerful enough to get a signal to the Castle of Lions, hopefully without alerting the Galra to their location. She already had the pieces of the comm system that he helped her break away from the dashboard of their dead ship and just needed a few more parts to get started.

While he hated that she'd been put in danger, Keith was glad she was there with him. Pidge was one of the most adaptable people he knew, able to adjust her plans on the fly to come out on top, and smart enough to make the best out of whatever situation she ended up in.

Pidge gave a triumphant cry as she yanked a handful of wires free.

“Are you sure you don't need a hand?” Keith asked, watching in concern as the panel sparked violently.

Pidge got away without getting zapped, though she did appear surprised by how loudly the spark cracked through the air. “Thanks, but this should be all I need. Now it's just a matter of putting it all together and hoping it works. Not much you can do with your arm like that anyway.”

Keith glanced down at his make-shift sling and bandages. He got hit by one of the Galra blasters while protecting Pidge and even though it meant his arm would be next to useless until it healed, he still thought it was worth it to keep her safe.

“You know we'll have to talk about it at some point. You shouldn't have jumped in front of me like that,” Pidge said as she sat down next to her pile of parts. She set aside the wire and began picking through for the pieces she needed first.

Keith frowned. “I did what I needed to keep you safe. I'm expendable, but you aren't.”

Pidge suddenly looked furious. “You- Excuse me?!” She demanded, glaring at him. Her hair seemed to puff up in a display of her rage. “Keith, you can't really think that!”

“Pidge, you are a paladin of Voltron,” he said firmly, refusing to back down.

“So are you!”

“Not anymore.”

Pidge opened her mouth but no sound came out. She struggled for a moment to find her words before giving up and noisily exhaling.

Keith thought the conversation was over when Pidge looked away and turned back to her work. She laid her tool-belt across one knee, sliding out each device as she needed it and replacing it once she was done. Beneath her skilled hands the piece of tech began to take shape.

He relaxed and watched her methodically attach circuit boards and wires inside of the box she build out of metal scrap, like some sort of technologically advanced MacGyver. He didn't have the first clue how any of it worked but he knew that Pidge would manage it. She always did. He'd heard all about her time in the junkyard and how she build a satellite capable of puncturing through a black hole to get a signal through to the Castle of Lions, which not only allowed the Castle to escape from said black hole, but was also able to track down all of the Lions across space so they could rescue them and their paladins.

Pidge stopped working.

She scowled hard at the box in her hands and then set it down on the ground. Her tool-belt soon joined it.

“Pidge?” he asked, feeling worried by the change. Was something wrong? Did she not have the right parts?

Pidge turned to face him and her expression was so fierce that Keith nearly took a step back. He swayed instead, fighting to stand his ground in face of her unexpected ire.

“You,” she began to speak, but her voice wavered hard as her lower lip trembled. She stopped and looked down, took a deep breath, and something in her expression broke as she raised her eyes back to his. A sadness that shook Keith to his core. “You are not expendable, Keith. Never. No, just listen!”

Keith snapped his mouth shut. He'd been about to explain why she was wrong, but from the sound of things she was working herself up into an unstoppable rant.

“It doesn't matter if you're working with the Blade of Marmora right now, that doesn't stop you from continuing to be a paladin. The Black Lion let you pilot her even before we lost Shiro and if that doesn't tell you how not expendable you are, I don't know what does!” Pidge threw up her hands and then stood up so she no longer had to crane her head back to meet his eyes. “And did you even stop and consider what sort of situation you'd leave me in if you got injured? I'm not nearly strong enough to carry you out of danger when you get hurt! And if the next words out of your mouth are to suggest that I should just leave you there, you had better rethink that, because I will never abandon a friend when they're in trouble.

“I don't care what bullshit Kolivan and the Blade have been teaching you, but your life is worth so much, Keith. You... you're important to me. To Shiro. To all of us. I – We would never forgive ourselves if we stood back and let something happen to you.”

Between Pidge's unexpected swear and the mention of Shiro, Keith was jarred enough that he could almost start to see the point she was making. Despite that he set his jaw, unwilling to back down. “I'm not going to just stand back and let you get hurt either. If I can do something to help, even if it means putting myself at risk, then I'm going to do it.”

“It's not worth getting yourself killed over!”

“I'm not trying to get myself killed!”

“I know about Naxzela, Keith. Matt told me.”

Keith guiltily averted his gaze and swallowed hard. He tried not to think of that day. They had nearly lost everything they worked so hard for from that single mission. He still had nightmares about it. He should have known that Matt wouldn't be able to stay quiet about everything that happened, especially with Pidge.

Pidge crossed her arms over her chest, but when she spoke again, her voice was much softer and less accusatory. “Talk to me? I just want to understand what's going on with you. Why did you try to do it?”

He breathed out and closed his eyes, reminding himself to keep his temper under control. If Pidge could manage to calm herself down and speak in a reasonable tone, then so could he.

“I didn't know what else to do,” he admitted. “Everything was going so well and then suddenly it wasn't. We tried everything to punch through the shield, but none of our weapons were strong enough to get through. I thought if I... If there was a strong enough blast it would weaken the shield and then the rebels could concentrate fire on that spot. If it meant saving you guys then it would be worth it.”

“Keith...”

“What would you have done?” he asked, forcing himself to meet her eyes again. “If you were in my place and knew that if you didn't take down that shield, then everyone you cared about would die. All of you were going to die, Pidge, along with the coalition and all of those other people. Who would have been left to fight the Galra then?”

