#wait actually it just occured to me keith probably did give him his dads clothes since he rescued him that makes sense

[foursidecity]

Is it foreal never brought up again how the vest shiro wears at the beggining of the show is the same vest Keith's dad wears like I'm going insane thinking about it

[childrenofthenightt]

That’s The Way (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warning(s): mentions of cheating, cursing

Author’s notes: Hey y’all, welcome to Chapter 2! Thank you so much for all your positive feedback and responses. A little heads up: Jimmy is not in this chapter...since this is a slow burn, he’ll be introduced in Chapter 4, but it won’t be long, I promise. Just sit tight! As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapter 1

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Evening of 4 May 1965

Walking into the kitchen, Y/N slid into a seat between her brothers, Tommy and Charlie, just as her mum was placing platters of that night’s dinner on the table. A sinking feeling in her stomach plagued her all day, as she knew that she would be interrogated  intensely by her family about the previous night. More importantly, she knew that if they felt that any of the musicians had viewed her as a possible love interest, she’d be in big, big trouble.

“Dad, can you pass me the vegetables, please?” Y/N asked her father, sitting a few seats down from her. If the girl hadn’t been glancing down at her plate to avoid eye contact, fighting the gut feeling that the inevitable would soon occur, she would have seen him glance at her from over the frames of his glasses.

“Sure, dear,” he replied, briefly looking up from the newspaper he was reading as he gave Y/N the dish. The clanking of utensils on plates was all that could be heard until Charlie broke the seal by asking the dreaded question.

“So Y/N, how was the concert last night?” he asked, raising the glass of water in his hand to his lips.  Y/N couldn’t blame Charlie for asking, because he had no idea what had happened, but she knew that this conversation could go south fast. Tommy’s hums of laughter quietly escaped his lips, and Y/N nudged his arm from under the table, giving him a glaring look that sent daggers from her eyes. It screamed, “Shut up!”, and another bout of giggles was the only response.

Tommy knew the outcome of last night because of what Carolyn had babbled to him on the car ride home, and was doing everything in his power to tease his sister.

“Why are you laughing, Tommy?” Y/N’s mum asked, finally taking a seat between Charlie and Lillian.  Silence settled over the table as all eyes locked on to the oldest daughter, and Tommy evilly smiled at Y/N, who only glared at him again. “No reason. Actually, I think Y/N should tell you instead.”

Y/N huffed as she put the dish of roasted chicken, generously seasoned and herbed, back in the middle of the table. She painted on a smile before answering, “It went pretty well. Brilliant show.”

“That’s it?” her dad asked, folding up the newspaper, knowing his daughter was downplaying it.

“Yeah, Y/N, that’s it?” Tommy added. Y/N knew he was taunting her, but the rest of the table did not pick up on it. From under the table, Y/N’s leg begins to bob up and down, and she bites her lip, debating whether or not to tell the whole story. It’s obvious they’re not going to be happy…

“My God, Tommy,” With an exasperated sigh, Y/N, very annoyed at her brother’s pushing, throws her hands up in unwilling acceptance. “Fine, Carolyn and I were invited backstage, and we met the band.”

The table audibly gasped, the loudest of course being Lillian, who looked disappointed, almost devastated at the revelation. Her lips turn down in a sulk, and she rests her cheek, almost permanently flushed with youth, on a fist. “You promised me you wouldn’t let any boys mess with you, Y/N!”

Y/N reached her hand across the table to hold her sister’s in an attempt to coax her. “They didn’t, Lil. We just talked for a while. I just made some new friends last night, that’s all.”

Lillian’s frown turned upside down, content that her sister was safe, a naïve smile that Y/N felt a little guilty about. She, along with Charlie and their parents, didn’t know that most members of the band had shamelessly flirted with her and invited her back to see them again. Tommy was the only one aware, and Y/N made him promise to keep the whole rendezvous a secret. Carolyn had brought the flirting to Y/N’s attention on the car ride home, because in the moment, she didn’t think much of it.

