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dreamwritesimagines · 4 years ago

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Burn The Witch 5 - Cross Your Heart [Bucky Barnes x Reader]

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support and feedback my loves ! ❤ Here’s the next chapter, I hope you like it as well and please let me know what you think! ❤ Thank you! ❤❤❤

Warnings: Enemies to lovers, fake dating, mentions of blood, sex, violence, death, manipulation, language, guns, knives.

Summary: Lying is supposed to be easy for spies.

Series Masterlist

You were beginning to think undercover operations were some sort of punishments given to agents, because lying was one thing, but creating a whole life around that lie was another.

Not only were your knives replaced by a bunch of paintings on the wall, you now had some photos in frames; old photos of people you didn’t know, people who were supposed to be your “cover” family.

You’d still prefer to have your knives on the walls though.

“You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to be on my side!” you pressed the phone between your shoulder and your ear, and heard Chloe’s laugh.

“I am on your side, I just can’t do anything about your uniform.”

You plopped down on the couch, setting your heels down on the floor.

“Bucky might be from 1940s, but he knows that it’s the 21st century now,” you said, putting the heels on, “No reason to make me dress like a….weird pin up waitress.”

“It’s a part of your mission,” she reminded you, “What, you can kill a target with a wine glass but a pin up costume is where you draw the line?”

You clicked your tongue, “Anyone can kill someone with a wine glass. It’s not that hard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Babe it’s not rocket science, you just break the bowl part, then use the stem to stab them in the—“ you got distracted when you opened the kitchen cabinet, “I’m sorry, why do I have so many kitchen supplies?”

She held her breath in excitement, “Do you like them?”

“I don’t know what to do with most of them.”

“Cover Y/N likes cooking!”

“And the real Y/N can’t stand her,” you deadpanned, making her stifle a laugh.

“So he hasn’t texted you yet?”

“Barnes?” you asked, “Not yet. Why?”

“Well, I took the liberty of taking a look at his messages the other day.”

“Oh God, don’t tell me,” you said, “He’s seeing someone else?”

“No no, not at all,” she said, “He’s totally single, and probably ready to mingle. With you, that is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“He and Wilson were talking about you the other day. Well, more like Wilson was telling him to get his shit together and ask you out.”

“I don’t think he’s the type to ask someone out via text,” you said, “I think he will come to the shop one of these days.”

“Why?”

“He looked sort of….” You searched for the word in your mind, “Uh-clueless?”

“Clueless?”

“Yeah, you know how assassins usually flirt,” you ignored her noise of disagreement, “He wasn’t like that.”

“You really need to focus on the personal details of his file.”

You scowled, “What is that supposed to mean?” you asked, “I know his favorite weapons, what knives he—”

“Personal file,” she repeated, “You know there’s more to people than their weapons of choice right?”

“I might have to engage in combat if I’m ever compromised, and do you know how many people walked away alive after engaging in combat with the Winter Soldier in all these decades?” you asked, “Three. Three people; Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson, Natasha Romanoff, and they are legends. I might be good, but I’m not that good.”

“Just memorizing his arsenal can’t help you in this mission,” she said, “Did you know that he hasn’t exactly dated since becoming the Winter Soldier? His ex Connie ended up having 3 kids and a long career at the post office—“

“What am I supposed to do Chloe, stalk grandma’s Instagram?”

“No, she passed away 5 years ago.”

“Of course she did,” you mumbled, “Listen, I don’t have time for this. I’m already knee deep in my own cover, I can’t get into Barnes’s past when it’ll give me no advantage in the mission.”

“Y/N-“

“Trust me,” you cut her off, looking in the mirror to fix your uniform, “I have everything under control.”

***

You had maybe like one thing under control and that was the milkshake you were currently pouring into a mason jar. After a crash course in different recipes yesterday, you barely needed any help from your coworkers and seeing that the shop wasn’t very crowded, you didn’t have to rush.

And now you knew how to make three things; pasta, eggs and milkshakes.

If Keith were here, he would’ve said those were 3 main food groups.

“Tara, we’re running low on maraschino cherries,” you said as you shook the can and your new coworker turned to you.

“Oh that’s okay, there’s another jar are under the counter.”

You put the cherry over the whipped cream, and handed the jar to her. “There you go.”

“Another week of working here and you will come up with your own recipes,” she said, “Tell me the truth, are you like a spy sent by a rival company?”

You stared at her, then forced a laugh.

“I wish,” you said, “Maybe I’d be paid more.”

“Good point,” she said and walked to give the milkshake to the customer while you put the empty jar aside, then went under the counter to search for a new jar.

“Strawberries….” You read the labels out loud as you heard the wind bells chime by the door, “Figs, berries—cherries!”

You reached out to grab the jar and stood up but as soon as you did, you caught the sight of the figure by the door and held your breath, the jar slipping from your grip before you caught it mid-air.

“Bucky.” You breathed out, before you remembered to plaster a smile on your face.

Naïve, soft hearted civilian.

He stole a look around as if he expected someone to attack him at any seconds in a milkshake shop before he stepped closer to the counter you were standing behind.

“Hi.”

“Hi-hi there!” you said, putting the jar down, “You came!”

“You sound surprised,” he smiled and you shrugged your shoulders, shooting him a mischievous look,

“Better late than never, I suppose.”

He hissed in a breath, “Ouch, was it that late?”

“Just a little,” you said “So what can I get you?”

He looked up at the board over the wall, “What are my options?”

“Well, we have Unicorn Cotton Candy, Pumpkin Spice Latte, Candy Cane Passion, Lavender Macaron—“ you stopped talking when you saw the clueless look on his face and cleared your throat, “Or hey, maybe chocolate? We have chocolate milkshake.”

“Chocolate sounds good.”

“Coming right up.” You took a mason jar from the shelf to get to it and he grabbed his wallet, making you raise your brows.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Oh come on—”

“I’m going to make you an overly complicated milkshake if you try to pay for this,” you warned him, shaking the can before putting whipped cream on top of the milkshake, “It’s on the house, I owe you.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said quickly, making you point at him with the straw.

“Either way, I’m warning you. I’m armed and dangerous.”

“Consider me intimidated,” he said with a grin as he put the cash into the tip jar and you narrowed your eyes.

“Bucky.”

“Well technically, tip doesn’t count.”

“I wonder where I heard that before,” you muttered under your breath while he walked to pull himself a seat.

“Hm?”

“Nothing,” you said, reminding yourself that your cover probably wouldn’t make dirty jokes and went to place the milkshake in front of him.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.�� You waved a dismissive hand and rested your elbows on the counter, leaning in slightly.

He was gentleman enough to not check out your cleavage, instead kept his gaze on your face, making you suppress a smile.

“You were right,” Bucky said, his eyes darting around the café after a couple of seconds, “About how this place looked. It is creepily accurate.”

“Really?”

“I mean we didn’t have a neon flowers corner, but…” he trailed off, “Yeah. Yeah, I would say so.”

“Is that why you look like you expect someone to jump out of shadows and attack you?” you asked and his head shot up before he scrunched up his face.

“That obvious?”

“Not that I have lots of experience but so far none of the customers looked this uncomfortable while drinking a milkshake,” you said, “Is it because deep down you actually wanted to try Unicorn Cotton Candy?”

“Oh no, I’m good with classics,” He held up his milkshake, “No I just think that I’m a bit….uh, rusty.”

“Rusty,” you repeated, “On what?”

“On this.”

You batted your lashes, looking up at him and you could almost feel him being lured in.

“I’m sorry, I don’t follow,” you said softly after a beat and he gulped, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just that you’re—“ he cleared his throat, “You’re very beautiful and it’s been decades since I last asked someone out for a date.”

Winter Soldier, credited with over 100 assassinations, you reminded yourself Don’t lower your guard, it’s just a cover.

Don’t believe in your own cover.

You bit down a smile, tilting your head.

“Well, I didn’t think you were rusty,” you said and he raised his brows.

“You didn’t?”

“Not at all,” you said, “For the record, I’m definitely going to say yes.”

“Are you?”

“Absolutely,” you grinned, “Once you actually ask me, that is. With words, not an implication.”

His smile was almost playful, “With words, huh?”

“I’m old fashioned like that,” you taunted him, “Let’s see how we can make it less awkward for you though. Would you feel more comfortable to ask me out if you knew some weird stuff about me?”

“You know, that would help a lot actually.”

You tapped your fingernails on the counter, looking up at the ceiling, pretending to be in deep thought. Your superiors had always said the best cover stories were somehow based on real life without revealing your identity, so you figured telling him random things about you wouldn’t hurt or put the mission in danger.

“Well, I really like grapes but I don’t like the skin, so I end up peeling every grape I eat, one by one,” you counted with your fingers, “I watched a documentary once and now I can’t swim in any lakes because I keep thinking I’ll get attacked by that weird flesh eating bacteria. When I was sixteen, I was the president of the chess club but I had a boyfriend who didn’t believe in the moon landing—”

“I heard about the moon landing!” he said quickly, “I didn’t get around to watch it yet though.”

“Oh my God, you should.”

“What else?”

“I’m scared of peacocks,” you confessed, “I know everyone says they’re beautiful but they look like they’re waiting for the right time to attack you.”

He looked like he was fighting with himself not to laugh and he pressed his metal fist on his lips, his whole attention on you.

“You can’t laugh!” you exclaimed and he shook his head, trying to look as serious as possible.

“I’m not!” he managed to hide his chuckle with a cough, “Keep going, this is very helpful.”

You heaved a sigh. “Well, do you want to hear the most embarrassing one?”

“Absolutely.”

“I normally keep my phone on mute 24/7 but since last week it’s been on full volume because I was terrified I’d miss something important.”

The amused light in his eyes got softer and he lowered his hand, a smile warming his face.

Hook, line…

“I was um— I was hoping for you to call, you see.” you said, averting your gaze from him to look down for a second, biting on your lip.

His voice was raspy; “Were you?”

You shrugged your shoulders, mumbling an inaudible maybe, and his eyes trailed down to your lips before snapping up to lock your gaze in his.

“What time do you get off work today?”

And sinker.

Time to pull back.

You sucked in a breath through your teeth, “I work at the soup kitchen tonight.”

“Oh –I thought you said it was on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

“I did, I’m just covering for a friend tonight. Family emergency, she says.” you said and pushed your hair behind your ear, shifting your weight, “But my shift is over at 6 tomorrow and I can be ready around 7, I live really close by. If you’re- if you’re free, that is.”

“I am.”

“It’s a date, then.”

“It’s a date,” he repeated and stood up, “See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

“See you tomorrow Bucky.” You smiled as he walked out of the shop and Tara came closer to you.

“Wow, you’ve been here a month and you met someone that hot?” she said and winked at you, “Good job there.”

Right.

Good job.

***

“So, wait—“ Chloe came closer to sit between you and Keith, holding a huge bowl of popcorn, “He just showed up?”

“Mm hm.”

“And you have a date tomorrow?”

Keith uncapped your beer and handed you the bottle as you rested your feet on the coffee table.

“You’re being careful, aren’t you?” he asked you and you nodded.

“Sure.”

“He doesn’t suspect anything?”

“No, he’s buying this whole naïve soft hearted civilian thing,” you said while Chloe snatched the remote from Keith’s hand, ignoring protests.

“And are you?”

You dragged your eyes from the list of movies on the screen. “I want a horror movie.”

“Well too bad, I want an action movie.”

“We’re watching a rom-com and that’s final!” Chloe pointed at both of you, making you groan.

“Why does this keep happening?” Keith asked to no one in particular and she snapped her fingers.

“It’s my turn and my place so I pick the movie,” she said and shot you a look, “I’m still waiting for an answer, by the way. You don’t….you don’t have feelings for Barnes, right?”

Keith stole a look at you before turning to Chloe,

“I don’t think our dear friend here wants a relationship beautiful,” he told her, “Not after what happened the last time.”

You could feel the goosebumps rising on your arms as a shiver ran down your spine.