Pidge didn't have an answer for that. He could tell by the way she dropped her gaze to the ground and fidgeted, her words failing her for a second time.

Keith took no pride in rendering her speechless.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do,” he told her and felt some alarm when she sniffled quietly. It was the only warning he got before Pidge scurried over and wrapped her arms around him, holding on tightly. He had the fleeting thought that she was so tiny for someone so fierce and smart and brave.

When it became apparent that Pidge wasn't letting go anytime soon, Keith returned her hug and felt her relax against him. They held onto one another, weaving the frayed ends of their bond into something stronger, and when Pidge pulled away after several minutes to and mumbled about getting back to work on the communication array, Keith's heart felt lighter than before.

He sat down next to her and helped out in whatever way he could, which mainly involved holding things steady so she could make sure all of the little pieces were correctly placed. Once it was finished and the distress signal was broadcasting, Pidge leaned against Keith with a soft sigh.

“I'm glad you're here,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

Keith stretched an arm across her shoulders so he could support her better. “Me too.”

Pidge smiled.

There was nothing else to say.

#voltron #kidge #kidgemas #fanfiction #I guess it's more platonic kidge than romantic #both are good #hi guess who's still not over Naxzela #it's me #I'm still not over Naxzela #this time I'm trying to see things from Keith's perspective

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shatterinseconds · 4 years ago

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Klance AU loosely based on The Proposal (2009)

For KL AU Month day 1: movie au @monthlyklance

Keith is the bitchy boss, an executive editor-in-chief for a major publishing company in New York

Lance is his constantly irked assistant but wants to be an editor

Keith is from Canada and violated the terms of his work visa and is in danger of being deported

After lying to the immigration official about being engaged, Keith persuades Lance to marry him (and then they’ll get divorced later) so he won’t have to go back to Canada. Lance agrees but only if he can get promoted to editor

In front of the immigration official:

Keith: where did you just say we were going this week, honey?

Lance, smirking: we’re going to celebrate my abuela’s 90th birthday... in Cuba

Keith, blinking: Cuba?? Yes, Cuba

Once they’re alone, Keith says, “You never told me your family is from Cuba.”

Lance’s gaze cuts into him. “You never cared enough to ask.”

And Keith has to bite his tongue because he really doesn’t know anything about Lance besides his last name and how he takes his coffee--which is only because he accidentally drank from Lance’s cup once. That’s all left unspoken in the space between them

Trying to come up with how they met in front of the family:

Keith: we met at

Lance: work

Keith: yes work. He got my drink order wrong

Lance: I got you exactly what you asked for

Keith: you didn’t but agree to disagree

Lance, with a strained smile: isn’t he a catch?

Veronica, pulling Lance aside afterwards: isn’t that the boss you always complain about? The one you said, and I quote, you ‘would sooner kiss a frog than ever hang out with that mullet head’

Lance, grimacing: people change?

The shenanigans:

They fall onto each other naked because Keith forgot to bring in a towel when he took a shower and quickly went in search of one and Lance didn't realize anybody else was in the bedroom and had stripped down to also take a shower

If Keith subtly checks Lance out because he just came back all hot and sweaty from surfing and this is the first time he’s seeing Lance shirtless, that is nobody’s business

If Lance catches Keith checking him out and doesn’t comment because he is also checking Keith out--because damn, it never dawned on him that Keith worked out--that is also nobody’s business

Keith tries to contact his work but can't get a signal and his phone is grabbed by a hawk

Lance just watches and laughs and is ultimately no help.

Keith never gets his phone back; he even loses a shoe when he tries to throw it at the stupid bird

Lance films the entire thing

Keith ends up getting roped into playing dress up with Lance’s niblings and when Lance finds them an hour later, he takes a ton of pictures

Keith’s hair may be styled into pigtails and there’s definitely a bottle of glitter on his face but he somehow doesn’t mind?

Lance uses one of the pictures as his new phone wallpaper

It’s the one where Keith shows his middle finger to the camera and Lance smiles fondly every time he turns on his phone now

The bonding moments:

Lance takes Keith out surfing, mostly just to see him epically fail, but unfortunately the waves aren’t great that day and they end up sitting on their surfboards in the ocean talking

Keith admits to being overwhelmed by Lance’s family, but only because both his parents died when he was really young and he never knew what it was like to be around family

Lance is shocked--it was the one thing he never knew about Keith--and feels a little guilty for just throwing him to the wolves. But he let’s Keith know how much his family actually likes and appreciates him

“Honestly,” Lance says when Keith gives him a skeptical look, “my parents have never praised any of my past significant others as much as they do you.”

An unexpected wave capsizes Keith and while Lance still laughs, he does help Keith back up and maybe their hands stay linked together a little longer than necessary

By the third day, Keith apologizes to Lance for being a shitty boss and that he should have been promoted a long time ago but Keith was being selfish because Lance was the best assistant he’s ever had and he didn’t want to lose the one person he could hold somewhat of a conversation with (even if it always set him on edge)

Lance accepts the apology and admits to not making the situation any better by being a jerk back

They fall asleep in the same bed for the first time

And yes, they wake up tangled together

But ultimately:

Keith sees Lance completely carefree and in his element, and realizes that he’s been unfair to Lance as a boss--pretty down right shitty, if he’s really being honest. And Keith also realizes that yes while he has always been able to admit that Lance is attractive, maybe he’s starting to see other sides of Lance that he likes a lot. That goofiness is endearing and he’s starting to really appreciate Lance’s need for direct human contact, especially when they “fake” cuddle in bed. He likes that Lance takes none of his bullshit. And he likes being part of a family, specifically Lance’s family. He just likes being with Lance in general.