“If they’re mean to you, I’ll be mean to them, just for you!” Lillian exclaims through a mouthful of mush, and the table burst into laughter, shaking their heads in amusement.

“How did it go?” Y/N’s mum asked, cutting into her chicken with a knife and fork. For the first time over the course of the whole dinner, Y/N broke into an unadulterated smile at the memory. “It was really nice, genuinely. They  were all so sweet to us, and we just bonded over music and stuff.”

Y/N’s mother quirked her brow. “No ‘you know what’?”

“No Mum, nothing explicit. It was good, clean fun. Seriously.”

“Alright, I hope you’re telling the truth… I’m happy you had a great time.”

“She is telling the truth, Mum,” Tommy quipped through bites of roasted potatoes, “I can attest to that.”

Y/N’s mum smiled, but her dad piped up with some two-cents of his own. “Musicians are a tough crowd, Y/N. Very fickle blokes, their attractions change all the time. You can’t get too attached to them, dear,  you’re just a small fish in a very big sea.”

“I know, Dad,” Y/N replied, trying to sound understanding. She couldn’t lie to herself, though. The Yardbirds made her feel very special last night, and disappointment was lurching in her stomach at the comment. As much as her father’s words stung, she harbored a small feeling of hope that they truly enjoyed her company and meant what they said.

After everyone finished dinner, and Charlie and Lillian left the table to go play in another room, Tommy, wallet in hand, walked over to his mum, who was washing the dishes with the help of her husband.

“Hey Mum, I’m gonna take Y/N for ice cream,” he whispered, glancing at Y/N who was sitting in a chair in the living room, almost unconsciously playing with her fingers and staring out the window with a pensive countenance.

“Okay, love. Just bring something home for Charlie and Lillian,” she replied. Tommy walked over to Y/N, tapping her shoulder. The girl looked up at him, confused.

