#trying this agin to see if it shows up in the tags

[navybrat817]

Down Again

Pairing: Soft!Dark Ari Levinson x Female Reader Summary: Getting settled into your life with Ari is easier said than done. Word Count: Over 2.2k Warnings: Tagging (D)ubcon to be safe (please do not read if this upsets you!), (e)xplicit (s)exual (c)ontent, (u)nprotected (v)aginal (s)ex, (p)ossessive behavior, soulmates, telepathic link, (p)orn with feels (it's me,) soft!dark Ari Levinson (he's a warning, okay?) Graphics talent and thanks: Banner by @sgt-seabass. Divider by @firefly-graphics. Header by yours truly. A/N: Continuation of Wear Me Down. Our poll winner and @flordeamatista sensed it coming. I hope you lovelies enjoy. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @galatially, but any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

When Ari brought you to your new home, far away from your old place, you didn't go kicking and screaming the way you expected. You still weren't sure what he did for a living, but the way the few men around him averted their eyes in his presence stopped you from lashing out. If grown and capable men feared him, what would that spell for you if you tried to run? Who would help you anyway when they discovered you were trying to outrun your soulmate?

In some ways, you couldn't complain. The house was beautiful and spacious, plenty of room for you to be on your own while Ari worked. Anything and everything you could possibly want, you had. The moment you thought of something, he made sure it was there because he took the time to enter your mind and pay attention.

"But you still won't look through mine, will you, sweetheart?"

You wrapped the soft blanket tighter around you as you ignored Ari and stared out the bedroom window. The growing storm tempted you to open it and wash away your tears with the rain before you remembered the cries were inside your mind. You counted a few of the drops as they hit the glass and traced their paths with your finger, doing your best to ignore the pull to answer your soulmate. It was when you imagined his beard against your neck that you replied.

"What will I find if I look?" you asked.

It was strange to speak in your head, but it felt more natural than you expected. Whenever he spoke, it was like butterfly wings brushed against your temple. Soft kisses that said you weren't alone.

You'd never be alone again.

"Whatever you want."

But you didn't want to venture in the depths of his inner thoughts. He showed you enough of them as it was. Your bodies tangled together in your new warm bed. A ring on your finger. An intimate wedding where he made love to you right on the altar. Forever entwined and never apart.

You gasped when your legs opened on their own, beckoning for him to join you. "Stop," you whispered out loud, but it was as if you shouted.

"I'm not doing anything. That's all you."

Ari was right. He may have fed you the images, but you were the one who kept replaying them in your mind. He knew the kind of flowers you wanted on your wedding day, the sweet scent surrounding you as you closed your eyes and inhaled. His tux tailored to perfection, emphasizing his massive frame until you itched to see what was underneath.

He's breaking me, isn't he? No. I'm still me.

In a sense, some part of your old self was still intact. It was also buried deep down under the crumbled life you built for yourself. The job you used to have? Gone. He made sure of that once he claimed you.

And Luke.

Your heart lurched, but you didn't dwell on your ex. There was no point. Ari would likely knock the door down and fuck any thought of him away if you did. You were too tired for that today.

"I'm going to sleep, Ari. Do not join me. Just do whatever it is that you do."

He chuckled in your mind as you went to bed. Your recent fitful night of sleep ended with you waking up to the slow and deep thrust of Ari’s cock. He had worked you over first with his tongue before you were completely awake, the scratch of his beard leaving an invisible claim as his tongue lapped up every drop of you. Recovery time meant nothing to him as you whined, your thighs trembling as he sheathed you. The aura of red surrounding him almost seeped into your skin, another display of ownership. Would others see who you belonged to?

"I'm joining you whether we actually sleep or not."

You shivered at the implication. When you were younger, you didn’t understand or appreciate the value of sleep. You felt like you’d miss out on something if you didn’t stay awake, so you fought it as much as you could. As you grew older, you wished you hadn’t skipped out on the opportunity to rest. If only to hold onto the chance for lost dreams.

But how can I miss them if I never had them?

You dreamt of your soulmate now when you slept. The gorgeous and dangerous man who invaded and took over your life. The person who convinced you that you belonged to him. You felt in your core that he was right, as much as you didn't want to.

Because it wasn't my choice. I never had a choice.

"You know,” he gently began. “You could just ask me what I do. I'll tell you."

The connection between you and Ari was there by chemistry, but not your emotions. As much as he upheaved your life, he was at least trying to build something more. He didn't hurt you when you refused to comply with his whims. He attempted to talk through things with you and treat you well when he wasn’t bending you over the nearest surface.

You closed your eyes instead of offering an olive branch.

Maybe tomorrow.

The stubborn flame inside you dimmed more and more. Was a life with Ari really going to be so bad? He would take care of you, but it seemed like you were the only one who had to sacrifice something. How was that fair? Did he give anything up for you?

You weren't sure how many minutes passed when the bed dipped, but you didn't open your eyes. Ari would make it known if he wanted your attention. He did so by pulling the sheet from your naked body a heartbeat later, making you shiver as the cool air hit your skin. You could have put underwear on and at least give you that barrier, but why ruin another pair?

“You can try to sleep if you want to, sweetheart,” Ari said in a low and throaty voice as his body glided over yours, his bare chest brushing against yours. A whimper left your mouth a moment later as his lips moved over your fluttering pulse in your neck. “But I can't resist you like this.”

Pliant. Taking everything he gives me.

Insatiable would be a good word to describe Ari. Once he had a taste of you, he needed more. He didn't need to say it with his mind because he told you with his body. How did he have the stamina to take you over and over?

Is it the need for his soulmate that fuels his desire?

"Ari," you whimpered, wishing nothing more than to rest for just a little while.

"It's beautiful when you say my name," he said, using a knee to push your legs open. You resisted just enough that he had to put a bit of force into it. And you didn't need to look between your bodies to know he was hard and aching. "You should do it again."

Your eyes flew open when he began to push into your sensitive pussy, your walls still welcoming and wet despite the slight discomfort. Still a bit stretched from earlier made it easier for him to sink each inch in until he bottomed out. The groan he let out had you shuddering as he lifted his head to stare down at you. Was he an angel or a demon?

He's both.

You brought your hands up to his shoulders and rested them there, which made him pause. He was waiting to see what your next move would be. Would you dig your nails in and urge him to fuck you in deep strokes? Or would you attempt to push him away and keep fighting a losing battle?

“It’s all just… too much,” you whispered, closing your eyes so you couldn’t see the darkness in his blue eyes.

Shades of red moved behind your eyelids when he covered your mouth with his. It wasn’t long before you kissed him back, allowing him to invade your mouth the way he had with your cunt. Your senses. Every single part of you began and ended with him.

That was why it was too much.

“Too much? It’s not enough,” he whispered in your mind as he resumed his thrusts. "I'll never get enough of you. One day, you'll feel the same."

That's what I'm afraid of. That isn't love. Love takes time and care. This is obsession. I can't lose myself. I can't.

Because who are you now without him?

His hand, heavy and warm, gripped your hip as his lips curled into a smirk. You couldn't stop your pussy from squeezing around the length of him and it told him what he wanted to know. No matter how much your mind tried to fight him, your body welcomed him home.

“You’ll come around,” he promised as you pushed your hips back against his. “Sooner than you think.”

It was like he threw fuel on the fire, igniting the tiny flame. He was so sure of himself, so rooted in his convictions. What about yours? With more strength than you knew you had, you shifted your bodies until you straddled him. He didn’t look the least bit surprised as he lay beneath you, choosing to put his hands on your hips and rest them there.

He was waiting again to see what you’d do.

“You think I’ll come around just because you say so?” you asked, lifting your hips just to slam them back down. “Because my pussy loves your cock?”

“There she is. My stubborn little soulmate even though you know we belong to each other,” he moaned as you set your pace. "Go on, sweetheart. Take me the way you want to. That’s it.”

“Do you have to talk?” you asked through your teeth.

“Shut me up then,” he challenged, squeezing your hips for good measure. “Fuck me until all I do is grunt and moan your name.”

You rolled your hips, trying to remember if you ever felt so full before him. The way the tip of his cock hit your sweet spot, it was a wonder that you hadn’t gushed all over him. Yet. His light touch as he slid his hands to your breasts encouraged you to move faster and throw your head back, but he let you stay in as much control as you could. You’d take it as a small win.

“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever had and it’s all mine. Like my cock’s all yours,” he said in your mind as he sat up and wrapped your arms around your back, crushing his chest to your as you lifted your head. He groaned against your lips as you rode him harder, losing yourself to pleasure you didn’t ask for, but craved. “Fucking take it. Make me come. Make me pump you full. I know you want it. I want it, too.”

You lost yourself to his words, pleasure pooling in your stomach as you reached up to yank on his long hair. The growl you were met with spurred you on, getting closer to the edge as you eagerly bounced in his lap. You hoped this impending orgasm wouldn’t leave you feeling empty after.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

Your head fell back again with a sharp cry, spasming around him with your release. He gripped the back of your head when you tried to squeeze your eyes shut, your face still contorted in ecstasy as he thrust up to chase his own end. He wanted you to look at him as he emptied himself inside you. A twisted part of you wanted it, too.

"Mine."

A familiar warmth bloomed deep in your core moments later as he finished, the sound of Ari grunting your name reaching your ears. He surprised you by laying back, taking you down with him as he twitched inside you. Both of you panted as he held you and you didn’t have it in you to try and roll away.

Every time Ari took you was like a cut to your heart, slowly making you bleed out. With each whispered word he spoke though, the wound closed. You didn’t feel the same ache you normally did and that frightened you. Was your heart slowly becoming his by giving him your body willingly? No. You refused to let that be the case.

And you refused to shed a tear when he pulled you closer.

“You’ll say it back. And you’ll have my ring on your finger.”

Because it wasn't enough that he had all of you, he needed you to take his last name, too.

“Having my body is easy,” you said in his mind as your eyes slipped shut, your breathing still ragged. “My heart is a bit harder to get.”

“I’m a very determined man,” he promised, kissing the top of your head with a small nuzzle. “Besides, you aren’t going anywhere.”

You bit your lip to keep from snapping back in denial. "If you say so."

Maybe you would try to run, after all. If only to see how long it would take for him to catch you. Because if Ari Levinson truly wanted your love, he’d have to earn it. He owed you that much.

What do we think? Will you run? How long until Ari catches you if you do? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Misc. Chris Evans Characters Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[icecoffee90]

Tag game - Get to Know You

Thank you for tagging me, @jerzwriter!

Alright, here I go with TMI about me nobody asked for! Sorry in advance! lol

Are you named after someone?

Not that I know of. Apparently my grandma wanted my parents to name me after her (Růžena), but thankfully they didn’t listen, lol. Not that it’s a bad name!

When was the last time you cried?

I don’t even remember. I almost never cry.. Usually only cry when I’m watching something (or listening to a song) where a beloved character or an animal dies.. Though I guess every few years the bottled up emotions overflow and anything can trigger the waterworks.. But I’m pretty sure the last time I cried was because of a TV show, but I really don’t remember which one it was and when (especially since I didn’t have much time to watch anything lately, lol)

Do you have kids?

No. I’m a two time aunt, that’s more than enough, lol.

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Probably too much sometimes, lol

What colour are your eyes?

I always said Blue and green, but I think they’re mainly gray.

Scary Movies or happy endings?

I rarely watch scary movies (as in slashers)... I mean, if they’re on TV, I leave them on as a background noise.. But if we count movies like Sleepy Hollow, Interview with the Vampire etc as scary movies, then I would probably pick those.. But I prefer a happy ending in everything I watch!

Any special talents?

None that I know of. Other than maybe annoying people around me, lol.

Where were you born?

In a hospital in the town nearest to my hometown. Funny story about that (at least it’s funny to me, lol): The town I live in doesn’t have a hospital, so everyone from here was born in that nearest hospital, so I never thought ynthing of it.. Only to find out YEARS later that my parents only moved here when I was 6 months old! That my mom just happened to be in this town at her mother-in-law’s at that moment!

What are your hobbies?

Reading, watching TV shows and sports (tennis, snooker, ice hockey), foreign languages..

Do you have any pets?

I have a dog. But he lives at my mom’s so I don’t get to see him as often anymore..

What sports do you/have you played?

Edit: I left Elsa's anwer here by mistake! Sorry! 🤦‍♀️😅 So here's my answer..

I used to play tennis as a kid (because my sister attented a lesson, so I wanted to do it too), according to my mother I sucked.. But in my mother's eyes I suck at everything, so who knows, lol.

How tall are you?

I’m tiny. 157, 5 cm.. I’m not googling in the feet and inches again.. it was under 5 ft 2 in, i believe, lol

Favorite subject in school?

I always liked Czech (just the grammar though) and chemistry later on. Also back in 2007 when I was 16 and obsessed with German bands (yeah, yeah, yeah, mainly Tokio Hotel, I admit it! lol. But also Nevada Tan/Panik!, Cinema Bizzare and Killerpilze), I put extra effort into the German classes, lol. BECAUSE I saw a Tokio Hotel interview (or maybe it was just the twins? doesn’t matter, lol) and I was just thinking “Man, I’ve been learning German since the 3rd grade and I barely understand 3 sentences.. This is fucking embarrassing! I need to do something about that!” and (mainly thanks to German fanfic writers, lol) I was speaking fluently in no time! I really need to brush up on it agin, hopefully it’s still in there somewhere..

Great, now I’ve listened to “Ich bin nicht ich” at least 30 times over the past two days.. And 20 times to “Totgeliebt”.. HELP ME!!

Still love it, though.. And I must still have that DVD (and CD) somewhere, lmfao..

And since I’m off the topic anyway (I’M SORRY, but I did warn you, lol), can I just say that I still find it funny that my teen crush is now married to Heidi Klum? Who would have thought almost 16 years ago, lol? Shit, where did all that time go? 😭

Dream job?

Hmm, if I had unlimited supply of money amd could have done anything I wamted to, I would wanna try translating - combing reading and use of foreign languages.. I think that would be great!

Alright, that was fun! Sorry everyone who read my dumb answers, lol

Who else might wanna do this? I’m gonna tag @she-x-wolf​ (feel free to ignore, of course!)

[slothgiirl]

the medic (keith x reader)

17k. something weird’s going on with keith, like alien weird. as the team medic, you’re concerned.

“So he is avoiding me,” you muse aloud, grabbing one of the pink alien food biscuits that were Hank’s latest experiment. Though it had been hours since Voltron had taken out the Galra Empire’s presence on this Balmera, you’d only just seen the last of your patients. Altean medical equipment did wonders.

After a battle, you were hardly surprised to find Hank in the kitchen, grounding himself as he cooked. You were surprised to run into Keith.

“Yeah,” Hank nods, “Probably trying to avoid another dental exam.”

You flush bright red, “His teeth fell out! Sorry for being concerned.” Between you and Lance, you’d managed to get a look at Keith. A fist fight with some alien species that was cooperating with the Galra had not gone Keith’s way, knocking out two of his teeth.

Shiro, predictably, had waved it off and accepted Keith’s insane explanation that his teeth would grow back on their own without question: given his hand waving of the red paladin’s eyes glowing slightly in the dark, more than any human’s should (human eyes didn’t glow at all!). Hindsight was twenty twenty.

The yellow paladin shrugs as he mixes orange noodle-esque things in a bowl.

Team Voltron was full of strong personalities. Add in Lotor and his friends dropping in, there was always something going on.

Hank just wanted to unwind from spending the past few hours destroying heavy duty mining equipment without hurting the planet. “So how are the biscuits?”

You chew on one, still bothered by Keith. Maybe Hank was right and he was trying to hide something from your keen gaze. You hoped not. Knowing the red paladin, and after two years in space, you certainly did, he’d rather suffer in silence until there was no other option than get medical attention. Back on earth with needles and scalpels, you understood, but in the Castle of Lions…

“Kind of like a rice cracker,” you tell Hank helpfully. “In a good got snacks at H-Mart way, not the sad quaker oats rice snacks.”

“Oh H-Mart,” Hunk smiles, “they don’t have those in space. They do have salt though. Found that at the last market we went to.”

“As long as alien food doesn’t poison us,” you comment. It was lucky that hadn’t happened. It was alien food. But not one negative reaction which either made humans some of the most hardy species or you were just lucky.

“Yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I’ve gotten pretty good at recognizing what’s edible and not. I know Pidge said there’s some books, but my Altean is pretty bad.”

“Languages are hard.”

“Wish there was a space version of google translate.”

“Hunk-”

“Yeah.”

“That’s genius!” You look at the yellow paladin, wondering how a universe with speech translators never thought to do the same for written language.

“I know,” Hunk smiles while popping another tray into the oven.

—————

Lance finishes painting your toenails. It was a rare day when there were no space battles or rebel meetings. “Pidge,” the blue paladin whines, “let me paint your-”

“Don’t even think about it!”

“It’s supposed to be team bonding night,” Lance counters.

“Lance,” Allaura frowns from where she’s sitting with Shiro, “the castle’s night cycle has not started.”

“Well we can change it,” he counters, “there’s no up or down in space. OR day or night.”

“You can paint my nails,” Hunk offers. “Won’t last long though between the cooking and the vents I’ve been cleaning. This is a 10,000 year old castle. No offence,” he glances at Allura.

“No offence at all. The battles have taken their toll and I’m sure Coran appreciates the help. He is only one man.” She lets out a sigh. The only other remaining Altean was a bittersweet subject for her.

Hunk kicks off his shoes. “My pleasure. Literally. This Castle is so cool. The artificial gravity alone!”

You watch the paint dry on your toes. Only your big toes had actual drawings on them, strange alien creatures you’d all encountered over your time in space. The others were clear with green and blue swirls. “You’re a good artist Lance.”

The blue paladin winks, “I’m a regular old Michaelangelo.”

You laugh, “of course you are.”

“And I’m not just good with a brush,” he wiggles his eyebrows, more boyish flirting than anything serious.

You roll your eyes.

Pidge throws a cushion at Lance. “Oh please like you’ve got past the first date!”

“I have! Vivian Tran from Calculus.”

“Can you focus on my nails,” Hunk asks, but Lance is busy waving the thin brush in hand as he argues with Pidge.

“And Atticus from Cantonese.”

“Didn’t you drop that class,” Hank asks.

“Well, the hindi teacher was way nicer and didn’t hate me. I was good at drawing the characters though.”

“Can you speak hindi,” you ask, having taken French for your language fulfillment.

“Eh-” Lance shrugs.

“Can you flirt in Hindi is the real question,” you ask with a grin.

“He can’t even flirt in English,” Pidge points out scathingly.

“Hey!”

“My nails Lance,” Hunk grumbles.

“Right. Right,” Lance focuses back on his task, going with a yellow that matches Shay. “What language did you take Shiro?”

“English.”

“How many dialects does Earth have,” Allura asks.

“A lot,” Shiro tells the alien princess. “The Garrison pushes being multilingual in its program. Most cadets were already bilingual to start with, generally covering major languages.”

“Ah.”

“Got bored of the training room,” Pidge asks Keith as he walks in, flopping down on an empty sofa.

“It timed out.”

“Sure,” Lance immediately starts, a dog with a bone, “not like you couldn’t beat it or anything.”  

“You can’t even get past level 9!” Keith growls back, sitting up with a jolt, skin still slick from sweat and his cheeks were flushed with exertion.

Lance gets up, puffing out his chest. Oh boy, here they go again. The rivalry thing they had going on got old fast to everyone around them. While it did push them to be better paladins, it was annoying to hear. “Oh like you’re any better.”

Hunk takes the brush from Lance, finishing off his last toe on his own.

“I am,” Keith bites back, a growl still audible from his chest.

“Only because you cheat!”

“It’s not cheating!”

“How is it not-” Lance stops, furrows his brow, then grins. “You got a little something there.” And like a thirteen year old, Lance points and laughs.

Keith frowns, his hand coming up to his cheek.

Sure enough, Lance was right. Keith had a couple of angry red blemishes on his cheek.

“You have adult acne,” Lance giggles, immature as ever. He was always able to find an angle to everything. It was what made him such an excellent strategist.

“It’s not adult acne!” Keith scowls, scratching at the blemishes.

“Its been three years,” Lance retorts smugly.

You frown. “No. It’s been like two.” You look over at Pidge to confirm, “Right?” You were like ninety percent sure you were twenty.

“Two and a half,” Pidge answers.

“Ha! You’re twenty! Adult-”

“I don’t have adult acne!”

They’d fought over more meaningless things before.

If it was two and a half years, maybe you were twenty one? You frown. How old would you be before you ever saw your family again?

Stashing that depressing thought away, you focus on Keith and the red marks on his cheek like a line coming down to his jaw. “It could be a rash,” you utter thoughtfully. Pidge and you had already encountered a very itchy plant before. “Or space ringworm-ring line?”

For the first time in days, Keith looks at you, meeting your gaze. “It’s not a rash!”

You lift your hands up, “okay. Okay. Geez.” When it came to Keith, you didn’t push too hard. He was too stubborn for it to work.

Lance, however, “hey, it’s okay Keith-buddy, just use toothpaste.”

“Toothpaste makes it worse,” Hunk counters. “Not great for your skin either.”

“It always worked for me,” Lance counters. “Or a clay skin mask.”

“Clay? You mean that green mud,” Keith clarifies.

“It’s clay!”

“Clay would work,” you agree with Lance. “Hey it could be like a spa day!”

“I could go for a spa,” Hunk nods.

Pidge shakes her head, “right. I’m going to try and see if I can get a signal back home.”

Shiro looks over at you, “do you really think it could be something serious?”

You shrug. “No clue.”

Keith huffs, “Just drop it,” he states dramatically, headed for the door. He was over being the center of attention.

“So face masks?”

You nod, “want to try it Allura?”

“I would love to try the clay mask,” she smiles brightly.

——————

Te-Osh’s rebels had sent for Voltron, less fighting than rebuilding.

While you were no paladin, you had spent the majority of the day helping Allura take stock and synthesizing medicine, everything from serums to numbing gels. Just your luck the machine had overheated and given out on the last batch. It was a pretty large machine.

You stick your head inside, waving off the smoke. With your nails, you pry open the hutch and take stock. You were no Pidge or Hunk, still unsure how the thing even worked, but it was clear it needed a new regulator and starter. “Plenty of those lying around,” you utter, scrunching your face at the awful burnt hair smell. Your finger finds the ventilator button on your wrist controls, and there-the smell gets sucked out of the room.

“Is this a bad time,” Keith asks behind you.

Startled, you bang your head on the mental. “Keith,” flushing hotly when you look back and realize you were ass up in front of him.

He doesn’t even notice, grimacing, hand rubbing his nose bridge.

“What’s wrong?” You hurry to wash your hands.

Keith sits down at one of the medbay tables. “My skull feels like it’s being cracked open,” he explains flatly.

You look him over closely, standing right in front of him. “Where exactly,” you ask, frowning when you notice the blemishes had grown to a full blown rash, hot angry skin peeling and cracking like twin marks down his cheeks. You should have pressed. What if it was a parasite? Keith was half galra.

It was easily forgotten given how human he looked. Sure, the signs were there: his unhuman night vision, more strength than he should have, good ears and nose, nails that had torn through metal, but it all faded into the background.

“Does it itch,” you ask, raising your hand, fingertips hovering over the marks on his cheeks.

“Yes,” Keith nods, averting his eyes from your gaze, “mostly it’s hot. And my sinuses…all the way down to my neck. Hurt.”

“Hm,” you turn, reaching for the medical scanner. There was no way you could ever go back to being a medical officer at the galaxy garrison. Earth’s technology was ancient in comparison. “Hold still.”