“I don’t even know Barnes all that well yet, but I can assure you he’s not the type to—“ you paused, “Do something that cowardly.”

Keith gritted his teeth. “Where is that asshole anyway?”

“Hungary,” Chloe said and you raised your brows.

“Undercover?”

“Yeah. I hope he gets compromised and dies there.”

“Very unlikely,” you murmured, “Anyways, what brought this on? My feelings for Barnes?”

“It’s just that I recently read Vincent Smith’s file,” she said, “You guys remember Vincent?”

“Who?”

“His code name was Marco.”

“Oh, I remember Marco!” Keith said, “That guy took down a whole unit by himself. What happened to him?”

“He is missing.” Chloe said and you pulled your brows together.

“Since when do agents go missing and we don’t know where they are?”

“Since they fall for the target.”

“No way,” Keith chuckled, “Badass spy Marco fell in love? Poor idiot.”

“You’re a terrible person, Keith.”

You sat up straighter, “Wait, did you say he fell for the target?”

“Yeah, I saw the reports from his handler. And now he’s missing, and I don’t want you to run away with Barnes like Marco did with his target.”

You and Keith exchanged glances and you clicked your tongue.

“Chloe babe, he’s not missing.” you said “He’s dead.”

She pulled back slightly, “You don’t know-“

“Yes I do. You don’t fall for the target and compromise the whole mission, not unless you want to end up dead.”

“There’s no report of that,” she insisted and Keith sipped his beer.

“What did his report say, sweetheart?”

“That he was removed from his mission before going missing.”

Keith scoffed, “Rest in peace Marco, you won’t be missed.”

“How do you know—“

“Because that’s the code,” you said, “If the report says he was removed from his mission and went missing, it means he was killed by an agent on our side.”

“We killed our own agent?” she exclaimed and you turned the beer bottle in your hand,

“He stopped being our agent the moment he fell for the target.”

Chloe covered her mouth with her hands, worry etched into her expression, “Y/N, please, please promise me you won’t somehow get too involved in this mission and fall for Barnes and put yourself in danger.”

You let out a small laugh, grabbing a handful of popcorn.

“It’s the Winter Soldier we’re talking about,” you reminded her and chewed on the popcorn, “Trust me, that would never happen.”

“Cross your heart?”

You heaved a sigh and clinked your beer bottle with hers.

“Cross my heart honey,” you assured her, “There’s no way I’d sign my own death warrant by doing something that stupid.”

Chapter 6

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #marvel #bucky barnes x you

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lady-griffin · 5 years ago

Note

Hello! I was just wondering if I could ask your opinion on something :DD I was just thinking about how differently Maria's life would have been if the events of the game still followed. Would her heart be satisfied with not gaining any friends but instead a lover? Can the four boys mend the relationship between Maria and her mother like Katarina did? Would being engaged with a noble/prince give her emotional freedom or would she be ostracized by society even more? Thoughts?

I have so many thoughts on how Katarina’s impact on everyone is so much more significant than Maria’s impact/change on the guys and their impact on Maria in the game.

No shade towards Maria or the guys, but…I mean its Katarina. She’s a goddamn force of nature. None of them can compare to the positive wreckage of Hurricane Katarina.

I would say that Maria’s heart would be “satisfied” with a lover, but more because all Maria wanted was someone to look at her and see her for who she was and it’s clear that each of the guys did that for Maria, in the game’s timeline.

However, just because she’s satisfied with her situation with a romantic partner (because it’s better) doesn’t mean it’s necessarily the best situation for her or even that healthy for her.

While sure her relationships in Fortune Lover with the guys puts her in a better place than she started, we still have to ask how much better?

Potential Spoilers Below

It was hard for me to organize my thoughts for this question...so I’m sorry if it’s nonsensical Anon (and sorry for any grammar mistakes).

Thank you for asking me this!!

We know from Katarina, that Fortune Lover never went into Maria’s backstory. Katarina knows nothing about Maria’s backstory and even got the wrong impression from what the game chose to show her about Maria.

When Katarina played the game, she thought Maria was simply an unstoppable genius; but in the real world of Fortune Lover it’s clear that Maria worked so goddamn hard.

Maria got where she is, not because she’s another Geordo, but because she put so much time and effort into getting herself at that level.

Maria is very similar to Mary in that regard.

In Hamefura (and Fortune Lover), so many characters only see “Perfect Mary” and not all the work, time and pain she put herself through to get to that point.

That’s basically Maria’s situation with those who play Fortune Lover. They only see the end result, not her countless years of effort and struggle.

But Katarina does see it and recognize Maria for her hard work, after she meets Maria.

Each time Katarina talks about the plot or a certain event, it’s largely about how Maria emotionally saves the guys or heals them.

While the guys do physically save her form the bullies (at least Geordo and Keith), the focus is clearly more on how Maria saves their broken and lonely hearts rather than how they save her own lonely and broken heart.

Her being saved (like how the guys were) by the guys isn’t really a factor in Fortune Lover. Because she’s the vehicle for the player.

Because it’s an Otome game, the game developers clearly didn’t care enough to develop Maria further than what they needed, unlike the guys, who are the main draw of the game.

And however, this world came into existence - The game being unknowing based off the world or the world existing because of the game. The actual world of Fortune Lover, what we see in Hamefura, greatly expands and fills in the gaps that Fortune Lover left behind.

It’s safe to say that the guys didn’t impact Maria’s relationship with her mother.

While it is possible Nicol and Sophia did visit Maria’s home on Nicol’s route, I highly doubt it.

Katarina doesn’t compare her own visit to anything that happens in the game – so the guys more than likely did nothing to help mend Maria and her mother’s relationship.

On the other hand, Katarina is the catalyst for Maria and her mother.

In the Light Novel, Maria’s mother sees how happy her daughter is (with Katarina and Keith) and realizes that she needs to be better. She’s known that for a while now; but it’s finally just hitting her in that moment that if she doesn’t act soon, she’ll be left behind by her daughter and be unable to mend their relationship.

Maria’s mother can’t stay frozen in her own despair and depression if she wants to be with her daughter.

Which gives me the impression that in the game, while never brought up, Maria does leave her mother behind.

I mean she probably doesn’t abandon her mother and if she marries one of the guys, she can easily improve her mother’s situation with money.

But that’s rather hollow in comparison to Maria and her mom working on their relationship together and getting to a better place together.

Katarina doesn’t do the work for Maria and her mother, but because of Katarina, Maria is in a better place to mend her relationship with her mother and vice versa.

Katarina is the catalyst for Maria’s Mother’s self-improvement. Which is very true of Katarina with the majority of the characters she impacts in the story.

Fortune Lover - Bad Endings

I am definitely looking into this way more deeply than I should.

But given how Maria can either receive a good or bad ending with each of the guys, indicates that an actual relationship (in ‘reality’) with each guy is a dangerous thing for Maria to embark on. We can look at it like this –

If Maria’s relationship doesn’t go well with each guy, she’s so screwed…so very screwed.

Geordo’s Bad Route

Katarina Dies – that probably weighed on Maria’s conscious.

Enemy of House Claes – With Katarina dead and no Geordo to protect her, it doesn’t seem crazy that the Claes family (not Keith) might or would try to retaliate against Maria.

Geordo self-exiles himself, leaving her behind – Basically the one person she bonded with and put all of her energy into leaves her. She’s alone once more. There’s also a good chance the kingdom will blame her (since Katarina’s dead) for their beloved Prince leaving them – so she’s going to be ostracized by nobles and commoners alike

Not great all-around.

Also given how twisted Geordo is in the game’s timeline, a part of me wonders if Geordo actually did love Maria in his bad route.

Or if he was simply using Maria as a reason to get rid of Katarina and escape his noble life.

Dark? Yes. Possible? I think so.

Keith’s Bad Route

Katarina Dies – again, probably weighed on Maria conscious.

Enemy of House Claes – This time Maria is a key part in not only Katarina’s death, but to the Claes family losing their heir…so not great for Maria.

Injury – Maria gets injured by Katarina...or Keith is the one who gets injured, it’s unclear to me. But basically, there’s a chance she gets physically injured.

Keith disappears (goes into hiding, leaving her behind) – Once more the person she put her time and attention into leaves her. She’s all alone. Again. Nobles still probably don’t like her and neither do the commoners and there’s probably so many more vicious rumors about her at this point, because of Keith killing his sister.

Now in Alan and Nicol’s Bad Routes the consequences are less dire, significantly so, but it’s not a stretch to say Maria would still end up alone and maybe even more isolated than she started when she got their bad endings.

And of course, there is the one Bad Route where the whole Student Council (including Maria) gets murdered…

Basically, going pass the point where the game ends, Maria’s life is made so much worse by the bad routes.

Now if Katarina and Maria stopped being friends, it’s not exactly going to be rainbows and butterflies for Maria either.

But I just don’t see things being that dire for Maria IF Katarina’s bad route was to come to pass (so to speak).

I think one benefit befriending Katarina, is that if she were to leave someone (death/non-death reasons), she leaves the person in a better place.

In all honestly though, if Maria fails at romancing Katarina than basically Katarina’s bad route is that you just remain friends with her…so you know, still fucking great.

Also the Katarina route is essentially the friendship route for Maria.

Largely because the Student Council are a large group of close, childhood friends (who are all in love with Katarina) and they all befriend Maria. Which is different than how the student council was in Fortune Lover.

While Katarina is definitely the point of focus for Maria, Maria’s social group has far exceeded her expectations, not just with the student council, but even beyond them.

Fortune Lover - Good Endings (?)

Geordo and Maria’s Happy Ending in Fortune Lover…

Personally, I find it difficult to imagine that these the game versions of these two would live happily ever after.

It just seems like such a stretch that Maria undoes the 16 years of Geordo’s fucked up life and disposition in one year and everything is great and dandy afterwards.

But we are told that they do end up happily ever after, so we’re going to take the story’s word on the matter.

Maria would still end up so goddamn isolated. I mean she would be ostracized by noble society to such a scary and threatening degree if she ended up with Geordo.

Katarina is a Duke’s Daughter; she is at the top of the social hierarchy and we’ve seen how certain nobles treat her. So, imagine what Maria’s treatment would be like.

After years of being socially isolated in her town, to being bullied and socially isolated at school, to gaining all that hatred and jealousy of all those noble girls who love Geordo.

I don’t think anyone could handle that.

Geordo would probably try to get back at those people and take care of them (to possibly a dangerous degree), which I don’t think would help Maria and might even cause her to further retreat into herself.

Given how Hamefura pulls the curtains behind Fortune Lover, I just find it so difficult to truly see Maria being happy with Geordo (and vice versa).

But it’s not exactly peaches and roses with the other guys.

Alan and Maria’s Happy Ending in Fortune Lover…

She’s definitely would be socially isolated and bullied by noble society. Probably not to the degree she would be with Geordo…but still pretty badly.

I can easily see so many noble girls being upset that even though Alan leaves the perfect Mary, he chooses the commoner Maria over them.

I guess it’s possibly for Geordo and Alan to leave their princely lives for Maria, but again, I see Maria taking the brunt of that decision from the nobles.

Nicol and Maria’s Happy Ending in Fortune Lover…

While Nicol is described as the most normal, he and Sophia are clearly co-dependent on one another in the game, to such an unhealthy degree.

I’m sure if we knew more about Nicol’s route, Fortune Lover would have said that Maria saved the two siblings from the isolated world they only shared with one another.

But would she have? Or would she simply end up joining their isolated world?

Again, Nicol has so fans (men and women), I just see Maria being socially isolated and ostracized by noble society.

And unlike the other guys, there’s no way Nicol would abandon his duties to his family or to his noble life – he feels a great deal of responsibility towards his family and as his father’s heir.

So while her good ending with Nicol could still be a legit good ending for her, I still see some snags for the two of them.

Keith and Maria’s Happy Ending in Fortune Lover…

Probably the happiest one, in all honesty.