“I’m taking you for ice cream. Let’s go,” he said, already walking towards the door. Y/N grinned, then chased after her brother to the car.

~~~~~~~~

27 June 1965

Y/N and Carolyn weren’t able to attend as many Yardbirds gigs as they would’ve liked in the end of May and beginning of June, as they had exams at school. Now that they were over, Y/N could be fully immersed in the travelling British rock and roll circus for the greater part of the summer.

The girls agreed to make a venue change tonight: instead of going to the Marquee, as they usually did, they decided to go to the Crawdaddy Club. Y/N hoped Jeff, Chris, Paul, Jim, and Keith would remember them by their faces instead of just their clothes, because there was no need to wear school uniforms anymore.

Carolyn decided to drive to this particular gig, probably because she was expecting the two of them to go backstage again, as having her own car would grant them more time with the band then that first night at the Marquee.

The Crawdaddy Club was architecturally and aesthetically different from the Marquee; there were no chairs or booths, so standing was the only option, and the boundary between the stage and the audience was virtually nonexistent. The ceilings were low and beamed, and the stage backdrop had a painting of a measure of music. Y/N thought that particular touch was a bit cheesy.

Carolyn and Y/N walked in together, squeezing past the army of fans already hoarding the front of the stage. They managed to find a spot by Jeff’s side of the stage, his amps towering a few feet from where they stood. Thankfully, they were able to see most of the stage, including Jim’s drum riser in the back. The conversations among all the audience members were deafening, but Y/N heard a loud whisper within her periphery that she could just make out.

“Pssst! Y/N!” a familiar voice whisper-shouted, which was followed by a wave.

It was Jeff, widely smiling with his guitar slung over his shoulder. He was walking out the backstage door, meticulously making sure the door wouldn’t harm his guitar in any way. He then waited near the stage steps to go on, which the girls discerned could be any minute now.

“Oh my God, Jeff!” Y/N replied excitedly as she walked over to the steps. She made her way through the crowd, a lot more ungracefully than she would’ve hoped.

“It’s so cool to see you at some place other than the Marquee,” Jeff said. He looked genuinely happy that she was there. Maybe Y/N’s dad was wrong about these “fickle musicians”.

“We’re happy to be here! I’m so sorry I couldn’t make any more since the last time… exams and school and all.”

“Oh, that’s where you were! I hope you got good marks,” Jeff playfully grinned, “because you ought to mind your studies, Miss Y/N. Sam was starting to think he scared you off and that you didn’t want to come back.”

Y/N scrunched her nose in a confused way, as if to say “who?”, which resulted in a soft chuckle from Jeff.

“‘Sam’ is Paul’s nickname.”

Y/N nodded in understanding with an endearing smile. “Oh, okay. That’s definitely not it, then. I was just stuck with exams and graduation, that's all. Be sure to tell him that.” A wink punctuates the end of her sentence, and, gearing up to respond, Jeff is interrupted by a sharp noise next to him. Mere seconds later, another familiar face entered the scene, walking out of the door. Chris Dreja, also with his guitar slung over his shoulder, warmly smiled at Y/N as he closed the door behind him.

“Hello, Y/N. It’s so lovely to see you again,” he greeted. She noticed that he had a substantially deeper voice than the other four, something she hadn’t the last time they met since he was talking with Carolyn and Keith.

“Hi Chris! Same to you,” Y/N grinned.

“No uniforms this time I see,” he teased, discreetly scanning how stunning he thought she looked.

Y/N laughed. “Yeah, I’m off from school for the summer so there’s no need anymore, thank God. Now I can attend your shows more frequently, and wear a decent outfit too!”

“That’s great to hear. We do love your company.” Y/N beamed at his comment, unconsciously tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Chris’ eyes track the movement, and he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He thought Y/N was beautiful, but he had a wife and a child on the way. He also felt a little jealous that Paul and Jim had their eyes on her, but there was not much he could do about it. If he was cunning and quick enough to steal Y/N before they had the chance, though, and if his wife never found out…

Quickly regaining his wits, he remembered why he was sent out. “Jeff, Keith needs you backstage again.”

Jeff groaned. “What? I thought we were starting, like right now!”

“I know, I know. We were supposed to, but he wants everyone backstage again for some reason.”

“Ugh, this is why he can’t fucking be in charge,” Jeff replied, clearly annoyed. Then, as Chris was heading backstage once again, Jeff pulled something out of his pocket, a knowing smile on his face.

“Here, love, have this. You’ll be needing it after the show,” he said, placing a card with a lanyard attached to it into Y/N’s hands. Y/N smiled giddily.

“Thank you. Good luck with that meeting, and good luck in the show, even though you don’t really need it,” Y/N replied playfully.

“Oh, I think I need it more than you think I do,” Jeff smirked, disappearing behind the door.

~~~~~~~~

Just minutes later, The Yardbirds came out and played their set, which lasted a couple hours, and didn't fail to stun the crowd. Y/N and Carolyn received a lot more smiles of recognition than the last time at the Marquee, since the boys knew who they were now. The only similarity to last time was the electrified fans who were completely immersed in the music.

Jim McCarty, in particular, looked at Y/N a lot more often throughout the show than he did last time. She caught him a couple times, which was really embarrassing on his part, but not the entire time, much to his pleasure. He didn’t think it was possible, but it seemed that she had grown even more beautiful than last time.

Was it absence that made his heart grow fonder? Possibly. Was he in love? Yet another possibility. Did he know for certain? Perhaps, but he wasn’t exactly sure yet.

Besides focusing on the music, Paul’s mind was elsewhere. He was planning on asking Y/N out on a date with him sometime this coming week. He hoped she’d accept, since she did an awful lot of blushing and giggling around him when they met in May, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Paul was concocting the perfect formulation of words so that she couldn’t refuse the offer. She looked like the type of girl who would enjoy a nice dinner date, and he would do anything to make that a reality for her.

Chris’s mind was the opposite of Paul’s: he didn’t want to think about Y/N because in the event he did, he knew he would mess up a chord or two on the guitar.

