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ravenvsfox · 4 years ago

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klance holodeck fic 1/2

Lance is gone. Lost in the plunging gaps between astral bodies, sewn into an invisible seam in spacetime. Missing, for two long years. It’s impossible, to think of the time he's already lost with him. Time passes strangely in a war, and stranger still in space. Stars gasp their dying breaths and ripe dust clouds give birth to whole planetary systems. Some light reaches them with its centuries-old fingers and some can’t weather the journey. So many beings shiver and die. Lance would be twenty now. He tries not to think about it.

Keith can't bring himself to grieve when he knows Lance is still out there. Instead, he follows versions of him down holographic rabbit holes, trying to pry closure out of his memories, and losing himself to an obsession with the simulated landscapes where Lance was never lost.

(Read on AO3)

At first, it’s a french restaurant.

Slate grey and stationery white, sunlight drooping over the tablecloths like curling petals on calla lilies. Keith presses the knot of his tie into the hollow of his throat and swallows against his fingers. The get-up is ridiculous—grey suit, red tie, cufflinks, Italian leather shoes.

He’s never worn anything so expensive or well-tailored in his life, and he can already picture the precise geometry of Lance’s expression when he sees him: badly suppressed smile, like a slipped disc, his cheeks puckered.

Keith seats himself next to the window, fiddling almost immediately with the circlet of his napkin ring. The trees outside rustle and drizzle shade over buskers and vendors across the street. His designer watch has both hands folded over the twelve. A waiter breezes past and lays a rectangle of cardstock in front of him, smiling conspiratorially. As soon as he’s out of view, Keith has forgotten his face.

He looks at the menu, and the transition from the burbling restaurant to the cramped typeface is disorienting, like a cut scene in a video game. When he puts the menu down again, his head is swimming sickly with words like bordelaise and remoulade. And then, like a sweet apparition from a terrible dream, Lance drifts through the doorway.

For a moment, the sight of him is impossibly painful.

Keith’s fingers go again to the knot of his tie, and he makes an involuntary noise, gulping air as if surfacing from extreme physical exertion.

“Lance,” he chokes.

Lance smiles, quicksilver. “Hello.”

“You’re here,” Keith says, staggering to his feet. He crosses the bistro to take Lance bracingly by the wrists. The napkin holder is still in his hand, and the circle of it presses into Lance’s forearm so tightly that his skin bulges through it a little. “Do you—do you know where you’ve been?”

Lance should be defensive, or sly, or angry, or bashful. He should be telling a story that Keith can barely follow at a pitch that he can barely stomach, bragging about all the stupid things and downplaying all the impressive things.

Keith knows that’s not how this works, but still. It’s the Lance he knows.

He focuses on the brittle warmth of his body, the details that are just right. His heart breathes into the paper bag of his chest.

Lance just keeps smiling wanly. His hair is styled wrong—there’s too much volume, and it swoops down too close to one eye. His tie is robin’s egg blue. “No need to get up for little old me.”

Keith shakes his head, off-balance. “What?”

“I’m here to spend time with you! Why don’t we take a seat?”

Keith swallows painfully. It’s like looking at an animatronic figure of his friend—a jolting uncanny robot at an amusement park. “Lance, look at me.”

“How could I not?” he says cheekily, and winks. But his eyes haven’t quite settled into the same groove as Keith’s.

“Tell me—“ Keith starts. “Tell me what you remember. Tell me who you are.”

“Oh, you know me,” he says. “Name’s Lance ‘Loverboy’ McClain, blue paladin, sharpshooter extraordinaire, and defender of the universe.”

“Please.” It’s meant to be derisive, but it ends up falling somewhere closer to desperate. His hands slide up from Lance’s forearms to his shoulders. The napkin ring clatters pointedly to the floor. In a wide, embarrassing moment of weakness, Keith says, “you have to--be him. At least try.”

Lance chuckles.

Keith shakes him, and his shoulders jitter unnaturally.

“Come on. What’s the point if you can’t even act like him? Who would fucking buy this?”

“I don’t—“

“Stop using his voice,” he warns. His hands have crept up to Lance’s neck, and abruptly he lets go, repulsed at the almost-familiar feel of him.

“I would also be pretty overwhelmed to meet an intergalactic celebrity,” Lance assures him.

He’s starting to breathe too fast. He keeps seeing the real Lance—craned into the three-dimensional spread of a star map, brow furrowed, freckled hand curled loosely in the handle of whatever hot drink he found planet-side—superimposed over this stranger’s weird, unblemished face.

“Who am I?” Keith demands.

Lance grins. “My date.”

Keith pushes him hard in the chest. He nearly topples into a neighbouring table, and it’s unlikely, how he keeps his gangly legs underneath his body.

“Easy, sweetheart,” Lance says. “This isn’t the place for roughhousing.”

It’s the wrong cadence, but it’s so like something Lance would say that it’s debilitating. Keith stumbles through the momentum of another graceless shove.

“I told you to stop using his voice,” Keith snaps. “This is cruel.”

“Didn’t you want to meet me here?” Lance asks innocently.

“Of course I did. But you’re not—not—” Suddenly, he’s so fatigued with disappointment that he can’t speak.

After a long moment, he feels an ephemeral hand on his shoulder. And with the help of the ghostly waitstaff, the false Lance maneuvers him back to his place at the table. “Just tell me where to look and I’ll go there,” Keith begs, half-stumbling, half-dragged into his seat. “I swear. I know I can find you, I’ve faced bad odds before.”

“How about a drink?” Lance is saying, apparently unfazed.

“I thought that if you thought like Lance, maybe I could talk an answer out of you,” Keith says. Lance cocks his head, pleasantly receptive. “But really I thought I would look at you and I would feel better. Or at least I would feel angry. But you’re worse than a punching bag.”

“Red?” Lance says, and Keith’s heart is—airborne.

“What?” he asks sharply.

“Wine,” Lance explains. “Red or white?”

His whole body caves in. Rockslide. Catastrophic. He looks into Lance’s wide, earnest eyes, feeling uncomfortably like he’s levelling a shotgun at a newborn. “Neither. End simulation.”

The bistro melts instantly into the oily blackness of the Paladin Simulator.

His jaw is clamped tightly with shame and grief, and as the dark presses in, he folds his arms self-consciously over his chest. He’s ending his session an hour early, and he’s grateful, now, for the uninterrupted quiet.

He shouldn’t have let himself do this.

It should have been obvious what a bad idea it was when he didn’t tell any of the other paladins what he was planning; he was already falling back into his old, knee-jerk isolation, trusting only himself with his secrets.

He just couldn’t take any more of their pity. It was constant, wide-eyed, confused—why would the person who got along with Lance the least feel his absence the most? Sometimes, Hunk looked at Keith exactly the same way he looked at an old clunker of an engine that was in need of replacing.

Keith had heard tell of the simulators years ago, they all had. Liberated planets with the tech (and the admiration) had started building little cyber shrines to Voltron. Like a hyper-advanced arcade game, you could plug in your specifications, step into the simulator, and play out your wildest fantasies.

He’d gathered that tittering fans, unexceptional nerdy types, and bright-eyed kids were the most common customers; the lettering on the swinging board out front promised all kinds of adventure and celebrity:

Join Voltron! Become one of the gang, fighting Galra scum and saving the galaxy from tyranny!

Enjoy a candlelit dinner with the paladin of your choice, and get up close and personal with your hero!

Pick up your very own bayard, and spar with living combat legends! Who will win?!

Although it’s more advanced than the training room controls on the castle of lions, the programming still has its limits. The likenesses aren’t really supposed to stand up to the scrutiny of someone like, say, a paladin himself, but the experience is still sensory, impossible, the science fiction daydream of someone on Earth.

Lance used to love the idea of it, joking that it was the Star Trek filler episode he always wanted. He said he would win every game, romance himself, and beat up holo-Keith without feeling bad about it. He said he could finally stop pulling punches when Keith was just, like, light particles and shit.

In his grief, Keith convinced himself it was right and just and necessary to believe in a false lead. He told himself that the coat rack in the dark looked enough like a person that maybe he could hang all his hopes on it.

And so he had sought out the small, ever-bright planet of Seachmall, where night lasted for twilit months, and massive outdoor markets boasted every good and service you could possibly think of. Continent to continent there were melting, zipping lights, sky-high neon encircling tall buildings like bangles, and criss-crossing lanterns—buoyant in the low gravity—coasting up towards their celestial cousins.

In the capital, the local population joyfully shared liquor and arm-clasping greetings, speaking in the fast creole dialect of a port city, dancing to reality-bending music that haunts every forking path in a dizzying labyrinth of market stalls. Every single day on Seachmall was a feverish, luminous midnight that raged unceasingly past its breaking point.

And every step in the springy too-dark soil, every halting conversation in common, every sizzling technological spectacle that borders on nightmarish, Keith thought that Lance would have eaten this experience alive.

But Lance is gone.

Lost in the plunging gaps between astral bodies, sewn into an invisible seam in spacetime. Missing, for two long years.

It’s impossible, to think of the time he's already lost with him. Time passes strangely in a war, and stranger still in space. Stars gasp their dying breaths and ripe dust clouds give birth to whole planetary systems. Some light reaches them with its centuries-old fingers and some can’t weather the journey. So many beings shiver and die. Lance would be twenty now. He tries not to think about it.

Often, he resents those years he spent on a space whale, cresting out of his teenage years faster than he could track, trying to staunch the flow of memories with the paladins before he lost them all. He gets double vision looking at his mother, thinking of what he knows about love and struggling to apply it to this stranger.

When Lance disappeared just months after Keith returned to the castle of lions, he understood, finally, that loss is the bitter shrapnel of love.

In an alternate universe, Keith would have threaded Lance’s difficult needle, held his jaw, sharp and slight as a paring knife, and told him every wriggling, guilty, breathless feeling he’s inspired in him since they were sixteen.

In that universe, he stepped out of the time warp and into Lance’s embrace, and they were never parted again.

But that’s not what happened. Instead, Pidge started to refer to Lance in the past tense. Allura took over piloting Blue full-time, and Keith Red. The castle, already barren with the loss of Altea, became even more eerily quiet. Keith’s guilt swelled up and took any of their remaining teamwork hostage.

Space is so massively large and radiantly indifferent, but Lance is out there, surely, or Keith would have felt Voltron’s current being disrupted, as it had been when Shiro blinked out of the Black lion. But time stretched on, and he felt nothing at all.

When Lance disappeared it was from the middle of a battle for a nothing quadrant of space, and he was practically teleported out of the fray. They recovered his lion on a smalltime Galra ship within the hour, no sign of a struggle, no sign of Lance.

It was eery. Impossible. They interrogated sentries and hacked systems, combed entire light years of space using Allura’s wormholes. They waited for a distress signal, an apology, a triumphant return. But he just—vanished.

Keith ripped through the galaxy for any scrap of him, a blue flash, those bright ringlets of laughter, the flush of his skin tone in a kaleidoscope of different species.

Allura and Shiro joined him on the ground at first; Pidge, Coran, and Matt worked tirelessly to devise a tracking system, while Hunk took Red apart, hoping to unlock the moment that she and Lance had detached—but it was like her memory had been wiped clean. All they could feel was the panicked thrum of her loose bond with Lance, Keith more than anyone.

Romelle and Krolia hadn’t known Lance for long, but they always came when called. More bodies in the search party, more hands in the alliance. Once, he caught Romelle’s lip wobbling during a debrief, and he remembered the way that Lance had dragged an extra chair in for her first team meeting, winking, and then laughing himself to stitches when Romelle tried to wink back and couldn’t.

In pieces, Keith understood that he loved Lance, and as always, he was processing an obvious truth too late. His grief was swollen purple, and even as he told himself that no one would ever, ever understand, he knew they did. All around him they did, loudly and at length, hurting at such a frequency that Keith was scared it would drown out Lance’s return.

He left the castle of lions more frequently, turning over whole populations, infiltrating Galra ship after Galra ship, singularly driven—but also callous and unbalanced without his team, participating in more violence in six months than he had in five years of war and survival.

Once, Keith stumbled into Lance’s abandoned room and pulled clothes and trinkets out of his closet, stirring up the smell of him and crying like a child. He picked fights with his mother, because she had been a terrible absence once, too. In the artificial light of castle dawn, he sparred more than his body could sustain, and when he found a planet full of unmarked tombstones in his search, he ripped at the ground with his bare hands until his fingernails tore.

The longer he looked, the more he found that the whole universe was exquisite with death, every piece of it burnt out and drifting into expanding blackness. He was so tired of feeling like space rock himself, fast, deadly, and aimless, waiting to burn up in the atmosphere somewhere. So, heart striving ahead of his body like an eager dog, pockets full of tokens, he wandered Seachmall until he found the flashy booth where he would waste the next eight months of his life.

He leaves the simulated french restaurant that first time fully believing that he’ll never be so weak again, but it’s barely twenty vargas before he’s back, trembling all over.

He finds Lance in a simulation of battle, and in the rush, it’s much easier to forget that he’s a fake.

“Not this time, amigo,” Lance crows, looping around an enemy ship and blasting ice the whole time, showing off. Keith is shocked to find a smile bruising his own face. His hands close over fake-Red’s controls. It’s so strange, not feeling her at all while he’s piloting. It’s as impersonal as a Garrison sim, but eons more advanced, nearly authentic. He can feel the heat of battle through Red’s visor, and as always, his calloused thumbs creak against the wheel when he turns too sharply.

“On your right,” Keith warns.

Lance dodges dutifully. “Thanks!”

I know, Lance groans, in his memory. I’m out here flying too, Keith, this isn’t one of those drills where I’m fucking blindfolded—

“Red Paladin,” Allura’s voice cries, weirdly high and operatic. “The evil lord Zarkon is moving in for the kill. You must help us form Voltron!”

“Yeah, right,” he huffs.

The forming itself is so stupid, obviously programmed by an outside observer who’s never felt the itch of unity, the reverse detonation of an impossible bomb, where every scattered thing fits back together to be whole again.

There’s a silly bit of choreography, and fake-Red goes on rails, like a carnival ride. And then, without feeling anything concrete, Voltron pulls in around him.

“Hooray!” Pidge says, sounding like a munchkin from The Wizard of Oz.

“Nothing can stop us now!” Shiro says, sounding like Shiro.

“Can we get back to putting Zarkon in a second grave now, please?” Keith says.

“Always the fighter, Red,” Lance says. Keith blinks.

“I love you,” he blurts.

“Aw,” Hunk says. “I love you guys too.”

“Lance—“

“Use your sword? Exactly what I was thinking,” Lance says.

“Let’s do it,” Shiro says. “Use your bayard, Red.”

“I know,” Keith snaps.

It’s obvious that the simulation has programmed Red in as shorthand for whatever player is in his spot. It would be the same no matter what lion was chosen, but hearing Lance’s nickname for him out of Shiro’s mouth is just—stunningly wrong.

The world trembles from the impact of a Galra bogey, uncomfortably real, and his instincts press him into action.

He turns his bayard in its slot, and the sword shimmers into reality. He watches at a remove as Voltron slices at Zarkon’s craft.

It’s actually starting to get to him, the memory of this battle, the reality of which was a lot more challenging, and much, much uglier. He remembers his frenetic pulse in his fingertips, the threat pressing endlessly past their defences, the damage to Green’s hull, and the awful discovery of Black’s empty cockpit afterwards.

He shudders.

“End simulation.”

In the dark, the adrenaline eases its panicked hands from his throat. You’re alive, he reminds himself. You survived. So did Shiro. So will Lance.

______

The next day, he goes back again.

He spars with himself, out of curiosity, and then with Shiro and Lance, but the holo-paladins are uninspired, easily blocked, programmed to strut and preen through choreography more than they are to improvise and adapt. Lance doesn’t play dirty even once, and Keith shuts down the simulation again, gutted. He wishes there were different difficulty levels, like the bots in the castle. You could program almost anything into—

He stops, midway back to his cruiser, the braid of market-goers loosening around him.

He taps twice on his communicator, and hastily opens a channel with Pidge.

After the long, peculiar swish of the line connecting, she answers, “‘sup?”

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Urgently?” she asks, distracted. He can hear the clatter of keys and the beep and whir of her latest project.

“It’s about Lance.”

The clatter stops. She doesn’t speak for long enough that Keith feels truly bad about himself. And then, “well Jesus, Keith. Isn’t it always?”

He breathes out. “How comfortable are you with the holodeck interface?”

“Very,” she says, no hesitation.

“And do you still have those files from a couple of deca-phoebes ago? That user profile thing you tried to instate, the uh—“ he dodges a Seachmallian waving a kebab in his direction.

“Yes, Keith,” Pidge drawls. “What, do you think I burn data when my projects don’t pan out?”

He shrugs, though she can’t see him. “I would.”

“Forgot who I was talking to,” she says flatly. He’s paused at the ice-cold entrance of a shop selling edible soap bubbles, light and iridescent.

“Do you think you could put together a—a simulation, compatible with a more advanced operating system?”

There’s a throb of silence. “What exactly are you asking me to do, here?”

He closes his eyes, still ducked under the awning of the store, feeling the cold move through him. “Don’t make me say it.”

“You want Lance,” she says. “On a fucking USB.”

“I want to find him,” he growls. “Remember when you wanted that too?”

“That’s low,” she says, deadly. “I’m not the one who’s trying to sleep with a hologram of my dead friend so I don’t have to grieve him.”

He cuts off communication. He feels feverish with embarrassment, and completely sick to his stomach. Candy bubbles breeze past him, over the apron of the booth across the way, which is advertising robot fights—both in Seachmallian and blocky common.

He remembers Lance, a lifetime ago, saying, when I go, I want all the stuff in my brain stored in a giant ship.

His comms ding, and he jabs the accept button on his wrist.

“Fuck you,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Pidge says. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” he says fiercely.

“I know.”

“I just need to know if it was premeditated, if he ever had a safe house or a code in case we got separated, something we could look for.”

“It’s not the worst idea,” Pidge says thoughtfully.

“I know.”

“But I do think it’s a pretty terrible idea for you to do it.”

He grits his teeth, upset in a directionless kind of way. “I can handle it.”

“I know you’re on Seachmall,” Pidge says, “and I already thought that was going to get pretty gnarly. All they’ve got is, like, the mythology of us. Can you imagine what the information in the Altean databases could do to that kind of tactile VR experience?”

“Sort of,” Keith says.

“It would be like if all the OG broadway actors showed up to participate in a high school production of Cats, comprende?”

“No,” Keith says, waspish. “Less.”

“It’s the next step for Altean hologram technology for sure. It would probably revolutionize AI. It’s also not real, Keith.”

“I don’t need it to be real,” Keith snaps. “I need a lead.”

“Well,” Pidge says slowly. “You know I can do it. Can you wait a few quintants?”

He sets his jaw, and against the deep blue horizon, a billboard gleams so brilliantly yellow that for a moment, he thinks it’s the sun.

“As long as it takes.”

______

Keith meets Pidge when she touches down on Seachmall, windswept and gaunt, and although he doesn’t really understand what she intends to do, he dutifully distracts security as she futzes with the control panel.

It’s barely fifteen minutes before she beckons him into the alley adjacent to the simulator room, a sample platter of bolts and wires spread out around her knees.

“Alright chief, it should be compatible, now.” She pulls a stray length of cable from where she’s been holding it between her teeth and pockets it. The little nib of her ponytail bobs as she stands.

“So it’ll be him this time?”

“I mean, almost exactly. I programmed his profile into the grooves set into the existing simulation, but I softened the edges a little so he’s not too self aware. I don’t want him realizing he’s a projection, I’m not that cruel.”

“Right,” Keith says, uncomfortable.

“If you don’t find what you’re looking for and you have to go back in, all you’ve gotta do is punch in this code.” She jabs him in the chest with a folded piece of card, as close to paper as they’ve been able to find out here, and twice as durable. She could have sent him the info, but they both know this transaction is better left under the table. “The system should wipe itself automatically when you’re done. And Keith—“ Her hand flattens on his dark chestplate, and her eyes are troubled. “Please don’t forget why you’re doing this.”

He nods, and puts a gloved hand over hers. “I won’t. I’ll figure this out, and I’ll find him.”

She nods back, a wobbly smile rolling over on her face.

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, I gotta go. I can’t—I wish I could see him, but.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees sadly.

She smiles again, fleeting, and gathers her kit. “We can’t spare another paladin,” she says, quickly, like it doesn’t matter. “Don’t get lost in there.”

He opens his mouth to reply, but she’s already putting her visor down, and walking out into the crowd.

______

This time, he finds himself on a boardwalk during a powder pink sunset. The air smells blisteringly of salt and roasting meat, and faceless people mill over the beach: parents holding hands with kids, couples sharing shaved ice, a galloping golden retriever in a red bandana.