In the Light Novels, it’s stated that Keith and Maria elope together and Keith abandons his position as the Claes heir. Which yeah, that makes absolute sense.

There’s no way Luigi Claes would be happy with his heir marrying the girl who he would absolutely blame for his beloved daughter’s exilement? No way.

So those two would escape Noble Society together…so they would probably be okay and be able to live normal lives.

Though I will admit, it does seem like they would probably become co-dependent on one another.

Seeing as both of them have been neglected, emotionally abused, isolated and bullied by others and neither of them have probably learned the proper tools in handling all of that.

Also, I doubt there’s therapy in this world…so yeah.

I’m not saying they wouldn’t be able to save one another from their loneliness and build a foundation off of their shared experiences…but given how Fortune Lover focuses on Maria saving Keith from his loneliness and not so much the other way around –

Maria would probably be doing the brunt of the emotional work in their relationship.

…Okay, I may have been way too dark on Maria’s happy endings with the guys.

It’s more than likely her situation if she had ended up with one one of them she would’ve been fine and a lot better than what I’ve portrayed above.

But I still think she would;ve been socially isolated and ostracized (to varying degrees), while still being emotional repressed herself.

One of the reasons why Katarina saving everyone feels severely more balanced than Maria saving everyone one… is that Katarina is well-adjusted.

I mean emotionally speaking she was doing so much better than everyone else when she first met them.

Don’t get me wrong, Katarina has plenty of her own problems and issues – from her self-esteem to legit thinking her friends would abandon her or even kill her.

But Katarina was able to save everyone by just being herself.

And while Fortune Lover and Katarina basically presume that’s true for Maria… it’s not.

Because we see and get to know the real Maria and see how emotionally repressed, she was before she met Katarina.

Her saving each of the guys or all of them together, probably cost her, her own emotional freedom and salvation.

There’s the saying, the saddest people smile the brightest.

Which is not a bad saying, but it can imply a somewhat dark idea if you think about it.

The saddest people have to smile bright to save others, because they know what it’s like to be sad and don’t want that from others.

That gives the impression that those sad people don’t allow themselves to be sad or at least not in front of other people, because they always have to happy and smile brightly for others.

I think that’s Maria’s in a nutshell in Fortune Lover.

One of the beauties of Hamefura is that we see Maria needed to be saved as much as everyone else did.

She was pain and crying out as well, but since she was just the vehicle for the game and player, she wasn’t truly saved.

Maria says her big finale line to Katarina, the one that she always says to the guy she ends up with at the end of the game.

But I think the weight of it, is so much more real with Katarina than it was in Fortune Lover with the guys.

Maybe I’m completely off base, but it just feels more like it comes from a genuine desire when directed towards Katarina rather than a deeply rooted fear of being alone again.

Again, that could just be me.

I think Maria being with Katarina, platonic or romantic, is immensely healthier for Maria as an individual.

For me, I would always choose having multiple good to epic friendships over one epic romance that I’m completely dependent on.

Thaks for the ask anon. And I’m sorry if it doesn’t make sense, it was just hard for me to organize and write down my thoughts for some odd reason.

#Maria Campbell #Katarina Claes #Hamefura #Otome Game No Hametsu Flag #Destruction Flag Otome #Bakarina #My Next Life As a Villainess #Fortune Lover #Anonymous

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loveafterthefact · 4 years ago

Text

A Deleted Scene

Just some Ulace background fluff for those of you who love them as much as I do

Thace is sitting by the fire, frown cast in deep chasms over his young face. One ear swivels, searching for his mate coming home, chasing fleeting sounds through the night. The other is fixed behind him, on four of his kits sleeping soundly in the den, safe in the knowledge that their bearer is right outside.

At least, they fucking better be, given it took a varga to get the triplets into bed! Why did he want so many kits again?

The answer to that comes with the sound of a particular set of footsteps drawing near, bringing a smile to Thace’s lips. An older, war-grizzled Galra soon comes into sight, the shape of his body haunting in the light of the village’s campfires.

“Welcome home,” Thace murmurs, holding out his arms for the sleeping kit Ulaz carries close to his chest.

“Welcome home,” Ulaz echoes. It’s a long-time ritual of theirs, to call each other home, especially during an age when physical home could be destroyed at any time.

Thace purrs, cradles his youngest kit close, breathing in their scent, drawing his cheek over the top of their head. Without hesitation, Ulaz passes over the newborn infant, understanding his mate’s needs. And Raj’s. Their eyes and ears are barely open, mere silhouettes, the sounds of their family the only things their senses care about. That includes not spending more than a few vargas without one of their parents. Thace feels the same way, instinctively drawn to his littlest kit.

Sometimes, work makes that impossible.

Ulaz sits next to him, pulls a slightly cold dinner toward him. They sit in silence for a while, Thace letting himself relax now that he has all his kits again, Ulaz taking the time to savor a moment after a rough afternoon of profiling. Both are decompressing, relishing their time (mostly) alone.

“So… What’s gone and put that frown on your face?”

“The princes.”

“Not Lotor, I presume.” “No.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I feel like I failed somehow,” Thace whispers. “They’re so, so young. Both of them. Lance still smells more like a kit than an adult. And so much is being asked of them. And I- I keep thinking of how I crumbled under everything.”

“You did not crumble, my love.” Ulaz tucks his chin over Thace’s shoulder, smiling down at the kit sleeping in his mate’s arms. “You realized you’d been indoctrinated and then had an identity crisis because you finally started thinking for yourself. Very different things.”

The humor falls flat. Ulaz’s humor usually does.

“I know. I know. I just… Keith- Keith feels like one of my kits to me. Like I love him, and want to protect him, and keep him safe. He’s been through so much and I dunno. I’m dissatisfied.”

“It’s too soon. They should have waited a decaphoeb or two to breed,” Ulaz agrees. “But they are princes, and sometimes what should be, can’t be.”

“I know that too.” An edge creeps into Thace’s voice.

“But you don’t like it.”

“No, I don’t.”

Ulaz chuckles, eyes gleaming with fondness in the dark. “May I make an observation?” At Thace’s hesitant nod, the older Galra continues. “You are… extremely opinionated, and you’ve been known to get very annoyed when people don’t agree or conform to those opinions.”

“So I’m mad that the princes have chosen to go straight from final growth and bonding to parenthood for the simple reason that I don’t like it? Or am I mad because I advised them to do exactly that for political reasons even though I’m a healthcare provider?”

“You tell me. Why are you mad?”

Thace groans, leans away so he can properly glare at his mate. “I hate when you do that.”

“I’m a profiler. That’s what I do. And you used to find it very hot when I do that.”

“It is. When you’re not doing it to me.”

“And I just got you to admit you still think I’m hot.” Ulaz kisses him, smile against smile.

“Oh, you’re very hot,” Thace agrees, returning the kiss. “But I’m hotter.”

A few doboshes pass in easy silence, touch and even breaths replacing discourse. It’s been like this since before they even bonded, the comfort of silence coming naturally in each other’s presence. Decaphoebs of trust lie between them, stemming from care given during a first season Thace hadn’t intended to face alone until it was right upon him.

The younger Galra sighs, eventually surrendering to his older mate’s learned patience.

“I’m mad because if I’d said what I should have said instead of what I needed to say, they would have had more time together just the two of them. And that time was so important to me.”

“You and Keith are different people. You needed time for yourself because you’d constantly been smothered by others. Keith has still been alone for more decaphoebs than he hasn’t. He wants to sink himself into the soil and put down as many roots as he can.

“Don’t begrudge them an early start just because it’s not what you’d choose for yourself. They were happy when you spoke to them, right?”

Thace heaves a sigh. “They were… so happy. I’ve never heard two people sound that happy. Like it was all they ever wanted.”

“Then maybe we give them the benefit of the doubt. Let’s see if the Altean rises to the occasion before we go sulking pensive in front of the fire.” Ulaz’s arms wrap around his waist, legs crossing beneath Thace’s own crossed legs. “Or go kicking his ass for hurting our little friend.”

“You think you’re clever, don’t you,” Thace mutters, not missing how he’s suddenly in his mate’s lap.

“I missed you. I haven’t seen you all quintant except to trade off Raj.”

Unable to argue, Thace leans back against him, a silent admission. Raj yawns, stretching their little arms as their mouth opens wide, tiny tongue curling.

“I want more of these,” Ulaz whispers, slipping a finger into his infant kit’s fist. “Like a million of them.”

“I don’t know about a million, but a few more for sure.” Thace bites his lip. “You really think they’ll be okay?”

“You know, I really do. I wasn’t ready, but when we got pregnant with Mashan I like to think I did quite well.”

“You did,” Thace promises, gazing at Ulaz’s finger still gripped tight in their kit’s tiny hand. “You did so well, love.”

Ulaz hadn’t always wanted kits, afraid to disappoint, to damage a small, dependent life. Thace had accepted, though not without some heartbreak that morphed into fear after contraceptives failed some dozen seasons down the line. When he told Ulaz, he’d found himself comforted, Ulaz’s fear tempering his own, the promise of a new life pushing everything else away.

That new life became Mashan, their sweet, gentle girl that makes them desperate. Mashan, who will never make it in this life if something doesn’t change and soon. For Forenz, Bimesa, and Lorna, who could thrive anywhere but still deserve better. For Raj, who takes after their bearer already, fierce and ferocious, but should never have to wonder if their parents are coming home.

“I’m so glad I waited for you,” Thace whispers.

“I’m glad I waited for you too.” Ulaz extracts himself from Raj’s grip, squeezes his mate tight, rubs their cheeks together. They purr in concert. They’ve been together for almost two centaphoebs, fathers for not even half that, but given the choice, there’s nothing they would have done differently.

The proof of that comes later, with Mashan curling up against Ulaz’s chest, using his arm as a pillow, clinging to him like a little primate. He’s got her tail in his hand. The triplets are piled between them and Thace, Raj on his chest, still-folded ear pressed to his central heart.

The family he always envisioned for himself, but much better than he ever imagined. So long as he can hold onto it.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #voltron thace #vld thace #voltron ulaz #vld ulaz #thace x ulaz #ulace #galtean au #klance

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willadisastercry · 5 years ago

Text

Retrieval mission gone horribly wrong: nearly everyone is whumped...

tw: discussion of blood, breathing difficulties, impalement, loss of conciousness, discussion of the aftermath of an explosion

The mission should’ve been simple. All they had to do was blend in, which meant no armor, only concealed bayards. Everybody knew the deal, Pidge has the tablet that tracts the artifact, the rest follow and protect Pidge who retrieves said artifact. They were supposed to get in and out quickly, to not leave time to dawdle, or room for error. And most importantly, not get caught. But the entire team was off that day, leaving little that went according to plan and multiple members of the group badly injured and in need of tending. It didn’t matter if it was a lack of focus or proper intel... but who was left to save them?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Hunk had refused to enter the crudely lit corridor and watched in horror as his teammates were enveloped into darkness aside from the shrinking green and red and grey glows of their bayards.

The vibes were just off, he’d argued in protest since the power hadn’t wavered once when they combed the previous floor. We don’t have our suits and cannot afford to blindly walk into an ambush with only our bayards. Not to mention, there is not a single guard around—absolutely nothing to protect this artifact located down a dark and mysterious hallway, does not mean go and check it out anyway?!

But Pidge’s radar confirmed the signal was emitting from just a couples yards ahead and the other boys couldn’t argue with that.

“You don’t have to come with us, bud.”

“Yea, don’t sweat it...”

“...we gotta get moving.”

They were already running short on time for the estimated window of opportunity to retrieve the artifact they were tracking before the security system rebooted. They just couldn’t pass up the chance, but Hunk also just wasn’t going to be caught dead following them down there.

“I guess I’ll cover you on this end...”

There was nothing on his end though. Not a single thing.