God, he thought, she was perfect. Purely enchanting.

Jeff was just happy, almost giddy, that he’d found a new friend in Y/N. He knew she was special, and he hoped she trusted him, because some people in this business could be very sleazy. She was different from all the girls a lonely musician would find on the road. Y/N was the type of girl that Jeff wanted to see after a thousand and one nights touring, catching up and sharing stories over a pint. Sure, he had a steady girlfriend, but something about Y/N was comforting, friendly, and trustworthy. Just what he needed in a friend.

The set was similar to the one at the Marquee, but with little variations here and there, still holding the audience under a trance. After the performance’s conclusion, Y/N rummaged through her pocket and showed Carolyn the backstage pass given to her by Jeff, to which Carolyn squealed with delight. Y/N took Carolyn’s hand and walked with her to the door, showing the security man her prized relic. At once, they were granted access, and they skipped and trotted and leapt down the hall in excitement.

When the pair got to the correct door, Y/N took a deep breath and knocked a couple times; momentarily, they were greeted by a smiling, but sweaty, Jeff Beck.

Y/N didn’t care. “Brilliant show, my friend,” she gushed, giving Jeff a congratulatory hug.

“Thank you,” he replied gratefully, reciprocating it with a beaming smile, “security didn’t give you trouble I hope?”

“No, we were fine, thankfully.”

“Good to hear, good to hear. Well, come on in!” Jeff exclaimed, getting out of the way of the doorframe, “do you fancy yourselves a drink?”

Y/N and Carolyn walked into the room, starstruck once again by all five of The Yardbirds being in one place. This time, some members of the road crew, management, and lighting company were there as well, chatting and planning among themselves. They all greeted the girls amicably, and grabbed some chairs and arranged them in a similar formation to the Marquee.

“Um, yeah, sure, if you don’t mind,” Y/N accepted as she sat down, throwing a kind “thank you” over her shoulder at the roadie that had brought her chair over, voice a little lost in amazement at the current happening.

“Here, I’ll get it,” Jim said with a smile, “you stay put.”

“Thank you, that’s so sweet,” Y/N grinned appreciatively. She could feel herself warming up to these guys, as she didn’t feel as nervous as the last time. But a little twinge of it was still there, rippling through her stomach.

Jim was turned away from Y/N getting the drinks, so she wasn’t able to see him blush. He found it unbelievable, the effect she had on him.

The whole group was sharing conversation and laughs over drinks for almost three hours, but it was almost as if time did not pass. They talked about music, books they liked, restaurants they recommended, places they’ve travelled to, philosophy, history, the environment, conspiracy theories...you name it.

Y/N and Carolyn stood up from their seats, as a cue to the party that they had to leave soon. Paul, who again was sitting next to Y/N, tapped her shoulder. Turning to face him, Y/N could see the flush on his cheeks, and the way he was almost curled into himself.

“Hey Y/N, can I ask you a question really quick?” he asked, much more nervous than he sounded a few seconds ago.

“Yeah, sure,” she smiled. Y/N, taking his outstretched hand, found herself being whisked away by Paul to a corner of the room, near a row of vanities attached to the wall. She hoped that the others were all too distracted talking, so that no one would notice her and Paul’s absence.

Looking at each other, face to face, the two smiled happily, as though there wasn't a care in the world.

Paul then took a deep breath, his expression turning more anxious. “Okay…” he exhaled, “here goes.”

“You don’t have to be nervous,” Y/N chuckled, “it’s just me.”

Paul’s face softened a little, gazing down at her. “But you see, that’s the whole point. It’s you. I have every reason to be nervous.”

Y/N’s face cascaded into a red flush, her lip quivering in the hopes of concealing a foolish grin. Paul reached down and grabbed Y/N’s hands, holding them in his own as Y/N’s heart started racing at what felt like two thousand miles a minute.