“Alright,” he says seriously. Keith holds his breath.

You look up at him, in his violet eyes, and smile before laughing. “Keith!”

“You said to hold still,” he points out sincerely, before the corners of his lips turn up. Keith was an expressive guy, his smile lit up his entire being, a lightness in his eyes that made you smile wider.

“Let’s try this again,” you giggle, clicking the scanner and aiming right at his rash first. “Pew.”

He rolls his eyes, snorting. “You too?”

“Mine’s the only right one,” you wink, then look over the reading.

“Not even close.” He scratches at his cheek listlessly.

Whatever reason he had for avoiding you had worked itself out. You’d missed his company.

“Oh yeah,” you challenge, “then what’s the sound?” The readings came up clear. Keith was in perfect health. So not a parasite…space allergies? Those wouldn’t come up on the scanner.

“What is it,” Keith asks, noticing your pensive expression.

“How’s your sense of smell? Stuffy nose?”

He looks up, then takes a deep breath, “now that you mention it…I can’t smell your soap anymore.”

“What?” This was news to you. “You can smell my soap?”

“And whatever planet we’ve been on,” Keith fidgets, blushing as he ducks his head, bangs falling over his eyes, “the soil. It’s all different. But I can’t right now.”

That was worrying. But if the scanner said nothing was wrong…you had to wait and see. It might clear up on its own. You’d give it a day or two.

“Nothing came up on the scanner,” you tell him, “so it should go away on its own. It might just be allergic to something out here.”  

He nods, accepting your diagnosis.

“Let me get the medicine.”

“Mhm.”

You pass him a tube of gel and add that to the list of medication you need to synthesize once you fix the machine. Then grab a weekly supply of pain tabs. “Here.”

Keith pops one in immediately.

“Let me know if it doesn’t clear up in two days,” you tell him.

“Worried?”

“Eh, I can always set Lance on you again,” you snort. Shiro was a pushover when it came to Keith. He was no help.

Keith laughs, looking a little more himself. “I could take him.”

“You could,” you agree, “but don’t tell him I said that.”

He tilts his head, smiling. “Coming? Shay got food for us.”

“I’ve got to fix this machine first.”

“Need help?”

“Might ask Hunk or Coran,” you admit.

“I could-”

“No,” you cut him off, placing your hand on his shoulder, “go eat and rest. That’s an order.”

Keith leans into you. “Are you going to write me a doctor’s note too,” he asks, his delivery always so earnest you had to do a double take to figure out if he was joking or not.

“If I have too,” you stick your nose in the air. “I’ll even send one to Zarkon.”

Keith laughs easily. “Why didn’t Lotor think of that.”

You snort. “I’m going to check your lymph nodes,” you tell him, taking a step towards him again. “That okay?”

Keith tilts his head back, “Go for it.”

“Wow,” you chuckle, “who are you and what did you do with Keith Kogane.” You brush his hair out of his face.

“What?”

“Remember when you broke your arm,” you point out, gently pressing your fingers over the side of his throat, feeling the swelled bean shaped lymph nodes under his ears, behind his jaw. “And said nothing for like a week?” It had been your first year at the Galaxy Garrison.

“It was only a sprain,” Keith grumbles.

“Still!” You laugh, “I’m glad you asked for help.” Because this was still Keith and you didn’t want him to think you were laughing at him.

“Mm,” he closes his eyes as you trail your fingers lower, making sure it wasn’t too bad.

The fact they were inflamed at all worried you. You had no clue what was the space equivalent of antihistamines.

Keith’s breath tickles your shoulder, deepening and evening out like he’d finally relaxed. That was most of your patients once you gave them answers and they knew they’d be getting care and treatment. You liked helping people.

You pull your fingers back, ever the consummate professional. It was like the ghost of your garrison advisor was hovering over your shoulder. “They’re not too swollen if you can still eat. Can you still chew?”

“Hm?”

Keith opens his eyes. His expression is glazed and feverish.

“Keith,” you utter, worried.

“Yeah?” His gaze is heavy as it meets yours.

Your skin warms up because he wouldn’t stop looking at you like that.

“Any jaw pain,” you ask, focusing on the task at hand. You bring your hand up to his forehead. He was warm.

Keith leans into your touch, “no.”

“Good.” You bite your lip. Could it be some weird galra thing? Wouldn’t it have come up? You feel your own forehead. He was for sure warmer.

You were going to have to corner Coran about it.

Keith lets his eyes fall shut again and honest to god purrs, leaning into you.

Add cornering Lotor to your list.

You don’t pull away, figuring it was harmless. Lance, Hunk, and Allura were more prone to random hugs. You were more than happy to indulge Keith as well. He already wasn’t feeling well.

You wrap your arms around the red paladin’s shoulders, hugging him, “I’m looking forward to a break from Coran’s post mission food goo once I get done with the machine.”

“Mm.”

He was completely out of it.

His breath tickles your cheek.

“Though I’m not sure there’ll be any left if I don’t go there? Maybe I should grab a plate and then come back here,” you ramble. Keith had never sought you out for comfort. It was touching that he trusted you now. You’d been friends with the others before, with Keith and Shiro and the Alteans, you had skipped right over friendship and gone right to family.

“Oh.”

You look behind you.

Te-Osh takes a step back, “forgive my intrusion. I was unaware-”

Keith snaps out of whatever was going on with him. Bolting off the exam table. “It’s fine. We’re done here.” He hunches his shoulders and beelines for the door.

You frown, still processing.

“I can come back,” Te-Osh tells you, glancing between you and the door Keith had just escaped through.

You shrug. “No. I’ve got time. What do you need?”

“If you’re sure?”

Nodding, you smile, “yeah, what can I help you with?”

———————

“Here is where we will focus the blunt of the attack on. Keith, Lance, engage the fighters. Hunk,” Shiro explains, “you’ll be with me taking out the communications towers. We want to keep the damage to the minimum. The resistance leaders want the factory intact. Pidge-”

Pidge waves the Black Paladin off, “I’ve got the code written.”

“It really does come in handy,” Lance observes, “all those vents are Pidge size.”

The green paladin grumbles, “easy for you to say when you’re not the one crawling around in there. It’s not your knees getting banging up.”

“Well the galra are all like nine feet tall,” Hunk points out, “the vents probably aren’t that small from their perspective.”

Lance unsubtly glances over at Keith.

His rash had cleared up, but not before spreading. In its place were two purple slash marks running from his cheek to jaw, galra markings. No one had pressed…yet.

You were just glad it wasn’t some weird space parasite.

Her brother ruffles her hair, “Pidge sized! A micro pidge,” Matt jokes to himself.

She smacks his hand away, “five feet is a perfectly reasonable size.’

“She could still have a growth spurt,” you add, though it was highly unlikely.

“No,” Matt’s eyes go comically wide as he hugs his sister, “not my hobbit,” relishing in her embarrassment.

“Matt!”

“In summation,” Allura calls you all back to attention, “the paladins will take out Galra forces and Pidge will open the weapons factory up to Vexuin rebels to take over. I will be manning the Castle to ensure no fighters target the work camps and coordinating communications with the rebels.” She turns to look at you, “Matt and you will take down the sentries, freeing the people from the work camps.”

“No!”

Everyone looks over at Keith. The horror on his face is easy to read.

What had brought this on?

Shiro clears his throat.

Keith ducks his head, letting his bangs obscure his features.

“Why not,” Pidge asks grumpily, time was running out. You were all just ironing out the details, “your plans suck.”

“Pidge,” Shiro chastises.

The green paladin was right.

Keith fought the same way you played video games, caring about nothing but reducing the enemies stats to zero. He’d gotten great at teamwork, but he was hardly a strategist.

“Keith,” Allura asks, “do you have any legitimate reasons why Matt should go on his own?” And when she phrased it like that…

The red paladin crosses his arms over his shoulders.

Pidge taps her foot on the floor.

“Okay then,” Shiro takes over, “let’s get to our lions.”

“Coms. Come in earthlings!,” Coran chimes in over the system, “remember this planet’s atmosphere is toxic to breath, too much sulfur in the air, not to mention the heat will give you all a taste of the slipperies. And worse! So keep those space suits on Vol-”

“-Tron,” Lance grins back, having taken a liking to having a kooky space alien uncle.

You lock your helmet in place as Matt pilots the pod towards the work camps. They were just as grim as the first time you’d seen them. It was the same all over in many of the Empire’s work planets. They were at the bottom of the totem pole. There were some planets where the native species and Galra coexisted more or less peacefully, this was not one of them.

“So what’s up with Keith,” Matt asks you.

You shrug. “No clue. I keep waiting for Lotor or one of the Blades to drop in so I can corner them but he’s a picture of perfect health so I’m not worried.”

“But the,” he takes a hand off the wheel, motioning to his face.

You frown, arching a brow. You’d never looked at Allura quite the same after the way she had treated Keith upon learning about his heritage. It’s not like he’d been a completely different person, she’d known him for over a year.

Matt might be Pidge’s brother, but you weren’t about to let anyone get away with giving someone you loved shit. Especially not Keith who would just silently take it.

It made your chest ache, thinking about how sweet he looked when he smiled. He didn’t deserve any of it.

“What about it?” You stare back at him cooly.

Matt focuses back on landing the pod just beyond the sentires line of sight. “Nothing. Pidge figured it was nothing, didn’t even seem curious. I figured you might know, you two are pretty close.” He glances over at you meaningfully.

“We’ve known eachother since the garrison,” though you hadn’t really been friends. Keith had been kind of a loner. You’d tried to include him, having shared a couple classes with him here and there, but he’d never taken you up on any offer.

“Right.” He doesn’t sound all that convinced. “Glad to hear it’s all good. I caught the sneazles while in the work camp,” Matt makes a face.

You laugh.

“It was horrible! But also like an episode of spongebob somehow?”

“Space is weird.” You had way bigger problems and had seen stranger things by now. For fucks sake, you were saving dragon looking aliens from the Galra right now. This planet was like a silent hill game!

Thick fog obscured the rocky landscape. Even from within your suit you could smell the stench of rotten eggs. Yet this was home to the Vexuin.

Shiro gives the signal.

You take the safety off the taser gun Pidge had built for you. Anything pilfered off the Galra was too large for your small stature, just a hair shorter than Keith. The gun packed a punch, with enough voltage to take out the robots.

Matt and you get to work.

“Almost got it,” Matt mutters as you take aim and shoot.

Stupid damn biolocks.

“Hurry the fuck up,” you tell him, dodging a shot from another sentry before frying it with your own weapon. One shot, one sentry. You needed to take them down before they got close. The robots were durable and strong. You knew better than to think you could go hand to hand with one, you were a medic not a fighter.

“I am, I am,” Matt insists. “Ah there,” he grabs a taser flash bomb out of his pocket and tosses inside the sentry outpost.

You shoot again, trying to keep your hands steady. It was easy when it was just programmed machines. Nothing to feel bad about.

Matt and you rush inside, stepping over more fried sentries. You take position at the entrance, gunning down anything that makes its way towards the two of you.

“You in,” you ask him.

“Patience my young apprentice,” Matt says, laughing at his own joke, “it’ll take a moment for my worm to work its way through the software and give me complete control.”

The ground shakes as the main part of the battle takes place outside, at a monsterous factory that’s gray, chimney shooting out smoke. You can only see hints of lions shooting and Galra fighter ships lighting up the sky.

The sulfuric fog coats everything.

You taste rotten eggs on your breath.

Inside your suit, sweat runs down your back.

“Okay,” Matt chimes into the coms, “I’ve hacked the camps. Ready to open the gates.”

The rolling low grutal voices of the Vexuin rebel leaders fill your coms, “Good.”

“Go ahead Matt,” Allura gives the order, “Voltron?”

Pidge answers, “dropping in, should override their” static, “ticks.” Then an explosion reverberates in your ear where the communications device is.

“Pidge,” Keith yells out.

“Keith cover Lance,” Shiro grunts out, blasts audible from here. “Pidge?”

Nothing.

Matt’s face goes ghostly white.

“Pidge, come in Pidge?” Allura asks. “Paladins? Are you able to reach Pidge?”

“Negative,” Shiro replies, “Hunk, take the main gate! Time to land.”

“On it.”

“Guys,” Lance yells, “the shield’s down. Pidge hacked them.”

“Keith,” Shiro yells, “wait!”

“Fine.”

You decide to hope for the best. There was nothing you could do for any of the paladins all the way from here. “Turn it off,” you tell Matt.

He steals himself. “Right.”

The lights of the compound go out. Sentries power down where they stand, puppets with their strings cut. Locks disengage, and for the first time in decades, the Vexuin are free to leave the barracks free from Galra supervision.

You and Matt go out to meet them.

“I could get used to this,”  Pidge calls out as everyone meets on the planet’s surface. Rebels come in from the forest slowly, making sure this is for real, before sniffing the air and calling out to their loved ones lingering around the liberated camp complex.  Their vision worked in the infrared, all the better to see on this planet. You’d need at least three showers to get the smell out of your hair.

Keith carries Pidge, careful not to jolt the youngest member of Voltron. She holds a leg stiffly, a sprain or fracture.

Matt rushes to his sister, “Katie!”

She waves him off, “I’m fine.” Then snaps her fingers, “Down.”

There’s a small smile on Keith’s mouth as he places her down on the ground gently.

Lance comes up behind Keith, ruffling his hair, and being every bit himself as he comments with a smirk, “good boy.”

The shorter paladin smacks Lance’s hand away, but it’s too late, Lance is already smothering Keith in a hug that turns into a competition, like always with those two. Keith shoves at Lance’s face while Lance tightens his grip on Keith.

Shiro clears his throat, “paladins.”

“A dobesh in the pod,” you ask Pidge as Matt gets his turn to fuss over her.

“Yeah. Landed right as an explosion went off,” Pidge frowns. “Not my best moment, but my program still did it’s job and,” she pats her bayard, “I took them out.”

“Can’t be that bad if you can stand,” you agree. Nothing serious but you’d be keeping an eye on her all the same. The faster she got into the pod and took weight off her injury the better. You didn’t want to exacerbate the sprain.

“The jet pack helped,” Pidge points out.

“Lucky you,” you grin.

Shiro and Allura are consummate professionals as they go over the last of the logistics with the Vexuin, “It would be wise to stay until your people have situated themselves in case the Galra Empire retaliates,” Allura states, ending her sentiment in a question, “but it is ultimately up to you.”

The Vexuin chatter among themselves for a moment before one speaks up, “we would not turn down Voltron’s help. A few quintants should be enough time.”

“Then we will make ourselves of service to you,” Shiro nods. “Please, let us know anything we can help with.”

A red scaled one smiles, showing off her many sharp and jagged teeth, “our people long to see the camp destroyed.”

Hunk offers, “I could help rig a controlled explosion.”

“Very good.”

“The system inside the weapons factory is down,” Pidge tells them, “but I can reprogram it to keep the Galra out so that you can decide what to do with the place.”

“Oh no you don’t,” you cut in, “Matt can take care of that. You’re going in a pod first.”

“Pod person,” Matt mutters under his breath with a snort.

“Then let us get to work,” Allura dismisses everyone.

Pidge tries to take a step, and almost falls over.

You grab her.

Her face goes crimson from the pain.

The adrenalin must have been keeping the bulk of the pain away.

Keith picks her up.

It’s not until you’ve loaded Pidge in for three vargas that you pull off your helmet, savoring the crisp clean air of the Castleship.

“I can still smell the sulfur,” you comment, wrinkling your nose.

Keith shakes his hair out.

You look at him thoughtfully, “must be worse for you though.”

“Why,” he asks, genuinely puzzled.

“Because your nose,” you point out, then frown, “your sinuses did clear up yeah?” He never said anything about it so you figured they had and he could smell fine again, but you weren’t sure.

“Oh. Yeah. They did.”

You smile fondly, “very convincing Keith,” you tell him, reaching out to him. He lets you run your fingers right under his ears, behind his jaw. Everything was in order.

A knot of anxiety dissolves in your chest.

“Well,” he asks, “satisfied?”

“Mhm.” You look at the purple markings on his skin.

Keith’s breath hitches. His gaze is trained on you, watching carefully.

“So if not rotten eggs,” you ask, slowly bringing your fingertips over the marks on the sides of his face, giving him every opportunity to pull away, “what do you smell?” You couldn’t help it. It was that scientific curiosity. Everyone at the garrison had ended up there because they were nerdy in some way: devoting themselves to some STEM field while other kids were watching cartoons. You’d had a stutter as a kid, self conscious about it too, so instead of trying to make friends you read your textbooks under your desk, racing ahead.

Keith’s eyes meet yours. There’s a level of vulnerability in his gaze that worms its way into your chest and all of a sudden you’re incredibly aware of how close you two are, the lack of space between your bodies, your fingers caressing his skin.

You look away, focusing on the marks. They were purple, which was obvious. His skin itself had grown purple, perfectly delineated.

“Like wet soil,” Keith explains finally, “when they just added fertilizer.” You wince, remembering the smell of the horticulture center wafting through the garrison’s campus during the spring. “And garlic.”

“I like garlic. I’d kill for some,” you tell him, sounding very much like Hank. You hadn’t expected to be homesick for food. “Best food they served at the cafeteria.”

“That’s not saying much,” Keith mutters, amused.

You chuckle, pulling your hands away from his face.

He leans forward, asking for physical comfort in a very Keith way: unsubtle and wordlessly, putting the onus on you to get the hint.

Pidge must have freaked him out more than he was willing to discuss.

You wrap your arms around his waist, hugging Keith. “Pidge’ll be fine.” Sure, she was younger and short, but she was more than capable of handling herself. “I’m more concerned about how she left the other guys,” you comment lightly resting your chin on Keith’s shoulder.

His shoulders shake as he laughs easily. “They asked to surrender to her personally.”

“That’s Pidge all right.” You glance over at the pod. She’d be back on her feet in no time.

Keith’s breath against your skin feels nice. Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself blushing and pulling away, thoughts racing as you realize just how much you liked this boy. You pull away, unsure what to do and suddenly finding it too awkward to be around him at all.

The start of a whine escapes his throat before he smothers it, looking away, as he lets his bangs fall over his eyes, effectively hiding his easy to read features.

“Let’s go help the others,” you say, fumbling to grab a med kit and click your helmet back in place, your face too warm and it must be obvious. You didn’t want to make things weird. You didn’t. But-

“I’m going to stay here until Pidge wakes up,” Keith tells you.

“Oh. Okay.” You nod. “That’s a great idea. It’s always confusing as hell to get out of the pods.” It was akin to waking up from a midday nap: completely confused and exhausted instead of rested.

Your skills would be more useful with the Vexuim than fussing over Pidge at the moment. And having something to do would keep your mind off Keith.

—————

“You know,” Lance comments, sliding up to you as you watch Lotor strut away from you after another failed attempt to talk to him. “If we bottled up whatever galra repellant you have going on, we could defeat Zarkon with perfume.”

You look over at Lance, trying to suppress a smile. “What would you call it?”

“Starlight.”

“That’s-that’s actually pretty great,” you tell Lance.

“I know,” he grins. Then the latino boy sobers up, “trying to find out what’s going on with mullet?”

You nod. “I even tried to corner Acxa,” you admit. For an eight foot tall purple alien, boy could she make herself scarce.

Lance’s eyes widened in delight, “like could and should peg me Acxa?”

You groan. “Lance, sometimes it’s okay to keep things to yourself.”

“I’m just saying,” he laughs, “the ship’s not that big…”

“It’s designed for six thousand people.” You’d learned that fun tidbit while practicing your Altean with Pidge.

“Like for real!”

“Yeah.”

“Ay dios mio,” Lance utters, “you’re screwed.”

You finally hit the motherlode.

Lotor and his generals are in a stately room that reminds you of the socratic lecture halls at the garrison, sofa arranged in a half circle, with Shiro and Allura. The former Prince had shown up for a reason beyond making a nuisance of himself. Allura looks at her wits end with him, as he smiles like a douche, her eye twitching.

She invites you in without hesitation, “take a seat next to me,” and effectively uses you as a human shield against Lotor.

Literally since you and Shiro were the only humans here.

“Everything has been thoroughly discussed,” Lotor comments dryly, snubbing you once more. Normally, you wouldn’t have cared but you were trying to get information out of the man. “Unless either of you have further questions?”

Shiro hums, rubbing his chin, “I know saddling you with a rebel ship or two will slow you down but I don’t see another way around it. A display of size on their part will go a long way to show it is an alliance and not the Galra Empire hy another name.”

Allura nods, a small smile on her lips as she looks over at Shiro, “The black paladin is right. It will be a steep hill to climb to show that you are not the Galra Empire. Their fears would be alleviated with the presence of the rebel alliance.”

Zethrid sucks in a sharp breath, “So that’s it then. We will always be scorned and merely tolerated.”

“Time,” Shiro sighs with a look of gentle understanding at the muscular woman, “they need time. You can’t erase 10,000 years of history. It is hard to extend trust after being imprisoned and enslaved.”

“The alliance has started coordinating with you and the Blade directly have they not,” Allura asks stiltedly. It was by the necessity of time that they had stopped going through Voltron first. Lotor might be too smug for his own good, but his team was effective at sabotaging warships and infiltrating Galra ranks to liberate prisons and cities, enough to turn the tide for the rebels.

Her feelings towards Lotor and the Blade were still tinged with suspicion, her treatment of them lukewarm at best.

Still, Lotor brushed it off and continued to help. “Well then, Princess, Shiro, we have a long journey ahead of us.”

Shiro nods.

They shake hands.

You stand up, ready to corner Lotor.

“But first a word Shiro, it is a private matter.”

“Yeah, sure,” Shiro leads Lotor away.

Your eye twitches.

That snake!

Zethrid and Narti walk purposefully away as Allura pushes in her chair, ignoring the last two of Lotor’s team. “Princess,” Acxa, tries. “Until next time.” She nods at you, “stay safe.”

Allura gives the woman a strained smile, hooking her arm with yours. Human shield.

“You too,” you tell her. She doesn’t wait, already halfway out the door. You sigh.

Ezor giggles, by far the friendliest and easiest to get along with of Lotor’s team. “Stashing food and water will cut down the embarrassment by half.”

“What?”

“Oh,” she shrugs, “I guess Lotor was right. Darn it! Now I owe him one hundred GAC.”

“Wait-”

But she scurries off.

“Ugh,” you kick the wall, tired of everyone being weird. The usual frustration with being caught up in a space war was just the salt on the wound.

Your toe throbs, “fuck,” you hiss.

“They are rather tiring to deal with,” Allura agrees, reading the situation wrong, “but it hardly calls for assaulting the Castle.”

“Sorry,” you flush red with embarrassment. “I just had a question for Lotor and he seems intent on never being in the same room as me.”

“Ah-,” Allura smiles easily, “Lance did mention that you were in possession of a Galra repellent.” The twinkle in her eyes lets you know she was in on the joke.

“Come, let us work our frustrations out with some introspection.” Which was just Altean for weird breathing exercises that supposedly helped you do alchemy. She had managed to rope you into practicing with her before.

“Anything to spare the wall,” you joke.

——————

You walk back from the library. It was a cozy room, especially when you dimmed the lights. The Castle was always so bright, designed with the Alteans sight needs in mind.

Sometimes you just needed some time away from everyone. You loved them, but spending years with the same people while floating through space…you had no clue how Shiro had managed it.

Getting a walk around the ship was also nice. It was easy to forget how big the Castle was when you mainly stayed on the same three floors. Just a couple months ago Coran had rediscovered the greenhouse. The plants were a little piece of Altea, and had quickly become one of Allura’s favorite spots.