Lance, on the other hand, has always refused to admit he is attracted to Keith. But seeing his boss out of his element and frazzled but also being kind to his family and playing with his niblings and fitting in so perfectly with his siblings (even if that includes ganging up on Lance to tell embarrassing stories) he feels his cheeks warming. And maybe the cuddling in bed and having to fake being in love around his massive family and showing Keith around his hometown and taking him to all his favorite places has something to do with it. Maybe Lance is starting to realize he wishes it wasn’t fake?? A true shocker

The whole reveal about the fake engagement happens and Keith leaves and Lance chases after him… leading to the typical romcom dramatic airport scene

By the end, they get engaged for real

“Marry me because I’d like to date you.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

#klance #voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #klance au month #klance fic #kinda #keith x lance #my writing #this is loosely based off the movie bc i haven't seen it in a few years but it's still my fav romcom #(on one screen the bullet points look fine; on my dashboard it does not lmao. i'm sorry if this just looks like one big text)

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actress4him · 4 years ago

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Whumptober 2020 - Day 28

This one has a little bit of similarity to yesterday's, but I like it much better. Also, it's been several days since I was really mean to you guys, so...check that "ambiguous ending" warning. I mean, it really leans more toward "bad ending" than anything else, but you are free to imagine a happy one if you'd like.

Read on AO3

Read on FFN

Day 28 - Accidents

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Warnings: similarities to car/plane crash, blood, broken bones, impalement, talk of death, self-sacrifice, ambiguous ending

The first thing that Keith noticed as his awareness trickled back in was that the artificial gravity inside Red’s cockpit wasn’t working. Or at least, that’s what he assumed, since one side of his body felt curiously heavy, like he was dangling in midair.

The second thing was the silence, broken only by a consistent drip, drip, drip.

The third thing was pain.

He couldn’t really pinpoint it to one particular spot, it just hurt, all over. He also couldn’t remember anything that had happened in between the battle that they had been fighting against a Galra fleet, and waking up. Something must have happened. Probably something bad, considering the amount of pain he was in.

Prying open his eyes - well, one of his eyes, anyway, the other seemed to be stuck shut - he found himself looking at a darkened windscreen. The whole cockpit was dark, in fact. Nothing lit up on the dash, no warm red overhead light, no alarms…

Alarms. Suddenly a memory stabbed through him, of alarms wailing and sensors flashing frantically, of himself pushing multiple buttons, hoping for some kind of miracle, while simultaneously pulling back on the controls as hard as he could and watching an unknown planet come spiraling toward him at full speed…

He gasped as the dark, still cockpit came back into focus, causing a wave of pain through his torso. Right. No idea still what had happened to make him and Red lose control, but they had definitely crashed. First things first, then, he needed to check on her and see if she was responding at all.

“Red.” His voice sounded awful. Some kind of liquid had pooled in the back of his throat, and he was forced to cough it out before he could continue. Fire spread through his body as it was jolted. “Red, you there? Can you hear me at all?”

Holding still and closing his eye, he waited for her familiar warmth to brush up against his mind, reassuring him that she would be alright after a little bit of rest. But it didn’t come. Instead, he thought he might have felt the tiniest little nudge, much more like a sickly kitten than a proud lion. Just enough to say, “I’m still here,” but also enough to tell him that she was in really bad shape.

Keith opened his eye again, lifting a stiff, sore arm to wipe at the sticky substance that was still keeping the other one glued shut. It burned when he tried to blink it open, and after hissing in a breath, he ended up just keeping it closed.

Now that he was a bit more awake, he could take in just how bad Red’s state really was. The whole front of the cockpit was crumpled. He didn’t even know it was possible for the Lions to take that kind of damage.

“Oh, Red,” he breathed. “I’m sorry, girl. I’m sorry.”

There was no response that time.

Gathering his courage, Keith started the process of assessing his own situation. First of all, he was still seated in the pilot’s chair, hanging sideways like he had surmised at the beginning, which meant that Red had landed on her side - probably after initially crashing headfirst, based on the way she was crushed. The position was far from comfortable, putting strain on his neck and back.

Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do to remedy that, because the completely obliterated dashboard was sitting on his lap, pinning him in place. The simultaneous good news and bad news was that he couldn’t feel anything from that point down.

The stuff he had scrubbed off his eye was blood. It was also what was making that dripping noise, as it rolled down from some unknown point on his head, across his eye, down to his temple, then dropped to the wall that was now the floor with a wet plop. He wasn’t sure he really wanted to attempt to see how big the puddle down there was. As for the wound itself, his best guess was that a piece of shrapnel had managed to fly up under his partial faceplate and leave a cut. With his whole head throbbing, it was hard to tell anything for sure.

His left arm was broken. Or at least, that was the diagnosis he was going with after he attempted to move it and ended up screaming. All he could really tell from looking at it was that it was not the shape it should be, and he decided right away that he was just going to keep it right where it was, dangling awkwardly off the side of the chair or not.