The leftover scorch of the day blows in off the coast to meet him, like the wave from an open oven door.

He walks purposefully onto the sandbar, craning in circles, trying to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. He feels—pre-heartbroken, caught in the final moments of a long walk to an open casket.

“Where’ve you been?”

He whips around, and Lance is pulling one earbud out, squinting into the sun at him.

“Lance?” he asks, through what feels like a mouth full of marbles.

“Uh-huh,” he says, eyebrow quirked. “The one and only.” He settles back into the shade of his umbrella.

Keith shakes his head to clear it. There’s a red and white striped towel set out next to Lance’s, and he sinks down onto it, overcome. Is this Earth? Did Pidge program this specifically? Is it one of the date settings on the simulator? He can’t remember. He can’t see past the illusion at all.

Lance offers him an earbud. “Come on, Red, will you relax? Pretend you’re not the kind of person who sleeps with a knife under your pillow.” He accepts the bud, numb, and tucks it in his ear. He’s expecting synth pop, but it’s an old R&B song, smoky and familiar. “No overthinking on the beach.”

He can’t stop looking at him. It’s uncanny—the dusky chapped lips, the mole next to his mouth, the cowlick over his ear. His eyes are intelligent, laser-focused on Keith. “Where are we?”

“Dear sweet Keith. Senile at age twenty. So sad.”

“Shut up.” He has to look away, to mask the full-colour magazine spread of conflicted feelings on his face. It all feels a bit like a lucid dream that he shouldn’t jostle too hard. “I’m not used to this.”

Lance’s expression softens. “Hey man, I get it. Being home is weird. Sometimes it’s like—I can’t even remember how we got here.” He shakes his head. “But also I’m so happy to be back, I’m like—screw PTSD.”

His chest aches, badly. “I don’t think it works like that.”

“Rich coming from you, Mr. repression,” Lance says, rolling his eyes.

“I’m not doing that any more,” Keith says. “I’m working through my shit.”

“How admirable.” His mouth twitches. He produces a Palm Bay from his slouchy little backpack, tossing it from hand to hand as if testing its heft. “I’m drowning my sorrows in coolers, personally.”

And then he lunges, spritzing the can open in Keith’s face.

“Jesus, Lance,” he sputters, smacking it out of his hand. They scuffle, briefly, and that helpless, ebullient laugh blows past him like candy bubbles.

“Your—face—“

“You’re so immature—“

“Easy, cowboy, don’t you remember what team bonding looks like?” He pinches Keith’s cheek teasingly, and Keith grabs his wrist.

A pulse flutters under his fingertips.

He scrambles backwards, clothes dragging against the sand, a stray sandal popping off. The heat and grit is so real. If he focuses hard enough on the smell of meat coming off the boardwalk, his mouth waters. Lance looks at him incredulously.

“What? That’s too far for you? I barely touched you!”

“You touched me,” Keith repeats. He can still feel that pulse, like a second heart in his own body. He stands up, shedding sand, and Lance looks up at him, mild expression tinted with hurt. Keith sways, sidelined by a wave of vertigo. He can’t be here right now. “End—“

“You’re being so weird. Like Kuron all over again.”

He stops. “You think I’m a clone?”

“Obviously not really,” Lance says, getting up on his knees. “But that is the level of weird we’re dealing with here. You’re looking at me like you’re about to cry.”

“It’s just—home.” He gestures awkwardly. “Tandem bikes. Coconut sunscreen. Seagulls eating fries out of the trash. The ocean. Earth reminds me of you.”

"Birds eating garbage reminds you of me?" Lance quirks a skeptical expression at him. “Maybe you are working through some shit.”

He reaches for his abandoned sandal, dusting sticky sand from the straps. “You can’t even imagine.”

“Try me.”

Keith looks across at Lance’s calm, determined face, and the words rise up in him like a groundswell.

“I know I haven’t earned it, and I know it doesn’t make sense to you, but I miss how things used to be. And the worse everything gets the more I keep wondering what you would say, or do, and I hate that—god,” he breaks off, and presses his palms briefly to his eyes. “I mean, you would’ve had no way of knowing how I felt. I didn’t even know. But I should’ve—I just thought we would have more time after the war, or I would die and it wouldn’t matter. And I guess I assumed you were always going to be there, because you always were, even when I didn’t want you to be, and now—I don’t know, Lance, I don't know how I’m supposed to go to the castle, or pilot Red, or look at the planet I grew up on without remembering how much you loved it, and how much I love you—“

“Keith, what?” Lance says, alarmed. “You’re freaking me out.”

“Where are you?” he frets.

“I’m here.” He crawls closer, but Keith can't look at him. He watches the fussy waves coming in off the shore instead. “I’m right here.” He rests his hands on Keith’s ankles, and he has to steady himself on Lance’s shoulders when his knees go loose. “Man, I shouldn’t have joked about PTSD. I mean, I feel like this sometimes too.”

Keith looks down into his face. “What?”

“You know, like I’m back there. Like—time doesn’t even exist. Being off-planet was such a bitch sometimes. You feel like you can disappear in all that open space. And sometimes you want to.”

“Lance,” Keith whispers. “You wanted to disappear?”

“Yeah, sometimes,” Lance says, serene. “Just for a while. Let someone else defend the universe for a bit, preferably an adult. Hey, don’t look at me like that, I didn’t do it!”

“You would have told us,” Keith says, through bloodless lips.

“Sure,” Lance offers.

“No. No. You would’ve said something.”

Lance takes his hands away uncertainly.

“I wouldn’t have done it,” he says flatly. “I’m just telling you that I understand being pissed off, and I understand wanting to—hit pause.”

“What about hitting stop?” Keith asks. “What about disappearing so thoroughly that whole galaxies full of alien technology can’t find you?”

Lance’s face is a spinning wheel; he cycles through all manner of confusion, impatience, and worry before settling on defensiveness. “What the fuck are you talking about? Are you out of your mind?”

“If I am, it’s your fault,” Keith snaps. “How could you leave us?”

“How could I leave?” There’s no question now, that this is data from his Lance. His tetchy, self-conscious anger is unmistakeable. “You’re the one who ditched us for the Blades right when we were at a tipping point. You’re the one who wadded two years up and threw them in the trash. You didn’t have to care about us but you absolutely should’ve talked to us. We were a team.”

“You think I don’t care about you?” Keith laughs. “That’s fucking hilarious.”

“I’m really laughing,” Lance says sarcastically. “I don’t know what sort of crazy pills you took that made you think that I’m the deserter out of the two of us. I wish I could be that delusional. I may have wanted out once or twice, but I would never, ever leave the people who need me.” He’s fuming, and the wind is blowing through his curls like it’s trying to placate him.

Keith’s anger wobbles. It hurts, to hear Lance talking this way after so long. It’s not the reunion they deserve.

“I know. I know that.”

Lance sits back on Keith’s towel, frowning. He brushes the drained cooler away, and the remnant dribbles out and darkens the sand. “I don’t know why you always have to ruin everything.”

Keith’s throat aches, and he crosses his arms protectively over his chest.

“Me neither.”

Lance glances up, surprised. And then his gaze slides purposefully beyond Keith, considering. After a moment something comes over him, and his whole demeanour changes. “Keith,” he says softly. “Did you say you loved me?”

Keith screws his eyes shut. After a moment he hears Lance moving closer, reaching out, fingertips barely grazing the back of his hand—

“End simulation. Please.”

He crouches in the dark. “Please.”

______

“Oh, fuck you,” Lance crows. He ducks out from under Keith’s staff, and then grabs the end of it, using the momentum to slide through Keith’s wide stance.

He spins around, and Lance is five feet away, holding his own staff up to his eye like a sniper rifle.

“Bang,” he says.

“This is close combat,” Keith reminds him. He throws his weapon like a spear at Lance’s ankle, and he yelps when it makes contact.

“How is that close combat? You javelin wielding motherfucker. You should be disqualified, and jailed for your crimes.”

He watches Lance shake out his foot like it really hurts, testing his weight and pretending to stumble, falling forward—and then whirling around in time to clash staffs with Keith.

“Shit,” Lance laughs, up close, hot with exertion, putting the pressure of his body weight on the cross they’ve made between them. “Thought I had you.”

“Do you want to surrender?”

“Do you want to kiss my ass?” Lance retorts.

Keith steps out of the way, and Lance’s momentum sends him tumbling head-first to the floor.

“Sure,” he says coolly. “Turn over.”

“What the hell,” Lance says, rolling onto his knees, flustered.

“You lost.”

“Yeah, whatever, like six to five.”

“Six to four,” Keith corrects, and offers him his hand. Lance pretends to spit into it, then flops back onto his hands instead.

“If we were duelling with pistols, I would humiliate you. You would have to drop out of Voltron.”

“By that logic, you should be packing your bags right now.”

Lance throws his head back and laughs. “I’m going to fucking kill you, Kogane.”

“Try me.”

Lance shrugs, but just as Keith starts to look away, he throws himself at him. It’s so unexpected that Keith actually goes down, wrists slammed to the mat on either side of his body, wind knocked out of him.

Lance laughs breathlessly, looming messy and sweaty above him. “Wow, that was embarrassing for you. Your arrogance is your downfall.”

“You’re my downfall,” Keith says, a little too flat and sincere across the top, and Lance purses his lips.

“You’re taking this too seriously, dude.” He lets go easily, and rolls out on his back next to him instead. He flexes his wrist in the air above them both, and Keith watches his fingers work. “Why does it feel like it’s been forever since we sparred?”

“It has,” Keith says simply.

“I guess,” Lance yawns. “I can’t even remember the last time.”

His heart is still pounding from the first serious, sustained training he's done in months. When Lance goes to sit up, Keith puts a staying hand on his chest.

“Hey, Lance," he says. Lance hums. "If you got separated from your lion for any reason, would you—what would you do?”

He frowns. “I dunno. Alert you guys. Rescue mish.”

“What if you couldn’t contact us?”

Lance looks sideways at him. “Not loving this thought experiment. Why are you being so weird?”

“Please,” Keith says, taking Lance’s sore wrist, feeling for the artificial thud of his pulse. “Just—answer.”

“Uh. I don’t know, am I captured? Or planet-side?”

Keith swallows. “Planet-side.”

Lance nods, considering. “If the locals are part of the alliance, I would get their intel, and find a way to reach you. If not, I guess I would lie low. Wait for a friendly ship and signal them.”

“That could take years. It might never happen, depending on where you ended up. Like—alien vessels aren’t cruising over Earth very often.”

“Says you,” Lance jokes. “The truth is out there.”

“You could die waiting,” Keith insists, dropping his hand. “What if the atmosphere wasn’t compatible? The flora and fauna? What if your suit was compromised?”

“I would heroically overcome all obstacles, whistle for my trusty lion, and ride off into the cosmos,” he replies sardonically, “what do you want from me?”

“I just think we should have more rescue protocols in place in case something goes south.”

“Right,” Lance says slowly. “Well, I mean—and I’m going to try and get through this without gagging—I have your back, man. And if we get separated, I’m pretty sure you can take care of yourself.” He gestures at their discarded staffs. “Not as well as me, of course,” he sniffs, glancing sidelong at Keith to see if he’s cheered him up.

Keith feels the phantom weight of Lance’s body crushing him to the mat, a window of weakness pried open, broken and entered. He breathes out. “Yeah. You’re too good for that.”

______

He asks Pidge for more scenarios, and more user profiles. For fleshing things out, he tells her. For recreating the circumstances under which Lance was lost, testing his reactions to different situations, and introducing as many variables as possible.

Slowly, inevitably, he starts to lose control of it all.

He’s still a correspondent to the Blade of Marmora, and he’s on call as a paladin, but they haven’t been able to form Voltron in years. He’s perpetually out of sync with the rest of the universe, living more and more like a washed-up casino-goer, existing only for the market stall where he can plug his friends in and relive the past.

He pays off the owner not to ask questions, and gets an apartment on Seachmall, barely the size of a lion cockpit, just a sparse kitchenette and a twin cot. He spends hours in the simulator and crashes on his bare mattress, bathed in the constant, spectacular glow from the street lights.

Every time he staggers away from the market he has to remember that the real Lance is rotting somewhere, and he’s here playing dress up with shadows.

It’s all easier, in the holodeck.

He loads the original paladin line-up into battle, relives their victories and rights their wrongs. He finds himself in the kitchen of the castle of lions, in a ballroom overlooking a fathoms-deep canyon, curled in Lance’s bed so he can finally sleep. He takes his friends to Earth a hundred different ways.

There’s always a fog, a strangeness about them when they think too hard about where they are, but he knows it’s a mercy. He ends each simulation on the verge of spinning out, functionally pulling the trigger on his dearest friends.

Reality sags out of his grip. Pidge and Hunk call sometimes, and often Kolivan or Allura will give him status reports, scattered missions, and lectures that walk the line between morally superior and deeply, uncomfortably worried. When Shiro starts up daily check-ins, he understands that they all know what he’s been doing, lost on Seachmall for so long.

“You’re taking care of yourself, right?” Shiro asks.

“Yes,” Keith tells him. He’s staring at the empty wall across from his bed, absently sharpening his knife. “I’m just killing time.”

“We really miss you around here. It’s too quiet.”

He tests his blade, rolling his shoulder. “I’m not exactly bringing the party when I’m out there.”

Shiro hums. “I don’t know, you certainly keep things interesting.”

Keith snorts.

“I’m serious!” He can hear the smile in his voice. “There’s only so much quantum mechanics and ancient magic I can take before I want to hit something. I want my sparring partner back.”

They lapse into silence, and Keith traces patterns in the air, enjoying the fine metallic sound of a weapon without a target.

“You know we’re still looking, right?” Shiro asks. Keith stops cutting the air, and puts his knife down on the bed beside him.

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Shiro says. “Of course we are. Allura and I are visiting every contact she has, and Hunk and Pidge are working—overtime. We’re picking up a lot of slack here.”

The back of his neck prickles with guilt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Shiro sighs. “I’m telling you this because you’re my brother.” But he has his diplomat voice on, which Keith has always hated. “And I don’t know if you’re thinking about what it’s going to do to the rest of us if you don’t come back from this.”

“From a simulator?” he asks, incredulous.

“From grieving,” Shiro corrects. “I would never tell you to stop looking, but I think you know you’re not going to find him in those projections.”

“I could,” he says stiffly. “He tells me things—every day he gives me clues and he doesn’t even know it.”

“He doesn’t tell you anything,” Shiro says gently. “Because it’s not him. Do you remember when Allura had to let go of her father? It was so easy for her precious memories to be corrupted, and even easier to get swept away in the illusion. Everything in a simulator is finite, Keith, but you can’t be. You have to grow, and change, and move on.”

He thinks of every different shade of Lance he’s seen, every secret door that gives and leads to another wing. “You don’t get it.”

“Of course I get it. If Adam—“ he cuts himself off, and his breath shudders over the line. “You’re not the only one to be feeling this loss, or to be struggling.”

“But I never even got to love him," Keith argues. “I never got close enough to put any of these feelings anywhere, and now they’re everywhere. No one ever gives me the chance to love them before they—“ he swallows, and when he goes to speak again he finds there’s nothing else to say.

“I know how hard it’s been for you,” Shiro says sadly. “But Keith, understand—we all love you. No matter where we are or what we’re doing. We don’t have to verbalize it to feel it.”

“Okay,” he says, numb.

“We love you,” he reiterates. “Lance did too.”

“Thanks for checking on me Shiro,” he says, and hangs up.

______

“No way, no way, no way,” Lance crows. “This is slander.”

“It can’t be slander if all of us were there to see it,” Hunk says, but he can’t look at Lance without cracking up.

“You’re remembering wrong,” he says. “She asked me to give a speech.”

“She asked you not to,” Pidge says, rolling her eyes. “Begged you, even.”

“Boo,” Lance laughs. “I was just trying to have a good time at alliance banquet number five zillion.”

They’re clustered on blankets between the yellow lion’s hulking paws, in the soft local vegetation of one of the last planets they liberated as a team. They were buzzed, when this conversation actually happened, but Keith hasn’t been able to replicate that particular feeling through the simulator.

“I don’t know why you always have to lie to these people,” Keith says, just as he did on the actual occasion.

“Embellish,” Lance protests. “I live by the principle that everyone wants to hear the best possible version of the story, and you owe it to them to tell it.”

“But the best version is almost never the real version,” Hunk says, exasperated.

“I dunno man, what’s real anyway?” Pidge says, easing back into the blankets. “Our lives are such a clusterfuck as it is. The line of what’s actually impossible gets farther away every day.”

“Yeah,” Lance says. “What squidge said. Lying is cool.”

“Ugh, don’t call me that,” Pidge complains.

“What, I’m agreeing with you,” Lance says, grinning. He leans over to give her a big-brotherly hair-pull that she intercepts with a karate chop.

“People deserve to know the truth,” Keith says mechanically, following the script, but then feeling flushed and hypocritical all at once.

“Okay, here’s a truth, universally acknowledged: Keith sucks,” Lance says.

“Hm. Sounds like another lie to me,” Hunk says, and Lance reaches up to steal his headband in retaliation. Hunk rolls his eyes and lets him have it, like he’s appeasing an overactive puppy.

Something skitters in the dark, beyond the dunes of Yellow’s paws.

“Don’t you have a rebuttal, Keith?” Pidge asks, sitting up on her hands.

“Why are you encouraging them?” Hunk groans.

Keith shrugs and stays silent; Lance’s gaze narrows shrewdly.

“You aren’t one of those weepy drunks, are you?”

Keith picks at a loose thread in their shared blanket. “No, I just changed my mind,” he says, veering off-book. “I don’t know why I was acting like it was ridiculous that you like telling stories, when it obviously makes people feel better to believe them.”

“Oh. Well. Glad you came to your senses,” Lance interrupts, overly loud. He always seems to hate it when Keith gets sincere like this. He begs for attention but recoils when he gets too much.

“Most of these alliance parties happen after a long period of unrest. So… what, you helped grieving people by acting like a superhero? To them, you are a superhero. God, I couldn’t stand that you took so much credit for our victories, but I should’ve given you more.”

Lance blinks at him.

He remembers with fire-bright clarity how this scene actually played out, the way Keith kept needling at Lance’s hero complex, accusing him of making things up so he could pretend he’d been helpful. Lance had dialled his bravado to a screaming pitch so he could hide the soft, spoiled look in his eyes where Keith had lodged a cruel sword that he couldn’t pull out.

Now, Lance purses his lips so he doesn’t have to figure out what to do with his expression.

“Huh,” Pidge says, chewing on a pseudo-protein bar from their rations. “That’s some unexpected character growth.”

“Are you… feeling okay?” Hunk asks.

Keith looks miserably down at his own crossed legs until Lance says, “not that I don’t appreciate it, but you did just do kind of an impressive one-eighty.”

He looks up. “Yeah, sorry. I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.”

Lance smiles a little, relieved. He waggles the flask they’ve been sharing in his direction. “You just need to drink more.”

“No,” Keith disagrees, shaking his head. “I want to remember this.”

______

He opens his eyes to the world on its side, gritty endless flatlands sprayed out against a hazy auburn sky.

He rolls, putting his arm over his face, a visor against radiant twin suns.

He doesn’t have to look to remember the architecture at his back, a cubist explosion of edges and colours, each shape squared off and set into the hills. When the paladins liberated Imedemaa, they were offered accommodation in homes that corresponded to their lions: terracotta red, cobalt blue, mustard yellow, foliage green, and a brown so dark it could pass as black.

It’s his favourite place to visit: brilliant views, kind people, warm bed, privacy and proximity bumping shoulders comfortably.

Keith rolls again, sitting up. He feels heat-sick, and if it were real, he knows he would be bruised tan in the coast-to-coast sunshine. He’s spread out on the same outdoor palette where he fell asleep nearly three years ago. His apartment is warm, dull red, nearly orange. The shimmering public baths sparkle with activity just below his balcony.

“Yoo-hoo, neighbour.”

Keith squints over the waist-high wall and finds Lance clambering from his own balcony onto Keith’s.

“You’re going to fall to your death.”

“Nah,” Lance says, swinging a leg down over the railing and sitting contemplatively with one foot dangling over empty space and the other brushing the floor. “There’s a pool down there. Worst case scenario I perform an exceptional and history-making canon-ball.”

Keith watches him climb the rest of the way over, staggering and sitting heavily on Keith’s palette next to him.

“Oof,” he says. Lance's skin is dazzling in this climate, dark and freckled like granite. The simulation reminds him that he smelled like lotus, this day, fresh from the baths, warm shoulder and drizzling wet hair. “Are you ready to absolutely blow this popsicle stand?”