The windows were wide portholes. It unnerved you still, looking out and not recognizing any star, any constellations.

A lump of homesickness lodges itself in your throat. It had been over two years, your siblings would have grown so much in that time. You certainly had. The last vestiges of childhood had gone from your face.

Acne cleared up even without Lance’s ten step routine.

You walk across the bridge, trying not to look down. The viewing platform was clear glass in space, you could lay on it. It freaked you out a little.

It was the only constantly dark place in the castle.

You still yelp when you spot Keith, his eyes luminous violet like a glow in the dark t-shirt. That should have tipped all of you off, but alien was not the first thing that came to mind when you previously believed aliens had never visited earth.

He whimpers, curling up further.

“Keith,” you gulp, focusing on him and not the glass separating you from the void of space. “What’s wrong?”

He looks up at you miserably, blinking sluggishly. “I have the worst migraine.”

“And you’re down here instead of getting painkillers?”

Keith shrugs. “It’s not as bad, quiet. Dark.”

You sit down next to him. “I can go get you something,” you offer, your cheeks warming up and it was ridiculous how you can’t even manage to act normal around him anymore.

“Coran already gave me a dose.”

“Oh.” You were hurt. You were supposed to be the medic. That was your role on Team Voltron.

You hug your knees to your chest, and look down at space. It was darker than the photographs back on earth. Not so purple and blue.

You weren’t Matt who was just as good as Pidge with technology or Allura who was the leader and a princess to boot, you’d just planned on having a late dinner with Hunk once he got over the motion sickness before Lance roped you into following Pidge. You weren’t a paladin.

Keith shuts his eyes. “You were with Allura. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s no bother.” You swallow thickly, letting silence fall over you both.

You listen to Keith breathing, looking around the darkness of space for any familiar stars. You knew the space around Shay’s Balmerra, and Arus was at least a little familiar. But the universe was so vast and wide.

There were planets you’d only ever been to once, each with a different night sky. Some of them never even had a night, with multiple suns staving off a night cycle.

“Do you think Allura minds?”

“Mind what,” you ask.

Keith clenches his jaw, rubbing his temples. “That I look more Galra.”

Allura has always been harder on the Galra. For her, it had been such a short time since Zarkon had destroyed her world and her people. You didn’t agree, but you could understand where she was coming from, the pain still there as she continuously wore Altean mourning pink.

You look over at him, the outline of his body against the glass. “I think your marks look cool.”

“Bullshit.”

“I do,” you whisper gently, considerate of his migraine. Those were the worst. “They frame your face. You look nice,” you finish lamely, looking away. You look nice. Lance might say stupid things but at least he tried.

“What if I looked even more Galra?”

“Like completely purple and tall?” You couldn’t really wrap your head around it. It also seemed incredibly unlikely. Could his phenotype change so drastically? On earth the answer was no, but who knows how the Galra work. It was fascinating to see such a wide range of traits in one species.

He was also half human.

You worried if his body would even tolerate such a drastic change.

“Yes,” he says, not waiting for you as he rants in agitation, “the rebels hate the Blade and Allura doesn’t trust them at all and that’s not even mentioning Lotor.”

“That’s not true. Te-Osh likes Acza and Ezor. Lotor’s kind of annoying if we’re being honest, and I’m sure his being Zarkon’s son makes it a little hard to believe he’s on our side,” you try to reason. “And don’t write off the Galra who have changed sides or were in the camps right alongside other aliens.”

Keith says nothing in response, mouth a thin line as he thinks.

You wonder how long it’s been bugging him.

You want to reach out and hug him, but he isn’t Hunk. You’re not sure he’d want to if he’s not initiating the contact. So you don’t.

“Everyone knows how the last Galra paladin worked out.” A low growl in the back of his throat is enough to clue you in to how distressing this was for him.

Your heart hurts. “And everyone knows you’re not Zarkon,” you state evenly back. “We already know you’re Galra.”

Keith snorts humorlessly. You can’t see his eyes; they’re hidden by his bangs.

“The glowing eyes are not exactly subtle dude,” you point out, “not to mention your hair does the poof thing guinea pigs do when they’re eating, but not when you’re eating, more like when you get annoyed.”

“I-what!” His eyes go comically wide as he sits up. His dark hair does the thing, making him look like a character from those old Japanese kids movies.

You giggle, “you’re doing it.”

Keith tries to look at his reflection in the glass.

You blush, grateful that it’s too dark to see, and then realize that wasn’t true for him, so you look away, hoping he didn’t notice. “Yeah. I’m the medic, it’s my job to know these things. Like how Pidge has two webbed digits on her foot and Lance is allergic to flax seeds and bees.”

“That…makes sense.” Then he smiles, “still didn’t put two and two together.”

“Don’t be a smartass.” Reason number three thousand Iverson had it out for him back at the harrison. “And if anyone has a problem with you I’ll kick their ass.”

“You?” Keith snorts. “You wouldn’t even flip me during self defense.”

“You remember that?” You run a hand over your face, “I didn’t want to hurt anyone,” you always took forever to practice on your partner. And your weak arms didn’t help.

“That’s what the mats were for.”

“Still!”

Keith laughs at your expense.

You smile, taking delight in watching him smile and laugh and you wish it could always be like this and the war would just end.

Then you sober up. “You’re going to be okay, right?”

He doesn’t answer you right away.

“Keith-” you reach out, voice cracking. “You’re going to be okay, giant purple space cat or not, right?”

He takes your hand, squeezing it firmly. “Yeah. Don’t worry about it.”

“Good,” you utter, but tears bead up in your eyes anyway. It was terrifying watching someone go through something unknown that you couldn’t help them through for all your medical training. You knew how to set bones and run a pod…not whatever this was.

You trusted Keith.

He knew himself better than anyone. After all, he’d been right about his teeth growing back.

“You really are worried,” he whispers in disbelief.

“Duh.”

“I can smell it on you,” then he seems to realize what he said, and pulls away, ducking his head. Like he hadn’t meant to say so much.

“Really?” Learning about anything alien biology was pretty cool, you had to admit. Allura had once described colours that you couldn’t perceive. It was a fun talk. And then she’d made you meditate for alchemy stuff or so she claimed. It might have just been payback. “Is that new?”

“Yeah,” Keith admits, still drawn into himself. “Can we not-I already feel like enough of a freak already without,” he waves aggressively at himself.

You bite your lip, nodding. You wanted to say something, to get it through his head how you saw him, incredibly kind and fiercely loyal (to the point of taking on Zarkon by himself) and an endearing smile you never got tired of seeing.

You liked him.

The universe was lucky to have him as a paladin.

But you don’t know how to say it in a way he’d accept. And he asked you to drop it, so you do. “Right, I’ll just go then.” He’d been here first, and the glass made you nervous.

Could it withstand a hit from a galra battleship?

Keith opens his mouth like he wants to say something else, but he just nods, then winces, “Argh,” he groans as he curls up on his side, covering his ears with his hands.

You rush to his side, kneeling next to him, “Keith,” you utter softly, not wanting to make it worse.

His eyes are pressed close and for all your medical know-how, you’re at a loss.

So you running your fingers through his hair soothingly and wait for the pain to pass.

He shifts, laying his head in your lap as he whimpers.

You can’t stand to watch him and do nothing. You press your com, pinging Shiro and Coran. This was beyond you. He’d trust Shiro with whatever was going on and he’d gone to Coran. You respected that even if it did sting.

Your pride meant little so long as Keith felt comfortable and sought help.

“Shh, shh,” you whisper gently.

Sweat beads on his brow.

Whines escape his throat.

“Fuck,” he grunts, clenching his teeth.

He’s warm to your touch and that rouses another bout of worries. At this temperature it’s a fever, but he didn’t have the symptoms, the flushed cheeks and chills.

Keith curls up further, muscles stiff.

You’re helpless.

After what feels like ages, Shiro and Coran finally appear.

“Number four, Number five,” Coran claps his hands.

You hold out your hand, motioning them to shut the fuck up as Keith winces at the sound.

His hair is damp near his ears.

“Keith,” Shiro utters much more gently, kneeling down on his other side, “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

He raises his head, blinking groggily at Shiro, trying to concentrate through the pain, “Shiro,” he reaches for his brother who easily pulls him against his chest. Keith buries his head in the crook of Shiro’s neck.

You sit back, trying to get out of the way. Your hands are wet.

You look down and realize it’s blood. His ears-

Oh god.

“Number five,” Coran says gently, helping you up, “I’ll take great care of our Paladin. Why don’t you go get cleaned up.”

You don’t get any sleep that night.

——————

You were always struck with cognitive dissonance walking around colonized planets like Rahiri where the natives and Galra lived side by side. This was not a planet ravaged by the empire. The flora-like aliens in all shades of green with rootish limbs and leaves and petals for hair had assimilated into the Empire, achieving citizenship over generations. 10,000 years deca-phoebs was a long time. That was a huge source of tension in the Alliance, what to do with the world who neither wanted or wished to leave the Empire.

It was also a source of dark humor that no one spared the four of you a second glance despite two paladins of Voltron walking around.

Hunk holds Shay’s hand in front of you as they point and awe and drag their feet on the way to the space port.

“You could always stay with,” Hunk says hopefully, “we could just drop you off. Personal taxi service.”

Shay smiles back kindly, “that would be wonderful but I have been away from home for too long. I am, as you say, a homebody.”

“Aw, yeah,” Hunk chuckles, “I feel that. I like the ground. And dirt. Piloting is overrated.”

“Don’t let yellow here you say that,” Keith comments so dry, you think he’s serious for a second. Allura and Pidge had gone shopping for supplies. That was an advantage of a planet that had not seen war.

Hunk glances back, clearly having forgotten we had tagged along in case anything went down. “Yeah well, she’d like a small moon. Or an asteroid. There’s colonies on those.”

“Very true,” Shay laughs. “I think my balmerra is also like a moon. A beautiful creature. We have learned how to ask for crystals so we do not need to cut them.”

“That’s impressive. Did the books from Allura help,” Hunk asks.

As much as you liked getting to stretch your legs, seeing a different planet where the threat was not imminent, you didn’t like being a third wheel, or fourth wheel if you went according to Coran’s favorite numbering pattern. That inch difference between you and Keith mocked you.

You glance over at the red paladin.

His gaze kept flickering back and forth, around the street. The occasional loud noise of crates being unloaded made him jump.

“You good,” you ask Keith, cracking a joke so he’d know you weren’t judging him. “You see la llorona or Davy Jones?”

“Hm?”

“You know…a famous ghost? Do they have ghosts in space?”

Keith snorts, cottoning on. “They don’t even have ghosts on earth.”

You pull a face, “well that’s no fun. Seriously, you okay? Or have we been made?”

He shakes his head, glancing around again just to be sure. “So much for Zarkon’s finest.”

You laugh, following Hank and Shay into the space port. Shuttles were departing pretty consistently. Everything was in orderly fashion. You especially liked how no one was shooting at you.

“It takes some getting used to.”

“What does?” You watch as Keith shakes his head, making his hair fall back from his face.

Shay and Hunk go to the ticket counter, but you decide to find somewhere off to the side, wanting to give them privacy.

“Stuff.”

You roll your eyes at Keith, “you suck.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning against the wall, looking anywhere but at you. “Lotor explained it to me and Shiro…what’s happening.”

“Oh.” You swallow, looking at Hunk and Shay hugging and saying their goodbyes yet again. They’d said them last night at dinner, this morning in the pod, and again when you’d split from Allura and Pidge. It was cute. They were adorable.

“Sorry.”

“Hm,” you glance over at Keith, not sure why he would be sorry about anything. He was the one getting screwed over by half of his heritage.

“You’re hurt.”

“You can smell that too,” you ask him, holding his deep gaze. There was an intense commitment to everything Keith did; it was reflected in the depth of his violet gaze. He didn’t do things in halves.

“Now I can.” He looks at his shoes, red dusting his cheeks. The red didn’t tinge the purple marks on his skin.

“So this is all,” you’re not sure how to put it, “nothing to worry about?”

“He said it was normal. But because I’m half there’s no way to know what to expect.” He looks away as he says it, stiff as he glances around.

The anxiety that had settled into your jaw since you’d had to wash his blood off your hands eases up. “Giant purple space cat,” you joke, nudging his side.

“Oh fuck no,” Keith grumbles. Even that furrowed expression that crossed his chiselled features made you feel all giddy inside.

Bad timing.

“I’m not hurt I-I just wish you trusted me,” you finally admit. It was silly. You felt selfish, so you tack on, “You know I’m here for you if you need me. We all are. I know Shiro’s your brother, but we’re your friends.”

“I know,” he sighs wistfully, “I do trust you…it’s just-it’s been hard. I don’t know how to feel about any of it and I’m not used to it either.”

“It’s fine,” you tell him, “I’m being silly, making this about me. As long as you know I’m here for you…I’m not trying to force you to tell me anything…” you cringe internally at yourself. The galaxy garrison had been made up of nerds, so it followed everyone was a character. It hadn’t helped anyone’s social skills.

You wish you could just go, I worry about you because I love you instead of stumbling through word vomit.

“Come on,” Keith brings you out of your thoughts, grabbing your hand and pushing through the crowd of people coming and going to different boarding gates, “I think Hunk’s going to need some comfort food.”

You glance around, finding Hunk’s form making it’s way to you both. He was wiping his eyes, bittersweet smile, making no move to really hide that he was crying.

“Let’s get back to Allura yeah,” he tells you both.

“Or,” you go with Keith’s idea, “we can get something to eat. Allura gave us a good hour or so.”

“Varga,” Keith supplies.

“Yeah, that.”

Hunk nods, “that sounds nice. It’s just,” he looks back at the departing shuttle, “it’s hard. It’s war and you never know when your going to see each other again but it’s not like she can just drop everything and I wouldn’t ask her too, if anything I’d like to retire there. Nice and quiet. Maybe open a restaurant…”

“Vrepit Sal two,” Keith offers.

“Could make it a chain,” you add with a smile. Hunk, like you, was not such a gung ho pilot. You had landed the flight simulation without crashing exactly once, for your final emergency protocol exam.

“Thanks guys,” Hunk grins, “but I think I’ll bring some earth out here. Give these people a taste of traditional earthlign cuisine.”

“So your menu’s going to be as long as Cheesecake Factory’s,” you ask with a silly grin.

“Maybe not that long. A burger, ramen, scratch that, pizza instead of a burger.” Hunk rubs his chin thoughtfully sniffing the air and following his nose to a food stand. You trusted him for food. He had a knack for combining goo and exotically colored food that screamed fake and poisonous into pretty great meals.

Keith was still holding your hand, not as a loose afterthought: every now and then he’d rub his thumb against the back of your hand and it sent a thrill down your spine.

You don’t pull away, wanting to savor the feel of his skin against yours even if it wasn’t that deep. You’d hugged and napped with everyone at least once, grabbing each other’s hands in the confusing crowded hovels of swamp malls (actual swamp malls and not places Coran thought of as a swamp mall).

You nab a table outside the stand.

Everything was in Galra which none of you could read. “Damn,” you mutter looking over.

Hunk glances at Keith without subtlety.

You were starting to think only Allura and Shiro could do subtly.

Keith raises a brow.

“Nothing,” Hunk looks down at his screen.

“Point and hope for the best it is,” you shrug.

“I love a good surprise,” Hunk nods, then looks down at his hands, “we’ll see each other again right? Shay…they’re pretty safe. And well…yellow’s got thick armour.” He sighs, resting his cheek against his fist, elbows on the table.

“Shay’s a badass,” you confort Hunk, “she figured out how to communicate with the Balmera and through the Balmera. She’ll be okay.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty freaking amazing,” Hunk blushes.

You order from an alien that somewhat resembles Ezor, all cotton candy color, and twiddle your thumbs, enjoying the rare moment of rest and relaxation.

“I could get used to this,” Hunk comments, savoring the strange dish he’d been served.

“Get a travel food show,” you tease, “I’d watch it.”

“It could be like this all the time,” Keith muses hopefully, “aren’t planets like this proof we could all get along.” He bites into the glowing blue lotus root shaped meal, and blinks widely.

“What,” you ask, looking over at him.

Keith grabs a napkin and spits out his food. “I think I just lost another tooth.”

“You think,” Hunk raises a brow, “how could you not notice a missing tooth?”

“Smile,” you nudge Keith sitting next to you.

He rolls his eyes, before fake smiling which was always so undeniably forced when he did it. You laugh, nodding, “yup, missing tooth.”

Keith frowns for a second, before continuing to eat.

“Oh,” Hunk utters, before he kicks your leg lightly.

You look up, meeting the yellow paladin’s searching gaze.

He looks at you with a knowing smile.

Heat rushes to your cheeks, the tip of your nose burning hotly, you look down, shoving a questionable sticky black slice into your mouth. It was easy to chew despite the sticky-ness, the flavor starchy and nutty.

There was no way this wouldn’t get back to everyone else in the Castle. No way.

They were all so nosy.

Oh fuck.

——————

“It sure is hot in here,” Lance says with a challenging smirk at Keith.

You roll your eyes.

Lance stretches, resting his arms against the back of the sofa, his hand tapping annoyingly against your shoulder.

Keith is unmoved. Or more accurately, Keith’s mouth twists as he tries hard to ignore Lance’s latest attempts to get him to remove his hat, a lime green thing that clashed perfectly as was his fashion sense, or lack of any fashion sense.

Pidge smacks her head, then peaks curiously at Keith: at Keith’s hat.

You flick Lance’s cheek. “Hey hot shot, don’t hug me when you’ve set the thermostat to ninety degrees.”

“Ninety five actually,” he winks, hugging you towards him. Ugh, you couldn’t do it. You’d already done away with your afghan coat, tied your lavender flannel around your waist, what more could you do. You didn’t have shorts in space. The skirts stored in the castle were breezy, but made you feel at risk of tripping over the hem with each step.

“Hm,” Keith voices, taking a seat, “reminds me of home.”

Hunk snorts, “really thought that through,” he tells Lance.

Lance is undeterred. “Could go higher.”

“I don’t think your cow would like that very much,” you point out.

The blue paladin sulks, looking down at you, “you’re just saying that because you like-”

You jab your elbow into his side.

“Ow! What ever happened to do no harm?”

“Technically,” you tell Lance, “I never graduated.”

“She’s got you there,” Pidge smirks from beside Keith. She was taking apart yet another radio. The signal had yet to reach earth.

“Thank you Pidge.”

She shrugs, “It’s true.” Then turns on Keith, “The hat, explain.”

He looks like he wishes he could merge with the sofa at that, slumping in his seat.

You decide to step in, “I’m going to turn the thermo down.”

Lance is quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you back onto the sofa, “come on, relax. Like mullet said, it’s homey.”

You throw him a dirty look.

“Keith?” Pidge side-eyes her fellow paladin. He’s sat up, gripping the sofa cushion so tightly he’s ripping hole into the ten thousand year upholstery.

“You okay there buddy,” Hunk asks.

“No.”

“Oh.”

Keith sucks in a breath, and with deliberate motion, pulls the hat from his head.

Oh.

Your eyes widen.

OH.

His ears had changed.

They weren’t nearly as alien as Allura’s, but no one would mistake their shape for human. Keith’s ears tapered up and out, portrudding, but it was more than just a pointed tip, the entire shape of his ears had transformed, resembling a butterfly’s wing. It was still human in color, but…

Hunk breaks the stunned silence first, “so are you going to like to end up purple?”

Keith ducks his head, wrapping his arms around himself.

No one else gets the chance to further interrogate Keith, or hear his own thoughts, because Allura calls everyone up to the bridge.

Lotor hailed the Castle of Lions. Everyone stands around the bridge while Shiro and Allura take the lead as usual. They might as well be twins given how well they got on, communicating differing ideas without undermining the other.

“There are nine warships in the system,” Lotor acknowledges, “I would be much indebted if you would do me the favor of sending Voltron for the aerial battle.”

“The Empire’s presence is still in its early stages,” Acza explains, “but their terraforming development for the planet will cause the destruction of the Talpidae living there.”

“Then we have no choice,” Allura clenches her fist, never one to sit back while there was something she could do about it, “we will provide air support. Sent me the coordinates so that I may Teleduv there.”

Lance is still obviously eyeing Keith’s latest development. It was readily visible, and you were fighting the urge to do the same.

But you weren’t also trying to flick his ears.

Keith growls lowly.

Lance sniggers.

Pidge offers Lance a piece of paper to make paper balls with.

Hunk sighs long sufferingly, having resigned himself to the more childish side of his two friends. They were terrors. Put Pidge and Lance together, and they were gremlins out of a horror movie made for elementary school teachers.

You slip your hand into Keith’s, squeezing reassuringly. It would take some getting used to like anytime someone got a new haircut, but you would. Like his atrocious boots, they’d become an endearing part of him.

Keith squeezes your hand back.

Shiro nods, agreeing with Allura, “have the Talpidae been contacted.”

“Very much so,” Ezor chimes in, “they’re funny little people. And their sensory-”

“The point Ezor,” Lotor sighs, rubbing his nose bridge.

“They sent for help to the rebels. We were closest to their system,” Exor elaborates with a shrug, “they do not have the background to fight head on, and will evacuate most of their people into bunkers, but they have been digging under the new construction and weakening the structural integrity of the Galra outposts.”

“Very well,” Shiro accepts, “Princess Allura and our chief medic will meet with the Talpidae as a show of goodwill.”

“Our only medic,” Hunk points out.

Keith growls, his hand squeezing yours hard.

You all look over at him.

“Red Paladin,” Allura says, trying to look as professional as possible in front of her least favorite of Voltron’s allies, “is something the matter.” She shares a look with Shiro, but otherwise looks unsurprised at Keith’s less than human ears.

Or maybe she’d make a great poker played.

“Can’t you meet with the Talpidae after the battle,” Keith utters harshly.

“They may need immediate tactical support,” Allura reasons, “we should be there in person to provide it.”

“It’ll be fine Keith,” Shiro adds.

Their words do little to calm Keith down. His dark silky hair puffs up. His grip on your hand tightens and you feel miffed. You’d been on the ground working triage before. You might not be a fighter or pilot but you could look after yourself.

You pull your hand out of his. “I really don’t see what the problem is,” you tell Keith pointedly.

“I’ll watch Allura’s back and she’ll have mine.”

Allura nods. “Our chief medic is correct-”

His ears twitch, “You’re not exactly a fighter.”

Shiro covers his face with a hand.

Your brows furrow. You’re livid. “So! I won’t be fighting. We’ll be in the bunkers with the Talpidae. It’ll be safe so it doesn’t even matter.”

“If it’s perfectly safe then you don’t need to be there,” Keith’s voice breaks, a whine escaping his chest but you don’t care, done with the conversation.

“Yikes,” is Ezor’s quiet whisper.

You’re not a paladin so you don’t care, you just stalk off the bridge ready to go scream into your pillow in frustration. Or better yet, go for a swim and scream underwater.

“Wait-” Keith follows you.

You ignore him.

“I just-,” he keeps trying as you stalk down the stairs, deciding your room was better after all if only because you could lock Keith out.

“Listen-,” he whines.

“I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t mean what,” you round on him, hands on your hips, pissed off and maybe some of its was from being stuck on this stupid ship all the damn time but like eighty percent was earned. You might not be taking on a squad of Galra soldiers, but you could take one on if it came to it.

Keith at least has the decency to look miserable, sad chirrups in his throat as he crosses his arms over his chest and looks at the ground.

“Well?” You tap your foot on the ground.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” he finally manages. “Especially if you don’t need to be there.”