“I just wanted to preface this by saying that I, uh… I have been absolutely bewitched by you, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the night at the Marquee,” he began. Y/N melted with every word, but at the same time, she felt as if she had been electrically shocked. When she looked into the twinkling depths of his eyes, she couldn't help but swoon.

“So,” he continued, “I was wondering if you’d like to go out with me sometime. If you’ll let me, of course.”

Y/N was at a loss for words, composure, and any sort of rationality. She never thought, in her wildest dreams, that a musician in a world-renowned band would fancy her. Just able to restrain an awestruck grin, she finally gave in.

“Yes,” she replied, happily breathless and dazed, “I would love to go out with you.”

Paul, ecstatic with her answer, beams down at her as she launches into his arms in a sweet embrace. He asked for her phone number and address, and, spotting a nearby miniature legal pad, she wrote everything down, signing it with a cartoonish smiling face and a heart.

~~~~~~~~

After Y/N and Carolyn had said their goodbyes and left the Crawdaddy Club, the five musicians were left alone in the backstage area, to relax after such an electric show. Jeff and Keith approached Paul, who was collecting his belongings in the corner of the room.

“Did you do it?” Jeff asked, face a picture of feigned nonchalance as he took a sip of his beer.

“Yes, I did it,” Paul grinned, bending down to grab something of his that had fallen on the floor.

“I guess she accepted by the look on your face,” Keith observed, a sardonic smirk on his handsome features.

“You’d be correct,” Paul replied.

“You wanker,” Jeff shook his head disapprovingly, “why would you bloody do that? You’re gonna break her heart!”

Paul’s expression quickly turned unimpressed. “Because if nobody here tells her, she’ll never know.”

What Paul had failed to tell Y/N was that he had a wife, with whom he shared a home. He felt bored, with all the travelling and the touring and the nonsense, so he wanted a lovely, intelligent young woman like Y/N to “keep him company”.

He knew he wasn’t in love with Y/N. Sure, he fancied her immensely, thought she was ethereal, but his heart truly belonged to his wife.

“Congratulations, Sam,” Keith said sarcastically, “you just potentially ruined a friendship with a very pretty bird.” It was clear that Jeff and Keith cared very deeply about Y/N and her happiness, because she was a great girl.

Paul rolled his eyes, annoyed. “You lot have to do me this solid and don’t say anything to her. It’ll work out fine. Oh, and spread the message to Chris and Jim so they don’t spill the beans either.”

“You fuckin’ owe me, Sam,” Jeff warned, already walking backwards towards Chris and Jim, “you owe me big time.”

---------

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 7: A Spark of Electricity

Keith makes a new friend and discovers he’s been committing tax fraud his entire life completely unknowing 🤣

First  Previous  Next

Keith stirs. It hadn’t occurred to him that sharing a bed with Lance might be to his benefit, but he finds it better than being alone. He’s spent a few decaphoebs of his childhood alone already.  

Being alone as a kit does a lot of damage. It can make the kit skittish and paranoid. It impedes their ability to express themselves, both verbally and through body language. Especially body language. It leads to depression and antisocial behavior.

And it makes sleeping difficult. Kits are instinctively driven only to sleep when their older littermates or parents are around. It keeps them safe. As such, having a full-grown, larger Altean sleeping only a few dashes away does a lot for him.

It can’t repair what was done to him as a small kit crying on a cliff’s edge for his father to get up and climb back up to find him, but it helps.

Except now he's alone, curled up by himself beneath the warm blankets. Or is he alone? There's a static sound, a flash behind his eyelids, a curse. Keith opens his eyes.

A small girl, an Olkari, is fussing with a panel in the wall. Much like himself, Keith can't imagine that she's an adult. But when she turns around, she wasn’t exactly a child, either. More adolescent. But extremely small.

“Oh, great, you’re awake! Keith, right? That’s what Lance said you like to be called.” Seemingly benign.