He didn’t want to look at his stomach. It had been gradually establishing itself as the most intense of all the pains, and he knew it was going to be bad way before he looked at it. But he had to. He needed to know what he was dealing with, if any of this was going to be survivable or not. Steeling himself, he looked down.

It was bad. Like, even worse than he thought it was going to be bad. There was a huge piece of metal, coated in his blood, sticking out of his stomach. For an eternally long moment, Keith just stared at it, trying to wrap his brain around it.

Okay. Right. So, he’d been impaled. That was a lot of blood. A whole lot more than was coming out of his head, that was for sure. He was pretty sure that it was going all the way through his body and pinning him to the chair, like those butterfly specimens that one of his teachers used to keep on display. He was also pretty sure that it had missed his spine, though that could definitely change if he moved around any.

It had not, however, missed vital organs. There was no way it hadn’t cut through at least a couple. That bitter tasting liquid from before bubbled up in the back of his throat again, as if to confirm it, as if to say, “Yep, Keith, you’re definitely dying!” Coughing it out jiggled the metal inside of him and made him whine.

So, yeah. He was dying. That was a thing. Even if the other Paladins could find him and get to him, they probably wouldn’t be quick enough, not with the way he was losing blood.

It didn’t really surprise him. Death had followed Keith around for most of his life, hiding in the shadows, waiting for it to be his turn to go like so many others had. Besides, now he was in the middle of a ten thousand year old war. Death happened all around him, every day. He knew it would be his turn sooner or later. And the sooner part wasn’t surprising, either, given how reckless he knew he could be.

Like you know, jumping out in front of a zaiforge cannon to keep it from hitting Lance. He was pretty sure now that that’s what had happened.

He also had always figured that he would die alone, and that’s pretty much how he was. Though...maybe there was a chance that he didn’t have to be.

“Red. If you’re...if you’re running any kind of systems right now...any repairs you’re trying to make, or anything...divert that power to comms. I know...I know you need help. I promise, you’ll get it. The team’ll find you, and Pidge and Hunk will be able to fix you right up. I promise. You...you’ll be okay. They’ll make sure you go on to fly another day. But...for now...I really, really need this. If you can.”

He still didn’t feel anything from her, but a moment later static began crackling in his ears. Keith gave a tired smile. “Good kitty.”

It took a few seconds for the static to clear up, but he could soon hear the familiar shouts of a battle. At first he just shut his eyes and listened, letting his teammates' voices wash over him. When there was a lull, he cleared his throat. “Guys? Can you hear me?”

“Keith?”

“Keith!”

“Keith, is that you?”

“Holy quiznak, you’re alive!”

“You idiota quiznaking estúpido -!”

He winced at the volume that pierced through his aching head, but was quick to jump back into the conversation. “Hey, yeah, I’m here. It’s me.”

“Oh, thank the Ancestors, Keith, we were so afraid of what had happened to you when we saw the Red Lion go down and you failed to respond!”

“Por qué? Why did you flippin’ jump out in front of me, idiota? What were you trying to prove, huh?”

“Nothing! I wasn’t...wasn’t trying to prove anything, I just...I saw the cannon, I saw you...I didn’t really think, I just...acted.”

“Yeah, that...seems to be a thing with you,” Pidge quipped. “Hunk, on your six!”

“Keith. What happened? Where are you?”

Leave it to Shiro to finally cut to the chase. “Red and I crashed. Not sure where. She’s gone dark, I can’t see anything outside.”

“Number Four, when you say the Red Lion has ‘gone dark’...what extent of damage are we talking about here?”

Keith grimaced. “It’s bad. I can barely feel her. The only reason my comm is working is because I asked her to divert whatever power she had left to it.” Yikes, he maybe shouldn’t have admitted that part. “Her front’s all busted up. No telling what kind of hits she took everywhere else.”

“So, you can’t like, get out and look at where you are?” Lance asked.

“Pidge, you’ve got two fighters coming your way. Keith, he’s right, if we could get a location on you we can come pick you up whenever we get the chance.”

“Uh, yeah. About that, it’s, uh…” To tell the truth, or not? Now was the time to decide. “I’m kinda...pinned. When I said Red’s front was busted up, I...the dash is...yeah.”

The silence only lasted a few ticks. “That sounds bad, that’s like, really bad, isn’t it? What does that mean, anyway, you’re pinned?”

“Hunk, less worrying, more shooting!”

“How bad is it, Keith? What are your other injuries?”

Because of course Shiro would automatically assume there are other injuries. Another chance to choose whether to tell the truth.. “Well, um...it’s not...great, um…”

“Not great? What...what does that mean?” Hunk was still apparently doing just as much worrying as shooting, the poor guy. And Keith would have attempted to answer him, but he was a little busy trying to breathe through a sudden rush of pain through his middle that made all the noises sound more like high-pitched whines for a minute.

When his hearing returned to normal and he could kind of breathe again, he was being bombarded with frantic voices all trying to get him to respond. “I’m here,” he croaked. “Sorry. I was...just…”

“Pidge, there’s absolutely no way you can get a location?”

“Not while she’s powered down. If he could get her to divert power from the comms to her tracker for a minute -”

“No!” That came out far too forcefully, and it hurt like heck, but he couldn’t lose his connection to the team, he couldn’t. If he cut the comms he might never get them back, and...and he’d die alone, in silence. “No, it’s...you don’t need to do that. I’m okay. You’re already down one Lion, you can’t afford to lose any more for a rescue right now. Just focus on your battle.”