“And do what?” Keith asks, a little breathless from proximity.

“Did you seriously forget? It’s racing day!”

“Oh,” Keith says faintly. “Right.” They used to rent speeders for fun sometimes; the whole team participating at first, and then Keith and Lance alone when they surpassed friendly competition into bet-making and sabotage.

They would sneak back whenever they could swing the time off, careening around dusty corners and ramming one another’s speeders into hysterical tailspins. They would sob with laughter and then spritz their canteens all over each other, tussling in the dirt, so coordinated that it was almost an embrace.

The thought of it had driven him out of bed this morning, but he felt sick and shaky as he typed Pidge’s code into the simulator, setting the modified location of Imedemaa and rolling into a memory so fine and warm that it reminded him of death itself.

“Woah. easy, Red,” Lance says, his voice sharp with concern. Keith comes back to himself to realize that he’s angling into a panic attack, holding his own head in his hands. He can’t spoil this memory. Not this one.

“I—I—“ He can’t speak. Lance makes a dismayed noise, his entire demeanour turning inside out.

“Can I hug you, man?”

Keith jerks his head ‘no’. “I—can’t—you—“

Lance gets to his feet, and Keith grabs at him, hooking fingers in a belt loop, a fistful of shirt, whatever his hands find first.

“Hey, shh, it’s cool, I’m just getting you some water.”

Keith shakes his head again. “Don’t leave me.”

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” Lance asks softly, sitting back down. “We don’t have to go racing today.”

Keith huffs this weird cartwheel of a laugh, and scrubs a hand over his eyes and nose.

“I think I dreamed you were dead,” he tells him. He doesn’t look up into his face, but Lance’s chest is steady in front of him, rising and falling evenly with each breath.

“Who, me? I’m fine, Keith, look at me.”

“It felt real.”

“Pretty sure it wasn’t,” Lance says, laughter tucked into his worry like a concealed weapon. Keith looks up at him, and Lance beams under his full attention. He wipes the tears from Keith’s cheeks with his thumbs.

Abruptly, he can’t stand it.

“You’re a hologram,” Keith whispers. Lance’s smile falters.

“What?”

“Do you remember how Pidge took our mental blueprints?”

Lance nods quickly. He’s not brushing Keith off, he’s not slow with disbelief. He’s clear and sharp and his face is increasingly overcast with fear.

“I’m using your data in a simulation. This holiday on Imedemaa, it was years ago. You’re not the real Lance.” It hurts, to admit it, but it’s clear that it hurts Lance much, much more.

“No,” he chokes. “No, I feel real.”

“I know you do,” Keith says, reaching for his hand.

But Lance jerks away, standing and reeling backwards, hands splayed out on red paint, which could be gore, really, bleeding out from Lance’s palms like that. “I was so fucking scared of this.“

“I’m sorry,” Keith says, watching this shade of Lance shaking through self-awareness, and feeling the weight of the words that could end it in his mouth.

“Why—where—“

“He’s gone,” Keith whispers.

“Gone as in gone?”

“Gone as in I can’t find him.”

“So why the fuck are you wasting time on this Black Mirror shit, and not out there looking for me?” he demands.

“I’ve looked everywhere.” The agony of his failure slides home all over again. “The search party is a million strong by now. I’ve talked to a hundred versions of you looking for an answer.”

“A hundred,” Lance says. “So what, when I tell you what you want to hear, you delete me?”

“I’m not wiping the data or anything, I—I don’t know how it works,” he admits.

“Jesus. Jesus Keith, this is fucked up.”

Tears start to well up, and he wipes them away furiously. He never used to cry like this. He never used to feel so constantly ravaged by guilt and fear. It used to live in his gut and press at his throat, but he could keep it wrapped and sealed inside his body.

“I miss you,” Keith tries, and Lance’s face twists with despair.

“I really wish it didn’t take this horror show to make you say that.”

Somewhere, something splashes and someone shrieks with laughter. Lance looks at him miserably, hunched in the shade from the terrace, brow damp with terrified perspiration. He absolutely shouldn’t have told him. He remembers Pidge laughing darkly, I’m not that cruel.

“What do you want me to do,” Keith asks quietly.

“What choice do I have?” Lance asks. “I’m a fucking video game character. I’m a dead man walking.”

“Do you want to do anything? Before I end this session.”

Lance swallows, considering. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

______

They race.

What feels like all day, ripping in circles under arching rocks and through clinging, dragging sand, until the suns are setting, twin flames set into the desert like jewels.

Lance is extra reckless, gorgeous, perched high on his speeder and arched forward to reach the controls. His face, below the goggles, is streaked with mud, and he keeps crying out when he tips over too far or pulls triumphantly ahead of Keith, cathartic, unfiltered.

“One more lap,” he shouts, over the thrum of noise from the speeder.

“I’ll beat your ass,” Keith calls, trying for normalcy, but they’ve both kind of been crying on and off all day, and this is the last thing this Lance will ever do, and really, he’s not that cruel.

“Fucking try,” Lance says, pulling his bandana up over his mouth and taking off.

“Hey!” Keith laughs. “No countdown?”

“I think I deserve a head start,” he calls over his shoulder, but most of his voice is whipped away by the wind.

The speeder rips sideways, sliding over a natural boulder ridge that drops off into nothingness. Strange gravity keeps him on the right side of the cliff, and he hoots with joy, galloping metres and metres ahead as Keith eases through the same turn.

“You’re gonna—“ get yourself killed. He bites his tongue. Lance can’t hear him anyway. He zigzags through natural obstacles, glancing back in disbelief when Keith pulls up behind him. His face is red with the effort of staying upright.

“Can’t you let me win for once,” Lance cries, slamming on the thrusters and stirring up a fog of dust behind him. Keith coughs and dodges, feeling on the very edge of an awareness too big to name, like being able to feel one stage of grief ending and another beginning.

Sometime during Lance’s luxurious lead he’s taken off his helmet, and now the desert wind is whipping his hair straight.

He takes the next corner much too fast, and Keith’s heart is in his throat as he inevitably spins out, in smooth little frictionless circles at first, weightless as a bumper car—and then the rear of the speeder catches on a jutting rock and he’s ejected altogether. He topples out into the sifting dunes, rolling half a dozen times and stopping himself so abruptly that Keith can hear something snap.

He pulls up hard, tumbling off the speeder and throwing his helmet out into the sand, running as best he can to where Lance landed.

When he reaches him he’s cradling a severely broken arm to his chest, and the bone is piercing through the skin. There’s blood everywhere, weeping through his fingers, streaked high on his hairline, staining his shirt and the tawny sand beneath him.

“Would’ve been great if you could have programmed me not to hurt,” Lance wobbles. Stiff upper lip, terribly pale.

“Didn’t know you were going to throw yourself off a speeder.”

“Yeah, well. Me neither.” He hisses as Keith takes his wrist in his hand, unfathomably gentle, turning it this way and that.

“This looks terrible.”

Lance snorts. “Thank you doctor Keith.”

“I don’t think we brought any first aid,” he mutters, frowning, digging through the pack at his hip.

“I don’t need it.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re—“

“Keith.” He looks up at him, smudgy and sweaty and splashed with five kinds of red in the fading light. “I don’t need it.”

Keith trembles, still searching for a bandage or a stopper or an answer of any kind. “No. I hate this.”

Lance smiles grimly. “I don’t love it that much either. But hey, maybe there’s a way to bring me back. This exact version of me. From the ether somewhere. Doesn’t feel quite as permanent as capital D Death.” His eyes narrow. “As long as you don’t lose me, Red.”

“I won’t,” he whispers, parched and grief-torn. “Never again.”

“Okay. Okay.” He makes himself comfortable, stretched out on the sand, arm folded over his chest. “Hey, Keith?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you not—raise me from the dead again? I don’t think—I mean. A hundred versions of me and you haven’t found what you’re looking for.”

“But I have,” Keith says fiercely. “I always find what I’m looking for, because I’m looking for you.”

Lance laughs, coughs, squeezes his eyes shut. “That’s real romantic.”

Keith’s mouth twitches. “I’m glad you think so.”

Lance cracks an eye open. “Just find me the old fashioned way, will you? No more beautiful Lance casualties.”

“I—don’t know if I can promise that,” he says. “I miss you,” he reiterates.

“Yeah. More, I bet, when you’re looking right at me. Ever wonder why that is?”

Keith shakes his head fast.

“Dumbass,” Lance says fondly. “It’s literally always gonna hurt, trying to live in the past. Makes you feel like you don’t have a future.”

“Maybe I don’t.”

“That’s a pretty insensitive thing to say to a dying guy.”

Keith laughs wetly. “You’re being melodramatic.”

“When can you be melodramatic if not on your deathbed?”

Keith brushes the sticky hair from Lance’s forehead. He turns his face and Keith’s hand softens and cups his cheek comfortably.

“Pidge can do anything,” Keith tells him. “All your ones and zeroes will be safe somewhere until she can figure out somewhere for you to go.”

“Yeah, okay,” Lance says, like he barely heard him. He’s determined, heroic. Fucking heartbreaking. “I hope the real me gives you hell.”

Keith nods jerkily. “He always does.”

“I hope he—I hope he’s good to you, too.”

Keith’s face crumples, and he puts his forehead to Lance’s, feeling him wince when his chest grazes his broken arm.

“Sorry, sorry,” he sniffs, holding his face, wiping the blood and muck and tears back.

“It’s okay,” Lance says, starting to slur. “It’s okay, Red, just end it, quick.”

“You’re the last one,” Keith promises.

“Good,” Lance says, “because you’re not gonna do better than me.”

Keith laughs, putting their foreheads together again, and then kissing the place where a tear has rolled down into his hairline.

“See you soon,” he whispers. Lance leans up, golden, bloody.

Keith shudders, and says “end simulation” into his mouth.

Imedemaa winks out, and his whole world narrows instantly to a pinhead. He’s huddled on the floor over nothing at all, caught in the throws of fantasy, like a sleepwalker. When he licks his lips though, he swears he can still taste salt.

______

He leaves the simulator into the whiz and pop of another Seachmall night. The owner nods at him, looking vaguely troubled, possibly by the amount of time that Keith has been locked in his simulator today, and by the look on his face now, which he can only imagine is ripped in half by loss.

The market is busier than usual, stranger, overfull with alien tourists, so much so that the paladin simulator has accumulated a long line-up.

He sidesteps their stares, slipping soundlessly into the alley, already dialling Pidge on his communicator. She said the system would automatically wipe after each use, but he’s certain she can retrieve whatever information would be inaccessible to the public. She said herself that she doesn’t burn data.

He waits through the suck of the empty line, feeling antsy and keyed up, aching from a day of racing but incongruously clean and dry.

“Come on, Pidge,” he mutters.

Somewhere in the market, there’s a great clamour of voices. Something clatters to the ground, and someone apologizes profusely in common. Keith chews his lip distractedly, waiting for a thief to run by, a sheepish tourist, or scuffling rival business owners.

The line connects and disconnects in quick succession, and Keith kicks a trash disposal chute so hard that it dents.

He frets, thinking of Lance’s final moments, the wilting fear on his face, his mouth split open like fruit.

A hoverbike rounds the corner, and Keith only steps barely out of the way, nearly clipped by a wide fender. It crashes to a stop, making a thin, rumbling sound, and then its rider has whipped all the way around to stare at Keith. Achingly humanoid. Cobalt blue Motorcycle helmet. Rippling with motion even while sitting still.

They swing a leg over the seat of the bike, staggering closer, and Keith knows. He knows when a slender, gloved hand reaches for the visor, and when twin pistols clink and gleam from their holsters. The helmet falls, rolling into the dirt.

“Keith,” Lance breathes.

#vld #klance #voltron #klance fanfic #mine #alcohol mention #injury tw #I promise I'm working on my tfc wips but I took a hiatus to write a 20k voltron fic bc..... i felt... like it #long post #I know this might flop due to it being voltron lmao but hit me up if you want chapter 2!!

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 4 years ago

Text

Once Bitten, Twice Stupid prt 17 - prt1

Keeping up with the tradition, they all wound up back at Lance’s house. Keith and Pidge were bonding with Blue, his cat a ho when it came to pats... on her terms of course. Keith seemed mystified over what to do when a cat sat in your lap. Blue was a traitor, bunting up into Keith’s chin because she was a traitorous whore with no taste. In the kitchen with Hunk, Lance nursed a mug of warm wine mixed with blood, as Hunk baked. He couldn’t stop himself. He needed to unwind and Lance was happy to provide his kitchen for that

“Did you really break your phone, man?”

Lance looked over the rim of his mug

“Yep. Dropped it on my bedroom floor. It shattered on the spot”

“You said we’d talk... I’m feeling kind of left out man”

“I didn’t mean to make you feel left out”

“Ever since Keith came along, you’ve been acting weird. I know sometimes Pidge can be full on, but I thought we were tight”

“We are tight”

“Then what haven’t you been telling me? I’ve told you things I wouldn’t think of telling Pidge”

Lance felt as if Keith had gotten his wish and staked him through the heart

“It’s not like that...”

“Then what is it like?”

The vampire didn’t have a whole lot of options. He could confess he was a vampire and give Hunk a heart attack. He could keep lying, which was clearly hurting Hunk. He could claim Keith was threatening him, but then Pidge and Hunk would want to take things into their own hands... Fuck... He didn’t want to hurt Hunk. Lying really did hurt. His friends were so special to him that he hated having to distance himself... semi lies were as bad as the real thing

“Okay... okay... the truth is I’m not really over being sick. I’m still feeling sick most of the time and I’m not used to having company all the time. I didn’t want to tell you because you worry about me so damn much. I’ll recover, good as new, but I’m supposed to have spent this last week resting up as much as possible. I can’t help myself, I love hanging out with you and Pidge, so when you invite me I can’t say no. I pushed myself a little too hard to fast, but I promise I’m working on getting better”

Hunk’s eyes immediately welled with tears

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because all I need is to catch on some sleep. You and Pidge are my best friends. I want to make as many memories with you as I can. I also had a call that wasn’t great, so that’s been on my mind too”

“A call?”

“A work call. The woman was strung out of her mind, I had to call in a welfare check on her. It’s been exhausting, but nothing a few good nights sleep won’t cure”

“Man... I wish you’d told me. We could have gone back home...”

“It’s okay”

“It’s not okay. If you’re sick, you need to be resting. I’ll tell Pidge while you get ready for bed”

“Dude, I’m okay”

“Please, stop being stubborn! Pidge and I both know you’ve never been really well. You’re always so pale. But you never tell us anything. We’re your friends, we want you to rely on us”

He’d been told that by Hunk before, playing it off as a low immune had bought him about a years worth of silence on the matter

“I do. I love you guys like family. That’s why... that’s why it’s so hard. We’ll watch what Pidge filmed, then head to bed”

“Absolutely not. I’ll have dad come pick us up. Keith can crash at mine for the night”

“You don’t need to do that”

“I don’t need to, but I want to. Let me help”

Passing Keith off was a terrible idea. Keith didn’t mix well with others. If he snapped anything was likely to come out... but what Lance wouldn’t give for a night without having to worry about waking Keith

“His brother Shiro should be swinging around tomorrow to pick him up. It’ll be fine, it’s only one more night. Plus, if we don’t watch the film now we won’t be able to watch it all together as a group”

Sure, most of Keith’s face was hidden behind the mask but Lance could tell all his expressions from the way his muscles moved. His brain told him that at any rate. His imagination must have been filling in the blanks automatically based on what he knew of Keith’s personality

“You need rest”

“I’ll be resting on my chair. Nothing strenuous happening, other than being in trouble with Pidge for talking. We’ll watch the video, pick out what to keep and what to edit, then I’ll go straight up to bed”

Hunk sighed, picking up the closest tea towel off the kitchen bench as he did

“You better. I’ll still have dad pick us up. And you need to answer your phone”

“I only have my work phone and the home phone”

“Exactly. Two other ways of calling”

“I can’t promise I’ll hear them, but if I see you’ve called, I’ll call back. Deal?”

Holding his hand out, Hunk took it, his handshake firm

“Deal. Don’t go around worrying me like that, man. I’m still recovering from tonight. Did you see that grey stuff?”

“It was the light off the camera. From having the viewfinder open and in night mode. That’s my bet. That combined with dust. Anyway, anything haunting that place would have made themselves scarce thanks to Pidge. I wouldn’t want to be a ghost and on the wrong side of her”

“I thought she was literally going to blow steam from her ears. She was so cranky”

“Especially when Keith tripped. I thought she was going to go turn him into a ghost on the spot”

Lance snorted as he smiled. Keith would be the dopiest ghost. He’d probably actually turn into one, but go around thinking he was human

“So did I. Our little gremlin is viscous. How long do the cookies need?”

“10 minutes. Go on ahead, I’ll be in soon”

“Alright, buddy. Don’t forget to use the dishwasher instead of doing the dishes by hand. Tonight was hard on you too. You deserve to kick back and relax”

“Yep, will do”

Pidge had Lance’s laptop on her lap when Lance headed into the living room

“Pidge! You’re not supposed to be on there!”

Pidge jumped at being sprung in the act

“I was ordering you a new phone. What kind of idiot doesn’t use a lifeproof case?”

“Me when they’re not very lifeproof. You know there’s sensitive files on there”

“Relax. All I did was open the browser. I don’t want to know about your cases”

“That’s beside the point. How you feel if you were one of them. And, it’s not like I can’t buy a new phone from the post office”

“You can, but I’m picking out a good one”

“Nope. No. I just need a cheap one where I can message you guys, take photos of Blue, and watch cat videos”

“Pffft. No. Trust me, you need to embrace the future, no more living in the past. Now, what colour do you want?”

“I don’t care about colour”

“You’re hopeless! Here’s one for $1500”

“Absolutely no way. I can’t justify spending that much on a phone. No. I’m fine with a $120 cheapie”

“You’re not fine and those things are an insult to technology. Help me out Keith”

Keith’s expression said he was in for trouble. Keith would do anything to mess with his life further, including taking revenge by making Lance pay out an unreasonable amount of money. Give it enough time and everything flashy would become standard for much cheaper

“I don’t know if he’s allowed something, or if he’d just wind up breaking it”

“Damn! Nice one. Okay, I’m ordering your phone now...”

“Pidge!”

“... and it’s done. You can thank me later with a shitload of photos of Blue. She’s such a diva. You should make her her own socials”

Lance didn’t love socials. He didn’t love the fakeness. He wished people could see and love the things in them that they might hate because society had made them feel like shit. He only had socials because of Pidge and his Mami. Most of what he posted was of Blue and her perfect little toe beans... with the occasional, less than lady like, tongue blep as she glared at him. He wasn’t putting pressure on Blue to be perfect for an audience

“Seriously?”

“Yep. A new case is coming too. This one should be Lance proof. Do we need to think about putting child safety devices in place?”

“I don’t know, Pidgeon. Do I need to think about digging a shallow grave when I see the price?”

“Maybe... is it for me, or for you?”

“I don’t know yet”

“Then I don’t know either. Hurry up and sit down already, you can have your precious laptop back. I don’t see why you need the desktop set up and a laptop. Both are practically antiques”

“You did both builds last year”

Pidge moaned

“Exactly, antiques. A painful reminder of my youth”

“Keith, do me a favour and punch Pidge in the arm for me. She’s being an idiot”

Keith ignored him, scratching the base of Blue’s back where it met her tail, Blue purring. Everybody in the room sucked. If it worked and did what it was meant to, Lance was fine with it not being the latest and greatest

“Ha! He knows better than to hit me”

“Yeah, because he’s as scared of you as the rest of us”

Pitch ditched a cushion in his direction, that missed him completely

“Rude”

“Merp”

Keith simply snorted at the both of them, Blue was taking up too much of the hunter’s attention. Still, he was going to be the bigger man, no wet food for Blue until she came back and loved him again.

The next week of Lance’s life passed slowly. Very fucking slowly in parts. His thirst wasn’t getting better, Keith wanted to fight every day, he didn’t have the energy to keep up with his work, feeling like he was letting all his clients down. Something in his gut was trying to tell him something, and Lance wasn’t sure what it was. He hadn’t heard from Shiro. Keith’s answer to that problem was that Shiro would come back when it was safe. But “safe for who?” was a totally different question. Lance had found that gradually he was getting used to Keith’s presence. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like this kind of uneasy peace. Keith grudgingly ate Lance’s cooking. The idiot had burned toast... in the toaster. It didn’t take a degree to be able to put two pieces in and pull down the lever, but somehow he’d done it. He’d set off the fire alarms, waking Lance, who immediately went into panic mode. Smacking his arm on the wall, he’d burst the blood blister building beneath his skin, smearing blood on the wall, as he swore. Rushing into the kitchen, the toaster was on fire, Lance ripping the cord out the all and dumping the lot in the sink.