“Who are you?” Keith asks, blinking sleep and tangled hair from his eyes.

“Pidge. I’m the resident tech expert around here. I’m modifying the lighting system so that you can adjust it from your datapad. There was a glitch, unfortunately, which Lance picked up earlier when he went to adjust it for you before he left. My fault. Happens to the best of us. I’d fix it the ‘normal’ way, but the Castle isn’t Olkari tech, so old-fashioned way it is! Besides, I don't mind it. I actually like doing it this way.”

Normal way? This is the normal way! Keith sits up. “I don’t have a datapad.”

Pidge holds up a piece of glass with a white border around it. “Now you do.” She tosses it onto the bed. “I’m almost done with this. Just give me a second. Then I’ll help you set it up. Can you read Altean?”

“No.” He can, but the girl doesn’t need to know that. Keith busies himself with tracing the embroidery on the duvet cover.

“You're a terrible liar, but that's your business. That’s fine. I can program the pad to translate everything into Galran for you. We can even go old school and use a handprint scanner to unlock it, if you want. Only you and Lance would be able to get into it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Lance said that Hunk and I are to make you as happy and welcome as possible and since we’re friends, I’m happy to oblige.”

“We’re friends? Who’s Hunk?”

“Lance, Hunk, and I are friends.” Pidge pressed the sparking tool back to a wire. “You are... a potential friend. Lance says you seem alright.”

“I’m flattered,” Keith deadpans. Pidge laughs. She’s not... so bad. Nothing here, minus the people Lance calls ‘courtiers’, are too terrible. And the Altean food. That’s terrible too. Also the clothes.

There's a lot that's terrible.

“Be nice, and maybe I’ll make you a body modification so you can taste sweet things?”

“You can do that?” Pidge nods, replacing a panel in the wall, work seemingly complete. “But you’re... just a girl? Like, a very young girl.”

“Nonbinary, actually. But yes, I am quite young.” Pidge smiles, removing the magnifying lenses from their eyes.

“Oh. Sorry. I-” Keith had assumed that most species followed the laws of the Alteans. he'd assumed his species was unusual.

“No worries. Just try to remember for the future and we're all good.” Pidge gets up from the floor, coming to sit on the bed like it's their own. “So, you wanna turn that datapad on?” Keith sucks on his lip, ears wilting as he inspects the datapad for a button. “Here. Gimme.”

Keith hands the datapad to Pidge, blushing beneath his short facial fur. The Olkari shows him a small button on the side, turning it on and handing it back to him. They spend the next varga showing him how to use it, how to translate texts, how to access the castle’s documents. They even show him how to tap into video feeds they’ve set up to spy on the kings in Alfor’s laboratory, though they warn him that not everything that happens in there is alchemy. At least not in the traditional sense.

Apparently Coran likes to visit. Also? Gross.

After all of that, Keith finds himself just... chatting with the young Olkari. They poke him and prod him and shine a flashlight in his ears. They ask probing questions about his personal biology and what purpose such trimorphism might serve.

“Well, it used to be that child-bearing and care was more of a... communal thing? We didn’t always form the strong bonds with our mates that we do now. But since our trimorphism doesn’t hold any disadvantage, our biology hasn’t changed.”

“That. Is so cool.” Pidge fiddles with another panel in another wall while Keith makes note of which foods he likes from the sampler he’s just received for breakfast. “Keith?”

“Hm?” Keith looks up from a small bowl of deep green beans, licking the corner of his mouth. Pidge turns, absently playing with the end of his tail. They’re a cute little thing, Keith decides. Inquisitive. Benign. A kit, like himself.

“How old are you?”

“Just nineteen decaphobes. Turned nineteen a few movements ago.”

“So you’re just a pup. Like me.” Keith nods, gesturing for them to continue. “Why would Zarkon marry you off, then?”