He relished in the steady influx of their voices discussing what they saw over the coms. Nothing for a while, Lance stepping on Pidge’s heel, Keith bonking his bayard on the wall accidentally and it scaring them, Pidge saying they were closing in on the artifact. But immediately after they started closing in the clear stream became crackled and unintelligible.

Hunk wanted to throw up, he knew something had gone really really wrong when their coms went down completely but Shiro and Allura could still be heard urging everyone to move faster, that they wouldn’t be able to hold the attention of their defense fleet much longer.

They had drawn the patrol fleets’ fire and were serving as a distraction for nearly thirty dobashes now, their lions had taken a substantial amount of damage and wouldn’t hold up much longer.

“Guys?! Pidge, come in! Lance? Keith? ANYONE?!”

“Yelling! In my ear! Why are we yelling?”

“Shit—yeah, hi Shiro. So... Keith, Lance and Pidge followed the signal down this sketchy hallway, but I didn’t go because it looks like the type of hallway you get murdered in—I shouldn’t say that, but it looks like that. It’s pitch black, zero visibility, I can’t see them at all. Man it felt so wrong down there! I knew something was up, I felt bad about not going with them but I couldn’t, I couldn’t go, something wasn’t right!”

“Hunk! Focus! I need you to calm down and tell me you’re exact location, better yet send it to me.”

“Gosh—okay, yeah, I can focus. I can—“

But Shiro never got to calm Hunk down enough to have him even describe where he was because his end of the coms went out and was replaced with a similar static.

“Crap, Allura I’ve got to go in and help them,” Shiro stated as he sprayed the battle ships with a hail of fire before stealing the castle away.

“I’m coming, guys,” Shiro assured even though they likely couldn’t hear him.

Allura stayed back to draw base’s defensive fighters away and then get them off her tail while Coran cloaked the castle. Once they were out of range, Shiro used their last drop ship to bypass the planets defenses while they were still distracted and landed on the base near Pidge’s green lion.

Shiro had no idea what he’d be walking into when he tracked the artifact on the server Pidge created to identify quintessence.

He sure didn’t think he’d first find a passed out Hunk at the beginning of said sketchy hallway with a heavy plume of smoke billowing from it. His forehead bleeding pretty significantly and he didn’t stir when Shiro shook him.

“Fuck,” he breathed as he lugged the larger boy up by his arms and draped him over his back, using their combined momentum to keep them both upright as he trudged into the thick smoke and dense darkness of the sketchy hallway.

It was so dark he couldn’t see five feet in front of him, but it wouldn’t have mattered with the smoke anyway, the only reason he remembered it was there was how it filled and sat heavy in his lungs.

He called out hoarsely. But nothing for the longest time until he followed the blinking light from the server and turned the corner.

The first thing he heard was heavy breathing. He called out, but no one responded. His glowing hand casting a vague purple sheen that illuminated his path slightly and allowed him just enough visibility to not to eat shit over the debris that littered the floor.

There had been an explosion.

Hunk had been right. There was no one guarding the suspicious hallway with the precious artifact because the guard was the spooky hallway itself.

Shiro slowed and began scanning the entire width of the hallway as he moved, looking for the first sign of life or anything that looked like it would set off a bomb, but wasn’t too worried about that since his team had obviously made it that far without...

He forced any thought about what he might stumble upon when he found them out of his head. All he needed to focus on was finding them in the first place, which got a little tricky when the hallway forked. The server wasn’t precise enough to pinpoint the difference of fifteen feet accurately. So he stopped altogether now and called out again.

He heard nothing for second, but then he heard wheezing, the strangled rattle of someone’s chest working and darted down the right most corridor.

Before he turned down the next corridor he was stopped dead in his tracks when his purple hand illuminated a shaggy haired form crumpled around the corner of the wall. Keith.

He knelt down and grabbed the shuddering boy’s shoulders. His raspy breathing was what he’d been hearing. He refrained from rolling him onto his back to check for further damage because it was peppered with shards of metal, so instead he assured him that he was safe now and that he’d come back for him once he checked on everyone else. Keith only grunted.

Shiro let Hunk down next to Keith and activated his hand once more to begin scouring the hallway.

He called out again, and this time someone responded. Shiro took off on a weary trot as he followed the weak response, he told them to keep talking as he scanned the floor, very aware of each skinny twist of metal that looked remotely like an arm or a leg until he actually saw a leg attached to one. Lance.

Lance was on his side, his shoulder tucked unnaturally under him, with the tip of a jagged wrench of metal sticking into the fleshy part of his thigh.

“I’m okay,” he huffed as Shiro eyed him worriedly, “I just can’t get up. My shoulder is done for but the bleeding on my leg has sort of stopped or slowed at least, it’s not even that deep it’s just very securely in there.”

“Okay, do you think you can stand?”

Lance laughed dubiously, but extended his uninjured arm out to Shiro anyway.

“That was not at all convincing, but I guess we’ll find out... hook your arm around my neck, yeah just like that, now I’m going to brace your bad arm against your side so nothing moves weird and you’re going to put weight on your good leg... on three, one—three!”

As soon as Shiro hoisted Lance up he nearly topppled back over with the wave of excruciating pain that washed over him, he yelped and writhed as he breathed through it, his legs wobbling while he gripped Shiro’s shirt to keep himself upright.

From what Shiro could tell as he carefully manuevered his arms around Lance’s waist and good arm to keep him from falling, his shoulder appeared to be very much dislocated. But it was now safely clutched against his side, so any jostling of it would be awful, but no further damage would be made.

Lance took a shakey breath and stepped back, giving himself a second to sus out if he could make do with his bad leg. A fresh gush of dark red welled around the shard protruding from his thigh and dribbled slowly down his leg. He grimaced, but it carried his weight.

Shiro’s heart sank. An explosion like this wouldn’t have hurt his team as badly if they were wearing their armor, not just the under suit. It was his order, to be discreet. This was his fault.

“Hey, I’ll live. Pidge was father down, she was closer to this explosion,” Lance mused as he leaned heavily on the wall while he made his way forward.

“There were like several. Keith got the brunt of the first one, is he okay?”

“Uh, ish. I had Hunk with me, he’s out so I left him with Keith.”

“Shit...”

“I know, usually takes a lot more to take out the big—“

“No, look.”

Lance pointed to Pidge with the light of his bayard. She was slumped against the wall and looked like she was mostly okay asides from being unconscious, that is if you didn’t mention the glistening pool of blood below her.

Shiro rushed forward and his stomach turned. Only when he got close did he realize that the entire right side of her body was torn up by metal debris.

A lot were minor knicks, but there was one particularly jagged gash in her side that was likely the source of all the blood.

“Pidge? Hey, you with us?!”

The smaller teammate hummed when Shiro shook them.

“I’m gonna get you out of here, okay? This probably won’t feel good, I’m sorry.”

Shiro lifted up Pidge’s limp form effortlessly, ignoring her pained cries as he held her against his chest so that her head rested on his shoulder, one arm clutching the back of her thighs and the other free to help Lance limp back to the rest of the team.

Hunk was responding by the time they got back. A large hand pressed firmly on Keith’s arm as his chest worked, his breath ragged and his lungs wheezing while he breathed through the thick smoke. Shiro made a mental note that he probably had some other injuries to his chest that were making him so susceptible to the effects of smoke inhalation.

“Okay, Hunk how you doing? Can you walk?”

“I ‘on know,” he slurred, “pro’ly.”

“I can help him. You get the mullet, he’s not looking too hot.”

Lance hefted a dazed Hunk to his feet with his uninjured arm. He swayed, but Lance steadied him.

Shiro knelt beside Keith, balancing Pidge on one side while he probbed his stomach.

“Anything hurt over here?”

“No, agh! Not really, mostly my chest... and my back,” he groaned through labored breaths.

“Good, hold on to me,” he postured before pressing the boys hips against his own and bringing him up with him.

Keith’s breath hitched as he adjusted to the new orientation, but he got his feet under him and clutched Shiro’s shoulder before doubling over. He was almost retching like he was going to be sick, but he just couldn’t breathe.

Hunk who was hanging on Lance held out his arm for him to grasp and he did, grateful for the extra support while he struggled to fill his lungs.

“Easy, Keith. Just relax. I know it hurts, but we have to get back to the Castle. We’ll fix you up soon you just gotta work with us for now,” Shiro soothed, dragging him along sluggishly.

“Shi— o— iro— Shiro? Shiro can you hear me?”

As they moved farther and farther away from the artifact, the coms grew clearer until they could hear Allura’s voice distinct and worried.

“We’re here Princess, we’re all here,” Lance answered.

They heard Allura let out a sigh she tried to repress, she didn’t even know she was holding her breath.

“Are the paladins alright?”

“Uh...”

“Ish.”

“Should I patch Coran in and tell him to prepare a pod?”

Pidge let out a particularly pointed whine as Shiro shifted her so she wouldn’t slip lower, his moving also tweaked something for Keith who moaned a very deep and crackly ‘ouch’.

Shiro eyed the darkened expanse of Lance’s thigh, Hunk’s wavering balance.

“Have him prepare a few... just to be safe.”

“Oh dear, alright.”

They had to move quickly but carefully. Shiro had never tread so lightly during an escape except for now when he was toting two very injured and in pain paladins. He moved even quicker when he realized that Keith had gone from only clutching at his shoulder to leaning entirely into his side, his feet at times merely dragging along. Shiro’s grip on his hip pressing it against his own was uncomfortable for them both but there was no other area untouched on his upper body for him to lug him by.

Lance and Hunk made their own way together, swaying and stumbling the entire time. Lance’s leg had pretty much stopped bleeding, the metal protruding from it effectively staunching it for now, but the damage around it grew more and more apparent. His muscles felt both excruciatingly taut and achingly loose as they squelched around the piercing metal.

It would altogether buckle beneath him every now and again, leaving Hunk mostly holding up Lance but relying on him to reorient himself when his head ached so bad that his vision blurred. Hunk was always careful of his shoulder when he’d stop and hang on him, Lance’s bad arm remaining clutched tightly against his side and out of the way anyway.

“We’re almost to Green, come on buddy,” he said as he urged the larger boy forward, practically hoping now.

No one really knew how they made it out without getting stopped, but the robotic foot soliders seemed to only take into account that the perpetrators who set off the explosions would be running, not hobbling.

Green’s whines were present in everyone’s head with Pidge’s conciousness wavering, the jaws of the smaller lion opening up as soon as they neared.

My paladin! Green lion save paladin! Green lion fly paladin to castle!

“We’ve got her, Green. You just get us back and we’ll do the rest,” Shiro assured, settling down on the ground of the cockpit with Pidge between his legs, her back against his chest so he could put pressure on the gash in her side.

He had guided Keith to his knees where he then practically pitched forward onto his stomach.

Looking at the wounds on his back with some of the metal bits still sticking out in better lighting made Shiro want to hurl.

Then again holding Pidge’s insides in place also made him want to hurl but that was why she was positioned the way she was, so he didn’t have to see it.

Her breathing was fast but it was better than Keith’s. Every now and then she’d make a pained sound and he would just whisper in her ear that she was safe and she would calm down soon after.

And then he’d take her pulse. It had gotten slightly weaker but he could still feel it.

Lance had lowered himself to the ground slowly but his good leg was tired and cramping from the effort of getting out of there and so the descent down was anything less than smooth, his legs giving and his back hitting against the wall. It jarred his shoulder so badly he was wailing.

Hunk held his hands against his ears when Lance screamed out, he hated the fact that his friend was in pain but the shrillness of his cries sent stabbing pains into his skull where a pulsing welt had been growing. There had been an explosion at every key checkpoint on the way to the artifact, including the entrance he was supposed to be covering.

When the wave of nausea and blinding pain subsided, Hunk placed his hand on top of Lance’s who didn’t have the energy to tighten around it while he clenched his teeth together, hissing as every movement Green made only hurt him further.

Keith could sympathize.