No one spoke for a minute, other than calling out the occasional warning or fight maneuver. Keith knew they were realizing that what he said was true, and he was glad. He was already starting to get lightheaded and have a hard time breathing. If they sent someone after him, it would be for nothing, and they might lose the fight, or worse, lose another paladin.

“Talk to me, Keith. You still haven’t told me what your other injuries are.”

Closing his eyes, he drew in a stuttering breath. “Yeah, well...don’t wanna make Hunk queasy while he’s fighting.”

“Keith…”

“It’ll be okay, Shiro. Don’t worry about me. I just…” Wanted some company. “..didn’t want…” To be lonely. “...to miss out when you beat these guys.” The last victory he’d be a part of, even if he had let them down for the majority of the battle.

“Well, then maybe you shouldn’t have jumped out in front of a zaiforge cannon! Which I have now destroyed, by the way, de nada.”

Keith grunted a laugh, wincing when it pulled at his stomach wound. “Well if I hadn’t, then it’d be you down here.” And he could handle the thought of himself dying a lot better than any of them. “So de nada, yourself.”

Lance was shooting something back, as usual, always ready with a retort, but Keith’s hearing was fading in and out with his vision. A wave of dizziness came over him, and he let out a quiet groan.

“-ith?”

“Still here.” Even he could tell that his voice was much weaker than before.

“Stay with us, buddy. Try not to fall asleep.”

“M’kay. Gonna try. Kinda...losin’ some blood here, so…”

Someone who he was pretty sure was Pidge swore loudly. “We need to find him.”

“Nope. Don’t...don’t need to find me. Need to fight. Stop worrying about me.”

“You’re gonna have to get over it, we’re going to worry about you!” Pidge practically shouted. “You call us and tell us you’ve crashed your Lion and are pinned in your seat and bleeding and you keep randomly switching from talking to moaning and you think we’re not gonna worry about you?”

Guilt threaded its way into his chest. He shouldn’t have called. He was distracting them, he could get them killed. Besides the fact that he was making this way harder on them than it needed to be, making them listen to him as he struggled through his last moments.

“‘m sorry. I shouldn’t have...I’ll just go. You guys need...to focus.”

“Keith, no!”

“No! No no no, don’t go, you’re good, okay? We’re focused. You don’t worry about us, okay? You just concentrate on staying awake, and we’ll concentrate on fighting, and we’ll talk at the same time. Okay?”

Keith’s eyes slipped shut with a combination of relief and exhaustion. “Yeah. Okay. Just...just don’t lose focus. Don’t want any of you...getting hurt.”

“We’re good. I promise.” There was a pause before Shiro continued. “Can you promise me the same? That you’re gonna be okay?”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He hated lying to Shiro. Besides, his head was spinning so much now from blood loss that any words he came up with almost immediately got lost again.

“Hey, Sh’ro?” he finally managed.

“Yeah, bud?”

“R’member when...I stole your...car?”

It seemed like it was taking Shiro a really long time to respond, but that could have just been because he was drifting in and out of consciousness. “Yeah, bud. That’s kinda hard to forget. You sure knew how to make a first impression.”

A smile played at the corners of Keith’s lips. “But you...you were my friend. Anyway. E’en though...I did that. And I was...a jerk.”

“You weren’t a jerk. Well, okay, maybe a little. But I could tell it was all a front.”

“You were...were the only one who...ever tried. I don’t know if I...ever...said thank you.”

Shiro’s voice sounded strange when he spoke again. “You don’t have to, buddy. Being your friend is my pleasure.”

The other Paladins had fallen strangely silent, not even calling out maneuvers anymore. He hoped they were still listening. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say to them, but he knew it needed to be something.

“Thank...all ‘f you. For...bein’ friends. Good...good friends. Like fam’ly.”

“Keith.” Hunk’s voice had that unmistakable wobble to it that meant he was crying or about to. “You’re killing me here, bud. You’re our family, too.”

“No, shut up, don’t encourage him!” Pidge growled. “This is stupid! You sound like you’re saying goodbye and you need to shut up, because we are coming to get you, do you hear me?”

Leave it to Pidge to think she could threaten him into living. “You...you can’t.”

“Excuse you, what the heck do you mean we can’t?”

The end of Lance’s demand was drowned out by Keith falling into a coughing fit, worse than the last two combined. He could feel the metal ripping further into him. Eventually the fit dwindled into a long whimper, one that he didn’t really want the team to hear but couldn’t help.

“...Keith?”

“You’ll be too late,” he whispered, too tired to keep up the lie any longer. “I’m...bleeding out.”

“I’m going down there right now. I don’t care if I have to search the entire planet, I am not staying up here while he’s down there dy-” She cut off abruptly.

“I’m coming, too. Lance, Hunk, you’ve got this handled.”

“Yes, they’ll be fine, and will have backup from the Castle. Go find Keith.”

They were such good people. Better people than he had deserved to have in his life. He was pretty sure he was slipping away, and pretty sure that he wouldn’t wake back up. But he was doing it with a fond smile on his face. “Love you guys,” he breathed.

“Keith?”

“KEITH!”

——————————

Now with a continuation!