“Didn’t like my dad. Different perspectives, I guess? My father wanted to focus more on internal growth; Zarkon wanted to focus on expansion. They had a falling out.” Keith twitches his tail, watching the inquisitive Olkari chase it with their honey-colored eyes. “It happens sometimes. Anyway, I think he wanted me gone. Bring back sad memories, I guess.”

“How did you end up with him anyway?”

Keith’s ear wilt, tail stilling. “My father... died. Zarkon sent me to live with a friend, Takashi. He's basically my littermate.”

There was so much more to it than that, but Keith didn’t want to talk about it. Pidge narrowed their eyes at him, and Keith knew they could tell he was hiding things. Finally, they nod.

“Well, at least Zarkon didn’t hold your father against you.”

“No, he didn’t. He hoped I would be happy here, I think. He worries about me.” Keith tucks his legs up to his chest. Pidge hums, reaching out to touch a tangled lock of Keith’s hair. They begin working the knots out of it.

“I’d worry too, if my child nephew was married off to the likes of Crown Prince Lancel. He’s got quite the reputation. Or did. Adam says everyone was astounded when he showed up to hold court today. Especially King Coran. King Alfor's heart probably stopped when he heard about it.”

“What does Lance normally do?” Keith latches onto the change of topic.

“Hm. Runs all over. Flirts. Goofs off. Goes hunting. Flirts some more. The people like him as a person, but they don’t care for him as their crown prince. Y’know, because a crown prince becomes a king, and a king needs to like, do stuff. Other than the local prostitutes.”

Keith grins just in time for the door to open for Lance himself, followed by Adam toting a stack of tablets.

“Okay... question one,” Lance mutters, nose stuck in his own datapad. “What the quiznak are taxes?” Adam sighs, exasperated.

Pidge gives Keith a significant look. “Do you want to laugh or shall I?”

“As his spouse, I claim that right.” Keith dissolves into quiet laughter, the Olkari following suit.

“Oh, great!” Lance vaults over the back of the couch with a comb. “You two are getting along. Pidge, Keith. Keith, Pidge-”

“We’ve already done that,” Pidge informs him.

“Excellent! Anyhoo, Keith, your hair is a mess. Come here.” Lance doesn’t wait for a response, instead taking one lock of Keith’s hair at a time, starting at the ends and working his way up.

"...Thanks. I'll- I'll get it cut. It's inconvenient like this."

"No, don't you dare. I need you to keep it." Adam looks like he might throttle Keith. "Do you have any idea how difficult it will be to endear you to these fops? The cuter and more harmless you look, the better."

"Gee, thanks," Keith grumbles. Pidge snickers, going through the pockets of Lance's... what is it with Altean clothes? Lance has pants, but then a skirt in the back? What's even the point of that? He also had a cape? Nevermind. Pidge searches in the pockets of his pants.

Keith allows Lance to do as he likes since the comb doesn't hurt. He occupies himself chatting amicably with Pidge, taking comfort in the blunt openness and bright enthusiasm that they exude. Lance joins in, braiding a red-and-gold ribbon into Keith’s hair. The seamsmaster has assigned Keith an aesthetic and run with it. But the braid looks pretty, so whatever.

If only the matching wardrobe were more comfortable.

Hair done, Keith climbs up into the loft, watching from above as Adam and Pidge team up to teach Lance about taxes. He likes Pidge. Likes how sweet Lance is with them, giving them bits of junk he’s found lying about, letting them sit in his lap and scan the soft scales on his face with some device. He yelps when they try to stroke them against the grain. Pidge, unaware that it would hurt, apologizes immediately. Lance just waves it off, the same way Pidge waved off Keith's misgendering earlier.

These people. They're so easy-going. Adam is a tight-ass, but he's definitely overworked and probably overtired. Lance and Pidge seem to take offense to little, brushing off accidental hurts like one might brush off a drop of rain. Keith likes them well enough, but he's content to do so from his loft, where he can't be disappointed if they don't like him back.

Instead, he listens. And learns. Apparently, taxes are an allotment of money taken from the citizens to fund the crown. Who knew?

Living in the woods like a wild animal is not taxable. Keith smirks, realizing that he's technically a life-long criminal.

Wait until Lance finds out.