The only option was for him was to lay on his stomach, shifting his weight to the side of his ribs that hurt less was all he could do. He could feel every one of Green’s movements reverberating in his chest, riling up every bit of hurt that was now present and dialing it to well past ten.

He just wheezed through most of it, the smoke from the explosion still thick and heavy in his throat, but when his lungs ached so bad he couldn’t help but cough it made his bruised and broken ribs hit the ground and his vision whited out several times.

It wasn’t until one fit racked his body so badly he coughed up a bit of blood that hands were on him pulling him to his knees and putting his head between his legs so he could calm down enough to breathe.

“Hey, Green? Please hurry...”

#voltron fic #vld #voltron whump #whump scenario #keith whump #vld lance #pidge whump #hunk vld #takashi shirogane #space dad #whump for everyone #whump fic #explosion #injuries

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otterknowbynow · 5 years ago

Text

T’as de la place sur le canapé

Sometimes the others need a nap; Hunk is more than happy to provide comfort for his paladin family.

Written as part of Gentron Week 2020 for the prompt Cuddle Pile | Literal Sleeping Together. Also on ao3

Keith falls asleep on him first. Hunk wouldn’t normally expect it, but the guy’s been up for three days straight at this point, probably, between all they’ve been doing for alliance-building since Shiro’s been back and zipping off on Blades missions left and right. He’s focused on going over the notes from his last few sourdough biscuit attempts -- it seems like the space yeast, or whatever it is, is more sensitive to temperature than the Earth variety -- when Keith slumps over sideways against his shoulder. He tenses for a brief moment, worried something is very wrong, and looks over carefully without moving anything apart from his eyes. Keith’s mouth is slack, but his eyes are still open and as they focus on Hunk’s face, they widen, and Keith sits back up again quickly.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking away. His shoulders tense quickly and resettle as he leans against the back of the couch, as if he’s felt a chill. “Didn’t mean to…” he trails off, one hand waving vaguely in front of himself.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Hunk says with a shrug. And it is, of course, now that he knows nothing’s wrong. “We’re all family here.” Keith looks back over at him and blinks.

“...we are?” He doesn’t sound upset, just bewildered.

“Aren’t we?” Hunk asks, and thinks he’s probably just as confused as Keith is. He’s pretty sure there isn’t a better word for the five of them -- seven really -- than family at this point, considering.

“I…” Keith trails off and picks up his tablet again, and Hunk shrugs as he goes back to his notes. He’s just worked out what he thinks would be an ideal ending point of temperature for the yalmor fat in the biscuits and has started to factor in the ambient temperature of the kitchen to know where it needs to start when Keith speaks again, so quietly he’s not sure he’s supposed to hear. “I guess we are.” Hunk nods without adding anything to that, still mostly focused on the numbers in front of him. Keith shrugs and leans to the side again, tentatively resting his head against Hunk’s shoulder.

“This okay?” That question he knows is meant for him to hear, and Hunk nods again without really looking up.

“‘Course,” he says.

As he finishes writing out the new procedure for his biscuits, Hunk slowly becomes aware that Keith’s body is vibrating softly against him. He frowns, almost opening his mouth to speak, and then closes it as he looks down and realizes the vibrating is accompanied by a quiet rumbling sound, and Keith is out like a light.

“He’s purring,” says a voice, and Hunk looks up to see Pidge leaning against the doorway to the lounge, carrying her tablet in one hand and a shoebox-sized container under her other arm.

“He can do that?” Hunk asks. “That’s…”

“Something he’s done for a long time,” Pidge says with a shrug. “He makes a lot of noises, if you listen for them -- extraverbal communication and all that. I noticed the trend a while ago -- that his tends to be cat-adjacent.” Hunk thinks back over the past several months and nods slowly.

“Yeah, I guess he does. I never really thought about them being cat noises...thought they were just, I don’t know --” it’s Hunk’s turn to wave his hand vaguely in front of himself, carefully avoiding moving the side Keith’s leaning on “-- him noises.” Pidge shrugs again and crosses to sit on the couch on his other side, the shoebox thing between them. “What is that, anyway?”

“Couple of broken communicators. I’m pretty sure they’re just old Altean walkie-talkies,” she says, lifting the lid so he can see two sleek white things that look like exactly that. “The thing that’s cool is they don’t use the same long-range frequencies as our suit communicators or the intercom. As far as I can tell, they’re just run-of-the-mill handheld two-way radios -- maximum communication distance should be something like five miles, but it seems like they might come in handy if I can figure out how to reload their power source..”

“Nice,” Hunk says, looking them over and taking in the dual antennae and impossibly delicate-looking speakers. "Do they not just run on quintessence…?"

"Oh, they do," she says, nodding rapidly, Hunk assumes to offset how low they're still keeping their voices. "It’s just not in a form I’ve seen before, and I’m not sure how to recharge them, or really how they discharge." She flips one of the units over as she's speaking to show him a little catch on the back, which she slides open to reveal what looks like a small bag full of translucent blue gel -- it reminds Hunk more than anything of those little packs of dishwasher soap, but nearly drained.

"Oh, wild," he breathes, careful not to let his shoulders move and jostle Keith. "Is that like...quintessence goop?"

"Looks like it! How they got it in this form is still a mystery, though, and I think I'm well past having the level of focus I'd need to figure it out -- nearly fell asleep in the lab. I thought the change of scenery might help, or you might have some ideas, but..." She glances over at Keith -- head still resting on Hunk's shoulder, arms folded in front of his chest, and soundly asleep -- almost longingly. Hunk grins.

"Tell you what -- why don't you get some rest and let me think on it?"

"You sure?" She asks, stifling a yawn.

"Yeah, I’m sure. You deserve a break, kid.” She grumbles a bit at that, but when he moves the box to the floor and picks up his tablet again, she doesn’t object. Instead, she faces the door and curls up against the back of the couch, resting her head on top of it. It doesn’t look like an entirely comfortable position, but Hunk shrugs and pulls up the data they’ve collected about the different matter forms of quintessence so far.

Halfway through reading about its liquid form, however, he’s interrupted by a highly irritated-sounding Lance, who’s standing in front of him having apparently just come from the pool, if the combination of the smell of chlorine and his wet hair is any indication.

“Oh, sure, no one bother telling me we’re taking a group nap, just don’t try --” he breaks off into a yawn, and Hunk takes the opportunity to shush him as emphatically as he can considering the sleeping forms on either side of him, but Lance continues just as indignantly as soon as he can draw a normal breath. “Don’t try to include Lance; he doesn’t need to know about local comfy gathering, more at 11!” His hands are on his hips, glare so sharp it could probably cut glass.

“Shush,” Hunk stage whispers, holding up his one free arm and trying not to laugh and disturb the others by shaking. “This wasn’t exactly a plan.” Lance narrows his eyes even further, looking down at the shoebox-y container on the floor.

“Then why did you guys move things off the couch, hmm?” he asks, and Hunk is just glad he’s brought his voice down a bit. “Checkmate!” Apparently it’s not quiet enough, though, since Pidge stirs, mumbling something about a crick in her neck. And resettles facing toward Hunk instead, all without opening her eyes or taking her glasses off.

“Lance, buddy, you are welcome to join us,” he says, raising his eyebrows pointedly. Lance’s mouth is already half-open to continue his tirade, but he stops and closes it, blinking.

“Yeah, that’s...probably better,” he says slowly. “I’m pretty beat.” He plops down onto the couch between Hunk and Pidge, where there’s barely enough space even for him. Pidge grumbles half into Lance’s shoulder and shoves him slightly toward Hunk, who lifts his arm to wrap it around him so he can still get to his tablet. Lance settles against Hunk’s side and yawns once, eyes already closed.

“Wake me if there’s breakfast.”

“I can do that,” Hunk says, fumbling a bit as he gets his screen back in front of him. He didn’t notice exactly when Pidge decided that his bicep made a better pillow than the back of the couch, but she’s wrapped onto his arm now, her glasses balanced somewhat precariously where her head was resting before. “I can do that.”

#gentronweek #gentron 2020 #voltron #vld #vld fic #hunk (voltron)#keith kogane #pidge (voltron)#lance (voltron #I don't know what character tags people use RIP #anyway have some really cute cuddle pile times with the kiddos #scribbles #the title is from a french pop song bc I'm a nostalgic sentimental disaster

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captain--sif · 5 years ago

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“Names”

Fandom: 9-1-1 Lone Star

Relationship: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand

Word count: 1k

9-1-1 Lone Star got me hooked and this little fic was born out of a discord convo over speculations of TK’s full name. It’s a little something that was fun to write :)

Summary: 5 times Carlos tries to guess TK's full name and 1 time he finally finds out.

Find it on AO3 or read it here:

1. The first time Carlos asks about TK’s name is during a lazy morning in bed. They are comfortable, under Carlos’ covers, both awake but still having a little time before they have to get up for work.

TK is about to doze off again for a few minutes, warm in Carlos’ arms, with the other man lazily drawing patterns on his skin. Carlos casually asks, “Sooo, what does TK stand for?”

“Hm?” TK lifts his head a little to look at him.

“They are your initials, right?” Carlos explains. “So, what is your full name?”

TK buries his head back into his pillow in response.

“No” TK’s refuses..

“Come on” Carlos pleads “It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not bad,” TK replies, rolling away “still not telling you though.” He grabs another pillow and covers his head with it. Carlos grabs it and pulls it away.

“I can just start guessing then,” he grins, lying back down. “Hmm… names starting with T… Tommy? Terry?” He thinks for a while. “What about Tommy Kyle?”

“Not my name” TK groans, “and if you think you can get me to tell you like this, you’re very wrong.”

“We’ll see.” Carlos teases, pulling TK over, so that he’s snug against his chest again.

The next time Carlos brings it up, they are making out in Carlos’ living room, none of them wanting to stop to take the time to make it to the couch or bed. Not paying attention to anything other than where their bodies are touching, TK stumbles, pushing over a vase.

Carlos grips him tight to steady him, mumbling, “Easy, Tiger. Don’t destroy my apartment.” before going back in for TK’s mouth. He suddenly stops just before their lips touch. “Does the T stand for Tiger?”

“What?” TK asks in surprise, leaning back to look at Carlos quizzically, catching his breath. “Really? Tiger? And now?” He glances at Carlos’ hands that are still gripping him tightly “Don’t you have better things to do?”

Carlos responds with a cheeky grin and cocks an eyebrow, “Wouldn’t it be funny if I called you by your real name the whole time without knowing it?”

“I do like when you call me that but that has nothing to do with my full name,” TK says, leaning in again, “It mostly has to do with what you’re doing to me while you’re calling me that.”

TK pauses, “What would the K stand for then?”

Carlos shrugs noncommittally “I don’t know. Kub?”

TK laughs, “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you find that hot,” Carlos replies, quickly forgetting about the conversation he started as soon as their lips touch.

“What about Tyler?” Carlos asks and TK nearly chokes on his bread.

“Hm?”

“I have been thinking maybe Tyler Kane or Tyler Kaleb” he ponders in between bites. “Tyler Kaleb is my favourite so far.”

TK cannot help himself, he is laughing now, earning bewildered glares from the people around them.

“I guess that’s a no then,” Carlos shrugs and continues eating his sandwich.

“Keep on guessing” TK tells him with an amused expression on his face when he’s calmed down. “Maybe you’ll get it right one day.”

They are out in the bar one night, ordering drinks when Carlos remarks, “It’s a shame they don’t need an ID when you’re buying water. I bet you’d get asked to show it.”

“Is that a hint for me to buy you a drink?” TK cocks his eyebrow.

Carlos grins. “That was a hint for you to show me your ID.”

“What, so you can find out my full name? Not happening” he sips on the straw that came with his mineral water. “You’d have to arrest me for that, Officer.”

“That can be arranged,” Carlos smirks.

“Abusing your power to find out my name isn’t off the table then,”, TK teases.

“You gotta do what you gotta do, Taylor Kelley.”

TK laughs “You really don’t. And that is not my name either.”