Swapping the washing from the machine to the dryer, Lance closed his eyes and counted to 10 before opening them again. He could hear Keith shuffling around in the kitchen. He could hear his phone vibrating on the bench. The way his coffee machine slowly came to life told him he had all of 5 minutes before Keith would be all up in his face demanding that they fight. He could be in the middle of vacuuming and Keith would still pop up and demand to fight. He seemed to be working out a style for himself and organising his thoughts as he did. He still hadn’t decided on Keith, but he had to give him some credit. He kept trying and he kept getting back up... He was still to get an actual blow in that Lance hadn’t allowed. Maybe he was sick from Keith continually beating him up? And maybe he was kind of enjoying things more than he let himself believe. Or maybe his defences were lower than normal thanks to still being sick.

“Lance! Message!”

So Keith was his answering service now? Where was that in the terms and agreements of having his house hijacked?

“I know! I heard! Some dick didn’t bring all his washing out!”

“That’d be you!”

Like fuck it was. His lapses didn’t count when it was his house and he was going through stuff. Watching Keith try to wash and live in two sets of clothes was painful, so now he had three sets, plus underwear and socks of his own. He had a whole damn drawer in the spare bedroom, the Hunter basically moved in

“Fuck off!”

So much for his calming breath.

Heading into the kitchen, Keith had coffee made for the both of them. Yeah, Lance would have preferred tea but Keith seemed adamant on conquering the coffee machine

“Who was the call from?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t check it”

Lance raised an eyebrow

“I thought that was your thing, snooping on people’s calls?”

“Very funny old man. You look worse than you did yesterday”

“Isn’t that good for you?”

“No. I can’t learn anything if you’re half dead”

“If only I’d known that all along. I would have been off the hook long ago”

“Ha ha fucking ha”

“Shut up drink and your coffee”

Snatching his phone up, Lance’s chest went tight, his stomach dropped and his knees nearly went with it

“What’s wrong?”

Opening the message recorded, Lance held it to his ear as his hands shook

“Hi, Lance, it’s Sally here. Your grandmother’s taken a bit of a fall. She was awake when we found her, but we’ve transferred her to Platt General hospital. I’m sorry to drop this on you. If you want to give them a call, they might have more information for you...”

Lance’s phone slipped from his hand, Keith catching it before he could break another one

“Lance?”

“I’ve got to go”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t concern you... fuck...”

He was getting teary. His Mami wasn’t as strong as she’d once been

“Hey...”

Brushing Keith off, Lance started scrambling to get ready, his head already dreaming up worst case scenarios. Had his Mami fallen or had it been something more? Had something happened? Was she not telling him something?

Racing out the front door, he made straight for his car. The key didn’t seem to want to go into the ignition, Lance screaming at it in frustration

“Move over, I’ll drive”

Lance nearly told Keith to fuck himself. He didn’t know why he’d followed him out. Sliding across the bench seat, Keith climbed into the drivers seat

“What’s happened?”

“It’s... I need to get to Platt general”

“You’ll have to give me directions. What’s going on? Who’s in hospital?”

“My Mami...”

Whatever smart reply Keith had for that died on the man’s tongue. Giving a nod, Keith got the key into the ignition, the old bronco starting with a rumble.

The drive to Platt was horrible. It passed in a blur as Lance prayed to whoever was out there that it wouldn’t be something major. Barking directions at Keith, Keith copped all his bad mood and worry, the hunter barely parked before Lance was rushing to get out the car. He hadn’t even bothered to clip in his damn seatbelt for the drive

“Lance, take a breath”

“Fuck you”

“Your teeth are fucking showing”

Oh... he was making a vampire face... fuck... he felt like he was about to throw up across his feet. He needed to see his Mami, and Keith’s presence was the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself. The hunter deserved a break

“Do you know what ward she’s on?”

“No. They didn’t say...”

“Okay, we’ll find out together”

Lance should have known Keith knew all about his family. Keeping his hand on Lance’s good arm, to keep him from running off, Keith talked to the woman at the front information desk, finding his Mami’s room with more patience than Lance had. He’d been here before with his Mami, so he should have remembered the way up to the floor, Keith nearly getting them lost because Lance couldn’t stop the flood of tears rolling down his face over the fact his Mami wasn’t dead. Finding the right ward, the nurse at the desk looked up at them like she was perplexed by their presence, telling them that only family was allowed to see his Mami. With choked words Lance explained that he was her grandson and emergency contact, which was apparently Luis on the hospital side of things. It wasn’t supposed to be him. Lance lived the closest, and he was the one who always made time for his Mami. When the woman looked to Keith, Lance explained that he was Mami’s other grandson, Keith not at all comfortable with the sudden promotion to family. Signing in, the nurse led them to his Mami’s room. She’d fractured her hip in the fall, and done a bang up job on her face, Lance nearly face planting as his emotions grew further out of control.

Propped up on pillows, Lance let out a fresh sob at his Mami’s face. Keith telling the nurse he’d call if they needed anything. His Mami looked so frail, far too frail, her complexion washed out, but when she saw him, she was raising her arms towards him

“Oh, Mijo...”

Walking over to his Mami, Lance wrapped his arms around her the best he could

“I’m okay. It’s just the silly head of mine. I got a little muffled”

“I was so scared”

“I know, you’ve always had a sweet heart. But you know it takes more than a fall to stop me”

Lance snorted a laugh, well aware he was snotting on his Mami’s shoulder

“I was still scared. Sally called to let me know”

“She’s got a big mouth, that one. They say I’m off to surgery soon, time for the good drugs”

“Mami!”

His mother chuckled, her strength wasn’t what it was, so Lance reluctantly drew out of her embrace to sit beside her

“Now, enough of that face. It’s a fractured hip, I’ve still got plenty of life in this old bird”

“You’re not old”

“Says you”

“Touché... fuck... I felt like...”

He felt as scared as when his Papi passed

“You didn’t lose me just yet. My face is sorer than the leg. I’m a tough old duck”

“That doesn’t make me feel better”

“That’s because you worry too much. Now, who is your handsome friend here?”

Right. Fuck... He didn’t know if his teeth were still showing... but this was his Mami and he’d never been that great at keeping secrets from her

“This is Keith... he knows...”

“Nice to meet you “Keith He Knows”... I’m hoping you did the driving and not Lance”

“Uh, yes, Ma’am”

His Mami laughed, her slight wince in the corner of her eyes didn’t go unnoticed by Lance. She had to be in a lot of pain, despite what she was saying and how she was acting

“Gracious. Where did he find you. Miriam is fine, dear. Now, I know my son is a worrywart, so could be a dear and find him a cup of tea for his nerves?”

“I think I can...”

“Thank you. It’s nice to see Lance is making friends. He’s so insistent that he’s fine alone. I hope you’re a good friend to him”

Keith took the the opening to flee, Lance didn’t blame him. They weren’t friends... he didn’t know what they were

“Mijo, I’m okay. Where did you meet Keith “who knows”?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does when my baby boy is making friends... or is there something you’re not telling you Mami”

Lance groaned

“You sound like Pidge”

“Ah, she’s a smart girl. Sooo... you and Keith?”

“Aren’t like that... He’s a human for one thing”

“And?”

“And a single drop of my blood could change all that, plus, I’m pretty sure he actually hates me”

“Ooooh, my little Mijo is growing up!”

His Mami must have been high

“Mami, he’s a hunter”

“I can see how that could make things difficult... Is he here to kill you?”

How could his Mami sound so blasé about his death?

“He wanted to. But things happened. Now he’s annoying houseguest”

“I hope you’ve been treating him right”

“Mami!”

“Good chinaware and fresh sheets...”

Lance groaned

“Mami, it’s not like that. How can you be so calm?”

“Because I can tell he’s not going to kill you”

“How?”

“Just call it a Mami feeling”

“I think Mami’s feeling high”

“A bit. A bit annoyed this happened before bingo. That Andy Jefferies always wins the good stuff. His walker might have to go for a walk”

“Mami!”

“I’m just saying... oh, never mind. Luis should be here soon”

Fucking Luis...

“Don’t make a face like that, Mijo. He is your brother”

“I know and someone changed me from their emergency contact here”

“Well Luis and Lisa are thinking of making the move here...”

“I’m already here”

“I know you are, dear. But you can’t chase after your Mami forever”

“I’m pretty sure I can. I mean, vampire and that”

Lance injected scoff into his tone. He didn’t want to seem as jealous as he was. He’d always thought he’d had a special bond with his Mami, and the rest of his family all had families of their own... except for Rachel. She’d had a troubled life, thanks to him

“You know what I mean”

“I do, but you don’t get to think that you’re rid of me anytime soon”

“I wouldn’t dream of such freedom”

His Mami was viscous

“Now, give me hug. This old body doesn’t always like cooperating”

#once bitten twice stupid #17prt1

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neverheardnothing · 4 years ago

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rewatching joe iconis and family lincoln center performance at 4 am instead of packing or sleeping just to feel something and i have so FEW and so MANY thoughts and yall are gonna hear em all. no i will not put this under a cut. im going to be an absolute bastard about this.

i love the story joe tells about why he's singing mitb as the first song so much. like. the spite of it all. the defiance of it all. the pride of it all. the dig it or fuck off and disappear of it all. the joe iconis of it all.

“i know exactly the song im going to sing as my first song at the american songbook series.” i love that he highlights the fact that this is the american songbook series.

then immediately jumping right into broadway here i come with molly hager, the other song he is most known for!!!

every time i think about this performance i think about how this was the first (?) time this song was performed by them since the closing of bmc.

and then lance rubin comes up to sing try again. which is the only time that i know of that anyone but joe has sung this song.

i remember a remark made during watching it live that having someone else sing the song made it seem so clearly more about joe and his career. but also having lance sing it immediately makes me think of bbh closing early which yeah is part of joe’s career but also lance’s.

and also the line “if you’re an actor and another actor gets the part you auditioned for” reminds me of how lance found the auditioning process of acting and the whole [not acting part] of an acting career to be terrible which is why he quit to then become an author and the juxtaposition of him singing try again is Something. but also he DID try again he is just applying his efforts to a different creative field and it’s working out great for him. good for lance rubin.

lol i haven’t even talked about the actual performance aspect of this song anyways it’s very different from the two versions ive seen of joe doing it. he plays it a lot more comical. i love it.

sidenote not specific about this performance, but i love love LOVE the line and the music at “use the stairs, walk to the street. see the people, feel the heat, and apply yourself again.”

and also the line “when they cast you out to sea, there’s a lifeboat manned by me called try and try again” will never not make me think of bsol/last on land and bonus lance was also in that show! it just keeps circling around.

everything about these past 3 songs performed at this venue in this set list order in this moment at joe’s career is honestly so wonderful. like you had a songs about an anxiety attack, a suicide/loss of self in success, and repeated failures before this song all sung by individuals. two of these songs were written at points where joe felt frustrated/sad with his career. one written in the aftermath of specific frustration about the first closing of be more chill. one an actual song from bmc. like what a SETLIST for your first three songs! fucking michael in the bathroom, broadway here i come, and try again. truly something.

THE WHISKEY SONG!! i love hearing joe sing so much. while i think we can all agree he’s not the most skilled singer there’s something special about hearing a composer perform their own work. he adds like 3 levels of charm to make up for lack of singing skills lol. just a very charismatic guy.

lance rubin back on tamborine for the next bit of the song and he’s like laughing through it. not completely sure what he’s laughing about honestly but this Is a comedic song (after 3 real downers of songs) and also joe was playing it up.

jared weiss down on the floor with his guitar playing along. that’s its own bullet point.

audience cheering as more family members start coming on stage! i love that the band is getting cheers. love that!!!

the camera isn’t on him but from the audio, nick blaemire is presumably running around giving high fives to people in the audience.

i can’t exactly tell with the camera angle and the lighting but i think that more family members get up from different seats in the audience or at least enter in the back and walk through the audience to get to the stage during this instrumental break. reminds me of how joe loves theater that physically touches you. giving you high fives in this case.

love liz lark brown. she plays it pretty like. frenetic and frazzled. love it.

amara, badia, danielle, will, and nick are just chillin sitting on the steps of the stage. 100% contributes to the vibe of this song. top fuckin notch.

SOMEONE screams AH during the drunk part of the song and i cannot figure out who but it gives me so much life.

jared pulling lance down to the floor with him.

jason going “man.... this place is a dump” like i LOVE the irreverence.

everyone actually getting back up and also converging On the stage during the (kind of) acapella break.

and now your whole gang is up on the stage at the fancy ass appel room singing your what sounds like a mostly upbeat fun song but is actually about self medication with alcohol and it’s a fucking jam. i love the 3 solo songs and then bringing in everyone for a big group number.

sidenote not about this specific performance: the lyrics “i’ll pour some more and then—AND THEN?—i’ll pass out and then—AND THEN!” the and thens were not on the things to ruin album and i wonder why not ALL the time. was it just deemed extraneous? or was this an innovation after the album was recorded?

i love that you can see the band singing along.

yesterdays / i can’t relate. i love this song i fucking love it. i love the synthy keyboard that was an active choice made. which means that joe is not the one accompanying jared in this song.

jared: i hate today. joe: *snorts in the background*

“i like music you can hold” -> old records black suits, susannah’s obsession with music which was of course in vinyl format back then

will once said hearing lgw was very exciting because he’s first and foremost a fan of joe’s so he was hearing a new joe song for the first time and the world got just a bit larger and i think about that quote a lot in relation to this song because i was like Oh i Get What He Means now because this is the first new joe song i heard since like getting into his work and i felt that world getting a bit bigger.

jared’s monotone chorus on top of the girls underneath is so good. it’s so fucking good i cannot.

liz lark brown velociraptor fuckin classic. specifically in this performance the weird ass electric guitar noise at “there’s a dinosaur” is SO good. i love it.

i know people say Trans Vibes from next song (jeff) but this song also gives me trans vibes. i think joe inadvertently writes stuff trans people relate to because of his propensity to write for People Who Are Different.

people cheering as will takes off his jacket hell yeah.

i am way more used to the jeremy morse version of this song and really consider it more his so it’s so fun to hear will sing it.

i love the canon of the “oh”s so much.

after will sings “i go to the window looking out and what do i see? myself just staring back at me.” and someone in the audience AUDIBLY goes “oh.” like what a MOMENT. way more subtle than when someone screamed “WHAT” at the “naked korean girl” reveal during the pipe night performance but on the same tier of Great Audience Reactions.

smooth fuckin gliss bro i love it. arms out by side. i love it.

Classic Jason Sweettooth Williams Singing Helen. but this time they added like some REAL like. oh god i have no idea how to describe it. electric crunchy electric guitar noises. and it’s so good.

i havent mentioned this yet but in the background of every song people who are not in it or are backup vocals are just sitting and jamming along and it’s so nice because me fuckin too.

honest to god just have to give a timestamp for this but bullet point for whatever the fuck eric is doing in the background here.

will and katrina circling each other singing directly into each other’s faces. so good.

the Unexpected dynamic change and following crescendo i am Living.

katrina rose dideriksen riffing up top. yes. YES.

joe starting to play helen sharp and then forgetting part of his introduction to the song is so good.

the inevitable laughter at any performance of this song at “it is not lost on me you’re all here at my show”

i know nothing about the movie death becomes her so i honestly always just think about joe when this song gets performed. also thinking about how in the youtube premiere of this song, joe was talking about how lauren was shouting out the names of all the musical theater composers joe is jealous of.

right place/wrong time. i read a bsol review a while ago about how katrina rose dideriksen was underutilized and gotta say i Agree holy Shit let her sing More.

i also remember how joe once said this song felt the most personal to him and that he cried when writing it

police siren piano.

the first time in this entire song they sing in sync is at the line “i wonder if his/her life is just like mine” and i just start screaming.

when eric and katrina turn to each other for the first time and start singing At each other!!!!!!!!!!!

honey! thinking about jen ash tep talking about how Each performance of this song gets Wilder and Wilder.

love it when nick just gets off the stage and starts singing to people in the audience. apparently one of the people was will’s mom lol.

ACAPELLA BREAK!!!!!! joe just fully gets up from piano and starts WILDLY clapping along!!!!

woman of a certain age! i remember when the live show happened the album had not come out yet and then when the yt premiere of it happened it Had been out for a week or so.

piano note elevator bell

the electric guitar is doing some fucking weird ass things in this song and i am living so fucking much for it.

the riffs badia does are so fucking incredible i immediately paused this video to go and watch her sing big fat ruby again just because i wanted more badia content.

the story behind old flame is so good and joe waiting until the last fuckin moment to give her the song is so fuckin funny.

i love love love these types of joe songs that are like 7 minute long story epics like right place/wrong time and the actress and ammonia and old flame.

“the best way to get past the past is to shoot it in the head” and then the audience cheers and i fucking love it. my commentary is getting shorter. it’s 6 am and i’m tired can you tell. i also just had a lot of thoughts about this early on and less thoughts about later on.

revolution song. the deep ass fucking electric bass is So good i Will go apeshit. like honestly that might be my favorite smaller detail of this song. like i imagine if i were in the room it might be loud and deep enough that i could feel it In my chest. like you can Feel the revolution coming.

i love the faster tempo revolution song has in the cabaret version.

i also love the cabaret specific lines of “evolution in the institution”

joey is a punk rocker was honestly not ever on the list of songs i thought would get performed here but im so glad that they did. like the obvious choice would have been veins for annie golden but they went this route. obsessed with this choice. obsessed with the fact that amphibian replaced this song as the act 2 opener. obsessed that annie is the one singing this.

i am never not screaming about wave and yall know this. just throwback to me losing it in the tags in a reblog of picture of the wave passage going on about how it really does mirror joe’s career and bmc specifically. and again this song being performed for the first (?) time since bmc closed makes the “so today on a hill in las vegas” and onward part SO fucking sad i literally just started crying. the entire song being in past tense up until that part. i will just go die now.

will in the yt premiere talking about texting the line “our energy would simply prevail” in the leadup to bmc coming back.

find the bastard. for some reason when this happened live i thought it was gonna be outlaw that was performed.

i swear to god it is literally physically impossible for me not to AT LEAST mouth along to “what’s your name, what’s your name” during this song

NAMES ARE FOR ACCOUNTANTS.

MY NAME IS AWFUL LONG AS IT’S THE LYRICS OF THIS SONG.

the goodbye song. it’s never not sad. i love love love that this song is the final song every concert. i also love the recent lore of finding out that penny dreadfuls was the encore song at concerts before they became too long and it had to get cut.

finally gonna mention the background car lights. what a beautiful backdrop.

also since im always on my wrol bullshit i love how fucking clearly you can hear him at the end

accelerando accelerando accelerando. insert [joe iconis peaked when he wrote the accelerando in the goodbye song post of mine].

katrina singing an octave up is always SO fucking impressive i am so impressed by her voice she is so fucking good i love her so much

the bows are so fucking sweet i love them.

goodnight it’s 7 am.