“But I do,” you counter, “There’ll be people running into those bunkers having escaped soldiers and sentries and the faster they get treated the better chance they have.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Keith repeats himself. “You-you can hold your own.” He looks up at you through his bangs, still hunched in on himself.

“Obviously.” There’s no heat, the anger having deflated already. It was just white hot ache in your chest, hurt at the idea that Keith thought you would get in the way, that you had nothing of value to add to the Alliance and Voltron.

You bite your lip.

Don’t cry, you think to yourself.

You were being dumb.

He was just being plain stupid.

“I mean it,” Keith repeats, “I’m sorry. I was just looking for an excuse to make sure you were safe.”

“Right, because Allura can handle herself but I can’t.” Your voice cracks.

“No,” Keith says in a rush, “it’s not the same.”

“Because I can’t fight?”

“That’s not,” Keith runs a hand through his hair, “It’s me okay. I’m-I’ve always jumped into things without thinking, but I decided to go for it, like breaking Shiro out but now I’m doing things before I even notice and it’s all these stupid Galra instincts!”

You swallow.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you once more. “I didn’t mean to and I’m sorry. No one thinks you can’t handle yourself. That’s why Shiro paired you up with Allura, because he knows you’re capable of watching her back.”

Your smile is fragile as you look over at him, “yeah?”

“Yeah.” Keith holds your gaze, looking as skittish as a stray dog. Another whine escapes his throat.

What the heck.

You hug him, “you’re such a dumbass.” You understood why he’d worry. This was war. Pidge was on a two man campaign with Shiro to get Matt to stay on the Castle, both scared witless that Matt might die on a mission with the rebels. Ulaz had died so everyone could get away.

You’d had patients in the last decaphoebs you could do nothing but ease their pain. You’d had patients that you couldn’t even administer anything for the pain because of how torn apart they were: guts spilling out, charred people shapes that you were surprised to still find breathing.

The images would never leave you as long as you lived.

“I’m sorry.” Keith buries his head in the crook of your neck, his breath tickling your skin sent shivers down your spine.

You hug him tightly, aware that every battle could be your last: the last time you saw him. “You’ve said that already,” you tease, memorizing the smell of him, stale sweat and something cloying that you had wanted to bottle up from the moment you’d met him and had never found on anyone else. As embarrassing as it was to admit to anyone other than yourself, Keith smelled good. Really good.

Most people smelled like nothing at all.

He stiffens.

“But it’s nice to hear again.”

Keith smothers a laugh.

You kiss his hair. Boys were so dumb.

He purrs.

You smile goofily, warmth building under your skin, and toes curling up in your shoes. You should say something. Right?

At some point?

Or maybe it shouldn’t be said under the looming threat of an upcoming battle.

Fuck.

You can’t decide, so you say nothing at all.

——————

Bombs still pelt the surface.

Your teeth chatter as the ground shakes even deep underground. Even more soil falls onto you. Your spacesuit was more oche than white at this point as you carry an injured Talpidae in your arms. It’s arm had been completely blown off. Sluggish blue blood oozed out.

Allura was last, tailing the group.

You reach the bunker.

The sentries had followed some of the feeling Talpidae into the tunnels, but they’d been sorted out.

The people here were strange, russet in fur colouring, with no discernable eye, just strange pink flagella protruding from their nose and large claws for digging. They stood at about Pidge’s height.

The bunker seals and you get to work.

Tourniquet here, pain patch there. There were so many of them banged up.

The fight continued on the surface.

The paladins had to form Voltron.

You and Allura work as a team, she takes the bruises and broken bones with no immediate risk of death. You triage the worst of the Talpidae, giving away your precious stash of painkillers to those you can’t save and are not in for a quick death, a Talpidae lies twitching, it’s nose blown off but alive. Another holds it’s hand, but shakes their head when they look at you. They weren’t going to make it.

Training kicks in and you focus on saving those you can.

Your hands stain blue from the blood.

Allura works alongside you.

You cauterize a Talpidae named Soedob’s hand, the claws on their right limb were gone, but most of it was spared.

“You smell Galra,” Soedob utters, blinking out of the pain induced haze as the painkiller kicked in.

You half hear, half don’t, so focused on the task at hand. It was easier to not stop until you were finished and could curl up and sleep and not think about blood and war and Zarkon.

“We have Galra allies,” Allura answers diplomatically, leaving the issue of the half Galra paladin alone.

It irked you.

“No, not them,” Soedob notes. “Those had a different aura.”

“Smell,” you guess, finishing off. You hoped the fighting ended soon. You supply was not unlimited. The castle had better facilities.

“Is that what you call it?”

“Our primary sense is sight,” Allura explains, giving you a long look.

You shrug. You hadn’t even seen any of Lotor and his team. There hadn’t been time. It had all been relayed over coms, over video.

“Another then?”

You swallow thickly, flushing with embarrassment because you both spent time around Keith but Soedob was only smelling him on you and it’s not like you had been doing anything intimate…well, it had felt intimate, hugging Keith, but it wasn’t anything like when cadets snuck into each others dorm room, shoving a sock on the door handle in the universal symbol of don’t bother us. “The red paladin is part Galra.” Mercifully, your voice doesn’t shake from the embarrassment, but you can’t look at Allura.

“Ah,” Soedob nods, neither outraged nor pleased.

Then there’s no more time, you have more Talpidaes waiting for medical aid. You give their own healers some of your supplies, freeing up Allura to find the clan leaders.

You can feel Allura’s questioning glance on you.

——————

“Team meeting in the mess hall,” Shiro calls over the coms system.

“Mess hall,” Pidge rolls her eyes, “it’s the dining room.”

You snort.

“I like to think of it as the dining room too,” Hunk offers. “I mean there’s only eight of us. It’s sort of like being home again.”

“Mess hall makes me think of the garrison,” you admit, falling into step besides them. “and the food.”

“Ugh,” Pidge groans. “That was the worst. Matt wasn’t kidding.”

“It does make the space packs easier to digest,” you muse, “maybe that was the point.” It took the garrison two years to get to Mars. It was funny, once you’d thought that was a long way from home.

“I liked the cheese garlic bread,” Hunk allows.

“Food goo,” Pidge grins, “or the garrison space food?”

“Food goo.” Hunk doesn’t even have to think.

“Food goo,” you agree. “Though not Coran’s paladin special.”

“You don’t even eat that,” Hunk huffs, half outraged half amused, “you’re always like well I’m not a paladin so…”

You laugh. “Seeing it is more than enough.”

The rest of the ship’s inhabitants are already there waiting for you. Lance is trying to teach Coran how to play slide, moving very slow as he claps their hands together.

Shiro and Allura are in easy conversation. Her mice scamper around her feet.

Keith looks absolutely miserable next to Shiro, folding himself into the smallest possible size, trying to disappear. It was hard to reconcile the Keith that was quiet with the Red Paladin that shot first and asked questions later.

You smile at him, excited to see him, but also figuring he could use some reassurance, whatever it was going through his head. Keith meets your gaze and the corners of his mouth turn up, before he ducks away.

You know better than to take it personally.

It was Keith.

Your toes curl inside your shoes and you bite back your smile, suddenly aware of how much you might be revealing and not wanting Lance of all people to start a meeting by commenting on it. For him, it might be all fun and games, but you weren’t sure what to do with these newfound warm and fuzzy feelings. You sure as fuck didn’t want to be called out on it.

You weren’t sure what to do about liking Keith so your current plan of action was: nothing.

“Thank you everyone for being here,” Shiro claps his hands together, his leader impression defaulted at awkward dad. He thought he always had to be on. Despite being the most trained out of us, he’d only just started his career during the Kerberos mission.

You wonder if he’d picked up his leadership style partly from Pidge’s dad.

“Where else would we be,” Pidge shrugs, never one to miss a shot.

“All the same,” the older man smiles.

“Yeah, no problem my dude, bro,” Lance flashes finger guns at Shiro.

You snort, taking a seat between him and Hunk.

“But seriously, what’s up,” Lance leans forward. “Or is this some lowkey way to keep us on our toes,” he winks at Allura who smiles indulgently.

“I await the news alongside you paladins,” Allura answers, hands resting in her lap. She looks over at Shiro.

The whole room turns to look at Shiro.

He had called the meeting.

Meetings tended to be informational in nature: updates about the expansive war, rebels hailing Voltron for intervention, the Blade passing on the rare bit of information, and the always popular distress signals. But Shiro and Allura both looked too calm for that.

Keith goes rigid, a spring wound up too tight.

Hm.

You wondered if the elephant in the room would finally be addressed.

Shiro puts his hand on Keith’s shoulder, smiling encouragingly the way a parent dropping their child off for their first day of school would, “go ahead Keith.”

The red paladin focuses his gaze on Shiro, his expression more sour than it’s been in a long time.

The past few years had done a lot to get him to open up to everyone on board, but right now, he looks exactly like the stubborn closed off cadet he had been back on Earth.

His ears twitch slightly. He manages to look even more taunt, and you wonder if he’s going to wave this off. Then, he lets out a breath.

His body is stiff, but Keith no longer pulls away from Shiro. He looks down at his hands pensively, nails cut to the quick. “Right.”

You can feel the nervous energy of the rest of the room, leaning in, waiting to see what Keith wants to say.

“Mhm, go on,” Lance says, chin in hand.

Hunk elbows him in the side.

“Hey!” Lance is about to start in on Hunk.

“Guys,” you snap, shoving Lance’s shoulder.

“Okay, okay,” Lance zips his mouth and throws away the key, “shutting up.”

“Looks like that didn’t work,” Pidge snarks.

“Paladins,” Allura’s clear commanding voice rings out. When everyone shuts up again, she nods at Keith, “you may continue.”

He looks up at everyone through his bangs, “I’m going through Galra settling.”

Hunk looks over at Allura, who was far more familiar with all this alien mumble jumble than anyone else.

Shiro squeezes Keith’s shoulder.

“And that is,” you prompt gently, before Keith hastily decided that was all he needed to say and left.

He meets your waiting gaze. Under the ship’s bright rooms, his eyes were obviously violet, heavy on the purple. He’s chewing his bottom lip like he isn’t sure he wants to go through with saying any of this and you wonder if he must be thinking of how weird things were between everyone when he learned of the alien part of his heritage.

Your mouth quirks up into a smile.

You were more than willing to stuff someone into a cryopod if they bothered Keith. He may be part of Voltron, tasked with defending the universe, but you’d make sure there was someone to defend him.

An embarrassing rush of heat bubbles under your skin. You look away, nervous.

“Shiro,” Keith asks.

Shiro nods, wrapping his arms fully around Keith’s shoulder. “Galra settling is when Galra,” he looked like he was trying to figure out exactly what he was talking about as he said it. Aliens were weird. “When Galra reach a certain age their appearance locks in.” Even Shiro looks a little puzzled. He was a pilot, not a biologist. You knew organisms back on earth who could manipulate their genotypes, generally sex changes with the right environmental conditions, but you weren’t sure there was anything comparable to whatever this was. “The Galra are apparently very adaptable in individuals. That’s why there’s such a range of them.”

Huh.

That explained the fur, range of tails, more reptilian looking once, and the eyes.

You wanted a Galra biology course, a full semester long one. What exactly caused such a plasticity in their phenotype? Did the trait have to be encoded in their genotype to appear or was there something freakier, Allura’s space magic, going on?

“-because he’s half human and we don’t go through anything like this it’s more painful than it would be. Lotor said the chameleonic abilities of Alteans helped him when he went through this,” Shiro finishes without a satisfying or thorough explanation.

At least Keith wasn’t dying.

Thank god.

Thank whatever freaky Altean magic existed in the universe.

“So,” Lance starts, “it’s Galra puberty.”

In a split second Keith loses any self consciousness about the situation, “it’s not Galra puberty!” His hair puffs up and you have to fight the urge to laugh, covering your face with your hands.

“There’s…” Shiro glances at Keith, before Lance and Keith could really get into it, “there’s more.”

Keith looks mullish, but ultimately gives Shiro the go ahead.

“Part of these..changes,” the black paladin explains, “have brought out some Galra instincts.” Clearly he was having as much trouble grappling with what this meant as Keith was. Your body suddenly deciding to change was no fun when you had no context for it. “Among them, the need to scent family…”

Pidge tilts her head, “is this like the most convoluted and emotionally constipated way of asking for a hug,” she asks Keith.

Keith smiles wryly, “pretty much.”

“Oh come here dude,” Hunk grins, engulfing Keith and Shiro in a hug.

“Ah number four,” Coran points up in the air, “I am now just recalling the galra that lived on Altea having explained this once, of course it didn’t occur to me because of the apparent dominance of your human genes.”

“So they’re actually co-dominant,” you muse as Lance drags Pidge along for a “group hug!”

“No.no,” Pidge makes a half-hearted effort to wiggle out, being a younger sibling herself, was used to being subjected to affection. She smiles even as she struggles.

“It would seem so,” Coran nods, “though not every gene.”

“Just these.” You wonder if there’s a space equivalent of the human genome project.

“Lance,” Keith yelps, “that’s my foot.”

“Buddy, I am not feeling the love here.”

“Is it working,” Hunk asks, peering at Keith, “are you going to turn purple now?”

“No one turns purple from hugs,” Keith replies, annoyed but makes no move to pull away.

“Thank you for trusting us with this Keith,” Allura smiles, her eyes crinkling.

“Get in on this too Princess,” Shiro motions over, before catching your gaze, “you too. Don’t think you can get out of this. You’re part of Voltron too.”

You snort, and join the group hug.

Pidge’s elbow is a bony thorn in your side and there’s the slight hum from Shiro’s prosthetic, but it’s a good mix of warmth and intimacy with the people you were closest to in the entire universe. Allura’s shoulder presses into you back and it’s sort of ballooned to ridiculous proportions, Keith somewhere in the center of it all, his hair barely visible to you.

“Add cuddling Keith to the chore wheel,” Pidge proposes.

Keith groans.

“How about we let Keith decide,” Shiro proposes.

You snort, knowing him too well. “Are you willing to take that risk? Died-from lack of hugs.”

Lance laughs.

Shiro looks convinced by your stellar argument.

“I’m not that bad,” Keith grumbles.

“You’re a terrible hugger,” Lance argues back. “You’re all stiff, like you’re enduring one of Iverson’s paradox sims. Not as bad as my abuelo but still.”

Keith lunges for Lance.

Someone topples over.

Everyone falls.

You laugh, smothered by limps and someone’s hair in your mouth…maybe Hunk’s? You don’t move, worried about kicking someone’s head.

From somewhere, Keith does that low rumbling chest noise that reminds you of a cat purring happily.

No one makes fun of him for it.

——————

“You should comb your hair before we take the pod down,” you tell Keith. You’d spent your free time before this alliance dinner scrolling through a datapad, trying to learn names, where they hailed from, species, things that may prove useful.

Half a varga ago, Keith had found you balled up on a sofa, and sat next to you, his way of asking for physical comfort. You’d obliged him readily, throwing an arm over his shoulders and spooning him as you both laid on the sofa. He was already in the paladin uniforms that Allura had dug out once the alliance became a reality instead of a loose string of rebel groups fighting the Galra empire.

You’re both short and slight, fitting together perfectly.

You squash any feelings you have, this wasn’t about you, it was about him. You’d done it a thousand times with Hunk or Lance, fallen asleep listening to Allura, why should Keith be any different? (You know why.)

He’s reading the screen with you.

“I doubt they’d notice,” he remarks as you scroll to a particularly vivid color alien race with sensory appendages sprouting from their heads.

“You have a point desert bum,” you tease, “I’d rather be a bum by a beach town. All surfer bro.”

“Can you even surf,” he asks flatly.

“No. Learned how to swim at the garrison,” you admit. “But tanning by the water has to be more appealing than roasting under the Texas sun.”

“I like the desert.”

“I know.” You were pretty sure everyone just liked their homes.

“It’s quiet,” he admits, “and watching how the sunlight transforms the landscape…”

“It’s too big and wide,” you admit, thinking of space. Flat land that went on forever…empty dark space that went on forever.

“Good for driving,” Keith smirks.

You laugh. Or course that’s where his mind went. “Sure, but it all looks the same, everywhere you turn.” It was disorienting. To be fair, you were a city girl. Your background noise was cars honking and people yelling even at four in the morning. The garrison had been a big adjustment.

“It’s really not. You just have to look.”

“I’ll trust my gps,” you counter, “not my sense of direction. I’d probably end up one of those cautionary tales about mirages and deserts.”

“You can’t really get a good signal,” Keith replies lazily, his body slack against yours, “out there. It’s best to mark a trail with chalk if you don’t know the area.”

“But you do, know it I mean?”

“Out past the Garrison? Mhm. All of it. We used to go hiking…before,” he trails off.

You press your lips to his hair lightly, before shifting, “my arms asleep.”

“Sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” You sit up, “it’s nice. I used to put my sister to sleep this one year she had nightmares almost every night.”

“You miss her,” Keith states, sitting up, looking at you with his intense expression. Having someone focused one hundred percent on you was a new experience. He wasn’t thinking of a thousand other things, just you.

“I do. I miss everyone, but,” you shrug, “I’ll see them again. Meanwhile you’re stuck with me.” You smile fondly at Keith. “I’m going to change before we have to go to dinner.”

“I’d take fighting Zarkon anyday,” Keith mutters, cringing at the upcoming show of diplomacy. There was so much smiling and hand shaking. It was exhausting to be that extroverted with a roomful of strangers.

Even Lance zonked out after these things.

“Knock on wood,” you laugh.

_____________

Treaties have been signed. A wrecked Galra fleet floats in space above the planet your on today, but today’s battle is won.

One of Lotor’s General’s is here, Acza. She’s wary, and surprised at the warm reception she’d received. She might be Galra, but she’d been crucial in taking down the Galra base’s shields. Biolocks, Zarkon should really rethink those.

You sip at your thick drink, warm and flavored like cinnamon oatmeal, that chases off the chill of the night. The idea had been to sleep, your hands still ached from all the sutures and stitches you’d woven, but Allura refused to hear it, dragging you along. There would be time for sleep on the Castle, she’d claimed, joyous to have helped another besieged planet.

“My congratulations,” a Blade utters from behind their glowing mask.

You jump, not having known there was even a Blade here. They were allies, yet their anonymity that made them so useful in information gathering, created a gap between you. You had no way of knowing who this person was. Their suit obscuring any details, the mask a rank.

You couldn’t even see their eyes.

“For what,” you ask, puzzled. You hadn’t fought. Your skills made you most useful after the battle, trying to save lives and patch up wounds. It was important and emotional draining work, but you hardly won battles.

Because of the mask, you can’t get a read on their reaction. Blades. Spies. Maybe if you could see their eyes…

They nod, and walk off without explanation.

You watch them go, still confused until they disappear among the bodies loitering around, celebrating liberation.

It was a feat to disappear when you were eight feet tall.

First the Galra had avoided you like the plague, the black plague, now they were being cryptic as fuck.

You lean your head down, trying to sniff your armpits without making it too obvious. Was it the blood? Or the space bleach? That tended to linger.

You didn’t smell that bad. Certainly like bleach and rubbing alcohol…

You take another sip of your drink, looking around for a place to sit. You’d been on your feet for too long. You wanted to sleep.

Someone would find you.

You wander around. Smiling when someone notices you, and thanks you and you hurry to get away before they ask you a hundred questions. There were only eight humans in space. Well, seven and a half. You stood out.

They wanted Voltron, but you would do.

“There’s space here,” Acxa calls out.

“Thanks,” you plop down next to her, sagging into the seat. Oh, yeah, you were so freaking tired.

“Of course. You look dead.”

“Yeah,” you look around the rebel camp, “I’ve no clue how they have the energy.”

“It’s like that everywhere. This is their home,” Acza offers, “people fight hard for their homes.”

You nod, before looking over at the alien woman, “not avoiding me anymore then?”

She shrugs, not disputing the allegation. “No need anymore, now that you and Keith sorted yourselves out.” She’s so blunt about it. “Galra are so sensitive when settling. We didn’t want to cause any incidents.”

“Is this about the scenting?” You still hadn’t had time to read through the information you’d gotten your grubby little hands on.

She nods.

You put your drink down on the mossy ground. “Yeah, Keith explained it. Well, Shiro did, really. Lance is over the moon about having an excuse to bother Keith.” Now you really all were a family. You’d named it outloud.

Acxa’s brows furrow, “Lance?”

“I think he just misses his family a lot,” you offer. “We all do and while we’re family too, it’d be nice to see our family back on earth too.”

She frowns. “Keith and you are not,” she asks slowly.

“Me and Keith,” you flush, ducking away from her. “No-I, no. We’re not.” You should’ve gone back to the Castle the moment Allura turned her back. She would’ve never known.

Acxa’s frown becomes tinged with anger and worry, her hand grabs your wrist. “Galra have more than one type of scenting, between families, and between partners.”

“Oh.”

You try to connect the dots but your brain gets stuck between ideas. Scenting. Keith. You. You and Keith. It was right there but-

“Keith isn’t marking you as family,” she explains slowly, “he’s marking you as his partner.” Acxa waits until her words sink in before adding, “to do so without letting the other know…” She makes it clear what a social taboo that is.

But you’re one step behind her.

Did Keith like you?

You think back to all the times you’d been with him in the past few vargas, trying to pinpoint any hint: he’d smiled at you but he was happier now in general so it could be a coincidence…

“If you need,” Acxa offers, “I will help clarify the situation.” It’s an awfully kind gesture.

“No,” you say in a rush. “no. It’s-I think I need to go talk to Keith.” He’d known what he was doing…you could draw a thousand conclusions but nothing would be better than confronting him about it.

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” you stand up, glancing around. During parties, Keith tended to find a quiet corner out of the way. He’d opened up, but he was still more of an introvert.

You find Keith lying stretched out in the shadow of a makeshift building, looking up at the stars. It’s his eyes that give him away, reflecting the light enough to be inhuman, nocturnal vision.

“We need to talk,” you wrap your arms around your body. You weren’t angry, just confused. Didn’t he know he could just come talk to you about it by now?  

Keith looks up, startled, then stands. “Alright.” He sounds resigned, a man sentenced to detention for a month which was janitorial duties at the garrison. It kept even the most smartass cadets humble.

You look around.

No one was really here. You could hear the music and people a bit further into the heart of the camp. Here was good enough.

“I talked to Acxa,” you start, “she said-” you look down at the trampled vegetation underfoot. It was embarrassing to your human preconceptions to even think, let alone say, which was why you were pretty sure Keith didn’t mean any harm. Scenting meant nothing on earth, where he’d grown up. “She said you’ve been scenting me, which like I know but not that way?” You look up at him as realization sets in and he ducks his head, looking away. “Is it true?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I-,” he takes a deep breath before ranting, the agitation and months of buried emotions flooding out, “I hate this. I hate that I can hear the conversation outside and smell which direction  Shiro’s in and how much my eyes hurt on the Castle from how bright it is but I don’t-I can’t say anything because I’m already enough of a freak. Before I was just the weird kid but now I’m just a fucking alien freak! There’s always so much going on and I don’t even know what’s next!”

You wait, wondering if there was more.

It was a lot of changes.

You couldn’t understand, there was nothing in your life comparable to your biology deciding to be a little more Galra after twenty years.

“And I tried not to-,” he admits, meeting your waiting gaze, “I tried to leave everyone alone so you wouldn’t,” Keith swallows, forcing himself to continue with an obvious disgust at himself, “you wouldn’t smell like me or whatever Lotor explained but I couldn’t-it was driving me crazy like this itch, this buzzing under my skull and seeing you guys with others-I thought I was going crazy until Lotor explained. And then when Lance would ruffle my hair or you would check that I wasn’t about to fall over and die and-,” he waves his hands in the air, “I would just zone out.”