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hlupdate · 5 years ago

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Here he comes, one of the planet’s most conspicuous young men, stepping out of the London drizzle and into a dusty suburban pub. If there was an old vinyl record player in the place it would scratch quiet. Instead, the two-dozen punters turn hushed and intent, as if a unicorn has just trotted in off the street, and nobody wants to scare it off. “That’s frickin’ Harry frickin’ Styles,” whispers a young man at the bar, “in this pub.” The pop star is asked what he wants to drink and in a voice already inclined to undertones, quietly orders a cup of tea.

A former teen star who is now 25, a happier and rockier solo artist since his boyband One Direction split a few years ago, Styles has hidden himself inside a large, swamp-green parka. He’s tall, around the 6ft mark, and carries himself with a slight stoop. If Styles could only do something about his appearance from the neck up (elfin brow, wide Joker smile, a face that’s recognisable across multiple continents) you sense he could drink in pubs like this anonymously enough. As it is, cover blown, he removes the parka. A woolly jumper beneath has a picture of the planet Saturn on it. Maybe they’ve heard of Styles there, too.

We take a seat in the corner. On nearby tables, conversations start to sputter as people try to keep their own talk ticking along on autopilot while straining to hear what Styles says. I ask him about the sheer strangeness of this and other aspects of fame. Full stadiums, swooning admirers, an excess of opportunity and cash. Why isn’t Styles an absolute ordeal of a human being by now? Keith Richards, at a comparable stage, imagined himself the pirate leader of a travelling nation-state, unbound by international law. Elton John was on vast amounts of cocaine. Meanwhile, here’s Harry, known in the music industry as a bit of a freak, medically, having maintained abnormally high levels of civility in his system.

Styles tilts his head, flattered. There are others, he promises. “People who are successful, and still nice. It’s when you meet the people who are successful and aren’t nice, you think: What’s yer excuse? Cos I’ve met the other sort.”

Styles read Keith Richards’ autobiography a while back, and he recently finished Elton’s, too. (“Soooo much cocaine,” he marvels.) We talk for a bit about whether extreme dissolute behaviour and artistic greatness go hand in hand. Styles, who has just released his second solo album, Fine Line, the penultimate track of which is called Treat People With Kindness, has to hope not. “I just don’t think you need to be a dick to be a good artist. But, then, there are also a lot of good artists who are dicks. So. Hmm. Maybe I need to start scaring babies in supermarkets?”

A couple of lads hustle over to offer drinks. A photo is requested; they say they’ll wait. I’m weirdly anxious about Styles’s phone, which is slung on the table in front of him. What must be the black-market value of that thing? If fans were to get hold of it, would they want to open Styles’s music app first, to listen to tracks from the new album, or rush to see his messages and calls, to find out who Styles has been flirting with late at night? The interest in his music has always run at a ratio of about 50/50 with the interest in who he is dating.

It’s a ratio Styles tries to adjust in favour of the music by being vague about his ex-partners, real and rumoured (Taylor Swift, Kendall Jenner, Parisian model Camille Rowe), diverting to discuss his songs about failed relationships. A year ago, when Styles was floating around near this pub in north London, where he lives, and California, where he tends to record, looking for inspiration for the new album, his close friend Tom Hull told him: “Just date amazing women, or men, or whatever, who are going to fuck you up… Let it affect you and write songs about it.”

Styles, who writes in collaboration with Hull and producer Tyler Johnson, sounds as if he took the advice. The new album, Fine Line, is at its best when capturing late-hours moments, drunk calls, “wandering hands”, kitchen snogs. A golden-haired lover recurs. There are up tracks, down tracks, some with the trippy delirium of harpsichord-era Stones, others with the angsty Britpop swell of strings. While I listened, I couldn’t help scribbling down names, possible subjects. On the lyric “There’s a piece of you in how I dress” I wrote: maybe Kendall? In a song about a lover “way too bright for me”: surely Taylor.

Styles says he keeps to a general rule: write what comes and don’t think about it too much afterwards. The only time he worries about an individual lyric is if it risks putting an ex in a difficult position. “If a song’s about someone, is that fine? Or is that gonna get annoying for them, if people try to decipher it?” Has he ever got that judgment call wrong and taken a bollocking from an angry ex? Styles raises an eyebrow. “Maybe ask me in a month.”

I quiz him on something I’ve often wondered about. Why are the very famous so inclined to hook up with the very famous? From the outside it looks twice the hassle, with twice the odds of ending badly. “Don’t we all do that, though?” Styles asks. “Go into things that feel relatively doomed from the start?” I ask him why he doesn’t date normals. He seems tickled: “Um. I mean, I do. I have a private life. You just don’t know about it.”

Styles doesn’t particularly like being asked about his love life, but is amused all the same, as he is about most things. When I ask about the logistics of someone as well known as him dating someone anonymous (“Do you need to give them, like, some sort of primer?”), Styles snorts with laughter.

“Uh-h-h. Like any conversation, I guess, it’s easier if you’re honest. But I try to let it come up when it comes up. Cos that’s a weird thing to talk about, y’know? If you’ve just started seeing someone, and you’re, like: [he adopts a throaty, mission-briefing voice] So! This is what’s gonna happen!” Styles holds out his hands: no, ta. “I don’t wanna have that conversation, man. It would be fucking weird.”

And not very sexy, I say.

“Not sexy,” Styles says, “no.”

A quick aside about his accent, which is hard to capture in print. (“Nat sexy, no.”) After a workout in a hotel gym recently, Styles says he was taken aback (“taken abeck”) to be asked by a stranger whether he was speaking in a fake voice. He was appalled. But after so long crossing borders and time zones, living and working between England and the US, the accent has undergone a jazzy remix, and tends to get farthest from its Cheshire roots when he’s around strangers. Once Styles begins to get comfortable in the pub, the flatter, no-nonsense sounds of his youth return. Nowpe he says, for nope. Fook, for fuck.