#teresa talks #also as my life gets Increasingly busier i decide to come back #social media truly a cesspit i can never escape #many no thots head empty full yes no <3 #im very tired #iaf #joe iconis

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motherfucker-unlimited · 4 years ago

Note

foe the video game thing, ebf5? you use its limit breaks in some of your posts so im curious about what you think of it

Great game, gameplay wise I'd say it's one of the best jrpgs out there. My only 2 gripes are that the humor has barely progressed since the newgrounds age, and being a soft reboot meant that they had to condense all of Lance's character development from the last 3 installments in one game which works iffy since the dude literally starts as a nazi. They could've just retconned him to be a generic military dude like he was in 4

But holy shit I love the soundtrack

youtube

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onisiondrama · 5 years ago

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PART 14 - videos #26 & 27

(Click here for video mirrors) - These are not my words or thoughts, I’m just summarizing what Greg / James is saying in his videos. Apologies for any offensive language or comments that may appear. - I am not repeating stories anymore and will replace these stories with brackets describing what he’s talking about. If you don’t know these stories you’re going to have to go back and read previous parts or watch his previous videos.

the known

- He was just read some texts from Sarah. In them, Sarah said she would know if she was groomed because she was groomed when she was 11 and put that person in prison. He says she also said in texts that Ayalla tried to sleep with her when she was 16 and Ayalla encouraged her to starve herself. He says it’s interesting Ayalla would attempt to take the moral high ground when she tried to sleep with Sarah when Sarah was 16. He would love to show you the texts, but last time he showed texts you guys got his Patreon deleted. He learned his lesson and if it goes to court he’ll have to drop that text bomb. - [He gets a phone call. It cuts to after the call and he says he can get a free beyond burger at Carl’s Jr.] - He says Sarah had a piece of paper that said they had the ability to take her to the hospital or to make life changing decisions for her if they needed. This was because she was going to live with them, but it didn’t work out. Kai remembers Sarah lived around them when she was 16. Nothing happened between them. Billie knew how much Greg hated Sarah at the time. - The texts Sarah sent them are now concrete because they uploaded them to the iCloud. - He says he doesn’t remember Sarah coming and going very well because he didn’t care. He didn’t let himself care about her and he wasn’t interested in her life. She was there to be Kai’s friend. He didn’t show any interest in Sarah besides when they played the game Deadliest Warriors where he would crap talk her when he slashed her up in the game. - Sarah was there 5 months, then three. She went home again after she confessed she loved Greg to another person. That caught him off guard and he didn’t want to deal with it. She got creepy, weird, and crazy in response to his “dat booty doe” joke. Nobody says that, it’s not a real thing unless you’re R&B or Hip Hop, which he’s not. He’s a comedian. - The texts they have go back to 2014. He doesn’t know if Kai was talking to Sarah in 2014. Greg didn’t meet her until 2016 when she was 16. It’s hard to say someone has a parental role when the person isn’t living with you. She was there 5 months, then three, then she came back to visit for an Easter egg hunting party or a Christmas party. He guesses no one wanted to hang out with her for the holidays back home or she wasn’t interested in hanging out back home. He didn’t give a shit about Sarah and she was only around maybe 9 months total. She didn’t visit before she turned 18, especially since they moved into this house and it’s too small to fit another person. People think she lived with them from 16 to forever and he agrees that would be weird. He speculates since Sarah left, the medical piece of paper they signed would no longer be relevant. There was no consistency or parental behavior. The most parental thing he did was drop her off at Target because she worked there. She was home schooled so he didn’t drive her to school. - Says there’s text after text of Sarah telling Kai she knew he wasn’t interested in her and she knows Greg isn’t grooming her. He treated her as shitty as he humanly possibly could. He compares her to the person in a friend group you don’t like. She was a dumb teenager and socially weird. She was always glaring at Billie. She wanted to be Billie and dyed her hair blue to be like Billie. She tried to be cutesy when she was 17, but they wouldn’t bite. It wasn’t interesting and he wasn’t attracted. He’s an asshole and mean. He called her Meg Griffin to her face and laughed. - You guys only believe him when he says something you want to hear. That’s how you know you’re not honest. Reality is harsh truth. - What happened to Kai was a crime. If he decided to press charges Greg would stand by him. but he doesn’t think Kai wants to. Kai doesn’t want to talk about it, like a real victim would do because it’s humiliating. - Sarah was with Kai two times and Kai just layed there. Sarah put her mouth on him. Kai was not comfortable. [Greg only pushed the relationship to help Sarah.] - Sarah later said she was only joking about blackmailing them. He says it’s hard to tell when someone tells a joke in a non-joking context. [NDA/blackmail story] - He recently learned Sarah kept a little book about them the whole time, like she was plotting. She admitted nothing happened until she was 18 so that blows her whole story up. You shouldn’t trust people that change their stories. Only in some instances, like when you realize someone isn’t who you thought they were. - Greg says after he broke up with Shiloh for cheating, she would say she always loved him, she treasured the moments they had together, and one day they’ll meet up again. She was talking about how great he was on her public blog, which you can still access, Draculoh. After she realized she’s not going to get him back she said he was actually terrible. Typical psychotic ex bullshit. - [Sarah kissed Kai and scared Kai story.] Says he told Sarah if she really liked Kai to just kiss him. He was the one that gave her the right to do it. He and Sarah pressured Kai and made him uncomfortable. You can’t call Greg a rapist because Kai wanted to be with him. Out of everything that’s happened, that was the closest thing he did to a crime. If Kai wanted to press charges against Greg for aiding Sarah in what she did to Kai, Greg wold probably be compliant because he was there and it didn’t feel good. The first time it seems ok, the second time seemed a little weird, the third time seemed straight up not good. Seemed like they were trying to trick Kai into sleeping with them. They put Kai through hell. He and Sarah are probably terrible people. If you want to be mad at him, be mad at him for what he and Sarah did to Kai. He only did it because he has a hero complex and wanted to help Sarah. He wasn’t thinking about Kai. That’s why Kai is still silent. You guys still put him through the ringer. If a victim was sobbing hysterically and suffering right in front of you, you wouldn’t see it. All you guys only see people who viciously go after other people and you want to joining the outrage culture bandwagon. The real bad guys are Sarah and possibly himself.

quite a bit

- Someone who actually listened to Greg wrote him. They say Anonymous Gene DM’d them on twitter. Gene thought they were a sock puppet account because they were defending Greg. This person got 9 out of 10 of Gene’s accounts suspended for spamming, harassment, and doxing. Gene claimed to be working with Chris Hansen and Hansen follows his account. Greg says he’s seen no proof of this, he’s only been told. He’s seen screen shots of Gene’s alleged IP address and they connected him to Vince, then it wasn’t Vince. People keep saying Hasen is paying Gene to dox Greg and his family members. His family members have nothing to do with this, he barely talks to any of them. - Person says Gene posted on reddit, he was the first person to leak photos and videos of Hansen knocking on Greg’s door. Greg asks how this person would have access to that before anyone unless they were working with Hansen. - Person says they found out Gene’s real name. They googled it and saw he was arrested and went to court. Greg says Hansen works with a lot of people who have been to court and Hansen was also arrested. A lot of corruption. - Person said if you google “Lance and Chris Hansen” a page came up saying Chris is working with criminals. Greg says criminals stick together. You can look up Chris Hansen’s mugshot. - He searches for texts from a girl who tells him everything people are saying about them. [He scrolls through the texts.] He says people knew not cropping the top of the Billie text was an accident, but people got him suspended anyway. That’s integrity for you. - [He reads a quote from December that said there’s officially an FBI investigation looking into him.] [Laptop story, chain of ownership.] He says it was an old shitty laptop Sarah bought for $200. - [He responds to quotes from the texts.] Says he hasn’t broken rules. [Lists and responds to Chris Hansen’s financial issues.] - Greg says someone took a picture of him holding a toddler in Dairy Queen. Apparently he can’t go to Dairy Queen without people taking pictures of him and posting it to the web. Very irritating, especially when you take picture of kids. - Reads someone wanted to put wanted posters with his and Kai’s face around where they live. He says that’s slander and posing as law enforcement, a crime. People commit crimes because they think they’re a hero. That’s because they don’t die a hero. They live long enough to become the villain. - He says Real Stream News is upset at Vince. - He says there’s Regina going on twitter rants about seeking plastic surgery. - [He called the cops on Chris Hansen, Hansen released the 9-1-1 call.] That’s not what an innocent person does, that’s what a criminal does. It’s creepy. - He reads officials can’t release recordings without a court order. He says maybe that’s true. - He reads Shiloh got her tattoo covered up and gave the rest of the money to the other victims. Greg says he doubts that. He says covering up a tattoo is $50 and he was told she already had it covered up before the gofundme. He asks where the money went. He says people should step up and publicly admit if they got money from Shiloh. That would prove she did was she said she did, but he has a theory that she did what she did to him. Take the money and run.[Shiloh took his money while she was in Canada story.] She later apologized and said she would pay him back. He wanted the $3,000 or $4,000 back. She gave him a confirmation code. He went to the Fred Meyer in Tacoma to the money tree and they said it wasn’t a real number. He thinks that’s fraud. He tells Shiloh if she still wants to give back the money she promised him, that would be great. [Shiloh took his money story again.] She told lies to get money from him. That’s fraud. - He reads an angry tweet from someone asking Shiloh for receipts. He says “yikes.” - [Lists things Gene doxed.] Greg says if Hansen is funding that, it could be a real legal problem. Hansen is already in legal trouble with trespassing past Greg’s signs. - Says the next part is people being hateful about toddlers in videos. It’s crazy anyone can see tragedy, something horrible that happened to a child and think money. That’s what a lot of Youtubers think. If you want to look like the good guy, you should donate all the money you made off those videos about a toddler getting hurt to a good cause. Profiting off of that is horribly evil. Hansen should donate month off of interviewing “victims” [hand quotes] to a charity or a good cause instead of paying off his debts. If he cared about these people that’s what he would do. - [He reads the leaked texts from Gene of Vince calling Wes the N-word.] He says he can’t show these or he’ll get in trouble. - [Greg reads about the person who tried to get him SWATted, but the 9-1-1 operator knew it was fake because it happens so much they have Greg’s info.] Greg says this is the 19 cases people say there are. There are actually 19 calls. A long time ago someone said Sarah was murdered. When the cops came, Sarah answered the door. Says most of the times the cops don’t show up because it’s so ridiculous. The cops are probably sick of you guys and your false things. - He says when someone sent him powder in an envelope, it didn’t even make it to him. The post office almost shut down. They tested it and it turned out to be food product. They tried to make it appear like they mailed something that would end his life or the life of his family. Everybody thinks they’re a good guy if they do evil things to people they think are bad. Heroes confirm someone is guilty before they hurt them. The people that do these things are the real criminals. If someone gets shot when you get them SWATted, that’s on you. People are doing horrible things and there’s no accountability. The post office told him they were looking into the person that sent the powder because it may have been a federal crime. They told him because it wasn’t a distinguished threat, they are not sure if they are going to pursue it.

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hsblitzed · 4 years ago

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shhhhhhhhhit it is day 34!!! i am starting this at 11:53pm and that counts okay!!!!!

@_@

still one of the most badass pre-godtier outfits

oh yeah no duh, of course when you say you’re on breeding duty, the obvious first thing that comes to mind is frogs. yeah totally kanaya, just common sense

i dont know much about tadpoles but i’m pretty sure that’s one shitty place for one to grow up

BABY KANAYA BABY KANAYA BABY KANAYA

first time i read this i thought it was part of terezi’s whole password thingy, i tried every version of “croak” i could. little did i know that’d come into play WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY later down the line

Oh No indeed

oh shit GAME TIME AGAIN, there’s so many of these

sollux and feferi... 🥺

oh shit, battle between hope vs doom. who will win???

...ah. fuck

stop HURTING my BOY

bitch better fucking run

stop looking COOL when you’re KILLING PEOPLE

that’s fuckin it i’ll kill you myself

OH NO DONT YOU EVEN FUCKING THINK ABOUT IT

B I T C H

welp. have fun dying

S T O P T H A T

STOP FUCKING KILLING ALL THE GOOD CHARACTERS YOU DOUCHE

totally forgot he was in the room. have fun living with that memory karkat!!!

he’s just having a truly terrible day, huh?

so what, everyone decided right now, right this moment, to become psycho murder serial killers? did i miss a memo or something?

“oh there might still be a chance to save him! gotta make sure he’s alright!!” *removes giant fucking lance from his chest*

alas, there is no saving those double-dead.

fucking love the video linked here

;-;

#homestuck #hs reread 2020 #day 34 #holy fucking shit its murder town in here #lets see uhh of the original 12 trolls #ther areeeeeeeeee #3 dead rn. or 4 if you count sollux's half-death thingy #oh right i kinda forgot about that. is that still dream-self sollux as regular sollux now???#this is. confusing me #but man holy SHIT the art this section popped OFF #i have a folder on my computer where i save panels i like #i saved 17 from this part alone #this is what i LIKE to SEE #(well. minus the. yknow. mass death.)#next time: 3401-3500

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sidespromptblog · 6 years ago

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Breakfast Tears

A gift for @sandy-sides

Summary: Virgil plays local matchmaker for two stupidly stubborn sides.

Out of everything that Virgil had seen in his entire existence, and out of everything that he could have possibly walked into upon getting up one Saturday morning. The sight of Logan bonelessly laying face first on the floor clad in his starry pajamas with his glasses discarded next to his messy head, was most certainly not one of them.

None of the others were even awake at this time, that much was pretty much evident by the absence of the wonderful smell of pancakes, as well as Roman’s obnoxiously cheery voice that would never fail to wake any of them up at the buttcrack of dawn. Nevertheless, Virgil cautiously inched his way forward as if Logan was a deadly snake laying in wait before his most opportune moment to strike and kill. His each and every step made the floorboards under him creak and groan like an old ghost, and even so, even with the noise that struck at his eardrums like a strike of lightning. Logan didn’t so much as move a muscle, even if his chest did faintly rise and fall under him.

He was alive at least, or...Virgil hoped that he was.

“L?” Virgil tentatively nudged his foot forward, poking the side of Logan’s shoulder. “You okay there buddy?” His voice was thick with concern as the logical side’s body limply moved with the touch of his foot, the worry that crashed over him like a tidal wave came all at once even if he didn’t exactly move just then. “Logan?” He whispered, as if speaking any louder would somehow break some unspoken law that was currently between them.

Just last night Logan had seemed fine, they’d finished up the video with Thomas and Logan had transformed back into his normal fleshy self. There should have been no cause for something like this to happen, and yet despite everything…It was most certainly happening.

A soft petulant groan came from Logan as it answered Virgil’s softly spoken words, and just like that, a sense of support and comfort rushed through the anxious side. He wasn’t dead in the very least, but he also still hadn’t moved from his motionless pile on the floor. Swallowing down the thick welling sensation of emotions in his throat, Virgil’s legs slid under him as he knelt beside the nerdy side waiting as the seconds turned to minutes although they dragged on with a torturous length. There was nothing that followed the groan, and as such Virgil was left there once again with a silent Logan. Who, acting just as a child would, seemed almost stubborn in how he was acting. Or at least that’s how Virgil would have taken it had he not known Logan how he did.

“You wanna talk about it?” He offered again, giving the logical side’s shoulder another firm poke as if that would rouse him from whatever was going on with him. “I’ll listen, dude, you aren’t normally like this.” Another poke. “So what gives?”

Logan’s body wiggled back and forth like a wiggling worm that was free from the soil, and for a solid minute, Virgil had to bite back the sharp laugh that would have tumbled past his lips at the sight as yet another groan left the mess of a logical side. Something which would have clearly offended Logan to no end to hear from him.

“Just leave me here to die.”

As far as first spoken words went, Virgil wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed or just concerned. So instead he merely settled for mild indifference as he nudged Logan’s shoulder yet again, in the vain hopes of getting him to move or even lift his head. He had no such luck, as Logan seemingly flipping Virgil off, lifted his head momentarily just to have it thud heavily against the carpeted floor. Again and again, his forehead made a dull thumping noise as Virgil began to chew on his bottom lip, his stellar indifference that he was attempting to preserve quickly shriveling up like a grape in the sun and transforming into concern once again.

“Lo-”

“I don’t deserve him, Virgil,” Logan’s voice cracked the moment that he opened his mouth, the truth rushing out in a waterfall of words that made even his eyes water up as he firmly kept his gaze fixed to the ground. “I am a terrible, disgusting, cold-hearted person and I don’t deserve him. He’s just....so much better than anything I could ever give him.” Speaking the truth had never hurt so much for him, even the act of once again thudding his forehead against the floor stung less than the truth against his empty bottomless pit of a heart.

I don’t have a heart. He sternly reminded himself, although the lancing pain in his chest said otherwise. If I had a heart then everything would be easier, this would all be easier. If I had a heart then..then…

Tears prickled the corner of Logan’s eyes and for one final time, his face rested against the floor, although it didn’t take too long before he turned so that his cheek was smooshed against the carpet directing his attention right over to Virgil.

The anxious side in question felt his chest constrict painfully at the sight of the warm tears that rushed down Logan’s face, and even more at how the logical side didn’t even try to stop them. “So I’ll make my statement once more Virgil…” Logan’s voice was soft, and it was clear that he was trying his most damn to not sound mean or cold when it came to the anxious side that sat there next to him. The side who’d listened to his pathetic ramblings for too long, and who’d soon enough want to get up and leave him out of the pure boredom of his prattling. “Please leave me here. There’s nothing to be done.”

Worry rippled through Virgil’s chest like the surface of a lake that had just had a giant rock thrown in the center of it. Glancing down at Logan, his teeth chewed on his bottom just to abruptly stop as soon as Logan moved to turn his head away once again and go back to his lifeless position.

“Who?” He suddenly asked, he’d be damned if he let the conversation end here, with the both of them feeling like shit for two entirely different reasons. “Who’s so great that you’re here right now, crying and not confessing?” He hadn’t meant for his voice to turn so judgmental all of a sudden, but something about the sight of Logan having no earthly idea on what to do when it came to someone he clearly cared about as well as the true and honest tears leaking down his cheeks. Just something about it made Virgil’s chest burn with a sensation he’d only ever experienced with Patton. “I know you Logan, more than you probably think that I do. When you want to say something and you want to be heard...you make yourself heard. So who is it?”

A long beat of silence stretched out between them, as Logan once again turned his head to face Virgil. A look of resignation had settled itself onto the logical side’s features, and never before had it looked so utterly wrong to Virgil.

However, all it took was one simply uttered word, a mere name in itself for Virgil’s heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, and to finally understand everything.

A sad smile stretched its way out onto Logan’s lips as he looked back at the anxious side, “Roman,” He finally whispered, the name falling from his lips like a prayer. Like it was the most glorious sounding word that he could make in this dour time of his life, and it really was if he was being entirely honest with himself. Even so, looking back at Virgil he nodded his head slowly as soon as the look of understanding and even more so, of sympathy dawned on the anxious side’s face. “You get it now don’t you?” He softly murmured, his tone taking on a much more gentle approach as his eyes misted over with tears. He didn’t cry though, there had already been enough of that for now.

Crying in the end, over something like this was useless for a heartless being such as himself.

Virgil could only nod as his lips parted in a look of pure surprise, out of everyone he had expected to find Logan pining over. He hadn’t expected...this of all things. For the longest time, he could only watch as Logan turned his body away from Virgil, obviously expecting to be left alone in the silence that he so desperately wanted. Just like that, just like that, he was already giving up. He wasn’t going to fuss, he wasn’t going to shout, and he wasn’t...going to fight to be heard by Roman. It honestly just stunned him for a moment, it shocked him to what lengths Logan was willing to go through when it came to something like this.

He was so sure, and he was so fucking stubborn.

Snapping his mouth shut with a sudden click, Virgil was already shaking his head as he started to tuck his hands under Logan’s body attempted to persistently to pull him up and out of his curled up position. “No, get up dude. I’m not gonna let you lay here and mope around. That’s not the Logan I know,” He grunted, his legs screaming under the logical side’s dead weight, “Up!” He snapped, and like an angel of weightlessness, a heavy sigh rattled through Logan’s lungs before he finally removed himself from Virgil’s arms standing up on his own two feet before blandly staring back at him.

Even so, Virgil wasn’t done there.

Seizing a hold of Logan’s wrist, he led Logan to the kitchen. The very place where he would have gone had he not nearly took a tumble over Logan’s body, with a single freezing stare he nudged Logan over to the counter before resting a heavy hand on his shoulder. Without so much as another word, he retreated to the cupboard, gathering two specific cups, before he began making Patton’s special patented hot chocolate. Coffee was usually their morning go-to, however, today was a little different. Today was special for multiple reasons, and once the warm chocolaty smell filled the kitchen Virgil’s work was very nearly done.

“Sit.” He merely commanded, shoving the warm cup into Logan’s hand. And with not a single word to follow, Virgil seized the familiar bright red and gold cup in his hands marching for the staircase and the hallway that led to each of there room.

More specifically, he was heading right to the princely side who sat pathetically on the carpet, his face hidden in his knees as his legs remained scrunched up to his chest. Occasionally a soft sniffle would leave Roman, as his fingers scrunched the material of his pajama pants. He didn’t even so much as stir when he heard Virgil’s thumping steps coming for him, “He...loves me, Virge.” Came Roman’s soft whisper, disbelief coloring his tone as he merely sat there with his back pressed to the wall. “He loves me and I’ve made him feel as if he wasn’t everything to me, he doesn’t know! How could he not know?!”

Lifting his face from his knees, Roman was almost immediately taken aback by the blunt expression on Virgil’s face. It took him a moment to even realize that the anxious side was even holding his cup, and that it was full of freshly made hot chocolate.

“Maybe because neither of you have told one another, maybe because the moment that Logan feels even close to realizing his feelings you’ve hurt him and he’s hurt you in multiple ways. Maybe because you two are massive stubborn jerks and you deserve each other.” For a solid minute, he was taken aback by Virgil’s blunt down to earth honesty as he sat there for a moment longer, or at least until the dark storm cloud of a side moved closer passing his cup to him. “Maybe Princey...just maybe…” Virgil’s words softened just a little bit as he jerked his head in the direction of the kitchen, “You should go and actually talk to him for once, instead of just hoping that arguing will solve all your issues. Talk and prove him wrong.”