“Oh,” you utter, recalling past events with a newfound understanding. Keith had been reaching out, all instinct even when he was trying not to be a bother. It broke your heart, how he always came from the perspective that he was an inconvenience.

“I did know,” he says in a small voice. “That-you…but I don’t know if it’s me or this, or all these things happening to me.”

Your expression wobbles. You bite your lower lip, trying to get a handle on it. How silly to worry about a crush when Keith was going through it.

“I like you, but I don’t know if I like you or if it’s just these stupid Galra instincts messing with my head.” Keith deflates, drawing into himself. “Everything

s…it’s been a lot.”

“I get it,” you utter, “maybe not the situation but I’m not mad. Though Acxa was ready to kick your ass and she totally could,” you try teasing.

But Keith flinches, looking away guiltily.

“I’m joking. I-I get why. It makes sense. It’s a lot to get used to.” You swallow, not sure what to do about anything either.

“Its a huge offence,” Keith utters, “that’s why she was pissed. Made worse because you can’t even tell…I-I couldn’t think straight and I…it took the edge off.”

“Scenting me?”

He nods.

You take a step towards him.

“I-,” Keith’s eyes meet yours, his attention entirely captivated by you. It sends a thrill down your spine. You’d seen how he could be when laser focused: on piloting, on training. “I know they say it’s wrong but you and Lance do stuff like that all the time. And I thought…I figured I could figure out how much of what I’m feeling is me and how much of it are these new instincts.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” you tell him. “I-you’re right, it’s whatever to me. Like, a Blade congratulated me earlier which was weird but fuck them you know? I can ‘smile and nod’,” you smile as fakely as possible to show what you mean, “through it so long as you’re okay.” He’d bled in your lap.

Keith looks a little unsteady, unsure what to do with your lack of anger. “You don’t-”

“So is it like galra marriage then?” You were curious as to what exactly the Blades were going to gossip about you and Keith.

He makes a choked sound. “Sort of. They bond. It can be broken but that generally means someone killed the other.”

“Let me guess,” you reply, “Zarkon fucked even that up.”

Keith nods.

“That guy’s the worst.” Your voice is light.

Keith snorts, smiling for a split second. “I won’t anymore. I’ll-”

“Keith,” your voice cracks as you out your hand on his arm to keep him from rubbing off, “if its really causing you all this additional confusion in too of everything…you can…” the words were too intimate to say, too charged with a sensuality that he clearly was figuring out. You were willing to wait. For him.

He was conflicted enough without you dumping your feelings on him.

“You don’t-”

You raise your hand, caressing the side of his face with the back of your hand, ghosting over the purple mark on his cheek, “I don’t mind.” Sure, you had a crush on him, you could admit that much, but more simply, you loved him.

This was a small ask.

Your gaze flickers to the tips of his ears.

You had washed his blood off your hands.

“Besides, shit’s hard enough. My arm falling asleep is a small price to pay if I can help you.”

Keith’s mouth quirks up in a smile.

You laugh, “come here.”

It finally sinks in that you weren’t just talking bs. You meant it, as you hug Keith, wrapping your arms around his middle. He smelled good in spite of the battle he’d been through earlier.

Without really thinking, you breathe in the scent of him.

Keith hugs you back, cuddling you against his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder.

You yawn. “want to sneak back into the castle?”

“Only if you tell Allura you’re the one who wanted to leave,” he deadpans dazedly.

You laugh.

——————

“Come,” Allura motions as you stand from one of the Castle’s weapons systems, “we must meet with the rebel leadership on planet.”

The planet was a farming camp.

The slaves were overworked and underfed and they had still revolted when they learned Voltron was near. Now, they were free.

“Princess,” Coran calls out, “it appears that number four is heading back to the ship.”

A pained expression crosses Allura’s broad features, her full mouth frowning, before she decides to pick her battles for the day. “I am sure Keith has a good reason for his actions.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself.

You don’t want to go down there either.

This entire last week had been spent synthesizing medicine and treating thousands of people made harder by the range of species. The garrison better give you that medical degree immediately.

“I’ll go check on him,” you say automatically, “he might need me to prep a pod.”

“Fantastic idea number five,” Coran believes your excuse.

“Let us know if anything happens,” Allura says, giving you a long look, before heading for the exit.

The central Galra soldiers had been taken out, but small bands of fighters were still fighting to their last breath. It’s why Voltron has remained on the planet.

The lions had roamed the landscape answering calls for aid and hunting down the last of Zarkon’s forces here.

You meet Keith in the red lion’s hanger.

He’s popping his helmet off, running a hand through his flattened hair. “I thought you were headed out with Allura?”

You shrug, suddenly feeling awkward. “I was, but I wanted to check on you first.” That was a normal thing to do for your friends. There was no reason to overthink things.

“I’m fine.”

He sets the helmet aside, working on undoing the armor off. There was dirt and dust but thankfully no blood to speak of, his or otherwise.

“Then I’ll see you there,” you ask.

Keith looks over, a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar, his smile slight when he replies, “I’m not heading there.” Blunt. Concise.

“It is depressing,” you admit. There was so much resource allocation and need planet-wide.

He raises a brow. “Oh. Yeah.”

“Keith?” Now you’re wondering what the real problem was. “What is it?”

“Does it matter. I don’t need to be there. Shiro and Allura can handle it.” He looks away, suddenly very interested in the wall. Unlike the rest of the ship, the red lion’s hanger was dim, in a permanent night cycle.

Pidge’s work.

“I think the people would like all of Voltron present.” Then you make a face, “oh god, I sound just like Allura don’t I?”

Keith laughs, “just a bit. As long as you don’t make us all meditate…”

“It’s so boring. I fall asleep.” You smile softly, “Seriously, go down for a moment. Then you can hide out here.”

“I-I’d rather not.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Four out of five is is fine.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” you agree.

“I’m sure they’ll be glad.”

“Keith-” you start, knowing he already felt hyper aware of how his appearance had changed. Before, it hadn’t really ever come up outside of the team. No one would tell and if Keith wasn’t vocal about it…now everyone in the entire universe probably knew.

There were rebel Galra, mostly in prisons and work camps. Feelings varied.

“That’s not true,” you say, not sure if it was true, “you helped free them.” You shift your weight onto your other foot, “there’s a few assholes everywhere.”

He gives you a long look. “The Galra enslaved all these people.”

“Pfft,” you wave off, “you look like one sixteenth Galra. And-”

“They stare.”

“Because you’re a paladin,” you reason. “Pidge is also cranky about the attention.”

Keith sighs.

The paladin armor lies in a discarded pile.

You step forward to him, “anyone would be lucky to have you as a pilot. And Voltron sort of lucked out when the red lion chose you.”

Keith’s eyes widen as he looks at you, pink dusting his cheeks.

In for a penny, in for a pound, you lean forward and kiss his cheek, ghosting over his skin, “face marks and all.” You can’t meet his gaze when you pull away, blushing fiercely.

Why did you do that!

God, you were so dumb-

He cups your cheeks and brushes his lips over yours.

Oh! Oh.

“Is-is this okay-,” Keith starts asking.

You feel giddy, smiling before kissing him. Yeah, it was okay.

[themcuhasruinedme]

Vintage Film Fest (Pt. 4)(End)

[Summary]: You and Steve have been dating for a while and you surprise him with a pair of tickets to a vintage film festival as an anniversary date

[Pairing]: Steve x reader

[Word Count]: 3,795

Tagging: @theashhole @dividedwecantfall @peterman-parker @avengerofyourheart @nataliarxmanxva @metalarmproblems @queenbbarnes @carol-damn-vers @imagine-assembling-the-avengers @that-sokovian-bastard @hellomissmabel @abovethesmokestacks @peculiar-persephone @bellameys @beccaanne814 @hymnofthevalkyrie @buckys-shield @callamint @redgillan @angelicthor  @iwillbeinmynest @theassetseyeliner @lilasiannerd @aubzylynn @sgtbxckybxrnes @iamwarrenspeace @marvelrevival @httpmcrvel @avengersnthings @feelmyroarrrr @girl-next-door-writes @honey-bee-holly @patzammit

A/N: Well, our vintage film fest has finally come to an end.. I hope you all enjoyed reading (and possibly watching) all these wonderful movies I mentioned, as they are all very near and dear to my heart in some way or another. And once again, I encourage you guys to watch the movies and shorts I mention in this as they are all wonderful and amazing (heads up though: some of them are silent!) and all can be found on YouTube.

Pt.1 | Pt.2 | Pt.3

You couldn’t believe that night four was here already. It seemed like just yesterday that the film fest started and you were looking forward to enjoying all these movies and shorts with Steve. But like anything and everything, all good things must come to an end.

When it was time for you and Steve to drive to the theater, you slowly walked to the car while Steve tried to rush you.

“Everything ok, [Y/N]?”

“Yea,” you sighed. “It’s just that I can’t believe that it’s our final night for this.”

Steve gave you a small smile and wrapped you in his arms as a tear slid down your cheek.

“Hey, it’s ok!” he said as he brushed the tear away with his thumb then lifting your chin up so your eyes met. “There will be other festivals to go to. I’ll make sure that we find more.” He gave you a kiss on your forehead and you hugged each other tightly for a couple minutes in the driveway.

“Alright, hun. Let’s go,” he whispered.

The drive over was a quiet one and when the two of you walked in to the theater, it was about half full already. Finding seats close to the middle, you let Steve go get the snacks while you played some games on your phone and patiently waited for him to come back.

Handing you a box of Reese’s Pieces again along with a king sized box of Sour Patch Kids, you looked at him with the biggest smile you could muster.

“Anything to make that smile happen,” he said as he sat down and placed the drinks in the cup holders.

He intertwined his fingers with yours and you placed your head on his shoulder which then prompted him to place a soft, delicate kiss to the top of your head. Your smile got a bit bigger as another tear slid down to the tip of your nose.

You wiped it away and sniffled a bit when the lights went down, it was time for the last night of movies to start. And what a way to start off the last night but with one of Harold Lloyd’s most notable short called An Eastern Westerner.

For you, it was always a delight watching Harold Lloyd, especially his glasses character that they call “The Boy”. There was just something about his all-American persona in that character that you couldn’t quite put your finger on but all you knew what that you loved that character nonetheless.

The theater was quiet until the second title card appeared: “H-o-m-e spells home, but the Boy never did care much for spelling.” which then made the whole audience roar with laughter. And the laughter continued as you all watched the Boy get in trouble over doing the shimmy in a dance hall that prohibited it.

It then became quiet again as you all watched him come home late, get in trouble with his father and get told that he needs to visit his uncle out West where it will get rid of his “wild shenanigans”.

Laughter filled the theater once more when the title card popped up for the town that the Boy was to go: “The little town of Piute Pass. It’s considered bad form to shoot the same man twice on the same day.” But it quickly turned to gasps from the kids as they showed a group of bandits hold up the towns saloon and then over-dramatically get bullied by the saloon owner.

Watching as they showed the Girl, the Boys soon to be sweetheart, get work in the saloon, the Boy chase his ride all the way into town and then try to impress the Girl with rope twirling and horse riding but failing miserably, there were laughs all around.

There were even more laughs when the Boy went into the saloon, almost got shot, got a little to flirty with a dancer, was forced to play a poker game, attempted to roll his own cigarette (and made five instead) and practically cheat at the poker game by disguising himself as a waiter.

(gif credit goes to @ren-field)

Gasps and laughter were mixed during the ending chase scene after the Boy had saved the Girl’s father and the saloon owner got upset over it. But when the ending came, there were aww’s from every corner of the theater as the Boy drew a line across the Girl’s left ring finger.

The first break happened and you and Steve waited patiently for the next one to start. Slowly eating more of your Reese’s Pieces, you decided to stick a few in Steve’s mouth which came with some laughs and much needed hugs.

As soon as the lights went down for the second movie to start and seeing the title card for it immediately put a smile on your face. Charlie’s most famous short called The Immigrant was one of your favorites. His Tramp character could always put a smile on your face no matter how bad you were feeling.

Laughs started right away seeing the Tramp hanging over the side of the boat, making it look like he was seasick until he brought a fish into view, smiling as he held on to his catch then losing it into a sleeping crowd. More laughs happened as he tried to walk on deck but swayed with the boat with each step he took.

Even more laughs came while the audience watched him try to eat dinner in the swaying dining room where he could hardly stand, lost his footing (along with his meal) and immediately fell for a pretty girl on the boat.

Suddenly gasps filled the theater from all the kids as they watched a man steal from a sleeping old lady but the cheers and aww’s rang out when they watched the Tramp give his money to the girl, who happened to be the old lady’s daughter. 

Quietness filled the theater as the audience watched the boat sail into New York’s harbor and the Tramp say goodbye to the girl and her mother. But it was quickly filled with laughter again as the Tramp went to go eat, had a hat issue with the headwaiter, eat his bowl of beans one at a time and have the guy sitting next to him get irritated by it all.

(gif credit goes to @maudit)

Aww’s and smiles came again when the Tramp met the girl from the boat in the restaurant, sitting at the table next to him but quickly turned to gasps as the audience watched a customer get roughed up and thrown out of the place because he was short on his bill.

Laughs came and went even more when the Tramp tried to pay for his and the girl’s food but the coin he had was a fake and he kept falling out of his seat from disbelief whenever the headwaiter tried to grab his shirt collar. But as luck would have it, someone “paid” the bill for them and then the Tramp and the girl got married later that day.

Cheers came as the screen went black and the lights went on. You and Steve each took turns going to the restroom to make sure no one took your spots, even though there wasn’t really an empty seat anywhere.

When the lights went down for the next movie to start, you were happy to see that they had one more Buster movie, called The Passionate Plumber, set up for the festival. This was another one of your favorite talking ones from him, even though it was another MGM film but this was another one of those that Buster fans considered to be good. In fact, some fans considered it to be his best of the talking movies and you certainly did as well.

The laughs were a plenty with this one, starting with Buster’s character, Elmer, going to fix a leaky shower in some fancy dames house but as things usually went, it didn’t go smoothly. The girl’s lover, Tony, caught Elmer in the bathroom and accused Patricia of her having a lover on the side, which caused Tony to get jealous, arrange a duel with Elmer and bring out his gloves, slapping Elmer across the face, which in turn Elmer slapped him using the only thing he had on him; his towel.

Laughs continued when the duel between Elmer and Tony happened, especially when Elmer kept bringing out his glove and slapping everyone. You could hear some sighs throughout the theater when it showed Buster in a polo shirt and one of those deadpan, yet astonishingly beautiful, expressions on his face. One of those sighs even came from you unknowingly and Steve quickly squeezed your hand to make you snap out of your dream state.

“Hey, I thought I was the only one that could make you swoon?” Steve teased. You nudged his arm and smiled, focusing your attention back to the screen. You heard a few gasps from the kids when it showed that Tony had another girl, named Nina, making it seem to her that he was married to Patricia and that he wanted to be with Nina.

But the laughs soon continued for the next 15 minutes as the audience watched Elmer try to show his new gun invention to the French Army General which made it seem like an assassination attempt because he kept having to bring the gun out, trying to get into the casino that the General was in and finally succeeding, causing chaos in the casino as only Buster can after waving his gun around yet agin to the General, then stealing someones car and smashing it, only to have the chauffeur come over screaming and yelling which made Elmer bring out his gloves once more.

The theater then became quiet as you all watched Patricia ask Elmer to help her get rid of Tony by becoming her “make believe” lover. But the laughter filled it yet again when Elmer silently grabbed Tony’s hat to make it look like he just came in and started kissing Patricia, making Tony upset and hitting the top of Elmer’s hat. The laughter got even harder when once again the gloves came out to do more slapping.

Laughs came and went throughout the rest of the movie as you watched Patricia try to leave and be with Tony but Elmer was constantly there making sure she wouldn't be able to go anywhere, Patricia’s aunt coming over for a surprised visit, a small cat fight breaking out between Nina and Patricia to only find out Tony was playing both of them and then Nina and Patricia taking their revenge out on him by throwing anything and everything they could get their hands on, while also Patricia finally telling Elmer that she loved him.

The lights came on and it was time for one more break. You sat quietly in your seat, holding on to Steve’s arm. You sighed which made him give you a kiss on the top of your head and rest his cheek there. He knew that this festival being over so soon was making you sad but he was determined to not make this the only time you two did one.

As the lights went off once more for the second to last film, a smile was quickly brought to your face as the famous intro song to any Laurel and Hardy flick started playing, along with seeing what movie it was; Way Out West, one of their most famous movies.

The audience sat quietly as they watched the owner of a saloon and his saloon-singer wife talk about how if they had enough money, they’d get out of town as fast as possible, then watched her sing and dance for all the people in the saloon.

The chuckles started as soon as Stan and Ollie’s theme played for the next scene as they were shown traveling down the road, Stan on foot leading a mule dragging a travois which Ollie was lying on. But laughter broke out when they came to a river and the travois detached from the mule leaving Ollie stranded in the river and Stan trying to help him out with comic complications as usual. 

The audience watched as the boys hitched a ride into town and both flirted with the woman inside the stagecoach, only to then find out upon arrival that she was the sheriff’s wife and he threatened them to leave on the next coach or they’ll be leaving in a hearse.

The next scene really put a smile on your face as the song “At the Ball, That’s All” started being sung because the famous dance scene between Laurel and Hardy was about to happen. That scene never failed to put a smile on your face. It was one of your absolute favorite parts out of it.

After the audience whooped and cheered when the boys were done with the dance, it became quiet once more until they told the saloon owner that they needed to see Mary, a girl who worked there because her father died leaving her a goldmine and they were to deliver the deed to her in person, upon then gasps broke out from the kids when the saloon owner and his wife hatched a plan that they would take the deed from Mary and keep the gold for themselves. 

Laughter broke out once again seeing that Stan had a hole in the bottom of his shoe and him sticking a piece of meat in it that another customer complained about being “tough as shoe leather” giving Stan the idea to use it for patching the hole, which in turn made Ollie give one of his famous exasperated camera stares.

Some gasps mixed with laugher followed as you all watched the saloon owner and his wife trick the boys into handing over the deed but not before comic complications ensued before handing it over, which included Ollie almost losing the deed and him and Stan taking almost every article of clothing off to find it.

After the boys handed over the deed to the fake Mary, another smile appeared on your face as you knew the next part was another one of your favorites and one that never failed to make you laugh; the boys singing “Trail of the Lonesome Pine” with lip-synched comedy effects from Laurel at one point and his delayed reaction to being knocked in the head with a hammer by Ollie. You loved it so much that you even had the song in one of your music playlists.

Gasps came again when the boys found out that the woman they just gave the deed to wasn’t the real Mary and that they were now determined to get the deed back from the swindlers and hand it over to the real Mary.

As the movie continued, bursts of laughter came and went between the boys trying to retrieve the deed with the first attempt ending up with Stan in massive giggle fits, more threats from the sheriff to get out of town, Ollie falling back into the sink hole in the river, Stan shockingly using his thumb as a lighter then having to eat Ollie’s hat from a bet he made earlier and more attempts to retrieve the deed from the safe at the saloon.

Cheers and applause happened during the end when the boys finally got the deed and escaped with it and the real Mary as well but quickly turned to laughs when once again they cross the river and Ollie fell into the sink hole.

The lights went on again and your heart sank a little deeper, for you knew that the last film of the night and the festival was going to be played right after the lights went down for the final time. It was a bittersweet feeling but you knew that Steve would want the two of you to enjoy something like this again. You sat patiently and waited for the final film.

And what a way to end it! When the lights went down and the last film lit up the screen, you were brought to happy tears seeing what movie they saved for last; Charlie Chaplin’s City Lights, considered one of the greatest films of all time. It was your #1 favorite Chaplin film, one you could never tire of seeing and certainly one that got you emotional every time over the story and how beautifully it played out.

Laughs started almost immediately upon seeing the Tramp sleeping on a new statue that was being revealed to the public. Trying to get off the statue, he gets part of it caught in his pants while then also getting scolded by a police officer and failing miserably for several minutes of getting off of it but finally managing to get away. Chuckles were heard here and there while the Tramp wandered the city and two newsboys taunt him for his shabby appearance, which he rebukes them for and almost has a near-fatal encounter with a sidewalk elevator while admiring a statue in a store window.

The theater got quiet for a bit while seeing the Tramp meet a blind flower girl on the street corner and in the course of buying a flower realizes she’s blind. Quite a few aww’s sounded as the Tramp was instantly smitten. You could’nt help but sigh and smile yourself as you watched the Tramp fall for the girl, let alone the beautiful music that accompanied such a beautiful scene.

It became quiet again with chuckles here and there as the audience watched the Tramp save a drunken millionaire from suicide, the drunk millionaire then save him, the Tramp stop the millionaire’ second suicide attempt then go out for a night on the town and cause trouble in a restaurant till early morning.

You all watched as a now sober Tramp drove the millionaire home the next morning when then he sees the flower girl en route to her street corner. The Tramp gets some money from the millionaire and catches up to the girl, buying all her flowers and drives her home in the millionaire's car but then upon returning to a sober millionaire who remembers nothing of what took place the night before, the Tramp gets thrown out of the house.

Laughter, sighs, aww’s and gasps came throughout the rest of the film as the audience watched the Tramp meet up with the drunk millionaire again, get kicked out the next morning, desperately try helping the blind girl get money for her operation, get fired from his job, try to win prize money for her in a boxing match, encountering the drunk millionaire for a third time and getting money from him for the girl’s operation.

Gasps came from kids all around the theater as they watched two burglars steal the millionaires money while the police believe that the Tramp was the one who committed the crime because after being knocked unconscious the millionaire doesn’t remember giving the Tramp the money. Some yells happened as you all watched the police try to apprehend the Tramp but then get away with enough time to visit the girl and give her the money but quickly turned to whimpers seeing that he told her he was going away for awhile, then was imprisoned.

You squeezed Steve’s arm tightly and had the biggest smile on your face knowing full well that the best scene was about to happen. He looked down at you, smiled and wrapped his arm around you knowing that this was your favorite scene. 

A few sniffles had started here and there in the theater as you all watched the Tramp wander around the city once again after being in jail for months. At this point, you all learn that the flower girl now owns her own flower shop and has had her sight restored but when an elegant man enters the shop she wonders for a moment if her mysterious benefactor, whom she imagines to be rich and handsome, has returned.

By this time, there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. Sniffles and a few full-on cries were being heard throughout the theater as the audience watched the Tramp walk by the shop, where the girl was arranging flowers in the window. Dabbing your eyes with the tip of your finger, you all watched as he stooped to retrieve a flower discarded in the gutter after a brief run-in with the newsboys from earlier, as he turns to the shop's window through which he suddenly sees the girl, who has been watching him without of course knowing who he is. At the sight of her he is frozen for a few seconds, then breaks into a broad smile. The girl is flattered and giggles then motioning through the glass, she kindly offers him a fresh flower to replace the crushed one he took from the gutter as well as a coin.

Suddenly embarrassed, the Tramp starts to shuffle away, but the girl steps to the shop door and again offers the flower, which he shyly accepts. She takes his hand and presses the coin into it, but abruptly she stops as her smile turns to a look of puzzlement. She runs her fingers along his arm, his shoulder, his lapels, then catches her breath.

 "You?" the tile card reads.

The Tramp nods with an uncertain smile and another title card pops up with him  asking, "You can see now?" 

The girl replies, "Yes, I can see now" and tearfully pulls his hand to her chest. The uncertainty on the Tramp's face turns to joy as the screen faded to black.