“Hmm, Taylor Kinney then?”

“Nope”

“Maybe I’ll just ask your dad,” Carlos announces when they are having dinner at his place.

“Don’t you dare!” TK stares him down.

“What? You think he’d tell me?” asks Carlos then, curiosity piqued as he sets down the last plates, before joining TK at the table.

“Actually, no, go right ahead.” He grabs his fork and starts digging into the contents of his plate.

“Does he use your full name sometimes?” Carlos asks. “Did he use it when you fucked up as a teenager?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” TK teases. He lays down his fork. “OK. Let me have it.What is today’s horrible guess at my full name.”

“Theodore Kenneth” comes the reply, Carlos not missing a beat.

“Hm,” TK shrugs “Not bad, you’ve been closer though.” He picks up his fork again and continues eating. “You’ve got another option?”

“Thomas Keith?”

“Nice one,” TK admits “But both wrong.”

It’s a week later when opportunity presents itself to Carlos. He’s on patrol, doing a routine check, pulling some random cars over with two of his colleagues when he sees a familiar car approaching.

“I’ll take this one,” he says to the other officers, stepping out to pull the car over.

The car comes to a stop and it’s TK that rolls down the driver’s window.

“You must be kidding me,” he sighs, looking at Carlos. “This isn’t fair.”

Carlos shrugs but grins nonetheless. “It’s a routine check, I didn’t have to pull any strings. Just a lucky coincidence.”

TK peeks behind Carlos to see the other two officers standing next to the cop car. He points at them. “You were the one who decided that you would pull me over though?”

Carlos shrugs “Maybe?”

“Reyes! Stop flirting and get to work,” a fellow officer shouts.

TK laughs.

“I need to check your driver’s licence,” Carlos grins.

“Figures,” TK grumbles, rolling his eyes as he grabs his license out of his wallet and hands it to Carlos.

“Tyler Kennedy Strand” Carlos reads, nodding his head slowly with each word.

“Satisfied?”

“I like it.”

“Well,” TK answers. “You have to. It’s the only name I’ve got.”

“Hm” Carlos grins. “I still got a few different ideas on what I could call you.”

TK groans and lets his head fall on the steering wheel. “Not here. Not now. I’ll come over later.” He looks up ”Are we done here?”

Carlos nods. “See you later, Tyler Kennedy.”

TK bangs his head against the headrest before closing the window.

Find it on AO3

#911 lone star #9 1 1 lone star #lone star #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #fic

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rangoatemybabynsfw · 6 years ago

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Guardian Angel Lance sent to protect Keith. Eventually he falls in love which is hella against the rules and loses his halo and wings but Keith is right there and Lance vows to continue to protect him even tho he's mortal now and Keith vows the same

Okay, I loved this so much and spent WAY TO MUCH TIME ON IT. (Warning, some langst but with a happy ending) Maybe one day I’ll make it into a genuine one-shot.It’s very very long so I put it under a cut.

Also if any of you draw stuff to this please let me know. I think I’m in love with guardian angel Lance. <3

This guy is so much trouble. Seems to go through guardian angels like tissue paper and Lance quickly finds out why. Any kind of dangerous stunt Keith’s already halfway to doing it. The first day alone Lance has had three minor panic attacks to keep him from a) getting hit by a car, b) keeping him from getting stabbed by someone at a club, and c) not tripping and falling down eight flights of stairs after drinking too much.

And the next day isn’t better. It’s almost as if Keith likes dancing with danger. The only time Lance doesn’t feel like he’s on edge is when Keith sleeps. Thank god he does that for the recommended 7-8 hours or else Lance would have pulled out his own wings or strangled himself with his own halo within a week. That said, Keith looks…beautiful when he sleeps. Almost like an angel, ironically.

He notices that half the time Keith’s doing dangerous stuff, its for other people. That day he almost got hit by a car, he was grabbing a child out of the street. The almost stabbing was getting a guy to lay off a girl at the club. The almost trip and fall down the stairs was to avoid stepping on the apartment stray cat. He’s…actually a nice guy.

Keith starts to suspect someone is looking out for him. He’s always had a feeling since he was a kid when there was some kind of divine intervention at work. Like feeling a hand tug him out of the way or push him forward to avoid certain death. And he could feel when there was someone new. This recent one has stuck around the longest, three weeks now. So Keith finds himself talking to what looks like an empty room when it gets quiet at night.

Keith: You’re there, aren’t you? A spirit…or some kind of…angel maybe?

(Lance doesn’t answer him as he’s not allowed to)

Keith: Mom always said…she’d send me a guardian angel if she ever left me too soon. I think…you’re the best one so far since you haven’t run away yet…Thanks…whoever you are.

Keith talks to him all the time after that. Sometimes Lance will sit on the bed right next to him and listen to him talk for hours. Lance starts falling in love with his charge and doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until one unfortunate day he finds a feather. One of his feathers.

His wings…they’re losing their feathers. And his halo it’s…starting to feel heavy. His body actually…aches.

With dread and fear, he realizes he’s…falling. He’s becoming a fallen angel because of his love for Keith. This is his punishment and it’s already being carried out. At best he’ll survive and become mortal at worst…he’ll die or become just like…Lucifer himself.

Keith feels that the energy has changed around him lately. It’s a nervous energy growing stronger with each passing day. It’s different from when he feels a change in his watchful guardians. And it’s worrisome.

Keith: Something doesn’t feel right. Are you there? Answer me!

Lance holds his hands over his mouth in bitter anguish, leaning his failing body against Keith’s wall. He doesn’t want his punishment to get worse. They might erase him entirely if he breaks too many more rules but he so badly wants to talk to Keith.

Keith: It feels…it feels bad. Are you…sick? Tell me!

Soon the other angels will come and take him away. Replace him with someone else.

Keith comes closer to where he is, certain Lance is in front of him. Lance can feel the end approaching, the energy of his brothers and sisters getting closer. The last thing he does is reach out and touch Keith’s face, just enough that Keith can feel that weak caress even if he can’t see it.

Keith: You are sick…you’re dying, aren’t you?

There’s no guarantee he’ll ever see Keith again. It’s likely his errors are too numerous to allow him any mercy. Why not a few parting words? it can’t make it any worse for him. Lance leans forward and whispers into Keith’s ear.

Lance, breathing weakly: Keith…can you…hear me?

Keith, blinking in shock at the beautiful voice in his ear: It’s you…you’re really there.

Lance rasps: Not for…much longer…

Keith, starting to get upset and tearing up: What? No, you can’t go…

Lance: I wasn’t…supposed to…love you…and now…they’re coming…but I’m…not sorry. Falling for you…was the best mistake…I ever made…even if it’s…the last mistake I’ll ever make…I gotta go…they’re almost here…

Keith, now actively crying: No! You can’t! I…I don’t know what you look like! What your name is!

Lance, weakly chuckling: It’s L-Lysandariel…the spear of…l-liberation…but…I l-like…Lance better…it’s…easier to say…

Keith: Lance…

Lance: If I could have…I’d have stayed with you…forever…Bye Keith…be…safe…

The door swings open and in an instant Keith feels alone in his room. He calls out for Lance but no one answers. Keith spends the next several days talking to his empty apartment, hoping someone will answer back. He does research into religious texts for a Lysandariel and only finds a few mentions of someone of a similar name in 5th century bc. Lysandros. A spartan general. No pictures or art.

Lance goes before a tribunal for his sins. Many think he should be given to the other side for punishment. Hell loves fallen angels. Others think he should be erased in front of other guardian angels as an example of what happens if you break the rules. No one asks Lance anything as he kneels before the others, his wings nearly devoid of every beautiful feather he had. His halo already taken.

Several angels are in attendance but the archangels sit quietly listening to the evidence. Some whisper among themselves with a disdainful eye. Not a good sign. Lance is all but sure that they will erase him or send him to Lucifer to be tormented for all eternity. Finally, someone speaks and Lance shakes at the sound of their awesome voice. This one is softer than others and he recognizes it as Chamuel.

Chamuel: Lysandariel…you are aware of why you’re here. Your love should only be directed to our loving father…and for turning it away you’ve lost your divinity. You are all but mortal now.

Lance: Yes my archangel

Chamuel: What would you do with your divinity, were it returned to you? Remember, while under the gaze of Uriel you cannot lie.

Lance: I would return to my post as a guardian.

Chamuel: Simply a guardian? Or a guardian for the human Keith?

Lance: I…(he wants to lie but it pains him to even think of doing so)…I would return to Keith’s side.

Uriel: Because it is your duty or because it is your desire?

Lance: Because I must…All I want…is to protect Keith. He needs me…

Whispers abound. Lance said he ‘wants’. Perhaps he’s too corrupted by emotion to stay an angel. He must be struck down to hell. No, no, he must be erased so no other young angels follow his lead. The room goes silent when a new voice booms through the room. Jeremiel. He has the final say among the archangels in attendance as the angel of mercy, grace, and most importantly justice.

Jeremiel: Lysandariel. You were fully aware of the rules of your post but allowed temptation to take hold of you just the same. Zadkiel believes you were trying diligently to do your assigned task. And even though it has cost you dearly…you continue to pursue this assignment knowing it will only cost you more.

Lance closes his eyes and prays. He knows not if God hears the prayers of angels but he hopes he does and will intercede to save him. To pardon him. To forgive and absolve him of his sins.

Jeremiel: The damage from your sins is too great. I do not think you could reattain your divinity, even if given new wings. But you must be made an example of, do you understand?

Lance, shivering with fear: Yes, my archangel

Jeremiel: We have decided. Lysandariel, you are to be given two punishments. The first is to be stripped of your wings.

With a snap, Lance feels them rip from his back with blinding pain like white-hot fire scorching his back. But seconds later it is soothed by the warm hand of Ariel. The injury is healed but the scars will forever remain.

Jeremiel: And the second punishment is…

*****

Keith wakes to the sound of knocking on his door. He isn’t expecting anyone. Probably a drunk neighbor at the wrong house. It knocks again and then a weak thump like dropping a bag in front of it. Keith opens it to find a guy in tattered rags collapsed in front of his door. No shoes, his feet covered in blisters and cuts.

Keith takes him in, tries to wake him up. He washes Lance up and cleans his cuts. Bandages them too. Then gets him into clean clothes. There’s an awful scar on his back that looks like…could it be? Lance groans while he groggily wakes.

Keith: Lance? Is…is that you?

Lance: Keith…I made it…back to you…

Keith, smiling: You did. Don’t your feet hurt?

Lance: My everything hurts now…guess that’s what being mortal’s about…

Keith: That’s not the only thing being human is about.

Keith leans forward and kisses Lance. It’s passionate and wonderful and for a second Lance almost feels like he’s got his wings back. They break away from the kiss and Keith’s smiling at him.

Lance: That was nice…but my feet still hurt. My stomach too.

Keith, laughing: When’s the last time you ate?

Lance: Uh…well…never?

Keith: Guess we should fix that, huh, my guardian angel? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.

Keith lifts Lance up and carries him to the kitchen and for the second time in three minutes, he feels like he’s got his wings again. If this is what it’s like to be human then he’s glad to have fallen for Keith.

#Rango answers #Klance #angel Lance #guardian angel lance #langst #Voltron #Voltron legendary defender

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popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

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Ducktales Treasure of the Golden Suns Reviews: Wronguay in Ronguay (Paid for by Patreons)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to the genesis of magillicutty Ducktales with the second part of my months long look at Treasure of the Golden Suns, the mini series that kicked off the series. These reviews are a result of me hitting my first patreon stretch goal. I just did a LONGGG post outlining those here on tumblr so hit that up and help join my patreon so I can reach them and make some more moolah to help keep this my primary job.

So speaking of that job we’re back to The Treasure of the Golden Suns and the first chapter, while not bad, was a tad disappointing, especially since I really liked it on first viewing. So will the second chapter fair just as bad or be a massive improvement? The only way to find out is under the cut.