Glancing down at the warm liquid in his cup, there was a long tense moment of silence before Roman’s gaze darted over to the stairs. Then grasping his cup that much tighter, he stiffly nodded before he wiped the tears from his face. Marching firmly to where his nerd laid in wait, he was going to prove Logan wrong. Dead wrong.

And if that worked out, then he was going to kiss the absolute shit out of his nerd.

#logan sanders #roman sanders #logic sanders #logince #romantic logince #virgil sanders #pining logince #plationic moxiety

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gdwessel · 5 years ago

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Fighting Spirit Unleashed 2019 Night 1 - 9/27/2019; Rush, Dragon Lee Fired By CMLL, How This May Affect NJPW; Where Are Kawato & Oka?; Tonight’s NJPW on AXS: Double Header

The three night East Coast tour Fighting Spirit Unleashed began last night. There was a title match on that show, and we begin to say goodbye to Tiger Hattori.

Fighting Spirit Unleashed 2019 - 9/27/2019, Lowell Memorial Auditorium, Lowell, MA

Karl Fredericks d. Alex Coughlin (Elevated Half-Crab, 8:47)

Lance Archer [SZKG] d. Ren Narita (EBD Claw, 7:23)

Juice Robinson & Mikey Nicholls [CHAOS] d. TJP [FREE] & Clark Connors (NIcholls > Connors, Mikeybomb, 8:04)

Chase Owens & Jado [Bullet Club] d. Ricky Morton & Robert Gibson [FREE] (Owens > Morton, Package Driver, 9:10)

Tomohiro Ishii [CHAOS] & Amazing Red [FREE] d. Shingo Takagi & BUSHI [Los Ingobernables] (Ishii > BUSHI, Vertical Drop Brainbuster, 8:48)

Hirooki Goto, YOSHI-HASHI & Rocky Romero [CHAOS] d. Jay White, KENTA & Gedo [Bullet Club] (YOSHI-HASHI > Gedo, Butterfly Lock, 12:28)

IWGP Heavyweight Tag Team Championship: Tama Tonga & Tanga Loa [Bullet Club] © d. SHO & YOH [CHAOS] (Tonga > YOH, Gunstun, 16:43) - GOD succeed their 7th defense

Kazuchika Okada [CHAOS], Kota Ibushi & Hiroshi Tanahashi d. SANADA, EVIL & Tetsuya Naito [Los Ingobernables] (Tanahashi > Naito, Ground Cobra Twist, 20:26)

Naito doing the job here seems a bit shit but Naito doesn’t have a title match to look like a contender for coming up either. Guerrillas of Destiny continue to hang on to the titles and let’s face it will do so until WK14 where they will be beaten by the eventual World Tag League winners. The tag division is trash and GOD are the face of it now. The match may end up on NJPWWorld on tape delay eventually. Chase Owens pins his trainer Ricky Morton, and the Rock’n’Roll Express lose their NJPW debut match. His partner in the match, Jado is 51 years old today.

In the wee hours of the night, something rather major happened behind the scenes in CMLL.

Firstly, Rush defeated Matt Taven at Ring of Honor’s Death Before Dishonor PPV to become the first-ever Mexican ROH World Champion, with his brother Dragon Lee and father La Bestia del Ring (and son, above) in attendance. Rumors had been flying for weeks about Dragon Lee’s status in home promotion CMLL, stemming from Dragon Lee disobeying a directive from CMLL to not work Pro Wrestling Guerrilla’s Battle of Los Angeles last weekend (Barbaro Cavernario was also booked for BOLA, but did withdraw his participation under that same directive; the reason given, is CMLL is once again considering both Pentagon Jr./Penta el 0M and Rey Fenix as AAA wrestlers once more so they are forbidding wrestlers from working with them). From this, Dragon Lee was pulled from CMLL’s 86th Aniversario, which also ran last night.

Within the hour of Rush winning the ROH title, Rush posted a video on his Twitter announcing both he and La Bestia del Ring were now independent wrestlers, and indeed both KAOZ Lucha and The Crash have announced Rush as working there soon as El Toro Blanco, as CMLL own the Rush trademark. Not long after THAT, CMLL tweeted out that they have fired both Rush and Dragon Lee. Dragon Lee posted on Facebook he was devastated by this, and indeed this really seems to be retaliatory. There are reports he may be working ROH’s TV taping tonight. Dragon Lee was also CMLL’s Welterweight champion at the time of his release.

I will stop right here and say that friend of the show/blog TheCubsFan posted a podcast with Rob Viper late last night summarizing this situation and you should listen to it; it’s only 40 minutes, but packed with information.

But it should go without saying that both Rush and Dragon Lee were pretty integrated in their way with New Japan as well. Dragon Lee especially has been pretty popular in NJPW, and of course his story is very well tied in to that of Hiromu Takahashi, and indeed Hiromu tweeted at Dragon Lee this morning. There are reports he was due to be in the upcoming Super Junior Tag League, presumably paired with another CMLL wrestler. but who knows if that can or will happen now. It’s become very murky politically. NJPW could outright sign Dragon Lee (or whatever he calls himself now -- there are reports of Toro Rojo being a possibility) if all parties agree, but he could also go to WWE, or somewhere else.

It all kinda depends on how strong the relationship between NJPW and CMLL is at this point and whether NJPW values CMLL or Dragon Lee more. There have been signs of strain between NJPW and its partners, ROH and CMLL; the ROH relationship has been the more obviously strained, especially since G1 Supercard at MSG, where ROH’s contributions were, frankly, absolute shite. However, other than Fantasticamania (which is usually a great payday for the visiting luchadors) and appearances in Best of the Super Juniors and Super J-Cup, there doesn’t seem to be much going on with the CMLL relationship right now. The last couple of excursions ended suddenly and without notice, as when Sho Tanaka & Yohei Komatsu were Raijin & Fujin and then... weren’t (Hirai Kawato, I discuss below). Shota Umino and Ren Narita both are on excursion now, but neither went to CMLL, where before it was assured at least one would. Jushin Thunder Liger appeared at Arena Mexico this summer for a retirement show, but Liger is able to make his own bookings without NJPW’s involvement (which is how Liger was able to wrestle Tyler Breeze at the 2015 NXT Takeover in Brooklyn). Consider that around this time last year, Kazuchika Okada, Tetsuya Naito, EVIL & BUSHI all made appearances in Arena Mexico. This year, there were no NJPW wrestlers at the CMLL Grand Prix, where usually there is at least one or two, even if it were the likes of Michael Elgin, Satoshi Kojima, or even David Finlay. As NJPW broaden their global profile on their own, there seems to be a gradual withdrawal from their partners. As I said, which do NJPW value more, a continued partnership with CMLL, or Dragon Lee on their roster?

Then there’s the other elephant in the room: the status of Los Ingobernables. Straight up, CMLL own the trademark, and always have. There’s a CMLL trademark on LIJ shirts. The unit started in CMLL, between Rush, La Sombra and La Mascara. La Sombra is now Andrade Cien Almas in WWE, and the other two have been fired for various reasons. Los Ingobernables as a functional thing in CMLL is now dead, unless they want to do the typical lucha promotion business where they just shellac other wrestlers onto a popular gimmick after the original wrestler(s) behind said gimmick leave - indeed, it’s how Rush & Dragon Lee’s brother became the second Mistico. (His status is unknown, assumed not leaving, but who knows. If he does, Caristico can reassume the Mistico identity, which would make the Arena Mexico crowd happy.) There is a possibility that CMLL could keep Los Ingobernables alive with Terrible and some others, but I can guess how well that’s going to go over.

Los Ingobernables de Japon has to end, at some point. It’s just inevitable. Rush is still in ROH until at least 2020, so there is a possibility that Naito and the boys will reunite with Rush (although the last few times Rush and LIJ members were on the same ROH cards, they deliberately kept them apart, even at meet & greets). If the NJPW and CMLL relationship is starting to disintegrate, a very large part of NJPW’s current identity, and merch money, will be going away soon. Rush being shown the door by itself doesn’t mean LIJ is over just yet. It is not the first time the NJPW branch of a famous stable outlasted its home company. But this could be the harbinger of that unit coming to an end, until LIJ goes into its TEAM2000 phase.

Long story short, shit is wild, and complicated, and political, and who knows what ripples this pebble in the river will produce.

Above, I mentioned Hirai Kawato and his excursion in CMLL as Kawato San. I’ve been teasing a piece for weeks, and, well, here it is.

Hirai Kawato has not worked a match since 7/28/2019, a Sunday night show at Arena Mexico, teaming with Dark Magic & Misterioso Jr. in a losing effort v. Rey Cometa, Flyer & Dulce Gardenia. Prior to that, on 6/30/2019, Kawato had bested Audaz to win the CMLL World Super Lightweight title vacated by (ironically) Dragon Lee. Since then... nothing.

Apparently, according to TheCubsFan (him again), Kawato got seriously ill and had to go back to Japan for recovery. There’s been no official word about his status at all, including whether or not he will return to Mexico. It’s a real shame, as his excursion looked to finally be working, evidenced by getting a title, and it looked like they might begin an actual program with Audaz, but such is not to be right now. I hope he is recovering OK, no matter what happens next for him, as it sounded serious enough for him to go home.

Tomoyuki Oka is another one who’s been MIA. Last seen in RevPro UK under the gimmick of Dominator Great O-Kharn, Oka has not wrestled a match since his appearance as the only Japanese talent at the ill-fated New Beginning USA shows, beating Harlem Bravado on 2/2/2019 in Nashville. There is even less info about his whereabouts - his last tweet was on 3/4/2019, advertising the NBUSA shows on NJPWWorld. (FWIW, Kawato’s last tweet was on 7/26, and last Instagram post was on 7/3.)

I wish I had more, but I simply don’t; I don’t have sources or anything like that. But it’s a little disconcerting when not one but two Young Lions have gone missing in action whilst away. Makes you wonder what the future holds for Shooter and Ren.

(Whilst we’re here - David Finlay is still recovering from injury and surgery. He is still pretty active on social media.)

Ideally I should’ve posted this earlier but there were no posts and we’re here now. After taking last week off, NJPW on AXS returns tonight with a double header of episodes, all taking place from various Destruction shows from a couple of weeks ago. Advertised matches are:

9pm EDT / 8pm CDT - RevPro Undisputed British Heavyweight Championship: Hiroshi Tanahashi (c) v. Zack Sabre Jr., Destruction in Beppu, Oita Beppu B-Con Plaza, 9/15/2019 10pm EDT / 9pm CDT - Tokyo Dome IWGP Heavyweight Challenge Rights: Kota Ibushi v. KENTA, Destruction in Kagoshima, Kagoshima Arena, 9/16/2019

There will be other matches as these alone are not enough to fill an hour of TV each. It’s also preceded by an all-new WOW Women of Wrestling. Incidentally, it looks like AXS’s new owners Anthem are moving their own wrestling company, Impact, to Tuesdays later this month, so there is some assurance of them not actively messing with NJPW, at least, not yet.

Of course, you are spoiled for choice of watching NJPW tonight, as tonight’s FIghting Spirit Unleashed show from the Hammerstein Ballroom in NYC is live on NJPWWorld. Show starts at 7pm EDT. Once again we have a title match tonight, too, although... let’s face it, we know who’s winning this.

- 9/28/2019, Hammerstein Ballroom, New York City, NY (NJPWWorld)

Ren Narita v. TJP [FREE]

Karl Fredericks v. Lance Archer [SZKG]

Juice Robinson & Mikey Nicholls [CHAOS] v. Clark Connors & Alex Coughlin

Rocky Romero, SHO & YOH [CHAOS] v. Tama Tonga, Tanga Loa & Jado [Bullet Club]

Hiroshi Tanahashi, Ricky Morton [FREE] & Robert Gibson [FREE] v. Tetsuya Naito, Shingo Takagi & BUSHI [Los Ingobernables]

Hirooki Goto [CHAOS], Tomohiro Ishii [CHAOS] & Amazing Red [FREE] v. Jay White, Chase Owens & Gedo [Bullet Club]

Kazuchika Okada [CHAOS] & Kota Ibushi v. SANADA & EVIL [Los Ingobernables]

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wroughtbetwixtfanfic · 5 years ago

Text

Stamped Into Memory, Ch 1.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: One night is all it takes to throw Campbell's carefully maintained control into chaos. Caught in a downward spiral and once again public enemy #1, he struggles to keep those around him safe-- from a killer on the loose, and from himself.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Slow Burn, Dubcon Kissing, Romantic Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, implied animal death, the dog lives, Antisocial Personality Disorder, ASPD, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 5436

Part Two, Ch 1 || Ch 2 || AO3

Disclaimer: This is part three of a series. Reading the first two parts is more-or-less essential.

This is a canon divergent storyline for Campbell, using (in my experience) a realistic take on conduct disorder and ASPD instead of Hollywood "psychopath" stereotypes. While people with conduct disorder can be violent and abusive, the diagnosis exists on a spectrum, and neither ASPD nor "psychopathy" should be diagnosed before the age of 18; this is one thing that rubbed me the wrong way on The Society. Campbell's power will be more in his ability to manipulate-- not "being crazy". Hopefully I can succeed in presenting a more understandable and less sensationalized vision of his behavior. Please note that while I present his relationships as unhealthy and his behavior as questionable, I don't intend to make him a violent abuser, to bring his character more in line with my experiences of how an emotionally neglected teen with moderately reduced empathy would behave, provided they were trying to be better (and seeking outside help).

AO3 updates will be on Sunday, unless otherwise noted! The entire part-- all five chapters--have already been posted to my Patreon. Thank you for reading, and leaving kudos/comments. They matter so much to me. <3

///

When a gun goes off, there are only two moments-- before, and after. Shootings were something Campbell, and others his age, had grown up with. It was an ever-present specter, where you held your breath every day you went to school and didn't let it out until you were home again. Slammed doors, dropped books, even the pop of a can of soda, caused people to flinch. But they all knew what a gunshot sounded like. They had seen the videos. They had been through the drills. They knew, if something like that ever happened in West Ham, nothing would be the same again. He knew, at 12:35, that something had changed. He knew that before he even turned the corner. Someone had a gun, and they had used it. The barking had stopped. The street was silent, empty, as Campbell turned the corner. Empty, except for Cassandra laying on the ground.