Cheers, whoops, yells and whistles filled the theater as it stayed dark with the lights coming on a few seconds later. You and Steve looked at each other, noticing both of you had tear stains running down your cheeks.

“Looks like I’m not the only one to get emotional over that scene,” you playfully said and nudged his arm.

Steve pretended to clear his throat. “I don’t know what you're talking about, [Y/N],” he said as he quickly tried to wipe his face.

“Don’t try that with me, Steven Grant Rogers. I can see through that tough exterior at times.” You gave him a wink and a smile.

He smiled back at you then got up and stretched. Offering his arm, you got up and stretched as well then took his arm and the two of you walked out of the theater. You looked back at the room for a moment and smiled, knowing this was what brought you and Steve together in the first place; a theater playing a black and white movie.

[devilbat]

Under Cover

Jonathan Pine x spy! Reader

Requested by @sherlokiholland wanting a Jonathan Pine x spy!reader. I hope you like it.

Warning: mention of lemons. Violence, guns, blood. I think that’s it.

Really you shouldn’t be that surprised that you finally wound up in your current predicament. If it weren’t for the impeccable, handsomely hot, arrogant British spy, Jonathan Pine. You may have not have had your arms and legs bound to this damn uncomfortable chair. Listening to, two goons of the man you were pretending to be intimate with, weal on Pine. But then again he may deserve it just a little. If you weren’t tied up, you may have been the one beating the holy hell out of the man. He was the one that kind of blown your damn cover when he walked in. Let alone how could Angela do that to you sending someone else in. You hadn’t been pretending to be this asshole’s woman, having to stomach sleeping with him for over a year now. For her to send in Pine was a low blow to your status as a spy. You never worked well with others. And the current predicament you were in would be the reason why.

Sadly for a female field agent you were the only one really, most female agents sat behind a desk. Only if really and rarely needed in the field. You on the other hand couldn’t stand sitting behind a desk. You worked your ass off to prove you could do what your male counterparts could do but better. Sure you used your body to seduce others. It worked for you and it worked well. You didn’t just get a reputation and code name “Man Killer” for nothing. This mission was to be the biggest one. Bring down one of the worlds most dangerous drug dealers. Who was also the worlds most eligible bachelor. And you were the one fucking him nightly. You had him wrapped around your finger it took you this long to get him to trust you, to want you more then anyone. And then that all went up in flames when Jonathan showed up. Parading around as your sexy new bodyguard. Your “boyfriend” had felt you needed more security after a threat on your life by another group of dealers. Of course when Angela got wind of this she sent Pine. Never giving you a warning like she did Pine.

When Pine walked through the doors you had no idea who he was. Foolish on your part. You should have. He extremely good looks was enough for you to want to have a little fun. And hell maybe get another bad guy killed in the process why not. Shameless flirting with him. Luring Jonathan in to bed with you. How it started was Dominic was away on Business leaving you to go on holiday. Only to take your sexy new bodyguard with you and the girls. Spain had been the destination. And it had been awhile since you had some fun. Hoping Pine would be better and more well endowed then Dominic. The way Jonathan’s slacks hugged him, had you thinking so.

That first night and a few drinks later you had Pine in your hotel bed. Or was it him that had you. Normally you ended up being very dominating. But Jonathan had you pinned down under him, screaming his name over and over agin. And dear god he was huge. Now you weren’t sure if you wanted him gone just yet. You couldn’t get enough of the man. Sweet, charming, and amazing in the sack. And that’s how it all started. How you both got caught. You had your thighs wrapped tightly around his head as he indulged himself, one night when Dominic was to come home. Pulling another orgasm out of you. It had been bugging him for weeks that he had yet to tell you about who he was.

“Y/n.” He moaned out after he finished working you over with his mouth. He had pulled himself above you. Slowly burying his throbbing manhood inside you. “I’m not who you say I am. Well I am Jonathan Pine,” taking a deep breath. “But I work for Angela Burr.” He panted out. He picked the wrong time to tell. You froze mid moan.

“W-What?!” You screeched. “You what! She... fuck.” Before he could explain or finish bedding you. You had him flipped on his back. Pulling off of him. Getting off the bed in a panic. Grabbing his scattered clothes from the floor. “You need to get out now.” You throw his clothes at him. Finding your robe you shrugged it on. While you paced your room freaking out. Jonathan quickly dressed. Not leaving yet until he explain himself. Grabbing ahold of you. Your reflexes kicked in and you slapped him first. But before you could get him to the floor he had your pinned against the wall.

“I’m sorry darling, I really am.” He sighed. Holding your hands on either side of your head. You tried to pull away, push him off of you. Fighting him off. But he was a bit stronger then you, or maybe you just didn’t want to fight him.

“You... You lied to me. Why the hell did Angela send you. This, this was my mission.” His hissed.

“I know darling, and when she got word you had been threatened she sent me. To keep you safe.” Jonathan spoke softly. Trying to calm you down.

“You’re a bloody spy.. Pine. I almost had you killed for fun.” You hissed.

“And you still will be.” Dominic voice roared over the two of you. Both of you looked over, your eyes widened in pure fear. Jonathan cursed himself. The gun in Dominic’s hand pointed at you.

“Get off my whore of a girlfriend.” Dominic growled. Storming through the room. Practically throw Jonathan off of you. Dominic grabbed you by the hair and pulled you against him. Keeping the gun pressed against your head. After that everything was hazy and that’s when you woke up in your current predicament.

They dragged Pine back to the chair next to you. He looked like hell. You looked over to the two idiots that dragged him over tying him back to the chair. You pulled at your restraints again. Hoping they had loosened. But no such luck. You never thought you would be here. Never thought that you would be tied to the chair next to another spy. Thinking all along you would have Dominic behind bars.

“So boys, when is it my turn?” You wiggled your eyebrows at them. Trying to get them to untie you. One of them smirked as he pushed Jonathan head back. The other only chuckled. The taller off the two stood up to his full higher. Turning towards you. “Well looks like I got your attention.”

“You know I’ve always wanted to have a few round with you bitch.” He roughly grabbed ahold of you chin.

“Don’t you dear touch her.” Jonathan spat out. Blood tricked out from his mouth. He really wasn’t in any shape to make threats.

“Why not now. You know I always had a thing for you. You look like fun.” You flirted, batting your eyes and biting your lips. “You wanna untie me and I’ll make it worth Your while before I die? One last fuck.”

“She maybe hot Ivan. But I wouldn’t trust the bitch.” The other one hissed. Hand hovering over his gun.

“You could join. Have a real party.” You purred. You could see the look on Jonathan’s face. Even with all the blood and bruises he did not like what you were trying to do. Ivan didn’t listen to his friend. As he untie you. Gun pointed at you so you wouldn’t do anything funny.

“Watch him. I’m going give her a little something.” Ivan smirked making you walk in front of him. Moments later, Pine had been in and out of consciousness. He could hear commotion. And possibly someone, male voice screaming very feminine. When he look up you held a gun in your hand and a sway in your hips as you walked towards him. Sweet smile. Kneeling down to untie him.

“Hey hey, Jonathan can you walk? I need to to walk for me. Yeah.” He nodded. Helping him up. Pulling his right arm over your shoulder. “Whoa, there I got you.” He almost fell on you. “Let’s get you out of her shall we?”

It had been almost two week since you had arrive back in London. You have a few bumps and bruises. But Jonathan was the worst, still in the hospital unconscious. You hadn’t left his side really. Beside giving you intel on everything you had on Dominic and he dealings. It was enough to take him down. You paced Jonathan’s room. Every little beep made you jerk, looking over at him. Angela came a few times to check on him and you asking if you needed anything. You sighed for the millionth time. You hadn’t had real food in a few days. After you had your debriefing you felt like it was more your fault then him.

“Could you stop pacing.” You heard Pines voice weakly spoke barely loud enough to hear over the machine. Oh that ass.

“You know I have everything under control. Then you had to waltz in like you’ve owned the place. Subduing me, luring me with you damn sexiness. It all your fault. You’re bloody ass.” You hissed walking towards him. In a huff. Jonathan tried not to laugh.

“Um darling I think it was the other way around. You were the one to lure me into your hotel room. Lips on mine.” He tried to smirk.

“Ohhh ohh. You sir had me pinned to the bed ripping my dress off of my damn body. Fucking me into the mattress.” Snipped. You were face to face with the man. His hand pulled at you. Making you fall on top of him. Holding yourself up not to hurt him. You found your lips on his once more. Your body had a mind of its own as you moved to straddle him. Only for him to wince in pain against your lips. “You deserved that.”

“The kiss or the pain?” Jonathan hummed. His lips only ghosting over yours.

“Both.” You mumbled. Resting yourself against his side. As his good arm held you close.

Permanent tag: @kitkatkl @lokilvrr @instantnoodlese @drakesfiance @meyoko10 @jackheart180 @miraclesoflove @wolfcore227 @mr-hiddlestons-pet @madleiine @teageowen @scorpionchild81

Tom/Loki Tag’s: @theoneanna @graveyard-groupie @silverquartx @moonfaery @kcd15 @moonlightprime @youveseen--thebutcher @shockwavee @sabine-leo @screw-real-life-i-pick-fandoms @vethrvolnir @darkprincessloki92

[akria23]

I think this needs to be said because I think there's a lack of understanding as to why I and a few others are coming at fandom about accountability in the situation of lgbqt representation and Queliot and the Magicians show. Def those of us who don't come in a gentle manner.

People are speaking to fandom because fandom holds an accountability l, they hold a power and they realease that power so easily to the detriment of the lgbqt and their representation. The fact is a lot of you pretend to care about the lgbqt community - a lot of you claim to be supporters and will speak over us in the wrong manners but none of y'all are showing up to the conversations lgbqt members of the fandom keep trying to include you in and it's because you honestly care more about a ship than the representation of real bodies and real lives.

Let's just put it on the table - to support is not an inaction. Just because you watch m/m couples. Doesn't mean you support the members of the community. Just because you raise your voice to meta about the Magicians and Queliot does not mean you support the community. All these things possible mean is that you either accept or worse you fetishize - and I'm not picking which box you subscribe to I'm just saying those are your options. To support is to listen, and find what part you can play in dismembering the status quo. You guys are not only disregarding our issues but then also upholding the status quo by creating excuse that allows you to be inactive in that destruction. We all agree that we do not like or appreciate the turn this season took because of x,y,z. You gues then only ran with the x portion (Queliot being up on the back burner) of that because it had to deal with your desires (wanting a ship) and ignored y & z (lgbqt relations not being depicted fairly & the lgbqt sexual identities not being used against the community).

And let me explicitly state this because I know some people are gonna try it - Queliot (or any other m/m/Queer ship) being end game does not mutually mean that lgbqt relations have been fairly depicted or that the sexual identities of that community wasn't used in damaging ways against said community (aka poor/bad representation). To be specific when y'all say things like "They can just form a 3some with Alice" or "This is a set up for a triangle" understand that even if one of those things were to happen it does possibly facilitate your wishes of Queliot ending up together but thays yet agin unfair to the implications to bisexuals (def when they've already implied things that set up that damage) - they've already set up this image that Q sexuality isn't on par and then to make it where his ending up with Eliot is only in the byproduct of Alice being tied to the relationship only furthers those damaging implications. As far as the triangle aspect - arguably they've been in a triangle and they've done more damage than good with the imagery. As I've said before anytime they give use the Queer sequence they no homo it with having Q fall back on the crutch of the female form - and this isnt speaking on bisexuality because they ignore all the buildup and Queer aspects that happened with Eliot as tho they didn't happen and revert back to subtext. So no, for us it's not about Queliot happening but about how they and any other queer relations take place because it speaks onto us. And if you're just shouting that you'll take Queliot no matter how you can get them that's not wanting good representation, like I said - that's wanting a ship.

So yeah some of us may come for your throats - as we should! It's 2019. As a person in the community I'm sick and tired of people in fandoms not being held accountable. Nobody has time to coddle y'all when time and time again we're still being treated like trash, when we still struggle to see ourselves portrayed on tv/film with as least possible damage. Straight up - if you're not helping, if you're siting around telling those who speak up to be silent, that it's not that deep, that the production team mean no harm - if you're making excuses and claiming that we have to be nice to get a ship y'all are cowards, y'all are ignorant, and you're a problem. If you're just out for a ship then be about that - don't sit around here pretending like you care about real people and the struggles that we face. And I'm not just gonna those heterosexual this - if you're apart of the community and you're doing these things, if being silent, no joining the dialogue or starting your own then you're the same them...if not worse. Just fucking do better - or don't pretend that you're doing at all.

Also I'm sure some of y'all want me to stop posting in ya tag - I will not. I advise you block me cause I got something important to say and I'll be damned if I'll sit around while another show goes 11 season without us having these conversations. No ones saying no to Queliot. We're saying we deserve Queliot and we deserve it in its best form and the antics the show has been pulling is not acceptable. This fandom has problems and there's no denying it. There was over 400 reblogs/likes for a post that appreciated the Magicians having Queer characters and denies claims of Queerbait and yet only a handful (the same people mind you) show up on post that points out the issues of Magicians and how they deal with these sexualities and the characters that portray them. That's very telling. You same people will make excuses about how 4x05 is a tester episode to gauge how Queliot would be accepted as though to say that everything afterwards is understandable and had to be done...fuck that! For one they don't do that with any heterosexual relationship they want to push - we get no testers for them l. In fact they've done Qualice and we keep saying we don't want and we still got Qualice over Queliot. The fact that you think it's justifies and explains their actions speaks on your views of the lgbqt community as well.

That's why we're talking to you. Because y'all are engaging in disgusting antics and we're not gonna give you a pass just like we're not willing to give the Magicians one.

[jeonginnied]

the thought that counts

requested

tagged fluff fluff fluff

pairing bang chan x reader

mini note i loved writing this so much ajsjsjsjsj

you’re currently in the middle of the school gym practicing for an upcoming volleyball match when a tiny noise fell into your ears, completely catching you off guard. as far as you know, the gym is supposed to be completely empty aside from your presence, considering the fact that it’s a saturday morning and about ninety percent of your fellow classmates are probably sleeping in at this time. you‘ve chosen to come this early so you couldn’t be bothered, but seeing as you’re now almost positive that someone else has now joined you in here, that plan seems to have backfired.

you glance around, holding the volleyball you had been using in your right palm securely. when you don’t see anyone, your eyebrows furrow and you shake your head quickly for a moment, trying to clear the thought that someone was here since you were clearly alone. snapping yourself out of your thoughts, you take a few steps back and make an attempt to get back into the focused mindset that you’re usually in while playing. you hold your palm out, ready to swing with your other hand to make a serve, then your arm is moving and—

there it goes again. another slight noise disturbs you, forcing yourself out of your focused brain, throwing off your entire mindset. you exhale, the sound that flows past your lips is one of what appears to be a mix between an angry grunt and a groan of frustration. your eyes look around again, scanning the room to find, yet again, nothing at all. shocking. this time, though, another noise is heard before you turn your head to face forward once agin.

the surprising thing this time, though, is the fact that your ball has now gone missing.

“okay, who’s doing this? give it up, whoever you are, all i’m doing is practicing! if you want the gym, just say so. show yourself, dude!” you snap, shouting out loud, not caring if the adults in your school can hear you. all you want to do is get your ball and continue practicing for this tournament. is that so bad?

suddenly your vision goes black, and for a moment you think you’re being kidnapped, or something else of the such. after a quick moment, though, you realize that the dark shield over your eyesight isn’t an actual item, but instead is someone’s hands. “why don’t you try to guess who i am, sweetheart?” a deep voice close to your ears inquires, sending chills down your spine. at first, you’re pretty stumped.

and then you think, i know that accent anywhere..

“chan!” you shriek, peeling his palms from your face as you jump forward away from him. “don’t scare me like that!” you scold him, poking a finger to his chest warningly. as annoyed as you are that he’s interrupted your alone practicing time, you do feel a bit relieved that it’s your boyfriend and not anyone else. (you’re especially glad that it’s not jisung or felix. while you love them both like brothers, those two boys always catch you in your most focused moments, yet somehow they still manage to distract you into forgetting what you had even been doing.)

chan smiles at you cheekily, a slight pout playing on his lips. “aw, y/n, did you not miss me then?” the curly haired brunette murmurs dramatically as he tilts his head to the side like a puppy. you scoff and roll your eyes, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair. “no, chan, i did miss you. i just wish this could’ve happened at a better time, i mean, since i’m kinda busy at the moment,” you trail off, trying to drop hints to the boy.

“i can leave, if you’d like? i didn’t mean to disturb you, love,” he suggests, and you open your mouth to say yes, when a sudden pang of pre-guilt (even if this isn’t a real thing, it is now) flows through your body, causing you to close your mouth and change your answer. “no no, it’s fine, you can stay. i’d like a break anyway, so,” you reply, and your boyfriend’s eyes light excitedly. “i was hoping you’d say that..” he starts, pulling out a cutely decorated lunchbox from behind his back. “..because i made us lunch! well, i mean, they’re just pb&j’s, but still.”

you giggle at how adorable he is. “don’t worry about it, channie. it’s the thought that counts anyway,” you make sure to throw in the nickname for him you use on occasion that he loves to hear (although he’ll never admit it), just to urge a blush onto his cheeks. and you’re sure that it works as you see his face slowly flush a bright pink color while he looks down at the ground, flustered, and you smile before leading the two of you over to the built in bleachers.

for a few minutes, the two of you eat in a comfortable silence, just the presence of one another being enough to count out talking. but once he’s finished his own sandwich, chan does actually speak up to spark a conversation. “y/n, are you doing okay? you seem off today..” he questions, looking genuinely concerned and your heart swells at the sight, he’s so sweet.

you shrug, looking down at your shoes as you start to sway your feet back and forth. “if i’m being honest, i don’t know. i mean, this is such an important match for our team, probably the most crucial one of this entire season. a-and, i’m the team captain, the leader, and if we don’t win, it’ll all be my fault, and i really don’t want to let everyone down, you know?”

a reassuring hand falls on your shoulder, causing you to look up. “i get it, y/n, i really do. i feel the same way with the boys all the time, and whenever we get hate about our performances or our music or just our group in general, i always feel like i’m the reason why.” chan says slowly, and you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “but you’re not..?” you trail off, unsure of both why he would even think that, and as to how you should respond to that.

“i know i’m not, but as our leader, that’s just how i see those types of things, like i’ve always done. you’re a leader too, y/n. sure, maybe not within a music group, but what i said still stands. i know it kinda sucks, that you’re always gonna feel that way, but remember this: no matter what you could possibly do, you could never let them down—even if you were to lose this match. but you won’t be doing that, i just know it. you guys have the best volleyball player of the century, so,”

you can feel your lips curl up into a smile while you look at your boyfriend lovingly. “god, i really needed that, so thank you, channie.” as you say this, you lean in towards the brunette so you can wrap your arms around him. chan grins, embracing you tightly while his chin rests on your shoulder. “it’s not a problem, anything for my girl,”

the match is that weekend, and just as chan had predicted, you and your team won. everyone cheered for you in the end, saying that your great sportsmanship and coaching was what won it all in the end. of course, you had to owe that to no one but you’re lovely, lovely boyfriend who was standing in the crowd the whole time, always cheering you on. (sure, maybe he did go a bit overboard with the large glittery signs he made, but as you said before, it’s the thought that counts.)

and in that moment, you realize that you couldn’t be luckier to have that lovable dork all to yourself.

[beckybloomwood-archived]

Unaired s1 episode ‘steele clad alibi’ script recap

(this was written in early november ‘82, so i assume it was supposed to air around january ‘83)

the main is plot is this: after a man hires the rs agency to follow his wife, the pictures depicting her in a clinch with her lover become the main alibi against said lover murdering his aunt.

the b plot is that laura is turning 26 and she has a little quarter of life crisis, not to mention a nasty cold that makes her sneeze everywhere she goes.

the first part is not very interesting. laura is jealous of the super-hot wife of her client, who also happen to be 26. she then takes photos of her and her lover from a rooftop and catches a cold freezing in the rain. when she comes home steele set up a surprise birthday party and invited their best clients, but she’s not in the mood. she’s cold and pissed and wants to go to bed.

(steele trying to do something special for laura’s birthday is a recurring thing throughout the episode)

jewelery comes up again later

he also sets up an intimate dinner to make up for the disastrous surprise party

towards the end there’s also this classic rs moment, when laura and steele’s investigating turns into a romantic interlude, only to be interrupted. here they’re trying to recreate laura’s steps the night of the stakeout. they’re at the wife’s apartment while murphy overlooks from the rooftop.

ultimately, they find out the lover did kill his aunt and hired an actor to play his lover’s husband. a film of himself and the woman was projected using a system of mirrors in the apartment, so laura would photograph them together at the fake husband’s request, giving him the perfect alibi.

and now, last but not least, the tag, which features steele once agin trying to make up for laura’s birthday

i’m not gonna lie, i really enjoyed the reenactment scene even tho in some ways it was too similar to the ones in the peppler episode with the ‘they look good together’ and the one in the class reunion episode with the falling on top of each other (i guess they recycled it)

overall, the episode wasn’t the best, the crime wasn’t super interesting until towars the end, and despite my wish to see laura’s birthday on the show, this whole life crisis thing doesn’t seem to hold up or have a substantial reason to be. i understand why this script didn’t make it to air.

[nessiefromspace]

45 or 48? with rhack?

All too flustered, Rhys grunted. “You would like these kinds of things, Jack , always starving for attention.” He was falling back to his high school ways. He’d always been snippy with Jack, his frustration turning to biting words.

He watched Jack’s smirk widen and his body relaxed. He fell into the chair loudly, stretching out and getting comfortable. “What’s not to love about these things, Rhysie? Free drinks, free food, get to hear about how cool I am? It’s great!” He rested his arm behind his head, eyes never leaving Rhys’. His eyes twinkled, knowing just how much Jack rattled him.  He’d always been able to see straight through Rhys and tonight was no different.

Here’s some Jack and Rhys meeting agin after all these years!

You can also read this on my AO3!!!

Rhys patted the name tag on his shirt, flattening the edges that were already curling. He swore silently to himself. He’d skipped out on the last two high school reunions, so he had no idea why he’d even come. Vaughn and Yvette had coaxed him into coming. He knew they were up to something when they kept glancing at each other when they thought he wouldn’t notice.

Now that they were parked at a table, Rhys stared at them. “Okay, I’m here, spill. What’s up? Why did you want me here?”

They tried to act innocent, but crumbled the longer Rhys stared at them. “Okay, it’s just…”

“He keeps asking about you,” Yvette finished.

“Who?” Rhys asked.

“Jack…” Vaughn said sheepishly.

“Jack?” Rhys asked, trying to remember. His heart thudded against his chest. “Wait, Jack Hanson? That joker that always started fights?” Jack the guy who could always get under Rhys’ skin. He’d always clowned around in class, or skipped it to smoke or just ditch class. He remembered always having to walk by his smoking spot on his way home. Jack had always smoked there and always took delight in stopping Rhys and delaying him.

Rhys did not know where to begin. He sputtered. “He… He’s been?… Why would you guys…?” He sat back in his chair, unable to process what was happening.

“We’re sorry, he just kept asking about you…” Yvette said, sipping the punch.

“We… We got curious…” Vaughn said. Yvette hit him discreetly.

Rhys let out an exasperated breath.

“Well!” Vaughn continued, more apologetic than before. “He kept asking about you. Like question after question and we don’t ever remember you two getting along!”

“Cause we didn’t!” Rhys exclaimed. His heart pounded and his stomach wove into knots.