Previously on Ducktales: Donald shoved off with the navy leaving the boys with Scrooge, with both growing to care about one another... both out of nowhere

The boys ended up embroiled int he Beagle Boys theft of a wooden ship for a mysterious gentleman named El Capitan whose preferedd method of dealing with enterlopers.. was to use a chair like a lion tamer. After being falsely blamed for the theft, the boys ended up chasing the beagles to Scrooge’s candy factory, were vindicated and fought them off with Scrooge’s help , ending with the boys getting covered in choclate. while El Capitan escaped vowing to find the gold. Now knowing the wooden ship was a map, the family prepared to set off

And that’s where we pick up. The reporter from last episode comments on the beagle bust and while the Beagles are hauled off, with Burger asking if they have any milk after eating his chocolate prison. Because his only character trait is that...

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The camera does linger on an impression the ship made in the chocolate... hmmmmmm.

Meanwhile we meet FLINTHEART GLOMGOLD. As I said with Catch as Cash Can, he’s not BAD, just not NEARLY as memorable as the triumphantly insane 2017 version. He’s sitll a good villian and we’ll see why soon, he just has the unenviable task of competiting with a far more iconic versoin made decades later whose far more my type of bad guy. El Captian calls him and offers to make him the richest duck in the world, which he naturally is happy to hear him out on. El Captian as a character i’ll get into more.. but for now let’s talk about his weird fucking voice. For some reason, Jim is doing a Dr. Claw impression, to the point I thought this was Frank Welker. I will grant it’s better than a horrible latinx sterotype, and given the grand kishke and a minor character in this very episode, they were NOT above those, but its’ still just.. weird. He just sounds like he’s possesed with about 80 or 90 demons for no explained reason.

Back at the mansion, Scrooge and the Boys are both preparing to go after the treasure on the boat map: Scrooge is practicing vacuming it up using the pool and a sea safe vacum likely invented by Gyro, while the boys find the right coordinates to the treasure. Scrooge naturally.. is a bit of a dick about it, refusing to take them along despite them having found it, and saying they can stay with Duckworth. Duckworth’s response is about what you’d expect:

However before they can argue about this, there’s a bang at the door: It’s Flinty and here’s where the parts of this Glomgold I DO like, that do make him standout, if not as much sa his succesor shine: He plays scrooge, offering him 2 million for the Candy Factory. Naturally not realizing what Flinty’s getting out of the deal, Scrooge jumps at a quick and easy 2 million, since he knows it’ll cost MORE than that just to fix up the place. Flinty then proposes a contest: the two of them try to make as much money as possible from scratch in two days. No rules, no barriers, just whoever dosen’t have more money than the other by the end has to eat Flinty’s hat. Scrooge accepts.. but then realizes he has to eat crow and allow the boys along. With Scrooge sufficently blackmailed, the boys reveal where the treasure is: Ronguay, a made up south american county. Why they did so.. well just wait a second. And no it’s not just for the tile... but your close.

No we find out why as they take the cheapest flight avaliable to Ronguay, only for the boys their going the Wrong way to Ronguay.

Yeah I love a good pun but I draw the line at desinging an ENTIRE COUNTRY for a really obvious one. I have standards on this blog! Standards that include thirsting after Keith David , DBZA refrences up the whazoo and posting this gif of David Byrne at every given opportunity.

Look my standards are weird, but their still standards. I draw the line at making a stupid pun when there’s a rich number of countries in South America. I’m not saying Carl Barks was ever against making up a country, he probably did, could be wrong, but more often than not he did his homework instead, as did his succesor Don Rosa. It feels lazy to just make up a country when you really don’t have to and could’ve just found one with a massive rainy season for your children’s cartoon. It’s not hard. I mean it’s harder than now: now I could just google “what south american countries have torrental rains”.. but it’s not like you guys could’n’t just go to a bookstore and buy a refrence book or a library and rent one. I mean if they ran out of time to do anyresearch fine, but even for the 1980′s it wasn’t that difficult to at least TRY.

Regardless it turns out the pilot is a robot pilot.. who looks amazing but as it’s a flintheart glomgold company joint is purposfuly tring to keep them off path. Look they didn’t have to unplug the poor guy. I know what he wants.

So now on the right way to Ronguay our heroes lan only to find the locals all fleeing in terror of something. Scrooge heads in for suplies anyway and finds... a VERY racist sounding clerk. Seriously just to picture this.. picture say .. Michael Scott trying to do an mexican accent. You good and cringing? If not, adapt that to your doofus sitcom character or republican senator of choice There you go. You see my point. It’s not the WORST i’ve seen.. but only because I sat through the Rediculous 6 with my best friend, one of three, Cory, for a podcast we tried doing a year or two ago. I’ve seen Rob Schinder do this for an entire movie. In 2015 no less. So my threshold for HORRIFCALLY offensive is vast and deep. But this is still garden variety racist and should not have been okay then or now.

And it really SHOULD have the warning label on it. I’m fully in favor of the content warnings Disney started using, and it’s why I got so fucking annoyed during all the talk about it when it happend to the Muppet Show, ESPECIALLY when the republicans got a hold of it and accused them of “Canceling the muppets”. This is NOT fucking cancelation, this is a way to have the past there for posterity, while acknolding it sucked and was NEVER okay. It’s the best way to do this in my opinon, and it bothers me a LOT that a bunch of jagoffs coopted it and threw a hissy fit about Disney trying to do the right goddamn thing. And i’m also okay with leaving some media out. Disney + is a family platform. While keeping classic movies and shows on there with a proper warning is one thing, it’s another to not put song of the south or that episode of the muppets where the host later turned out ot be a pedophile on there. Some things just don’t have nearly enough worth to outpace the harm they can do. And it’s up to companies and consumers to figure out what fits where.

Anyways our heroes find a llama for transport and that the map is seemingly a dead end to the desert. But Scrooge is determined to press on... and while he does El Capitan and Glomgold are following him, though the two clearly don’t agree on whose in charge, or if El Captian sounds like dr claw or not. They followed with their own copy of the map taken from the chocolate.

As things progress the rain starts.. and our heroes find out via the JWG that this is what the citzens were all running from. They loose the llama, though are able to salvage some of their suplies it was carrying, and Scrooge nearly gives up to dispair. It’s a good, if sudden, character moment: Scrooge genuinely laments that he was worried one day he’d loose his step.. and stop being one step ahead of everyone. It shows some much needed vunerablity.. that beneath his boisterious and cantankerious usual personality he’s deathly afraid his age will eventualy mean he’ll have to stop..and having to stop adventuring and stop working and stop doing eveyrthing that makes him Scrooge McDuck is a fate worse than death.

Thankfully he dosen’t as via a figure on the ship, Huey, Dewey or Louie figures out, in a REALLY amazing twist, that the desert itself was the ocean: the ship that has the treasure simply sailed here and hid it. So while our heroes reflect, Glomgold decides to take them out NOW while he has the chance over El Captian’s protests, as the good captain only cares about the gold. But Glomgold is right.. from a villianous point of view at least. leaving them alive is a waste.. granted he does so.. in a way that makes my brain cry out in pain and want to run. He lights a stick of dynamite. In a torrential rainstorm.

I mean i’d expect 2017 Glomgold to try it and have it fail.. not to have the actually clever 87 version not only try something this stupid BUT HAVE IT WORK. THE FUSE LIGHTS. IT’S READY TO GO OFF. HE ONLY STOPS IT BECAUSE HIS MAP GETS EATEN AND THEY NEED SCROOGE’S IN TACT. JUST HOW DO YOU WHY DO YOU AUGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH-

Okay i’m.. i’m good now. So after that bit of nonsense and some taking my medication, our heroes take shelter in a cave. The grusome twosome try to sneak in while their asleep.. only to trigger the alarms the boys set up using their pots and pans, a “junior woodchuck alarm”. Clever little bastards.

The tables quickly turn though as Thing one and Thing Two trap our heroes in the cave.. as i’ts flooding. Scrooge has them press on in hopes of finding a way out, and it rises further and furthe ran excenelty tense scene. But eventually our heroes manage to find somewhere safe in time: the shipwrecked boat with all the gold. Scrooge even puts on a nifty golden conquestador’s helmet.

Naturally since we have minutes left in the episode the bad guys show up and have a gun... they never had before.

Regardless our heroes are lowered into the lifeboat at gunpoint as the ship goes out to sea and i’ts revealed el captain worked on teh ship as he knows the full manifest.

However both villians personal flaws end up doing them in: Glomgold’s need to gloat means he gives Scrooge a golden coin as he mocks him about winning the bet... only for El Captain to fly into an insane rage demanding he swim out and get it despite just how LITTLE he really needs the coin. He and Glomgold struggle over the ships canon, both no longer needing the other and eventually fire off a ball that capsizes the ship. El Captian seemingly drowns while Glomgold is forced onto the life boat with the McDucks.. and finds out he lost as while he and Scrooge both lost the treasure the coin he tossed scrooge means Scrooge still has made more money. So Glomgold prepares to eat his hat and El Captian prepares for vengance and to get his gold back.

Final Thoughts on Wronguay in Ronguay: The iffy bit with the store clerk aside.. this episdoe is easily the best 87 Episode i’ve seen. It captures the spirit of barks perfectly with plenty of intresting twists that kept me engaged the whole time, some great jokes, and two great villians who are done in soley by their own greed and neurosusi> it’s really great stuff and what I expected more and remember more from the 87 Series: top notch adventure in the barks style but wiht it’s own unique touches. While the pilot was a bit rough due to all the ground it tried to cover, this episode, now having the basic formula of the series pretty much set, is allowed to just be a fun, daring adventure story that brilliantly builds off the last episode but can be wholly enjoyed on it’s own. Hopefully this momentum keeps because I don’t remember being the fondest of the next two episodes.. and given that content warning I think we’re in for a rough time next month.

If you liked htis join my patreon, etc etc, I went into that mor eup top. Till All Are One, See you at the next Rainbow.

#ducktales #wronguay in ronguay #ducktales 87 #scrooge mcduck #flintheart glomgold #huey duck #louie duck #dewey duck #el capitain #duckworth #reviews #disney plus #the disney afternoon

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shatterinseconds · 5 years ago

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of knights and princes

(KL AU Month day 1 and 5: royalty/fantasy)

“What do we have here?” Lance casually asks as he steps onto the training grounds. The figure hacking at the straw dummy stalls in his movements, abruptly turning around at the new voice, sword dropping to the dirt ground. The prince wipes his face with his shirt sleeve and cards a hand through his long, sweaty hair--a few strands still plastered to his cheeks.

He addresses the knight with a nod. “Lance.”

“Your Royal Highness,” Lance replies with a smirk, dramatically bowing as low as he can without falling over. “I thought it was considered improper for your kind to work up a sweat.”

Keith crosses his arms, wordlessly refusing to move an inch which forces Lance to stalk closer to his target. An unamused expression rests on the prince’s face. “And I thought we were beyond making sarcastic comments about my behavior. Don’t you knights have a code to follow?”

“We do,” Lance confirms when he’s an inch away from the prince. Those gray-violet eyes catch the last few rays of the setting sun, illuminating tiny golden flecks in his irises. Because of course, why wouldn’t a prince be literally constructed of gold? “But that’s when we’re on duty… which, luckily for you, I am currently not.”

“Since you’re not on duty, that means I can do this, right?” Keith coyly asks as he drapes his arms over Lance’s shoulders. As Keith draws him closer, Lance rests his hands on the prince’s hips. His fingers inch under Keith’s loose training shirt to touch a sliver of skin, hot to the touch. Despite this and the fact that Keith has been training under the beating afternoon sun for a few hours, he shivers.

Lance’s mouth twitches--the hint of a grander smile waiting to unfold. “Yes.”

Keith’s eyes begin to flutter closed as his hands cup Lance’s face. So so close now. There is hardly any gap between them at all. “And this?” he asks again, too softly that the words barely lift off his lips, but Lance can hear him perfectly.