Campbell rushed over, kneeling beside her. Was she breathing? He couldn't tell, but there was blood pooling around her, and her eyes weren't opening. "Cassandra, come on," he pleaded, searching for her pulse. "Don't you fucking dare, Cassie, don't you dare." Nothing. She was dead. His throat squeezed shut. Campbell fumbled with his phone, but the blood on his hands made it impossible to grip properly. Gordie, or Allie. He had to call someone, anyone. But then he stopped, chaotic impulse shifting into cold logic. Campbell was the only one in town who had openly used a gun. His friendship with Cassandra was, aside from a few people, not widely known. Worse, Campbell had held Cassandra at gunpoint before. If anyone saw him there, he was fucked. He had to get the hell out of there before someone else came to investigate the noise. It felt wrong to walk away, but he forced his feet to keep going. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he did would bring her back. It was a finality, and she would be just as gone no matter what. Campbell wasn't sure how he got home. It was a blur, and for a moment he'd hoped it had all been some sort of weird hallucination, but then he got inside the house and turned on the lights. His hands were still covered in blood. He stared at the sticky, copper-scented mess. She was gone. Cassandra was really gone. "Campbell?" He looked up, staring at Elle as she came down the stairs in a bathrobe. She stopped halfway, her gaze locking onto his hands. Campbell tried to speak, but nothing came out. He couldn't move. He couldn't breath. All he could smell was blood, and see Cassandra's eyes staring lifelessly, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Oh, god, Cassandra. Witty, ruthless Cassandra, who had been at his side when no one else had been and had promised to always be there, and-- "She's dead," Campbell said. His voice was flat, distant, strange in his own ears. He waited for some sort of sorrow. Tears. Something. But there was nothing except the truth of it, clinical and straightforward. "The damn dog was out there barking and I went to look for them, and there was a gunshot and Cassandra's dead." Elle came down the stairs and moved towards him. "Dead? You're sure?" "I..." He gestured with his gory hands. "She didn't have a pulse." "Okay. Okay, breathe. Come on, come with me." He hadn't realized he'd been hyperventilating. Campbell forced himself to take a long, slow breath and follow Elle to the bathroom. She helped him out of his clothes, and got him into the shower. He scrubbed until his skin was red and raw; it still didn't feel like enough, but the blood was gone. When he got out, Elle was waiting with clean clothes. His phone and old clothes were gone. Campbell didn't ask questions, and got dressed. Elle was in the living room by the time he was finished, wrapping his clothes in plastic bags. "We can burn these later," she said quietly as he sat down on the sofa next to her. His phone was on the coffee table, completely wiped down. "In a few days, when it's less suspicious." "I didn't do it, Elle. You have to believe me." "I believe you, but we both know how it'll go if the rest of the town thinks you did it." Well, he could appreciate the matter-of-fact logic there. Campbell sat down and stared at his hands. He couldn't feel anything. It almost felt like his mind was racing, but not with thoughts or emotions. Just static. White noise. Like a broken down robot. Still, his heart was beating so fast, and Campbell felt like it was hard to swallow. He was shaking. It was summer, warm, but it felt like someone had drenched him in ice water. What was this? What was happening? It didn't make sense. None of it. How was this happening? How could Cassandra be dead? When she was done, Elle hid the clothes somewhere in the house, bringing a blanket back with her; they curled up on the sofa together, with Campbell tucked into Elle's lap. She stroked his hair until he fell asleep, the weird twisted and rushing feeling in his body guttering into a deep, terrible ache in his muscles. Rest was impossible. He kept startling awake, and even when he managed to drift off, his dreams were filled with Cassandra staring at him, soaked in blood and flipping a coin. The phone rang at 5am. Bean was on the other end, crying so hard Campbell could barely make out what she was saying. "Allie wants family to come to the hospital," she choked. "There's been an accident." It only took ten minutes to drive to the hospital. Campbell parked by the entrance, but when he went to get out, he just... couldn't. Elle sat in the passenger seat, silent. She didn't ask what was wrong. Thank fuck for that, because Campbell wouldn't have known what to tell her. He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to see their faces or deal with their crying. He didn't want to hear their questions. Was her body there? Would they make him see it? They would expect him to cry, too, but Campbell couldn't. He couldn't, and he didn't want to, because behind that padlocked door there was something dark and he didn't want to set it free. Not like this. Not yet. Not until they found Cassandra's killer. Elle's hand rested on his, and he realized he was breathing too fast again. Anxiety wouldn't help anyone. What would Cassandra do, in all this? She'd be strong, and try to help others. Campbell didn't give a shit about most of them, but he cared about Sam, and he knew Sam would be in there somewhere. He couldn't let Sam go through that alone. Maybe Campbell couldn't cry with them, but he could try to help them. The lobby of the hospital was eerily silent, save for the sound of people weeping. Allie was standing by the front desk and crying into Will's shoulder, while Kelly and Bean held each other. Sam was off to the side, his face in his hands. He bit back the bubble of loathing that rose in his chest when Kelly and Allie's eyes turned to glower at him. Campbell stood there for a moment, trying to decide which move to make first. He wanted to go to Sam, but if he breezed past Allie then she'd be even more of a problem than she was already. What did he really care about that, though? She should have fucking been there with Cassandra. She should have been there, but because she was a fucking whiny baby, Cassandra had died alone. Fuck her opinions. Campbell sat next to Sam, nudging Sam's shoulder with his own. "Hey," he signed when Sam looked up. "Is there anything I can do?" Sam searched Campbell's face. His eyes welled up, and at first he shook his head, but then he signed fast and messily, like he didn't want to say it at all. "I need you to be here. I need my brother." Something lanced through Campbell's stomach, fleeting but painful. This wasn't how they were supposed to fix things. This wasn't how they were supposed to come back together. Campbell put his arm around Sam's shoulders, and after a brief hesitation, Sam leaned against him; Campbell could be whatever Sam needed him to be, put on whatever mask Sam expected Campbell to wear, but Campbell wished he could cry with Sam. Show Sam that he felt it, too. That he understood. But the best he could do was hold Sam as he wept, rocking him until Sam was too exhausted to cry anymore. One by one, the people around them fell quiet, too. Now and then there'd be a sniffle, a raspy cough, or someone blowing their nose. Everyone looked listless. Worn. At some point, Becca arrived. She ground to a halt when she saw Campbell, and he noticed her expression turn icy. Whatever. Campbell didn't care. Whatever her problem with him was, it paled compared to what was happening. Luckily, Sam noticed her arrival, and pulled away to go to her; at least that would keep that conflict at bay, for now. "Does anyone need something to eat or drink?" Elle asked softly. A few people muttered an affirmative. "I don't think anyone checked the cafeteria here. There might be something." Bean dried her eyes and stood up. "That's a good idea. I'll come with you." Campbell stood and gave Elle a kiss on the cheek before she left. Bean glanced at him, but said nothing. Suspicion was already stirring, and why wouldn't it? Even knowing that, though, he wasn't quite ready for Allie's reaction once Elle was out of earshot. "You." Allie spat the word out like his mere presence was revolting. She grit her teeth, her voice accusing as her face contorted in rage. "Where were you last night? Where were you when Cassandra was killed?" Sam, who had been watching the exchange, stepped in between them ever so slightly. "Don't do this. He didn't kill Cassandra." "How do you know? Answer the fucking question, Campbell." Campbell blinked at Sam's reaction, but he shook his head. "It's fine, Sam. Look, Elle and I left prom a little early. I drove Dillon, Harry, and a couple other people home, and then we went home and stayed there all night." Allie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Anger gave way to loss as her lip quivered. "Do you know anyone who would have? Did... did anyone tell you anything? Maybe she told you about someone threatening her?" "No. I swear to you, Allie, I have no idea what did this. If I did, I'd have dragged them in here by their balls. I'm sorry." "Fine. Okay." Pressing a hand to her mouth, Allie took a step towards Campbell, but then backed away again and shook her head when her phone buzzed. "I gotta go. Gordie's doing the..." She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Allie turned and walked off, with Will following silently behind her. Fuck. Campbell kicked a chair and sent it skittering across the floor; everyone but Sam jumped. "What happened?" Campbell asked, raising his voice to address the entire room. "How long have you all been here?" At first, there was silence, but then Kelly spoke. "Gordie was waiting for her, but she never came home. He found her laying outside the inn a little before one." Becca went over and curled her arms around Kelly as she began to cry again. "Why was she alone? Gwen was supposed to be there. Gwen should have been there with her." So, Gwen had been AWOL at the time it happened. Campbell made a mental note. Gwen had always been a heinous twat to Cassandra, and she was friends with Lexie, who wasn't much better. Elle and Bean came back with little bags of chips and boxes of juice. Everyone took something, but no one actually ate. They all just sat and stood around like ill-tempered children on the worst camping trip of their lives. And wasn't that the truth? They were still so young. They should have been worrying about graduation and dating and jobs, not murder. Helena walked through the doors, her face perfectly neutral. "Grizz and a couple other guys are working on a grave. The rest of the guard are at the scene until Gordie gets done. They'll make sure no one tampers with it." Campbell growled. "Yeah, unless one of them did it." "Are you accusing one of them of murder?" Helena demanded, crossing her arms. "Keep in mind, my boyfriend is one of them, and I know him." "Oh, I'm sure you do." Sam knocked on a chair to get their attention. "Let's not argue right now. We don't know who did this. We won't know without evidence. But the guard doesn't seem like the type." "Yeah, you're right." Campbell fixed his gaze on Helena. "Grizz is too much of a kitten, and the rest of them can't tie their fucking shoes without a how-to video, so my mistake." Helena started towards him, but Bean grabbed her arm and whispered something to her. The edge of Helena's nose twitched up in a barely suppressed sneer. Helena started to say something, but Gordie, Allie, and Will came back just then and everyone else turned their attention to Gordie. He looked ill, clutching a folder tight in his hands. "I know you all want answers. But I... I think I should take some time to look for more evidence, and talk to Allie, before I share my findings. I think you all should go home. If you hear anything, please call me or Allie right away. The funeral will be around noon." Everyone filtered out of the hospital, some starting to cry again. Elle hadn't shed a single tear, though her face was solemn as they got back to the car. When they got in, she touched his knee, her eyebrows furrowed. "I know this is such a pointless question, but are you okay? I mean, how can anyone be, but..." "I don't know." He threw the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot, focusing on the road. "I mean, I'm not going to do anything to myself if that's what you mean, but I don't know. I have to just focus on one step at a time. I can't afford to lose it." "It's okay to lose it a little. Pretty sure you almost did on Helena." "She thinks Luke shits glitter. I just can't fucking stand that mentality. Just because you love someone doesn't mean they can't do fucked up things." "Tell me about it." "What do you mean?" Elle laughed, but it was devoid of humor. "You're not the only one with secrets, Campbell. Let's just say I know all too well that people can surprise you in the worst ways." But then they were home, and the conversation felt over. They stepped inside the home, and it just felt... different. Strange. So, this was the after in the before and after. Campbell looked at the pictures he'd left hanging on the walls. One was of him, Cassandra, Allie, and Sam when they were younger. Before. And now, now they were in the after, and he had to find some way to pretend like the word wasn't falling down around their heads. Like shit wasn't going to fall apart without her. "I need to go see Harry," Campbell said suddenly. "Now." Frowning, Elle sat down on a stool in the kitchen. "You haven't had breakfast. Why do you need to go see him?" "Because I'm ninety percent sure he knows who did it. Stay here." It was no secret that Harry disliked Cassandra. Hate was probably a strong word; they got along, sometimes, but their rivalry was the stuff of legends. Campbell knew that Harry would be the number one suspect. The fact was, though, that Harry didn't have the guts to do something like that. Harry had a big mouth and the usual rich boy complex, but he was also fragile. Not in the sense of his masculinity, but mentally. Emotionally. He was needy, hated to confront anything that was serious, and was a follower more than a leader. No. He didn't kill Cassandra, either. But he was friends with the guard, and was familiar with some other sniveling brats who had hated-- actually hated-- Cassandra. Clingy little cockroaches that hung around Harry for the drugs and booze, who thought Harry was something special and wanted to snap up little scraps of whatever shine he had left. Parasites. And because Harry craved attention, he let them hang on. One of them? One of them definitely did it. Campbell felt it in his gut. Harry's home looked like a garbage pit. Campbell walked right in, since apparently no one locked the door anymore, and stared at the sheer amount of crap laying around. Dirty dishes stacked up, clothes everywhere, clutter on every visible surface. The place smelled vaguely like garbage. No wonder Harry was freaking out. There was faint weeping coming from various corners of the house. News must have spread. Interesting, Campbell thought as he climbed the stairs, coming from people who had looked down on Cassandra and had made her a social pariah while she was alive. It would only be a matter of time before they started claiming that they had been her friends, or had admired her, or whatever drivel people said when someone they'd ignored for eighteen years suddenly died. Curled up in bed, Harry was wrapped in blankets like some sort of sentient burrito. There were a few other people there, whispering among themselves, but they scrambled out when Campbell walked in. Good. They didn't need an audience for this. "Hey. Rise and shine." Harry's voice was muffled. He didn't move. "Is it true?" "My sex tape is just a rumor. Oh, wait. Do you mean someone murdering Cassandra?" "Fuck you, Campbell." Peeling his blanket off, Harry sat up and burrowed his hand into his hands. "How the fuck can you joke at a time like this?" "Oh, Harry, it's cute that you think I'm being funny." "What--" But Harry didn't get a chance to finish whatever he was going to say. Campbell grabbed Harry by the shirt and hauled him out of bed, slamming him up against the support post in the middle of the room. Campbell pinned him, hard. "Who did it? Huh? Which one of your little groupies killed my cousin?" "I don't know! I don't know who did it, I swear!" "Bullshit, Harry! Use your goddamn brain. People don't just go shooting someone. Did anyone say something? Was someone pissed off at her?" Harry squirmed in his grip. "A lot of people were pissed off at her, Cam, including me. But no one said anything about..." Suddenly, Harry stopped struggling. His eyes widened as his body went slack. "Oh. Oh fuck." "What? What is it?" "I... Oh god, I didn't mean to." "Mean to what? Spit it the fuck out." "It was at the party I had before prom. We were all drunk already, and I just. I was mad, okay? I was mad and the guys were talking shit about Cassandra, and I just. I didn't mean it, but I said that if she were dead we'd have some peace and quiet." Fury moved through him faster than he could think, and oh he wanted to hurt Harry. His hands tightened on Harry's shoulders, and he felt that urge start to crest, but he could see the fear in Harry's eyes; it gave him just a split second of clarity. Campbell let go of Harry and turned his back to him, taking deep breaths. Back away, back away. Get out of the situation before that anger returned. "This conversation is over," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Get dressed. You're going to make a list of everyone who was there when you said that, and we're going to give that list to Gordie when we go to the funeral." Sinking onto his bed, Harry flinched as Campbell tossed him a pad of paper and a pen; he obeyed and began to scribble down names. In the meantime, Campbell began to clean up the garbage around Harry's bedroom. As pissed off as Campbell was, he knew Harry hadn't meant any harm to come to Cassandra, and Let's Clean Up Harry's Home! was a familiar way to blow off steam. If he crushed a few soda cans with his foot or threw the garbage into a bag a little harder than necessary when no one was looking, well, that was better than the alternative. He shouldn't have done what he did. Campbell knew that. Hurting Harry, scaring him, wouldn't solve anything. If something Harry said got Cassandra killed, it still hadn't been Harry's fault. Murder was a choice, just like shoving someone around was a choice. Fuck. He sighed as he took the trash outside, then came in and stood in the kitchen. His hand moved towards his phone on instinct; whenever he felt like this, like a tornado about to touch down, he would call Cassandra. For a tiny, tiny fraction of a second, he had forgotten. Cassandra had helped him learn to control his rage, and it usually worked, but now she was about to be put under a few feet of dirt. She'd never answer his calls again. Instead, he began washing the dishes. They needed to be scrubbed at that point, and it helped get rid of the remaining urge to break things. Soft footsteps came up behind him. Campbell could smell Harry's cologne, light and floral. Guilty, by Gucci. Fitting. He braced for some sort of fight, but Harry just rested his forehead against the back of Campbell's shoulder. Campbell sighed, but didn't shrug him off. What good would it do? Harry took a towel and began to dry the plates. They worked in silence, until Harry stared down at the towel in his hands and let out a heaving, rattling sigh. His eyes were red and puffy; maybe he hadn't hated Cassandra as much as he'd always pretended, after all, but it was too late for that now and they both knew it. "What do we do?" "Go to the funeral, say our goodbyes, and then wait." "Wait for what?" "To see how bad things get." "We're fucked, aren't we?" He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything. But maybe there was still a chance, if someone who knew what they were doing took control. Who? Campbell had no idea. His thoughts were running too fast to puzzle it out. He didn't want to talk anymore; he just wanted to get through the fucking day before whatever was keeping him held together fell apart. Setting the last dish down, Harry sunk down onto a kitchen chair and brought out a slip of paper from his pocket; he set it on the counter, and Campbell picked it up. Jason, Greg, Scott, Travis, Mark. A bunch of jerks, mostly. Travis was alright, and Jason seemed too much like a big doof to kill anyone, even if he was a creep. Campbell put the list in a pocket and gestured towards the door. "Come on. You're going with me." "What? No." "Yes, you are. You're gonna come over and hang with me and Elle for a while, and then we're all going to go. Being here moping isn't going to help either of us." Harry gave up in the end, like always, and followed Campbell home. Elle seemed surprised to see him, but they made a light lunch and sat around the living room doing their own things. Campbell played a video game, Elle read, Harry laid down and pretended to be a rock. Whatever. At least Campbell could keep an eye on him that way. Once it was close to noon, the three of them arrived at the church. They were almost at the door when Harry stopped, staring up at the door like a man about to be hanged. Campbell looked to Elle. "Hey, babe? Can you go inside and save us a seat?" Elle glanced between them, then nodded. He waited until she was inside before turning back to Harry. "What are you doing?" "I can't go in. Allie will be there. She'll think I did it." "She'll think that if you don't go in, too. Okay? Don't bail on me." Harry bit his bottom lip, but he didn't argue; he followed Campbell into the church without protest, keeping his head down and sticking close to Campbell. They made it a few paces in when Campbell spotted Will walking towards them, eyes narrowed and anger coming off him in waves. "You guys have a lot of balls," Will seethed. "Showing up here. We all know how you felt about Cassandra, Harry. You were super fucking clear." Campbell stepped between him and Harry, holding firm. "Will, don't do this." "You think you have any room to speak? You, you pointed a fucking gun at her. Both of you, get out. Now." "Go to hell. I'm family. I loved Cassandra, and I'm not leaving." Will's voice raised to a growling shout. "Get the fuck out!" Before Campbell could speak, Gordie zipped up and grabbed Will by the shoulder. "What the hell is going on? What are you doing, Will?" "Taking out the trash." "Isn't this bad enough already?" "Allie doesn't need to see them here." Campbell pulled the list of names from his jacket, holding it up to Gordie. "Harry and I came up with a list of guys that were shittalking Cassandra at his party the night she was killed. Brought it as a peace offering." Will opened his mouth, then stopped. He looked back and forth between them, then over to Gordie, who took the paper and read it over. Gordie gave Will a look, and Will let out a short, quick breath. "Fine. But you don't talk to Allie." That wasn't going to be a problem. Campbell put a hand on Harry's back and guided him to where Elle was sitting; she took Campbell's hand as he sat between her and Harry, and he squeezed it. Luckily, no one else spoke to any of them. Campbell didn't need the confrontation. He didn't want it. Allie walked to the front of the church and cleared her throat. Whatever small amount of talking there had been quieted down. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, but to her credit, she managed to keep it held to together. "My sister, Cassandra, was good," she started. "She was a good person. She was captain of the debate team. You didn't want to argue with her." There were a few scattered laughs. Even Allie managed a tiny smile. But then she continued, and that smile turned into a darker expression, and her composed mask crumbled. "Who did this? Huh?" She looked around the room. Her gaze briefly stopped on Harry. "Who shot my sister? Why did you do that? We needed her!" she shouted. Allie began to cry, and Will came up to lead her off the stage. "I needed her!" Campbell bowed his head at that last wrenching, despondent wail. No one else spoke, and after a few minutes, the guard gathered at the front of the church. Cassandra's body lay there. "We thought we'd give people a few minutes to come say goodbye," Grizz said softly. "In case it'd help anyone." A few wandered up and formed a small line. Sam was one of the last; Campbell stood and walked down the aisle, ignoring the glares and whispers around him. Sam gave Campbell a grateful look as he approached and stood at his side. They went up together. Someone had pulled back the sheet Cassandra's body was wrapped in, just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. She was pale, eyes closed, clean of blood. "She looks peaceful," Sam signed. "Like she's sleeping." Campbell lifted his hands to sign back, but they just fluttered there uselessly. "She's free from pain now," he finally managed to sign. He leaned down and kissed Cassandra's forehead, his touch lingering for just one more moment before he turned and headed back to his seat without a word. If he opened his mouth again, he had no idea what would happen. The guard waited a moment, then wrapped the body back up and carried her out to the yard. She was buried next to Emily, with nothing but a crude wooden cross marking her final resting place. Cassandra would have laughed at the irony. Campbell wasn't laughing. "Eternal rest, grant her O Lord," Helena spoke, "and let perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen." Some of the others echoed the amen. Biting his tongue, Campbell resisted the urge to just scream. Elle took his hand as they headed home, her eyebrows knitted together in worry as they walked in silence. When they returned home, Campbell took off his jacket and threw it onto the sofa. "Fuck, what a joke. She would have hated that shit," he said as he ran his hands through his hair. "She hated Christianity." "I think it was more for everyone else." "Must have been, because goddamn Helena didn't even ask what Cassandra believed or would have wanted." Campbell couldn't sit still. He needed to move. He needed to get the feeling in his body out of it. "You know, when she was younger and thought about dying, she talked about how she wanted her funeral to be. She wanted to be cremated and scattered at the ocean. She wanted Beatles music, and for people to dance. She..." Tears made his vision swim, and suddenly that wall that he'd been keeping up all day crumbled. He'd barely cried his entire fucking life, and now it was the second, third time since they'd arrived in their new hellscape. Weak. He was going weak, and if he did, how could he protect anyone? The one good thing about his fucked up brain had been that he could disconnect at will. And this, he couldn't make it stop. All he could do was stand there and sob, like the night he thought his disorder would push people away. Now reality set in even harder-- the people closest to him could die, and he truly would be alone, no matter how good or bad he was. It wasn't fair. It wasn't the least bit fair. Sudden pressure on his arm made Campbell yank back. "Don't fucking touch me!" he snapped, his head immediately going to when his father would grab him whenever Campbell would cry as a child. But then he stopped, remembering where he was and with who, and he felt a new wave of grief at the stunned look on Elle's face. "Elle, I'm sorry." "I didn't mean to upset you." "No, no. It's not your fault. I'm just... I need a moment." Campbell went upstairs and shut the door. He picked up his pillow and just stopped fighting it; he hit it against the wall, punched it, cursing his head off at it. He kept going until his arms and throat were sore, and he was curled up in the bed, hugging the pillow and shaking. She was dead, gone, buried, and the one person who understood and accepted him completely had been stolen from him. From her entire family. Something that happened every day, he knew, but it had never happened to him. Not in any way that had mattered. It wasn't even two o'clock, but he was already more tired than he could ever remember being in his life. He heard the door click open, and a moment later, the mattress dipped behind him. Elle nestled against his back; she didn't touch him exactly, but she was there, and her presence soothed some little part of him. "We'll find the person who did this, Campbell," she said as he dozed off. "Sooner or later, someone will slip up." "Yeah, and when we do, I'm going to make the fucker suffer." He was asleep before he could feel Elle stiffen, just a little.

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explosionsstimsandtech · 5 years ago

Text

Octavio Is Live: And Drunk ||Octane On Loss||

||Welcome, Octavio Silva, you are now streaming. Say hello!||

The cheery words had Octane seething as he fixed his camera, dropping back into his super plush beanbag chair, grinning up at the camera and giving his signature rock sign.

“What’s uuup. Another drunken stream! Whoo!” he threw his hands up, yelping as some beer got on him with the motion, whining as he wiped it off.

Prior to the stream, he had three shots of tequila, this being his sort of way of tracking his thoughts. He could do holo logs or a diary, but he liked to be transparent, even if it hurt like a bitch.

He knew his experiences helped people, so why not give them this chance to see him with all his guards down, mask and goggles at his neck, looking like he just touched down from his recent solo win.

And he looked like hell.

“So! First question is the hot topic for this stream, choose wisely, amigos!” he grinned, because that was all he knew to do, to hide and protect himself.

The computer registered the first line of text with a little question mark beside it, and his heart sank instantly as he bit his lip, taking a long swig of his beer then sighed.

“Way to hit home, amigo, I’m sorry.” he sounded pained as he shifted, smile wavering.

“Miroctaneluver101 says; Hey, good game. I’m sorry, I hope this doesn’t get the top, but I’m honestly kinda feeling down in the dumps. I just lost my grandfather and I’m honestly feeling like life isn’t worth it. He was everything, the one thing to hold me up, to make me proud. The only person in my family to understand me. Have you dealt with loss, and if so, what do you do to cope?” his voice was shattering as he read the message, cursing as he rubbed at his face, ridding himself of the tears as he stood, walking off camera with a tiny sound of pain.

He kicked something, watched it burst across the stream and into the other side, off screen, to clatter against the wall. He returned with a tall glass of scotch this time, dropping into his seat with a sigh. He could see a billion messages of support to the person and worried comments to him, to which he took a swig and licked his lips.

“Where to get started, huh? First of all, please don’t kill yourself. You have so much to live for! Your life has just begun!” he set the drink down, leaning forward into his ‘Serious Papi Octavio’ mode, twin coloured eyes hard as they looked right into the camera.

“You are amazing as you are. I am sure your abuelo would be so proud of you.” he felt the tears and blinked them away, firm and sharp in his resolve. “If anyone says otherwise, tries to tell you to change, that you’re not worth it, fuck ‘em! They aren’t worth your time, your breath, your attention nor your life. Get rid of them, right away.” he flopped back, fetching his drink on the way down, with a huff, sinking into the plush embrace.

“As for loss? Not talking games here for a lightening effect, but... My great grandfather, Fuego Silva.... The only Silva I cared for... He was... Everything to me.” he looked to his glass, turning it over as he swallowed hard.

“Growing up... Well, you’ve seen what I could show you, the first camera, the first vlog? Was because of Fuego.” he smiled now, taking a swig of the amber liquid. “He loved it. Loved getting to see me as much as he could, even when he was away... He used to fight, god, it feels like an eternity now.” he laughed as he remembered back to the past.