There was a loud commotion at the front and Rhys’ eyes widened. Jack had arrived. A huge group, mainly of men greeted him. Rhys was floored, his throat drying. He’d been extremely hot in high school and age had only ripened him. He was broader, fuller and dripped with muscle. He loudly greeted all of them, laughing, joking and shaking hands. His smile was gorgeous, more beautiful than Rhys remembered. His charisma ignited the whole room.

His heart thumped wildly as he turned back around and slouched in his chair, hooking a leg over his knee and sipping the over sweet punch. He glared at his lifelong friends. “Perfect. You guys are traitors.” He glared at the two, his foot tapping in the air nervously. He had thought he’d never see Jack again and he was not prepared to deal with him again.

“He’s seen us,” Yvette mouthed subtly. She flashed a polite smile with Vaughn over Rhys’ shoulder.

“ Traitors ,” Rhys whispered, stringing the word out.

“Well, well, look who finally showed up.” The voice was heaven in Rhys’ ears, melting over Rhys like it always did. He looked up at Jack, that knowing smirk pointed right at him. His heterochromic eyes dazzled a secret only for Rhys.

All too flustered, Rhys grunted. “You would like these kinds of things, Jack , always starving for attention.” He was falling back to his high school ways. He’d always been snippy with Jack, his frustration turning to biting words.

He watched Jack’s smirk widen and his body relaxed. He fell into the chair loudly, stretching out and getting comfortable. “What’s not to love about these things, Rhysie? Free drinks, free food, get to hear about how cool I am? It’s great!” He rested his arm behind his head, eyes never leaving Rhys’. His eyes twinkled, knowing just how much Jack rattled him.  He’d always been able to see straight through Rhys and tonight was no different.

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Always so full of yourself.”

Jack’s brow quirked at him, silent, vulgar words quirking the man’s smirk.

Rhys glared, his cheeks heating a little more.

A woman stepped up to the stage. “Okay! We’re about to begin!”

Unable to contain himself, Rhys stood and stormed away, out of the cafeteria.

Jack eyed Yvette and Vaughn, who stared on in horror and confusion. Jack winked at them and stood. “Well, guess that settles that.” He waded into the crowd, stopping at the long table for a glass of punch before discretely slipping out into the hallway.

Rhys was in the bathroom, leaning over the sink, pissed that he’d let Jack get to him like that again. It was like he was back in high school all over again, getting all tangled by the guy. The door opened and there stood Jack, punch lazily in his hand. He leaned against the doorway, smirking at Rhys. Rhys glared at him as Jack locked the bathroom door.

He set the punch down, walking over to Rhys, his eyes wandering all over, taking him in. “You, kitten, are a real good sight for sore eyes.” His voice was low, gravely, grating against whatever resolve Rhys had left. Rhys stood, eyeing the man cautiously as he drew near. “A tall drink of water and damn am I thirsty.” Jack was inches away from Rhys. He leaned onto the counter, caging Rhys, smiling wide and hungry. He voice was low. “Hello, Rhys.”

Rhys, eyes caught in the man’s gaze, smiled, his features softening, eyes no longer angry. “Hey, Jack,” he whispered. He could smell the man’s cologne, subtle and earthy.

“You put on quite a show there,” he mused.

“I was caught off guard… I wasn’t expecting-”

“Me to show up? Kitten, I’ve only been showing up to see you.” Jack poked Rhys’ chest lightly.

Rhys blinked.

Jack smoothed over Rhys’ tag, his thumb expertly sliding over the paper. “You see, I made a mistake back then. I was stupid as all hell, nuthin’ up here,” he tapped his head. “And I let you go off to whatever college you went to. I didn’t even try to get your number. Very dumb on my part.”

Rhys’ smile widened as Jack spoke. “Are you saying you missed me, Jack?”

Jack leaned in, pressing his lips to Rhys. Jack kissed him slowly, tasting the man and soaking him in. Rhys was in heaven all over again, his memories flooding back. He was walking that path from school where Jack smoked. He was snapping at Jack and getting pressed against a tree as Jack flirted. Where Rhys had broke under Jack’s attention and kissed him like he’d always wanted to do.

Jack pulled away, just barely. “No, I didn’t just missed you, kitten, I haven’t been whole without you.” He pulled Rhys into a kiss and this time, Rhys kissed him back, limbs wrapping around the broad man. His arms clung to his neck, his legs hugging those wonderful hips. Rhys kissed him. He’d missed Jack too. No, more than missed him. He’d been incomplete too. He hadn’t gone to the last reunions because he’d been terrified. What if Jack had moved on with his life and Rhys was no longer relevant? He should have sucked it up years ago. He wouldn’t have missed so much time.

Jack gripped Rhys’ ass and picked him up, much to Rhys’ pleasure. “How’d you get even stronger?” he moaned into Jack.

The man laughed into their kiss, setting Rhys on the counter. Rhys pulled him close, it was as though they were back in school, stealing away from everyone for secret moments. No one had known and Rhys had loved it, his own little oasis no one could mess with. His fingers pulled at Jack’s clothes, exposing his stomach and feeling the hot, fur covered skin. He danced around Jack, feeling every muscle up and down his back. Jack wasted no time with Rhys, tugging his slacks down and over his ass. His fingers bit into Rhys’ flesh as he lips seared his neck.

“ Fuck , kitten. I forgot how sweet you are.”

Giggling, Rhys pressed himself against Jack, grinding their crotches together, mewling against ardent kisses. Jack tugged Rhys’ slacks off completely, yanking them over the man’s shoes and dropping them to the floor. He undid his jeans and pressed into Rhys. Rhys let his head fall back, moaning loudly. Jack kissed his neck, hands gripping hips.

“Jack,” Rhys panted. “I… I want to see us…”

Smirking devilishly, Jack pulled away, letting Rhys hop off the counter. He turned around, resting his elbows on the linoleum top, jutting his ass out and smirking back at Jack.

“Shit, cupcake,” Jack mused. “You are so fucking hot.”

He pressed against Rhys once more, plunging in. Rhys pushed into Jack, making the man curl around him. Rhys watched in the mirror, delighted at the sight of Jack behind him. He smiled when Jack’s eyes fell on him in the reflection.

His stomach fluttered at the hungry smile and dark eyes. Jack gripped Rhys’ hair, pulling his head back as he bore into him, thrusting hard. Rhys’ lids were heavy, feeding off the image before him. He stood, leaning against Jack and caressing his lower stomach. He slowly gripped his own erection, stroking it. He leaned against Jack, his other arm wrapping around the man’s neck. They could see everything with each other and it ignited Jack.

“So fucking gorgeous,” Jack breathed.

Smirking languidly, Rhys stroked with Jack, keeping in rhythm. It was wonderful, he was with Jack again and this time, he wouldn’t leave. Jack hadn’t chased him, but Rhys hadn’t stayed. He could have gotten the same education at home, where Jack had been, but he’d left and it had broken his heart. Not this time, though.

Jack’s thrusts were faster and more erratic, pushing hard into Rhys, electrifying him. Rhys’ hand followed suit, speeding up until they were cumming at the same time, Rhys’ seed spilling over while Jack’s filled him up. Jack kissed him, holding him tightly.

Once all cleaned and dressed, they resumed kissing and holding each other. Rhys did not want to leave this moment. He was wrapped in Jack’s arms and showered in kisses.

“Mmm,” he sighed. “This is something I want to get used to.”

“Good,” Jack said. “Then, I’m making us official.”

Rhys looked at him, brows raised. “Are you sure?” Jack had wanted them a secret and Rhys had agreed. Jack loved the secret conquest and possession he had had that no other person knew about. Rhys had had all of Jack’s attention without the fear of the harshness of his classmates. Rhys had gotten used to their secrecy.

“Yes.” Jack kissed his neck. “Which means no more arguing and hating me in public, kitten. I enjoy the sparring, it always rials me up, but we’re not in high school any more.”

“No, we’re not,” Rhys mused. “Okay, Jack.”

They left the bathroom, childish smiles on their faces as Jack interlaced his fingers with Rhys’.

Down the hall walked Vaughn and Yvette. Yvette pointed. “There he is… Holy shit!”

Vaughn looked triumphant. “I knew it! I told you!”

Rhys laughed as they met. “Yeah…” He looked sheepish at his friends. He glanced at Jack for confirmation before facing them again. “We’ve… Kinda been a thing since-”

“Sophomore year, yeah! I knew it!” Vaughn said. “I told you, Yvette! He was different that year, always smiling and happier than ever!” He turned to Rhys. “I knew you had hooked up, but I just never knew with who, and I didn’t expect it to be Jack!”

Laughing, Jack wrapped his arm around Rhys’ waist. “Yeah, that was my fault. I’m gonna make up for it now.”

All four went into the cafeteria, but Jack left Rhys as they entered. Rhys frowned, unsure what was happening. He gasped when he watched Jack saunter to the stage.

“No!” Rhys covered his mouth. He looked at his friends who were laughing.

“Shit, he really keeps his word,” Vaughn said, impressed.

“Vaughn!” Rhys cried. He looked in horror as Jack climbed those stairs, politely pushing aside the speaker.

His eyes sparkled in Rhys’ direction, a toothy, proud grin greeting the audience. “Yo!” Everyone cheered. This was just Jack clowning around again, he would be the one to steal the show. He took the mic off the stand so he could casually pace across the stage. “You all remember when we were young? How every moment was feared it would be judged? I was a victim of that.” The audience cooed. “No, no, it’s okay, I’ve gotten over it, we all grow up and realize how stupid it is. Things that mattered don’t anymore, or we see that it never actually mattered. Except that I made a mistake back then, something that’s haunted me for fifteen years.” He leaned against the stand, dramatically hanging his head.

Rhys groaned. “I can’t… He’s going to…”

“Yep.” Yvette answered.

“You see, I was cocky, you all remember this.” Everyone cheered. “And I thought that I had everything going for me and I didn’t need to try. I knew I was brilliant, I’m even more brilliant now.” He grinned wider, winking at them. “And I’m even more handsome and charming, so when I found someone who didn’t care about any of that, it was exciting, ya know? They made me work for their attention and called me out on my bullshit. It was intoxicating! But then… Then school ended and we went off to college and I let them go. I didn’t think I’d have to tell them how I felt, that they’d just wait for me. It was the stupidest thought in my life. I was arrogant and it cost me. But don’t cry for me, Argentina! I have found that person again and I have claimed him finally and he is mine!” Jack spread his arms victoriously as everyone cheered, fueled by his enthusiasm. “Yes! I have reclaimed my prize! Rhys Buderbotom!” He called pointed to Rhys.

As everyone looked, Rhys quickly threw his hands away from his pink face. They were stiff at his sides, gripping onto his slacks.

“He has taken my stupid, cocky ass back and I only have one question left to ask him!”

Rhys was frozen, his blood throbbed in his ears as he realized further what was about to happen. His eyes tore from the spot in the wall he’d anchored in to stare murderously at Jack.

“Rhys Buderbotom, love of my life, will you marry me?”

[drarryandmycat]

Draco stood looking out the window--rain tapped lightly round it, the steam from his mug fogged the glass. He held the Daily Prophet under his left arm, trying not to think about the contents.

He closed his eyes, sucking in a sharp breath. You would think that after 19 years the Prophet would find someone else to write about. Draco spun around and came face to face with Harry Potter.

Harry had a light smile on his face, his eyes were crinkled in the corners, his glasses slipping from his nose. His uniform was wrinkle free, and buttoned up. He looked dang right hot.

"Hello Draco." Harry greeted, stepping closer to the blond.

"Hi, Harry." Draco greeted. Before Draco could say anything more the bespectacled man had leant forward and put his lips to Draco's. Harry wrapped his arms around the blonde pulling him even closer.

"I see you've been reading." Harry mumbled into Draco's shoulder. Draco only nodded.

"Draco?" Harry asked.

Draco sighed, he knew what was coming next. "Yes love." He answered.

"The past is the past." Harry said, pulling away from Draco. "And the past can hurt, but, the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it. And Draco you've done nothing but learn." Harry now had a sad smile on his pretty features.

"You've gotten married." Harry said, showing Draco his wedding band, Draco laughed. "You've raised three awemazing children." Harry was now holding Draco again. "And the best of all- is that you've changed for the better. Everyone can see that." Harry kissed him agin.

Draco smiled - he knew he could always rely on his husband to make him feel better.

Then--Draco opened his eyes, and as quick as it was there- it was gone. The sheets around him were drenched, and his breathing was ragged. Damn it - he was still living in hell. The Dark Lord still ruled, and Harry was dead. Draco began crying again, not beacuse of words written in the Daily Prophet, but, because, it was true, he was nothing short of a coward- he couldn't even save the love of his life.

_____________

This was so fun to write. I'm going to tag @drarryismehotp

Disney Drarry Challenge

How it works: Pick a line from the list below. Write a short fic/drabble and incorporate that line (and try to keep in theme with the Disney movie). Cross it off and tag a friend. Keep passing it on until all our Drarry dreams come true.

OR: Simply reblog and tag your favorite fanfic writer and the quote you like, and hope they’ll take up the gantlet! 

______________________________________________________

Pocahontas: “But he’s so… serious.” 

Cinderella: “’Cause if you tell a wish, it won’t come true.”

Aladdin: “Do you trust me?”

Frozen: “Hey! Do me a favor and grab my butt!”

Tangled: “Did I ever tell you I have a thing for brunettes?”

Princess A.T. Frog: “Kissing would be nice.”

Snow White: “I’m sure I’ll get along somehow. Everything’s going to be alright.”

Lion King: “The past can hurt. But from the way I see it, you can either run from it, or learn from it.”

The Little Mermaid: “Daddy, I love him!”  (hahahaha)

Mulan: “Would you like to stay forever?”

Tarzan: “They mean us no harm.”

[youngerdrgrey]

attention shoppers: wants are a trap // a cloud nine fic

.

written for day 1 of 30 x 31, prompt: first kiss. Amy and Jonah, Superstore. [on ao3 here]

/

Jonah would sooner say that there was a benefit to Trump being elected President than he would admit that working alongside Amy was the best part of his day. Honestly, with the amount of energy everyone else put into giving their little shipper looks, he couldn't possibly say that he liked working with her without it seeming like some huge declaration of love.

But he really does like it. He likes the way she rolls her eyes at everything but still turns the jewelry back into their proper positions after someone touches them. Likes how she dusts and wipes under the cases because no one ever thinks to actually do that. Likes the fact that every time they're at jewelry together, she gets that lighter tone like she's thinking of Emma. Sometimes, she even talks about her. Never anything big, just little stuff. Emma's got an essay due in a few days, and she's barely past her rough draft, which apparently means she's going to be a procrastinator like Amy.

Jonah tries to explain. "Studies show that procrastinators tend to be perfectionists, so whenever she does finish the paper, it'll probably be awesome." A cool way to say that Amy doesn't need to worry.

"Oh, I'm not worried. She'll ace it, then she'll go back to hanging out with her friends and watching way too many shows on Netflix."

"Binge-watching," Jonah nods. "I know it well."

Amy snorts and goes back to spraying the glass with glass cleaner. She doesn't have paper towels, though, so he doubts she actually plans on cleaning them. Just drenches them and watches how the water distorts people's reflections. Kind of like how people's experiences always color the way they perceive other people. Take the fact that Jonah's best friend grew up with a single mom, because of knowing her and knowing his old best friend, he believes that Amy could do an amazing job raising Emma all on her own. And because of actually meeting Adam, he knows that Amy's probably already doing that anyway. It's like--

"Hey, look." Amy motions with her head over to where two girls -- probably seventeen at most -- try on scarves. The taller of the girls has about eight scarves on her, but she laughs and just drapes more on the smaller one. Their arms bump every time they try layering scarves on each other, and they get closer with each one, trying to sneak under each other's arms. It's kind of a convoluted way to play their way into a close proximity.

"Oh, they're flirting," Jonah whispers it; he's sure, but the whisper seems to set off some sort of alert system. The taller one stops playing and flushes. The shorter one takes off all the scarves but one.

Amy's quick to say, "You should keep them. All of them. They're... really cute."

"So are you," Jonah blinks a few too many times. "Together. Not separately. Not that you're not -- you're children, and I am not into children. No matter what people are whispering in the break room."

"Jonah, shut up."

The girls keep staring at them. The shorter one says, "Thank you."

The taller one says, "But we're not -- this isn't -- thanks."

Then the shorter one looks down to the pile of scarves in her hands and says, "You don't have to keep saying that this isn't anything. Nobody thinks it is."

"That's not what I meant."

"It's fine. I get what this is. Can we just get this and got then?" She drops everything else down onto the rack and stalks off towards check out. Jonah nearly calls out that they can buy those here, but both girls leave earshot pretty quick.

Jonah sighs. "You know it's so sad. I really thought they liked each other."

"Oh they definitely like each other. We have to fix this."

Not that Jonah wouldn't love to play matchmaker instead of checking to see if all the earrings in the little earring packs are still there, but, um, "How?"

Garrett's voice breaks through the store with an announcement. His "Attention shoppers" barely finishes before Amy's clapping her hands and rushing out from their booth. She doesn't wait for him, but she throws a glare back that gets Jonah to loop around and follow after her.

By the time they get to Garrett, the two girls are already in line, standing about as far away from each other as they can given that they're in the same aisle. They even have the divider down between Short One's scarf and Tall One's pack of ginger ale cans.

Amy slaps her hands down on the counter top. "Garrett, we need you to make a new announcement. Something about love and getting what you really want instead of wondering what everyone else wants and expects for you."

Garrett glances between the two of them. "Any particular reason why?"

Jonah tries to eye the girls subtly, but that doesn't work, so then he tries miming out that they're girls, but doing the hour glass figure doesn't really work for kids who definitely don't have curves like that, and -- "Just say it. Please. We'll explain later."

"No need. Don't care." He hits the button for the intercom. "Attention Cloud 9 shoppers, as we come to the end of our journeys here today, ask yourself: Do you have what you really want? Sure, you might have some new...." He waves an empty hand for a cue, and Amy mimes pulling something on her hands. "Gloves?" Amy nods, and wraps an imaginary scarf around her neck. "Or a scarf! But will those keep you warm in the way that really counts? Sometimes, all you need is a friend."

"No!" Jonah covers his own mouth.

"Not a friend," Amy insists.

Garrett adds, "Or something more! What's even better than a friend, you ask? An explicitly stated romantic partner. Because friendship is stupid. The only real relationships are ones you can consummate."

Amy groans. They are so getting fired for all of this. Which, if they have to go, at least it'll be for love. Burgeoning, potentially closeted puppy love between two strangers in a supermarket. Jonah looks over to the line the girls are in, but they're still awkward, even more so now.

He has to do something. He has to find a way to signal that it's okay to be who they are and to care about who they care about. He has to -- "I have to make a big declaration." He grabs hold of the intercom before Amy can even begin to tell him not to. Garrett smiles that grin that definitely means that this is a bad idea, but how bad could it really be?

Amy says, "Please don't."

But Jonah says, "Shoppers, I don't think we ask you all enough what you want. So, here's your chance. If there's something that you want -- and I mean, really want --" and he definitely doesn't make eye contact with Amy as he says this, he might look and catch the side of her face in his range of vision, might see the way her eyes stare as far from him as possible and her lips curl in like she's trying to stop herself from doing something. "Maybe you're afraid to even want it. Or voice it to yourself. But you owe it to yourself and whoever -- whatever -- you want to be honest. To look up and say, 'Hey, I like being around you. I like getting to stand by you and plot with you, and the fact that you change your name so often that it's impossible to keep up anymore. You are unequivocally the best part of my day.'"

By this point, there's eye contact, full non-blinking, bodies facing each other, mic picking up his heightened breathing, no one else doing anything kind of eye contact. And Amy reaches a hand out towards him, and he feels it around his fingers, feels the warmth coming from her, and he might just imagine the way that she whispers out a light "Jonah?" But then they hear it.

"Becca?" And it's the short girl, death-gripping her scarf, standing on top of the check out belt. "They keep saying what do we want? I want this to be something. And I don't care if you think it's dumb to want something when everything ends so quick around here. So what if everyone else gets together just because they feel like they have to? I want to get together because I want to. So what do you say?"

And the taller girl -- Becca -- stares up for what's probably the first time in their relationship and says, "Um." Then she glances at Cheyenne, who seems a little too wide-eyed to mention the fact that no one's allowed to stand up there. Then she holds her hands out to bring the shorter girl back down. "I don't want to make a scene here. But, you are kind of unequivocably --"

"Unequivocally," Jonah mumbles, but no one hears him.

"-- the best part of my day. So, I guess we can try this."

"Really?"

"Really!"

The short one surges forward, and the tall one ducks down, and they're kissing for the first time in the middle of the busy check out line! It's practically the corporation's dream.

And Amy's grip tightens on Jonah's hand before she pulls the intercom out from him. She sets it back down and watches the girls a moment longer. "We should head back to jewelry. Our job's done here."

Garrett shrugs. "I don't know, man. What do you want?"

Amy freezes. Glances from the girls to Jonah to Garrett. Then she swallows down whatever it was she was thinking, or feeling, and rolls her shoulders back. "I want to finish cleaning the glass before kids touch them again. See you in the break room."

Jonah watches her go. He just kind of needs a moment or two.

Garrett asks agin, "What do you want?"

Jonah sighs. "Everybody in the store knows what I want."

"Not everybody." Garrett holds the emphasis before cracking into a laugh. "Nah, man, everybody knows. You said the name tag thing. You're screwed."

He groans. "I zoned out!" He should've just said the Trump thing. Much easier to deal with strangers calling him racist than deal with Amy avoiding him. This was gonna take a lot of groveling to fix. Or maybe just some avoidance of his own. "Swap stations with me? I'll buy you lunch."

"Deal. But none of the cheap stuff." Garrett wheels out and around for the aisles. "I'm feeling Thai!"

Thai he could do. Everything else was the problem.

But the two girls left the store holding hands, so at least one part of the day turned out okay.

.

.

[alchemisland]

LAX

A little something I wrote this morning. I wanted to fuck around with stream of consciousness from a first-person POV in a future dialect, a bastard hybrid-tongue, with elements of the building blocks present in German. Just some messing really. Enjoy.

There’s a formula to getting on. At my best I’m seen to like things, heard to know things and available should anything arise. Like things ironically, they can’t be used against you then. Such is our way.  I have to go fast. I’m like the bankside chicken, crocs in the river, quicker than they look, out and about on the tides and on the silk, always run, always sideeyes on the look, I have to be, everyone who was ever anyone in the corpo kept sideeyes and notrust always. Some secrets are for sharing in bed maybe, just for the two of you, a little private project to protect, prescient pearls, but some of them are just for one, for me, I want to be in the corpo. I have some big ideas. See, that’s the thing. You can’t care, what are you some weird with mosttime - too much time - are you going very slow, fast is the way buddy, gotta go fast zip along that highway like a lit cracker like a bit knacker, go go go. But sametime you have to care, want to change, why else do the corpo exists if nobody is trying to change any things? I inwardly longchange, but outwardly contentmodel. When you get to the corpo you have your own office and its all private and you can work on what you secretly care about I guess a bit and nobody knows and they won’t hate you and fight out what an uglyinside you are beneath the skin.

Was it always like this? Yes. 

Let’s meet for a walk. Stuff myself on the tram. Sardines against the licked glass, fogging, I can’t see what stop we’re at. Nobody stands clear of the door. Too afraid they’ll get stuck at the back and miss their stop, even though that’s never happened in the history of trams. 