“What the fook are they?” This was the response of his childhood pals, he remembers, back in the village of Holmes Chapel, when little Harry had the gumption to show up in the playground wearing Chelsea boots instead of the approved chunky trainers. Styles’s parents had separated when he was very young, but there is no origin-story trauma: he has always stayed close to both. His mother, Anne, would praise his singing voice in the car, and when Styles was 16 it was agreed he could audition for a singing contest on TV.

“The craziest part about the whole X Factor thing,” says Styles, who auditioned for the ITV reality show in 2010, “is that it’s so instant. The day before, you’ve never been on telly. Then suddenly…” Suddenly you’re a piece of national property. “You don’t think at the time, ‘Oh, maybe I should keep some of my personal stuff back for myself.’ Partly because, if you’re a 16-year-old who does that, you look like a jumped-up little shit. Can you imagine? ‘Sorry, actually, I’d rather not comment…’ You don’t know what to be protective of.”

By the winter of 2010, Styles was a fan favourite, a key member of One Direction, a five-piece that enjoyed enormous national exposure and gathered millions of fans before any music had been released. Cameras filmed every part of their rise. There wasn’t any time in the dark to practise, test things out, mentally brace. “We didn’t get to dip in a toe,” Styles says. “But, listen, I was a kid, all I knew was: I didn’t have to go to school any more. I thought it was fucking great.” He remembers having a lot of fun, and being well taken care of. He jokes: “Maybe it’s something I’ll have to deal with a bit later. When I wake up in my 40s and think: Arrrggh.”

In February 2012, One Direction were feted at the Brit Awards, hours before they were due to fly to the US for the first time. On TV that night they looked young, silly, chuffed – on the precipice of something huge, and with no clue at all. Their subsequent wonder-run (five platinum albums, four world tours) had its foundations in their ridiculous popularity in the States. Right away, Styles remembers, “We were fuelling a machine. Keeping the fire going.” He remembers it as a stimulating time; maybe overstimulating. “Coming out of it, when the band stopped, I realised that the thing I’d been missing, because it was all so fast paced, was human connection.”

I first met Styles in 2014, around the time the lack of human connection was starting to bite. One Direction were promoting their penultimate album and I’d been commissioned to write about themthe Guardian. Management felt the boys were so exhausted that my minutes in their presence had to be strictly counted. Inside a circle of cripplingly hot lights, while someone ran the stopwatch, we interacted as humanly as we could.

I remember how jaded the best singer in the group, Zayn Malik, seemed. (Malik was weeks away from quitting.) I also remember how flattered and bewildered the others were to be asked a few grownup questions – and not what Louis Tomlinson would later describe to me as “who’s-your-favourite-superhero… all that shit”. Styles was watchful and quiet that day. By total chance, a week later, we were in the same London cafe and he tapped my shoulder. He was having lunch with friends. “Will ya join us?”

t struck me as a quietly classy move. I was fascinated to see him interact with mates he’d chosen for himself. Styles was dry and funny, older than his years. After lunch we said the usual things about keeping in touch, and followed each other on Twitter. I kept an eye on his updates, about leaving One Direction, releasing an impressive, self-titled debut album in 2017, playing for 36,000 people in Madison Square Garden in New York, acting in Christopher Nolan’s Oscar-nominated war movie Dunkirk. Meanwhile, I did my best to manage the mess that had been made of my own account after Styles’s Twitter follow ignited a small explosion of teenage longing in my mentions. For at least a year I received weekly, sometimes daily, pleas from people who wanted messages conveyed to “H”. Still now, every few days, fans in America, Asia and Europe follow me to “see what H sees” in their timeline.

He has around 50 million social media followers, and with that comes the ability to ripple the internet like somebody airing a bedsheet. I’ve noticed, though, how rarely Styles directs people to support specific causes, last doing so in 2018, when he encouraged people to join a march against gun violence. Why don’t you use your influence more, I ask? “Because of dilution. Because I’d prefer, when I say something, for people to think I mean it.” He runs his fingertips across the table. “To be honest, I’m still searching for that one thing, y’know. Something I can really stand up for, and get behind, and be like: This Is My Life Fight. There’s a power to doing the one thing. You want your whole weight behind it.”

It’s one of the things that sets Styles apart, the way he puts his whole weight behind the different aspects of this strange job. If you watch footage of him as a guest host on Saturday Night Live last month, Styles plunges in, fully inhabiting the silliness of every sketch. He has good songs in his repertoire (2017’s ballad Sign Of The Times stands out), and would probably admit to some middling songs that attest to his relative inexperience as a writer. But whichever of his songs Styles performs, he goes all-in, trusting that his zest and energy will hold an audience’s attention. He approaches this interview in roughly the same spirit, not enjoying every question, fidgeting, pleading for clemency once or twice, but giving everything due consideration.

I bring up something Styles joked about earlier: the possibility of waking up in his 40s with deferred mental health problems.

“Mm,” he says

Have you thought about therapy, I ask, to get ahead of that?

“I go,” he says. “Not every week. But whenever I feel I need it. For a really long time I didn’t try therapy, because I wanted to be the guy who could say: ‘I don’t need it.’ Now I realise I was only getting in my own way.” He shrugs. “It helps.”