“I told him I wanted to be a star, and he gave me this rinky dinky little thing, shit focus, terrible memory and even worse pixelage. Like we are talking using a potato for a camera would be better!” he chuckled, grinning into the glass. “But Fuego always loved it, would send it to him on the fringes of space in his vessel, so he’d have something to wake up to, something to pump him up.” he ran a hand through his hair as he laid back, splayed out for his fans to see.

“Mr and Mrs Silva were always... They weren’t great. It’s why I was taken into the Diablo Del Alma’s so early on in life. I remember the day I broke the camera. I was doing a dumb stunt, jumping off a roof, something small. I landed on it, and it broke rather than my arm. Fuego was grateful I wasn’t hurt, but my heart was broken. That was my camera, and a gift from him.” he felt the tears itch at his eyes, so he just closed them, lifting his head to take a long swig before returning to his slumped position.

“I remember the whole crew pitched in to get me a top of the line model, fit with different lens options and even slow motion at the flick of your eyes. It even had a high quality stabiliser built in that could be turned off. They almost didn’t make it, but Fuego pitched in the last hundred and said ‘to my rising star’, even engraved it on a panel on it himself.” he jolted, snapping up and scrambling around, finding the camera and returned, holding the piece up to show his fans, the intricate designs around the words written in both English and Spanish.

He then dropped into the chair with his camera in hand, tracing the words.

“He was there from day one... Even when he was out fighting... Everytime he came home, we livestreamed, made videos, we did everything together. He was practically my padre.” he smiled and sighed, hugging the camera as he laid back. “He would always say, ‘Octavio Silva. Siempre debes recordar esta frase. Nunca te rindas y nunca te rindas.‘ Always remember this phrase, never give up and never give in.” he closed his eyes again, living in the memories, even as they brought tears to his eyes.

“He used to tell me if I dreamed it I could do it. Pushed me beyond my limits. Even gave me my first tattoo!” he flapped his arm, a bright grin on his face. “I was so scared, but he said the words as he started, and it’s been my mantra. It’s why I never give up, no matter how helpless it is.” he sat up suddenly, looking to the camera in his lap.

“Fuego... He.... He got sick. Like real sick. The last few years, he was in the hospital. I would stream, you guys know this, with him still. He pushed for me to break the record. I knew his time was short, so... I improvised.” he laughed, something hollow this time. “I’m told he died with a proud smile on his face.” the tears were falling now, the pain lancing through him, but he shook his head firmly, wiping them away.

“My last talk, I told him of the Apex Games, of how I longed to be in them, of how it was my dream to have a banner of me! I told him there was no way I’d be able to, and he turned me to him. He told me those words again. I laughed and said ‘maybe after I break this record’. I woke with no legs, and no Fuego. I thought my life was ruined.” he slumped down, then slapped his leg with a huff, running fingers over the intricate metal.

“Ajay Che, she and I go way back. Beautiful woman, but not my type. Too.... Well, you all know I’m a trans gay guy, so... Yeah.” he smiled shyly and idly brushed the engravings. “She heard about everything, asking my Diablo Del Alma Padre what happened recently. When she found me, I was in a wheelchair craddling the helmet he wore, staring at a gravestone in the rain.” his throat threatened to close and he swallowed, taking a shaky breath.

“I still say I guilted her. I just started talking and talking, about the dreams, about my promise to Fuego that nothing would stop me, and now here I was, completely in lockdown.” he wiped his face again with a growl of frustration.

“But the second I got those legs, I was off, even if I fell over at first. I wasn’t going to give up. I had been harassing the nurses with zooming around in the wheelchair.” he laughed at the memory, remembering the laughter in their voices. “So, do I know loss? Yeah, I do. I experience it every time I go into the ring and watch my friends die. I know they are safe, some wicked tech they have in the background, allowing us a second chance... As long as we have something for them to fix.” he laughed and shrugged.

“As for coping? Reach out. You have a whole community here who will hear you out. Go out, and do something for yourself. Write, draw, paint, sing, dance, run, swim, anything, the world is your playground, so play. Hell, I know someone who was tricked into eating a whole cake in one sitting by a personality in their head. They were vomiting for hours, but they chose to live if only to ensure he never got cake again.” he laughed and shook his head.

“It’s hard. Trust me, the first few months are the worst. Then it’s the first couple anniversaries. I take a drink for Fuego on the day he moved up to better things. His favourite. Doing something like that to honour them is never bad. Take pride in your joys, and do them. I know a writer, the same one about the cake thing actually. He suffers from... A lot. Suicide is almost always on his mind, constantly itching at him, making him want to just say ‘fuck it’ and be done. But he finds a keyboard or a pen and paper, and writes instead. It’s messy and all over the place, but he is proud, because he’s survived the wave.” he shifted to look at the camera, tears clear, now done with hiding it.

“And that’s what it is, its waves. And sometimes you need everyone to hold you up over it all, and it’s terrifying to do that. Fuck, I don’t even do it. I usually drink and drown in all the things I shouldn’t do, stand on cliffs, half kicking my landing gear off before I even know what I’m doing. And it fucking sucks because all I want is a fucking hug, to be craddled close, to have my hair smoothed and to be told it’ll be alright.” he tugged at his hair before sighing, smoothing it back.

“But I’m scared to trust, because trust means people can stab you in the back, trust means investing yourself in someone, which means their life is my world. I don’t think I could survive another Fuego.” he took a shaky breath and smiled, something so worn out and tired as he pulled up a holoscreen, swiping through things.

“Believe me. It does get better. Not by much, but it becomes bearable. You find ways to live each day in honour of those we’ve lost, who can’t witness the day. dont beat yourself into the ground and ruin yourself like I have in the past. Remember, you are worth it. And if no one else is gonna say it, then listen to me right now.” he looked to the camera, eyes alight with a fire as he stood up, leaning close so they could see him in the whole monitor.

“I am proud of you. You are amazing and perfect as you are. Non terre plus ultra, and never give up, never give in. You have got this!” he fist pumped the air before sticking his tongue out and giving his signature hand sign.

Then, he dropped back into his seat.

“Go check out the song I’m about to share to the stream. It’s a big pick me up that I use. That and Ska, but that’s a little out there for this moment.” he laughed as he threw up the songs. “It’ll play in a sec. After it, we are doing never have I ever!” he grinned and threw back a swig of the amber liquid, bouncing up to get more booze.

||Octavio Silva Has Shared A Song.... Playing now....|| ||The Stream Will Return Shortly....||

#the mun #he writes #Octavio's Now Streaming - Stream Logs #Octavio Headcannons #Octane Headcannons

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awkwardedgygirl · 6 years ago

Text

Voices- Part 2

Hi. So on Valentine’s Day I wrote a Klance soulmate au. I wanted to rewrite it from Lance’s point of view so I did. I want to say that this side is a lot darker than the cute one I wrote on valentine’s day. Lance is being bullied and at one point he almost commits self harm. if you have triggers to that please don’t read this. I might continue this too.

When Lance was young his Mami told him all about soulmates, how they are the one the universe chose for you as your perfect companion and when you meet them you feel this amazing connection and never want to be away from them ever again.

Lance went to school that Monday excited about one day finding a soulmate and daydreaming about the day it happens he does not notice James walking towards him until he is pushed into a locker. Lance knew that if his soulmate was here they would have stopped him.

At lunch that day Lance is telling his friend Hunk all about what his Mami told him,

“It is so amazing Hunk! One day we meet somebody who we are meant to be with forever and they are perfect.”

Hunk is excited too, “Yeah my older sister just got her soulmate connection, she says that she has drawings that she didn’t do appear on her and she can write back!”

Lance smiles, “That is so cool! I hope I have a cool connection like that!”

Lance gets up to go use the bathroom and while he is washing his hands James walks in and locks the door. Lance turns around, “Let me out.”

James laughs, “You are delusional to think you would get a soulmate.”

Lance shakes his head, “You are wrong. Everybody does.”

James walks towards him, “Not you Lance you don’t matter, nobody likes you, your soulmate won’t even like you.”

Lance is getting angry, “Shut up James! My soulmate will like me and they will stand up to you!”

James laughs, “Well until that day comes,” James grabs Lance and goes into one of the stalls, “Oh good,” James mocks, “They didn’t flush.”

For the next few years James torments Lance every day telling him his soulmate does not want him and they will hate him. Around year five Lance believes him.

Years later on Lance’s eighteenth birthday as he is walking a song pops is his head,

“My father took me into the city.”

He’s back!

“Ugh I wish.” Lance says.

Ummm hello?

Lance looks behind him to see who is talking to him and he notices nobody is there, Lance realises it is in his head, “Hello?” Lance says timidly.

Oh my god you can hear me!

Lance rolls his eyes, “Well duh you are in my head.”

Lance hears a deep laugh in his head that makes his stomach do a weird flippy thing, “No I am not in your head, well I mean I guess I am but I am real too!”

Lance is skeptical, “Why should I believe that? Maybe I am just going crazy?”

“No I am real,” the voice pleads, “I am at the gym right now listening to Welcome to the Black Parade which is why you are singing it. I heard you sing happy birthday to yourself last night. Happy birthday by the way.”

Lance’s cheeks redden, “Thanks.” He mumbles.

“I promise you I am real.” Lance feels the plea in those words.

Lance sighs, “Ok so what is it then?”

“I think this is our soulmate connection.”

Lance’s heart stops. Fear from everything he has been told builds up inside him. “You don’t want me.”

Lance hears the panic in the voice, “No I do I promise.”

Lance shakes his head, “No guy trust me if you met me you would not want me. I’m sorry you got such a shit soulmate,” just then Lance sees James walking towards him, “I have to go now goodbye.”

“No wai-” The voice gets cut out when Lance is pushed to the ground.

A week passes and nothing really changes for Lance, he is still being pushed around by James everyday and has tried to not listen to music so he doesn’t bother the guy in his head. But one night after school while he is trying to cover up some bruises so his Mami doesn’t freak he forgets and is singing a song in his native language.

“That was beautiful.” The voice says.

“Thanks.” Lance says timidly.

“So you speak Spanish?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

Lance does not know why he wanted to keep the conversation going but he knew that he liked the feeling of the deep voice in his head, “My family is from Cuba, we came here when I was young.”

Then the boys begin talking, about where they are from and Lance thinks maybe they can at least be friends.

“Dogs or cats?”

“What?” The voice asks.

Lance laughs, “Just asking you important questions I have to know who I am talking too.”

“Hmmm dogs I guess. You?”

Lance shrugs, “Eh I prefer cats but some dogs are ok.”

“I feel the same about cats.”

Lance likes talking about nothing in particular with the voice. He soothes him and makes him feel like maybe he is not alone.

About two days later when Lance is walking home from school he cuts through a parking lot and sees James and his goons sitting on their truck. He prays he isn’t seen.

“Hey asswipe!”

Lance walks faster. He hears them jump off the truck and run towards him. Lance runs but they are too fast. Somebody grabs him and puts him in choke hold and he is face to face with James.

“Where are you going?”

“I am just going home James leave me alone.”

“No no you see this is where me and my friends hang out,” The hold tightens, “and you coming ruins it.”

“I’ll find a different way home from now on let me go.”

James tsk, “Well that doesn’t change that you are here now does it.”

Lance feels a blow to his gut and he falls to the ground in a heap and after to many blows for Lance to count he is left there alone bleeding.

That night Lance is on the floor of his bathroom spiraling, he holds something in his hand that he knows is bad but he does not care. He wants the thoughts to stop.

There is a very faint, “What is happening.” but Lance does not process it. He moves the bad thing closer, the bad thoughts get louder.”

“NO.” and voice yells in his head. “That is not true. None of this is true. Don’t listen to it please.”

Lance stops. He woke him up. He is such a terrible person.

“No it’s ok don’t worry.”

A tear falls, “No it is,” Lance looks at the clock, “three in the morning and I woke you I am so sorry.” Lance begins spiraling again.

“Don’t worry about me tell me what is wrong.” The voice sounds stern.

Lance does not deserve this attention, “I just have these thoughts sometimes but don’t worry.”

“You are my soulmate of course I will worry.”

Lance looks at the bad thing is his hand, “I already told you. You don’t want me.”

“Well that is for me to decide isn’t it.”

Lance says nothing.

“Look,” the voice sighs, “my life has not always been easy and it seems like yours hasn’t been either. I always found comfort in knowing I had a soulmate and I want you to feel that comfort too. I don’t care if you just want to be platonic soulmates or you never want to meet. Just know that I will always be here for you.”

And at that Lance smiles, “Ok.”

Lance feels relief wash through him, “Are you ok now? Do you want to talk about it?”

Lance shakes his head, “No I am ok go back to sleep.”

They say their good nights and Lance gets up off the bathroom floor and throws away what he was holding. He did not add any more injuries tonight.”

Lance feels really good when he wakes up the next day. He gets into the shower and turns on his favorite playlist.

“Cause I ain’t no Hollaback Girl, ain’t no hollaback girl.”

Lance hears a sleepy groan, “Really?”

Lance squeals, “Sorry.”

Another groan, “No it is fine. Go on.”

Lance looks around, “Well I can’t now.”

“I hear you sing all the time.”

“Yeah but,” Lance blushes, “I am showering.”

“So?”

“So? SO?” Lance flails his arms, “Excuse you sir I am naked.”

“Umm I can’t see you?”

Lance rolls his eyes, “Well I can hear you and it is weird.”

“Well what do you want me to do? You were the one singing.”

“Ugh just listen to something else.”

“Ok ok!” Lance hears faint grumbling about being woken up then Fall Out Boy begins to play in his head.

“Better?” The voice asks.

Lance smiles, “Yes thank you.”

Lance continues to shower and thinks about the conversation they had last night. Nobody has ever been able to pull Lance out when he was that deep. Not his best friend and not even his sister.

Lance steps out of the shower and begins to dry himself off, “Did you mean it?” Lance asks.

“Yes.” The voice says right away.

Lance feels a warmness in his chest that he has never felt before, “Ok ummm cool.”

A low chuckles vibrates in his head that Lance feels in his spine, “Yeah.”

Lance looks at himself in the mirror, it is a little foggy from the shower he just had but he can see his reflection staring back at him saying, do it you coward. Lance lets out a deep breath, “My name is Lance by the way.

“Mine is Keith.”

Lance smiles, “Huh. I like that name.”

The voice- Keith response in a deep drawl. “I like yours too.”

Lance is standing in the bathroom smiling like an idiot and looks at the time to see he is running late, “I have to go but I will talk to you later Keith?”

“Yeah bye Lance.”

And LAnce leaves for school, feeling the happiest he has felt in a long time.

Over the next few months Lance tries to open up more to Keith. He tells Keith about his problems with self esteem but not about James. Keith tells him about his parents and Lance feels sad for him but Keith tells him not to worry.

Lance is laying in bed one night in January thinking about his day at school, it wasn’t too bad, but talking to Keith during lunch made it a good day. LAnce decides that he wants to know what Keith looks like, “Hey Keith you awake?” He tries to whisper.

“Yeah.” Keith’s voice rumbles.

“Would you ummm,” Lance tries to center himself, “would you like to video chat?”

Automatically, “Holy shit yes!”

Lance laughs, “Ok cool me too.”

Lance gets out of bed to grab his computer and turn on his bedside lamp. He adds Keith on skype and while he is waiting for the call he is fidgeting with his hair and clothes trying to look semi presentable. It starts ringing and Lance’s heart is beating out of his chest. He hits accept.

Before Lance can even process the hotness that is Keith he hears, “He’s beautiful.”

Lance gets flustered and lets out an awkward laugh, “Well thank you, you aren’t so bad looking yourself.”

Lance sees Keith’s amazing face go red, from something he said!

“Oh god you heard that?”

Lance tries to act nonchalant, but he has never been called beautiful before, “ ‘fraid so.”

“Ughh,” Keith groans, “this is going great for me.”

Lance feels that warmness in his chest again, “I agree.”

“So not to like kick a gift horse in the mouth or whatever but why did you decide to video chat?” Keith asks.

Lance ponders that for a second, wondering if he should tell the truth, he decides too, “Honestly?” Lance sees Keith give a nod, “I wanted to see if you were as hot as your voice sounded.” Lance tries to hide his blush in the low light of his room.

He sees Keith raise an eyebrow, “And? Final verdict?”

Lance joking raises his fingers to his chin rubbing an imaginary beard, trying to act cool, “So far all the signs point to yes.”

Keith laughs and for the first time Lance gets to see him laugh, “I appreciate that.”

And just like that a new tradition starts. They talk all day in their heads and at night they video chat. Lance does not know which he loves to do more but he knows he never wants to stop.

With Valentine’s Day fast approaching Lance knows he wants to do something. He wants to surprise Keith with a present that says, “Hey I know I am a self-conscious little shit but you are so nice and hot and I think I may want to spend the rest of my life with you in a way I am not quite sure yet.”

And for the record no he does not think that is a lot to ask of a gift HUNK.

If fact he finds the perfect gift but he just needs to figure out how to get it to him.

“Hey Pidge.”

Pidge does not look up from the computer they were messing with, “Yes Lance.”

“Hypothetically is there anyway for you to find out where someone lives by their first name and their, oh I don’t know, skype username?”

Pidge looks up, “Hypothetically?”

Lance looks sheepish.

Pidge shrugs, “Yeah probably.”

Lance smiles, “Really?”

Pidge nods.

Lance runs to sit next to them, “Ok so that wasn’t hypothetical.”

Pidge fake gasps, “No.”

Lance nods excitedly, “Yeah I want to send a gift to someone but I don’t know where they live.”

Pidge sighs, “Okay Lance give me the info.”

Lance has never been more excited.

On Valentine’s Day Lance is at school feeling really excited. He sent out the present about a week ago and knows that it should be arriving today. Him and Keith skyped last night and Lance got to wake up to seeing Keith sleeping soundly on skype. He hangs up quietly and makes sure not to listen to any music so not to wake him. Lance is at his locker grabbing stuff for his morning classes. The hallway is mostly empty and Lance is lost in his own thoughts when his locker door is slammed shut.

“What are you looking so happy about?” James sneers.

“None of your business James.” Lance snaps.

James eyes get meaner, “The fuck did you say to me?”

Lance is pulled into the bathroom and is pushed on the floor, “Do we need to go over this again Lance. You are nothing. No one likes you and you will die alone.”

Lance stands up furious, “That is not true.”

“And why is that?”

“I-” and Lance almost tells him. He almost tells James about Keith, about his soulmate, but he doesn’t because he knows he will never tell Keith about James.

But, James figures it out, “Oh what Lance you got a soulmate connection?” James pushes him again, “You think just because you have a connection to somebody that they actually want you? You are nothing Lance and they will soon see that.”

Lance feels a blow to his ribs, “They don’t want you.”

Another blow, “They don’t care about you.”

More blows, “You are nothing.”

Spit falls onto Lances face and he is left there lying on the dirty bathroom floor all alone.

Tears begin to fall when you hears, “I hope you have a good day Lance.” from his favorite voice in his head. It reminds him that James is wrong. Keith does care about him and he can prove it. Lance gets up off the bathroom floor and runs out of school.

After about a six or seven hour bus ride Lance arrives at a small town in Texas. He stops by a local pizza place and heads over to the apartment complex. When he arrives at the door he sees the package he sent is sitting on the stoop and he leans down to pick it up. His heart is beating really fast and he knocks on the door and,

No answer.

Lance checks the time on his phone and decides Keith is probably at work but will be home soon. Keith wouldn’t mind if he let himself in.

Using skills he would rather not discuss Lance gets himself into the apartment and sits on the couch.

“How could I forget Valentine’s Day?” Lance hears Keith question.

Lance thinks back to his day and looks around the tiny apartment, “I didn’t.” Lance says out loud.

Lance starts playing a game on Keith xbox and waits.

After about ten minutes he hears the front door squeak open.

“Ummmm,” Keith questions, “Can I help you?”

Lance pauses the game and takes a deep breath, his heart is beating out of his chest, he stands up and gets to see Keith face light up.

“Lance!” Keith runs over and engulfs him in a hug, Lance loves it but the bruises on his ribs don’t.”

“What? How? What are you doing here?” Keith stutters.

Lance is wincing from the pain, “Can’t breathe.”

“Oh sorry.” Keith puts him down but does not completely let go, “What are you doing here? How did you get here and better yet how did you get into my house?”

Lance blushes, “Oh ummm, I wanted to surprise you and I have this friend who is really good at finding out information and ummm I broke in.”

Keith laughs, Lance loves hearing that laugh in person, “It doesn’t matter I am so happy you are here.”

Lance wraps his arms around Keith and buries his head in his very broad chest, “Yeah me too.”

#klance #klance fanfic #voltron #Voltron legendary defender #Self conscious lance #bullying #self harm #ValentinesDay #soulmate au #cussing

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