All bets are off. Even the nice are made brutes. Commute is the gauntlet through which we pass. A grinder for the weak, sieving out the chaff from the mid-morning warrior, wielding his laminated pass, standing in his designated spot where he knows the host is lightest, where the same portly gentleman alights each day, leaving in his wake a pocket wide enough for three normal sized people - what’s normal - skinny, skinny jeans palefaced phonejunkie - fat, fat and delighted, newfoundly powerful, exerting agency where before went powerless, bless your little porcine eyes 

Me included, can’t be nice. Lose your place. Am I a loser? Fuck no. Remember, it’s about perception. I can be seen to lose, sure. Everyone loses. Napoleon. Achilles. Wild Bill. I can’t be seen to be OK with losing generally, or to not always be striving to win. Elbow on, even if you know rightly there’s no room, and that another empty tram is up its arse; why wait, I’ve waited three minutes already; elbow on and make room, fog the glass, feel its cold kiss agin your cheek. 

At my stop, all manners, ask nicely while pushing, ask for money with the notes already in your pocket, sorry can I move you there love, asked more with an elbow and a shrug of the shoulder rugbylike than a real silver’d tongue. 

Step off, breathe deep, alighted at last. These laminated scanner cards, for important guys who need to travel to the office every single day, where else, you don’t even need to tag off. Just on. The company, see, they want to know where you’re going. Without statistics and percentages, averages and ratios, how can they improve their service? 

Capacity. That’s the political buzzword. Feeling hot under the collar when the camera flashes form a corona, ask your opponent about their plans to relieve capacity. 

Well, minister, a taskforce has been implemented, whose sole duty is commuter flow and congestive relief, LAX squad, black flak gunjack jacks belt bombs bullets and me and my laminated ticket they wouldn't dare. 

Ticketless scoundrels would be first. Dragged down laneways and kneecapped by the LAXers in their black flak jackets. Fat cunts next. I once watched a woman eat chips from her handbag out my bedroom window. Lifting greasy sausagefingers to and from the clashing rocks of her teeth, those golden potato lumps a less fortunate crew of argonauts than those Jason took from Thessaly. She was shiny with vinegar. 

There’d be a helpline too, for helpful people who like to help out, help the authorities help society help these people help themselves. Hello is this the helpline, I’d say. Yes it is, Mr Helpful they would say. Thank you for remembering, machine, I would say. I’m a woman, said the machine - tricky like. I’d like to report a fat disgusting on the lower road, by the Smiles Institution for the Mentally Wretched. 

Most of the mentals were gone. The government couldn’t afford to keep every wing open. The least wretched were transferred to the regular system, scumbag system, but even mangy bangers that bash grannies for their handbags don’t deserve to be with the Mentally Wretched, those too reptilian to be among us. You remind us too much of something we’d rather not remember, thanks. We shoo them away. Prison is not enough. Special institutions, powerful bespoke disarming elixirs, stronger elastics and fastenings. Rarely ingenuous cures. Lock them up. 

Houses. They’re going to build houses for the people to live in. Rich people, buy out the scum. Stove the roof of my crannog so the rain comes through, then brick by brick build your castle around and above it, until one day the light stops streaming in that hole you made, and the last wet concrete sets on my soul. 

C’mon you pricks. We need houses like a rat needs fleas. Here’s a solution. Form the lax squad for real. Not just for the trams; clean the streets. Fats, uggs, unpops, olds, differents, cunts. 

Who is gonna sign up for that job? Who can be trusted to always make the right decisions? This is the genius part. If I wasn’t a writer slash commuter slash junkie slash tryhard slash huge faker slash dreamer slash cynic what else, I would be a really smart guy in the smart business realm. I have some big ideas. Pour cement over the lower classes, cultural layer. 

How? 

Blimps. 

How does that solve the LAX dilemma? 

People a. Don’t probably want to hurt strangers and b. Don’t want to be associated with stool-softening-rapiding agents. 

Why not. 

Have you never really needed a huge shit? I did once, up the way with Steve and like billy-o I went for the briar and scuttered and likely muttered in the winter, steam coming off the pile, stench worse than dog, cans of cider, Druids cider, did a jig and killed inside me(r). 

Anyway, I know who’s going to join the LAX squad. This is the genius bit now. The mentals. Get the mentals out of the big house - I’ll detail my plans for that shortly - and get them back into society. Doing good is good for you. So, here we go. 

Mentals are out, black flak jackets and chainsaws. People won’t stand for it. Why would anyone take a train where the staff occasionally kill you? Giveaways. There’s really good giveaways and extremely reasonable rates. Timing too. We keep a random element, but within strict confines. If you really, really, really aren’t up for stuffing it, we’ll say ‘Don’t get the tram this Saturday between 5-8, when emergency depopulation maintenance will be underway’. 

If you can kill one of our LAX agents without a weapon, using only your bare hands, you will win 10K cash, free travel for life and immunity for your family, denoted by a yellow laminate card worn on a golden lanyard, sprayed sprayed sprayed c’mon people let’s be reasonable, I’m trying to make savings here. 

Bread and circus meets Mad Max meets Eddie Hobbes, who surname is a fictional tiger and whose occupation was declawing a metaphorical tiger. What will you do with the land freed up from the Mentally Wretched? 

Gorgeous houses. Modest, extremely affordable, allotments for vegetables, flowers and berries, green areas, nice paving and gravel drives, adequate parking. How will you afford this? LAX saves the day. If you’re killed by the LAX officers, they get everything - the corp. Corp work for me. I build the houses. Move all the lowers in. The bad ones. 

They hear hissing. I say just heating, pipes, old Victorian brass jobs with whistles, dials, bells and sheen shine Die Glocke. Are you sure, they say. Petition. 

Please check this hiss, we do most definitely certainly hear something a-hiss. 

Goose I said. I have a farm of geese for you lowers this Christ day. 

No they say, we have seen and heard no goose. 

Did you look, I know they haven’t and it’s a trick for time. They know it’s a trick and won’t let me escape, even after I discharge the smoke bombs I had in my pocket, which were actually stinkers and we talked in the smelly, green cloud about the hissing sound and I secretly dialed for the boys. Come get me, boys. Some of these lowers is closing in. They smell bad and can’t read, which makes them basically skunks with Nike shoes, and they like things where people do things. 

Watch the show about the hissing maybe, that would be a good idea for to make more money, make them pay a fee to watch their neighbors in the house trying to find the source of the hissing. 

What is this hissing, daughter, ist thou vibrator on? This is how lowers speak, underpeople. Not me, smart, right smart, commuter man and going to be part of the corp with some of my ideas. Perhaps fidder, says the underdaughter, is idst thou vibrator? All laugh, others laugh other house, nobody finds the hiss and I escape. 

I keep them busy arguing about all the things until the boys come. Hi boys, get them please. The unders would be forced back into their house, lower house but nice ones that I built and now the hissing is so bad you can hear it inside and out and that’s a really crazy feeling and sound, even I can hear it but I let them know?? You crazy, Joe. this is a corp game and I’m the man in the know who runs the slow got the special glow and today’s another day at the corpo. 

One of the boys, I think his name was Dermot. He’s a middler and can’t ride the trains and I see his laminate is brown which is the same colour as shit and it makes me not like him and then I realized maybe why nobody was rushing to join the LAX squad, I wouldn’t want to be associated with any of the ass processes. Maybe I’ll have the name changed; I have those powers, I’m in the corpo. 

He asks me what the hiss is. I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about I said and we get in the car and then I don’t have to lie because the unders can’t hear, with the hissing. 

He has music on, quite uncorpo stuff but good. Pale Rapist is their name. They played Frunk, the latest hellvariant from genresmith and axemaster Obscene Pete. Turn this up I said to Dermot who is in the front now driving, so the lowers can’t hear.

I says this hissing you hear he says yes I do sir. Snakes. No way, yes way snakes, where, in the walls in the foundations in the long grasses and beneath the pools, in the pipes and rafters and hollows and sinks, coiled in shoes and cupboards and shelves, I have a snake button at the office. Once I push it, all the Lowers are gone and it’s time to make some money. 

Put all the snakes back, move more unders in, release the snakes. It goes on forever and it makes loads of money and sense. He’s wowed, under me, I’m from the corpo and Pale Rapist is blaring, blaring. Back to the office please and inputs the coordinates. Runes grow blue on the panel. A rift appears and the unders can hear the fabric of space tearing like wet paper even with the hissing that they think is pipes because I tricked them and they believed me, I have nice eyes and I ride the train and my lanyard glints while theirs has a little bit of string like a desiccated length of ancient sausage. 

Through the rift right to HQ, big H, the corpo HQ and my office is enormous, large enough for a rift and the whole car and the lot. I step out, clear of the rift or you’ll lose more than an inch trust me, if my dick wasn’t so big I’d be worried, I could stand to lose an inch or two and still feel swole. He drives back, closes it, leaves. 

Sit at the desk and the snake button is there where I asked for it, it’s pushed like an aging king from his battlements before you can say snakes coming out of every pore and eating all the lowers. 

Guess what, genius idea I had already and didn’t say. The lowers and unders and middlers living elsewhere paid their fee and guess what they’re watching on PPV? New hit show. Billion viewers. Undersnake. 

Which family will survive? I planted one shotgun in the under area. One underfamily will find it. If they survive it’s gonna be good news. Cash money enough to be a middler. They can watch the next season live, cousins maybe. Holy shit idea again, they can be judges, or helpers. One lifeline. You can call this vet fam and ask they sage advice in direst perils. Yeah, season two is gonna have a lot of new stuff. 

Show is over, good ratings. No rift home, take the train. What time is it? Oh the one thing I love about Saturday work. 

My own LAX are on the take today. 

Another forty minutes. I love a challenge, dare me and dare I and how dare they, let’s have a go they would never kill the boss for I was the one who invented the LAX and now the trams run basically on time.

[titheguerrero]

Dander Still Up. Drowning in Great Dismal Swamp. Film at Eleven.

Maybe this is the last in my series of dander-raising essays, as recent national and world events have most definitely left so many of us with a raging case of TDS. (Trump Derangement Syndrome, look it up it's a thing). So many damned browser tabs open. So little time. Or maybe not. Who knows. Where are all these suicides coming from? My editor keeps telling me, "don't let it make you paralytic." Hey, I'm trying. Just sensing a kind of coalescence in all the corruption our bloggers keep writing about. How do we even differentiate these activities across so many sectors of society. We were going to see our swamp drained. He promised. But instead there's just this big brand new bodacious cesspool. There it is in all the revolving-door sectors. Federal government. Private sector. Health care non-profits and even academia. Just read back over recent weeks and months of this, your favorite blog. The coalescence of corruption is certainly made easier by our enjoyment of a remarkable and possibly quite barmy Confabulator-in-Chief. He's just sort of paved the way for what one pundit recently characterized as a sort of race-to-the-bottom. No corruption (cone of silence? nifty office furniture? wipe our environmental health? Big Pharma gets another bye?) is too small. Or, of course, too large. None of this is terribly new, just the way it's all melded into what the cancer biologists call a syncytium. There are no winners and losers in all this. Just a lot of organelles swimming around and causing havoc at our expense. Just a bunch of top-level narcissists and then, under them, a phalanx of careerist stronzi streaming out of academic backwaters and think tanks to grab their fifteen minutes of ... what? Surely not fame, unless you're looking for a spot on an SNL cold open. Microphone time maybe? Let's call out a few of them. Fifteen minutes, max, by the way. The turn-over in government, especially, in the federal executive, is many times that of any previous administration. Everybody seems to be trying to find their own inner Scaramucci. For now, it seems, it's just all one great big scandal. Adam Serwer in The Atlantic: "there is only one scandal." While the Chest Thumper-in-Chief runs around doing what he does best--sullying the western world and laying down cover for his army of swampy miscreants--the careerists continue to run up a debt whose bill will surely come true. Of course by then, so many of them will have cashed out. Guess who'll be left to pay the tab. You, me, our sickest, our poorest, and Mother Earth. In the private sector it may take years for the ins and the outs to get in and then back out. But of late in both Big Pharma and in Health IT, both the revolving door and the Invasion of the Body Snatchers (aka baleful effect of activist investors and hedge funds) have taken their toll and we pick up the pace. Most recent casualty: Bush family scion and alleged wife-beater Jonathan B, thrown out of possibly the most innovative, but not quite profitable enough, athenahealth EHR company he once founded. Offed just now by the Elliott organization, which is headed up in turn by ultra-right political donor Peter Singer. (Here and here and pretty much everywhere--don't get stuck in his cross-hairs.) Ah, yes, these are the glory days for the Big Families. Donorship gets you a whole party of your own. The Prince-DeVos family, the Koch family, the Uihlein family, the Mercer family. And Las Vegas Gambling Tycoon Sheldon Adelson, who almost single-handedly handed Binyamin Netanyahu an unearned win in Jerusalem. Their common goal: effacement of government, Ron Reagan's great "problem child," in favor of its replacement the Great Dismal Swamp.  (In fact much of the real GDS, out of North Carolina, was actually bought up by Betsy DeVos's brother Erik to train Blackwater mercenaries.)  So now, on to the Great Dismal Swamp of outsourced everything. Outsourcing, along with the revolving door and the Anechoic Effect, these form the inner dynamic, the secret history of what's happening now. Outsource security. Outsource VA health care. (See my earlier blog on a secretary's attempt to resist that.) Outsource public education. Outsource, or at least deregulate, clinical trials of unproven drugs. Privatize, don't shade your eyes (apologies to Tom Lehrer). (Note that in the course of all this privatizing the common weal, these Big Dogs not infrequently can turn on each other. Singer turns on Bush. Koch the Elder turns on Koch the Younger. The dollar is king and the beat goes on and Throw Momma From the Train.) Other major features of this secret history:

The Scorching of the Earth. Both literally (health consequences of climate change), and figuratively: the flaming rhetoric of the careerists. The most glaring recent example, albeit outside of our health purview, White House National Trade Council Director and temporary-in-from-the-cold academic Peter Navarro, awarding "a special place in hell" to Canada.  (Canada?!?) Why? Because it dared to cross his new boss. Cross the boss, thump the chest. Ten points for the thumper, zero points for the country. We'll learn later this year, and again in 2020, whether there's enough of the vaunted "base" left to be snookered by all this guff. The chest-thumpers may discover a special place in hell meted out to folks closer to home.

The Swamp-Ooze of the Careerists. Navarro's one high placed example. Another newly high-placed with a more direct impact on health care, and also flaming the air waves, is National Economic Council Director and former CNBC correspondent Larry Kudlow. In the recent presidential travels Kudlow did not speak cosmologically of heaven and hell, but only politically. He called Canada's measured response "betrayal." On health insurance, he's agin it. It kills jobs, per Mr. Kudlow. And he ought to know how things really work, right? In 2007 he famously predicted the continued success of an earlier deregulatory GOP economic policy suite in that once-great organ National Review. William Buckley turned over in his grave. The headline read: "Bush Boom Continues." The following tag line: "you can't call it a recession." (Emphasis his.) The date: December 10, 2007. (Despite which, get well quick Larry. Maybe find a less stressful job would help.)

Health and the Environment. Ah, yes, and in environmental health we have Scott Pruitt heeding HMV while lining his own pockets and lobbying for his wife's Chick-fil-A franchise (honest I can't make this stuff up), all the while dumbing down any expertise on health. This dumbing down and anti-science motif pervades the Great Dismal Swamp. Never before has there been such a dearth of scientific, pedagogical, or health expertise in any of the departments that so direly need those capabilities. Interestingly, the small-bore corruption of these characters seems more prominent in the upper, Pruitt-like, echelons than in the Small Fry. Or are we just not hearing about the little guys?

Lesser Careerists. You can't have a syncytium without both big and little organelles. The little guys are actually among the more damaging, as they tend to be true believers with claimed expertise that goes poof when examined closely. Among the most famously wrong-minded recent ones we have the Press Secretary herself, Ms. Sanders, who from the depths of her health policy experience pronounced last fall that “I can’t think of anything worse than having the government be more involved in your health care instead of less involved.” Oh, Miss Sarah, I can. Even more peculiar is the role of the rather more obscure Ms. Katy Talento, of the White House Domestic Policy Council. She gets to act as conduit and house pundit for the new HHS secretary Alex Azar. It's fascinating. In several easily-reached venues she's described, by self or others, as "an epidemiologist." Harvard's master of science (not MPH) degree in epidemiology and public health can be obtained, as she did, in something between three and twelve months. Not exactly a board certification. Then she went on to build her career in ideological rightist causes and organizations, including anti-abortion campaigns and one notable set of pronouncements on the supposed link of birth control to miscarriage. Came the time for Azar to prep his new boss on last month's Big Speech on reducing drug costs, Talento broadcast the news that "no ox would be gored." Said she, "This is a fearless president and he doesn't know or care why things have always been done. It's not like your typical Republican authorizing committee that protects this model that they helped write for decades...." Wait, one little thing. It didn't happen. The big play available, as I said in a previous post, would've been having Medicare bargain for prices. Instead--and clearly Azar could've tried and failed to get this--the Caregiver-in-Chief declared that drug prices in the US should come down by having other countries pay more. What so strange about this is not merely the absurdity of such a statement, coming from a former Pfizer top exec. It's the fact that here's a lower-level careerist who went straight into RNC speech writing and working for a right wing southern Republican (Tillis, NC), Hold the phone. Among all the young staffers willing to sell their souls to get the Big Show on their CVs--don't they know it's a shabby little show?--what about the wonderful lady who dissed the ailing John McCain as inessential (he's just now incredibly essential), because, after all, he's going to die soon? Out the door she went, but of course her Republican friends got her a soft landing. Her name is Kelly Sadler, a real comer. Or goner.

The Rise of the Druggists. Last but not least, part of the secret history that, now I see it, has really got the dander way up, is how in health care and health policy, Pharma's now fully the tail-that-wagged-the-dog. CVS is moving into health care--see Dr. Poses's recent posting on just how well that organization understands their responsibilities. Actually having pharmaceutical and pharmacy folks elbowing out health care professionals who understand professionalism, it's not a new thing. Philadelphia Big Donor Leonard Abramson founded U.S. Healthcare and made a mint when he discovered how easy it was to make Managed Care actually Denied Care, then, with this proof-of-concept, cashing out and selling to Aetna. That goes way back. More recently, though, the pace of They Come at Night has picked up, viz. the firing of David Shulkin MD at the VA and the hiring of Alex Azar at HHS. These clearly result from both the privatization motive and the Pharma tail wagging the dog. At least two of the three branches of the federal government understand the business model of Pharma. They don't come anywhere near understanding the professional ethics of doctors--even while relying on their personal physicians to exercise such ethics.

Business ethics in medicine, as practiced by Pharma, have been laid out in many, many places in this blog. I and others have laid the blame for a big chunk of the opiate crisis at the door of Purdue pharma and the Sackler family. I regret to remind that the early Sacklers were physicians. But they were first and foremost business folk, possessed of a truly novel business model, which may be called outright dissimulation. (For a fascinating and harrowing description of one high-functioning Ivy-League opiate addict's experiences at Yale, with all its Sackler money and Oxy pills traded on the New Haven Green, see this Guardian piece.) Actually, I've talked to a lot of pharma execs and they're often quite ethical and responsible. They have their hands full fighting off the PBM companies. They get singled out for their K Street spending, but many of them actually have rather low budgets for that, the recent Novartis scandal notwithstanding. Other execs blush at this Novartis nonsense and want nothing to do with it. I say all this mainly to point out some dreadful outliers. It's not just the brand name drug makers, either. Teva, the Israeli generics giant, is allegedly a real problem. As I write this, good old Ron Wilson, the Wisconsin Republican who just keeps on giving his gifts, is blocking his Ranking Member Claire McCaskill from obtaining information Teva's contributions to the opioid crsis. He's saying leave it to the courts.

OK, as I just hinted, I agree with you. None of this recent stuff is really secret. Not even really novel. It's just coalesced like never before into into a dismal swamp. (Orwellian doublespeak: yes, we've seen the swamp drained. Of what? What was he promising to drain? Yes, drained, if that meant getting rid of people ("Deep State"?) who know stuff. So people who don't know stuff can get on with the business of ripping us off.) Hence in my current rant I just wanted to point to those commonalities that are, right about now, more egregious than ever. Honestly, they are. When the history is written, it will prove me right. Oh, wait, Alexander Hamilton wrote it already, hundreds of years ago.

When a man unprincipled in private life desperate in his fortune, bold in his temper, possessed of considerable talents, having the advantage of military habits—despotic in his ordinary demeanour—known to have scoffed in private at the principles of liberty—when such a man is seen to mount the hobby horse of popularity—to join in the cry of danger to liberty—to take every opportunity of embarrassing the General Government & bringing it under suspicion—to flatter and fall in with all the non sense of the zealots of the day—It may justly be suspected that his object is to throw things into confusion that he may “ride the storm and direct the whirlwind.”

Article source:Health Care Renewal

[ellie-meldrum]

D&AD MEET UP: 7TH FEB

This was a good team meet up, just getting ourself in the mind frame of Bacardi we began by talking about the research we had done from last time when we decided what brief we want to do. As part of my research i looked into all the 24 rums that they produce not including the alco-pops, as well as the logo and a lot of research and documentories watched about how the rum is made. I was also intrigued as to how they present themselves and found that basically all their adverts are based on an up beat song and there most modern adverts hit every beat with movement.

I created one large mind map shown above with lots of different ideas and different aspects that we can tap into these are all the ideas expanded:

something similar to Jay-z and the mega campaign that was all round teh world that linked to his new book and as new thing got released in the place that links to that page the whole book was being published on social media with everyone tagging the work.

Quiz, whats your perfect mix?, take the quiz to find out

Game, get through all the layers and win a prize like festival tickets or something

Create or surport a movement, social change, fundraising, awareness, 365 day of trying to change,do something good everyday. This also links to the game say if you show/ share what little thing you do everyday to the world everyone ‘unlocking’ the different levels from doing that one small thing wins something? but having hundreds and thousands of people doing one small thing a day that will make a big change for eveyrone.

@emilygcaplan talked bout the snap chat heat map and how a lot fo people use that to see what people are doing, we though that this would be a good way to show were events were and even ‘secret’ parties were being held, everyone loves an underground feel and that they themselves found something exciting.

@emilygcaplan idea, Breath with Bacardi, taking time out after the party, group meditation, time to calm down and have some time to yourself relaxing and listen gin to music.

Outfits, seeing everyday as a party, do Bacardi your way basically saying that you down had to go out and get dressed to have a good time could just be in your pj’s.

the outfit idea can also be taken into you creating your own festival outfit from what every you already own,dont need to go out and buy more save money to go spend on more Bacardi drinks

Challenge, so something like the cinnamon challenge or a really strong drink, doing a strange challenge always gets so much attention

Personalised, creating your very own Bacardi bottle label

Music, bring out a new track that has a dance along with it kinda like soldier boy or the cha cha slide, they really catch on and are a bit of fun the try aft learn. Dance challenge

Creating a custom playlist, remix your Bacardi, this links to the quiz get a chosen drink and chosen playlist to go along with.

Move to the beat any way, are you a tapper or a dancer?

scratch map, where ever you go with Bacardi you scratch it off

Bingo, you scratch everything off and then you win

Light or dark, pick your side of rum

complimenting Bacardi drink to food like red wine to meat

winter cocktails

Gonna go away and come up with as many ideas as possible individually and then come together agin soon and share what we have come up with to see if there is anything that we are all thinking about we came up with lots of ideas but non that were really pushing any boundaries in any way they were more just obvious ones. Got lots to think about and try and really push the ideas to come up with a winner.