Lately he’s been reading a lot (Lisa Taddeo’s Three Women stood out). He’s watched a lot of Netflix (crime thrillers and music docs). He recently cried through Slave Play on Broadway. I sense in Styles, at 25, a pent-up undergraduate hunger, maybe a desire to make up for lost time. “I’ve definitely been wanting to learn stuff, try stuff,” he says. “Things I didn’t grow up around. Things I’d always been a little bit sceptical about. Like therapy, like meditation. All I need to hear is someone saying, ‘Apparently, it’s amazing’, and I’ll try it. When I was in Los Angeles once, I heard about juice cleanses. I thought, yeah, I’ll do a juice cleanse.”

How messy were the results?

“You mean…?” Styles raises an eyebrow, recalling the poos. “They were all right. I was just hungry. And bored.”

One notable feature of Styles’s solo career has been his headlong embrace of unconventional clothing. A 2017-18 tour could have been sponsored by the Dulux colour wheel: mustard tones in Sydney, shocking pink in Dallas. In a more serious sense, some of Styles’s choices have fed into an important political discussion about gendered fashion. In May, as a co-host at the Met Gala in New York, he stepped out in a sheer blouse and a pearl earring. One evening’s work challenged a lot of stubborn preconceptions about who gets to wear what.

He says: “What women wear. What men wear. For me it’s not a question of that. If I see a nice shirt and get told, ‘But it’s for ladies.’ I think: ‘Okaaaay? Doesn’t make me want to wear it less though.’ I think the moment you feel more comfortable with yourself, it all becomes a lot easier.”

What do you mean, I ask?

Styles is leaning forward, hands folded around his cup of tea. “A part of it was having, like, a big moment of self-reflection. And self-acceptance.” He has a habit, when he’s made a definitive statement, of raising his chin and nodding a little, as if to decide whether he still agrees with himself. “I think it’s a very free, and freeing, time. I think people are asking, ‘Why not?’ a lot more. Which excites me. It’s not just clothes where lines have been blurred, it’s going across so many things. I think you can relate it to music, and how genres are blurring…”

Sexuality, too, I say.

“Yep,” says Styles. “Yep.”

There’s a popular perception, I say, that you don’t define as straight. The lyrics to your songs, the clothes you choose to wear, even the sleeve of your new record – all of these things get picked apart for clues that you’re bisexual. Has anyone ever asked you though?

“Um. I guess I haaaaave been asked? But, I dunno. Why?”

You mean, why ask the question?

“Yeah, I think I do mean that. It’s not like I’m sitting on an answer, and protecting it, and holding it back. It’s not a case of: I’m not telling you cos I don’t want to tell you. It’s not: ooh this is mine and it’s not yours.”

What is it then?

“It’s: who cares? Does that make sense? It’s just: who cares?”

I suppose my only question, then, is about the stuff that looks like clue dropping. Because if you don’t want people to care, why hint? Take the album sleeve for Fine Line. With its horizontal pink and blue stripes, a splash of magenta, the design seems to gesture at the trans and bisexual pride flags. Which is great – unless the person behind it happens to be a straight dude, sprinkling LGBTQ crumbs that lead nowhere. Does that make sense?

Styles nods. “Am I sprinkling in nuggets of sexual ambiguity to try and be more interesting? No.” As for the rest, he says, “in terms of how I wanna dress, and what the album sleeve’s gonna be, I tend to make decisions in terms of collaborators I want to work with. I want things to look a certain way. Not because it makes me look gay, or it makes me look straight, or it makes me look bisexual, but because I think it looks cool. And more than that, I dunno, I just think sexuality’s something that’s fun. Honestly? I can’t say I’ve given it any more thought than that.”

In our musty corner of the pub we’ve somehow passed a couple of hours in intense discussion. We’ll lighten up, before Styles heads home, with some chat about clever films (Marriage Story), stupider viral videos (the little boy who’s just learned the word “apparently”), that favourite-superhero stuff that, after all, has its place. He talks about the curious double time scheme of a pop star’s life – those crammed 18-hour days and then the sudden empty off-time when Styles might find himself walking miles across London to buy a book, afterwards congratulating himself: “Well, that’s an hour filled.”

Before we stand up I ask if he’s minded any of my questions.

He pushes out his lips, possibly recalling them one by one, then shakes his head. “What I would say, about the whole being-asked-about-my-sexuality thing – this is a job where you might get asked. And to complain about it, to say you hate it, and still do the job, that’s just silly. You respect that someone’s gonna ask. And you hope that they respect they might not get an answer.”

I tell him I do.

“Cool.”

Styles has to find those lads who wanted a photo. He scoops his phone off the table and flicks his thumb around the screen. Lately, he says, when he messes around on his phone in an idle moment, it’s mostly to look at videos – clips that his friends have sent him, in which their kids sing along to music he’s made. “Never gets old,” Styles says, beaming.

A few years ago, when he emerged from the boyband, blinking, shattered, he set himself three tasks: prioritise friends, learn how to be an adult, achieve a proper balance between the big and the small. Full stadiums, provocative outfits – Styles genuinely loves these things. “But I guess I’ve realised, as well,” he says, “that the coolest things are not always the cool things. Do you know what I mean?” He grabs his parka and his phone and, a little stooped, heads for home.

#harry styles #the guardian #stunt mention #131219

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