Lance holds his breath, whispering, “Definitely.”

Keith’s kisses always begin slow, tentative, as if he has to regain his footing every time, as if it’s the first time. But it doesn’t take long for him to become bold, a sudden change that has Lance holding back a few sounds that build up in the back of his throat, especially when Keith eventually wraps a hand in Lance’s hair, blunt nails against his scalp. Lance’s grip on Keith’s body tightens.

Sometimes they forget that they need to breathe and that’s okay. It’s not often they get to do this or even find the time to be alone; they have to make up for lost time.

They met three years ago when Keith had come to Altea to set up diplomatic relations with the royal household. Lance had been Princess--though now Queen--Allura’s personal knight, and while it wasn’t quite love at first sight when he saw the Prince of Marmora step through the throne room doors, there had been sparks of some kind. Sparks that soon grew into want of an actual friendship when Lance had been placed as Keith’s guard for the duration of his stay because the prince failed to bring his own.

And the rest became history, one that consists of a strong long distance relationship and stolen time with each other when Keith returns for the biannual diplomatic meetings Allura hosts, inviting other nations as well.

“Keith,” Lance says, deciding he has to be the one to break away first or else they never will stop. “They’ll be looking for you. It’s almost dinner time and you kind of stink.”

Snorting, Keith rests his forehead against Lance’s. “Is that any way to speak to a prince?”

“I only speak the truth.”

Keith smiles, one that’s so genuine that it almost has Lance stumbling backwards from the sheer beauty of it. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Lance’s heart flutters. “Yeah, I really am.”

#klance #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #klance fic #klance au month #klance au month 2020 #my writing

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loveafterthefact · 5 years ago

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Love After the Fact Chapter 5: Let’s Start a Garden

Lance takes a moment alone with Keith, and they figure out what they want from each other.

First Previous Next

Lance keeps a grip on Keith’s hand as he leads him through the seemingly endless hallways. Keith's grateful, albeit begrudgingly. He'd get lost in seconds without the Altean.

“I want to show you something,” Lance whispers. “I suspect neither of us wanted this, but still. You are far from home, and I’ve given much thought to making you comfortable.”

Keith says nothing.

“I hope the circlet is okay.” Lance tries again. “I told my resident genius to make sure it wouldn’t bother your ears.”

Keith falters a bit, not having considered that Lance might have put any special thought into the piece. It's nice, he assumes, gold with a red stone of some kind in the center of it, it dips down a spot or two in the front and back and settles between his ears. Lance's wraps all the way around, a flawless circle siting lightly on his head, that glowing blue stone perfect in color.

Perfect, like the rest of him. An overbred little whore.

“It doesn’t bother me,” he whispers, truthfully. “One like yours would, but this one is fine.”

Lance seems fairly pleased with that. "Good, because Pidge nearly strangled me when I asked them to change it."

They reach a set of double doors.

“These are our quarters. You’re not at all confined to them, but do remember where you are. And where this room is. You may need it.” Keith nods, tension coiling in his stomach like a heavy rope. He feels sick. It’s good he hadn’t been able to eat the food. "The scanner, here-" Lance gestures gracefully to a scanner next to the doors. "Will only recognize your hand print and mine. And Adam's, but if he didn't have access, he'd have Pidge break him in. And Pidge can get into pretty much anything. I'll show you their space as soon as I can, in case you need anything or need to snoop around."

Lance opens the door, still gripping his hand tight. Keith’s not sure if he feels comforted or trapped. The guards standing watch follow him with their eyes. He notices that the one on the left has milky white orbs instead of opalescent irises.

“I imagined you would spend a lot of your time here while you grow accustomed to living here. I tried to make it more suited to your tastes.”

Lance guides him into the room. Before Keith can take a look around, Lance draws him closer, undoing the clasps on Keith’s vest, slipping it off for him. Keith sighs, pinching the fabric of his close-fitting shirt. It’s not the sort of thing he’s used to, but he can bend his spine again, which is a definite improvement.

He turns, looking around the room. Behind him, Lance removes his own vest, pulls a bottle of something from a drawer in the wall, applying it to a cloth to clean the paint from his face.

It’s nice. The enormous, round, four-poster canopy bed notwithstanding, the quarters have a great deal of open space, with room for Keith to pace. He notices a ladder leading to a second floor of sorts, a simple ledge around the circular tower that contains the main room. A warm fireplace, already burning in front of a sofa and some chairs. There's no smell, so Keith assumes it smells sweet in here.

There’s a tray of food on an end table.

“I've been told that Galra like high places, despite living in dens. That space up there is yours to furnish. Just let me know what you want and I’ll procure it. Or I can show you how, and you can do it yourself. There is a pile of cushions up there by the window already, in case you want to get away.

“This switch here will dim the lights,” Lance explains, lifting their re-joined hands to a dial on the wall. “It should be more comfortable for your eyes. I’ve heard that they’re sensitive. Through that door-” Lance gestures with their hands. “-is the bathroom. And through there-” Lance gestures again. “-is a garden. It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen before, or so I expect. I hope you like it.”

Lance begins fiddling with the many pieces of gold in his ears, the caps covering the pointed tips. There’s a sigh of relief as he removes some of the heavier pieces. Of course he has the audacity to complain about earrings when Keith-

Keith slips away, taking small, cautious steps to the garden door. He lifts his hand to the gilded handle, hesitates, turns back for permission.

Lance smiles, gesturing with his hand. “All of this ours, Keith. Do as you like.”

It’s a garden, to be sure, but not at all familiar to Keith. There’s a strange, curling tree with green wood, it’s swirling branches hanging overhead, heavy with long strands of blue leaves. At its base, flowering plants with purple, yellow, and red petals. Small, pale, glowing... things... hover among the branches, slipping in and out of the flowers’ deep throats. The moss is soft beneath Keith’s weird, tall shoes.

Keith reaches up, trailing a leafy tendril between his fingers, and the leaves chime a soft, tinkling melody like wind chimes. Keith gasps, snatching his hand back. He smiles, small but still there.

Lance quite suddenly looms behind him, and Keith tenses. The smile is gone, his cuticles tingling as he resists extending him claws. He has a duty.

Remember where you are.

“It’s a singing tree. Romelle really likes wind chimes. She told me about them. I thought this might be a decent substitute. Our quarters are unorthodox. Normally, and before now, my quarters were near the center of the castle, in a high tower. I relocated out here to the corner with this invention in mind. There are places where the walls open and let in a breeze. I thought you might find it pleasant, but still safe if you wish to hide yourself away in here-” Lance stops talking quite suddenly.

Lance is clearly trying (and failing) not to talk his ear off, perhaps aware that Keith isn’t much of a talker. “It’s... nice. Thank you.”

Lance doesn’t respond.

Keith winces. “Sorry. I do like it. I just…” He couldn’t have sounded any less sincere. He tries to hide his dismay, his fatigue. A hand finds the small of his back and Keith jumps, instincts kicking in before he can push them down.

“You really think I’m going to touch you, don’t you?” Lance sounds disappointed.

“You are touching me!” Keith protests. “You’re doing it right now!”

“That’s not what I meant. You know that.” Lance regards him, those opalescent blue eyes gazing hard into Keith’s face. The Altean has layers. “You’re not a fool, though you are a poor actor.”

“You have a reputation. I don’t expect you to care.” Keith bristles, the strip of longer fur down his spine ruffling beneath his snug clothes. Lance just sighs, carefully drawing away.

“It’s a farce, Keith. See, I’ve spent much of my time fooling about. Openly. Brazenly. No one expects anything at all from me anymore except more fooling about. Now, I am married, and have new duties to my spouse and new duties to my people and yours, lifting a heavy burden from my aging fathers’ shoulders. Imagine how delighted the people will be when I cease my foolery and rise to the occasion. It will be much easier to gain their favor if I seem to perform some small miracle.”

Keith remembers quite suddenly that the word Prince Lotor, Princess Allura, and Romelle used to describe Lance had been “complicated.”

“So... you’re not actually a pervert?” Keith asks. Lance blanches, then relaxes. Keith averts his gaze. He needs to learn how not to talk to people. Or how to talk to people. The first is probably more feasible.

“No, Keith. And I’m not about to do anything to you that you don’t want.”

You already have.

It’s not your fault.

“Eventually, my father will either order me to, or we won’t be able to avoid the need for progeny but... For now, your body is your own, and only your own. Either way, I will never take anything from you by force.”

“You couldn’t if you tried,” Keith growls, ears pinned back against his head. He bares his teeth at the Altean.

Lance raises a silver-white eyebrow, eyes chilling. “Oh?”

“I’m a Galra, Lance. I’ve been trained to kill Alteans.”

“And you think I haven’t been trained how to kill Galra?” Keith's ear twitches. Lance sighs. “Listen, I want us to-”

“If you’re going to say you want us to be a real couple, don’t bother. We’re not.” Keith grimaces again. Adam will likely forbid him to speak in public at this rate.

Lance glares, frustrated. “No. I don’t expect that. However, I would like us to work together. Maybe... friends?” The Altean is losing patience. Keith heaves in a breath. That really doesn’t sound unreasonable. Or too terrible. “We may be the only ones we can trust now. We’re enemies of both our peoples, Keith.”

“Okay. We- We have a common goal in mind, right? Take care of our people?” Keith glances up to the prince. Lance nods in affirmation. “Then yeah, we can work together and maybe be friends. I don’t know how to lead, but I do have practical knowledge. I’m sure I can be good for something.”

Lance breaks into a dazzling grin, the soft scales on his face glowing faintly with quintessence. Lance must be a powerful alchemist, if his quintessence rises that willingly. And not a very experienced one, if his control is so lacking.

“Great! So... What do you like to do?” Lance bends down to gently play with one of the little glowing-ball-creature-things. Keith wilts. How’s he supposed to answer that?

He decides to start with what he’s good at instead.

“Um... I’m a good tracker. An excellent fighter. I’m very good with a blade. I’m fast. I have good instincts.”

“Okay... But what do you like?” The Altean doesn’t look up. Keith sighs, wrapping his arms around himself, tail and ears wilting. Growing up, he only had time to like one thing: living to see tomorrow.

“I don’t really know.” He hates how small he sounds at that. “I just... do my thing and that’s about it.”

“Well what would you choose to do if it were up to you?” Lance is clearly starting to get frustrated again, if the tiny huff and the annoyed angle of his ears were anything to go by. The tips are sticking out of his soft-looking white hair. Everything about Lance looks soft, at least at first.

The prince changes so fast, emotions so fleeting and wild. A capricious creature, born of a capricious species.

“...Train. Oh! Sometimes, I read books or explore the wilds. I usually go off by myself when I’m out hunting.”

Keith finds himself hoping that there’s something in there that Lance might like about him. At least let this pretty, dangerous creature like something about him. Even if just something small.

“I like exploring too. And I can show you where the library is tomorrow, if you want.” Lance’s quintessence reaches out, hopeful and gentle, but Keith draws away even as relief flooded his veins. Lance wants this to work. He wants them to not hate each other, or be strangers. Thank the gods. His relief must show on his face, because Lance continues. “I’m not so good with a sword, if we’re being honest. But I’m an excellent shot with a bow.”

Keith lets himself grow a little more hopeful. “I’m a terrible shot,” he admits. “Perhaps we can teach each other.”

“I’m not opposed.” Lance rises, turning to look at him. “Perhaps we’ll learn to get along.”

“Oh.” Keith’s heart sinks. “Are we not getting along?”

“You think we are? We’ve done nothing but warn and threaten each other, and getting anything from you is like pulling teeth.” Lance sighs. He doesn't like Keith. Keith is sure of it now. How does this man change his emotions so fast? It’s frightening.

Keith bristles, curls his fingers into fists. “Well, yes. But at least you’re not lying out of your ass right now.”

“Excuse me?”

“‘He means the world to me'?” Keith grumbles, ears pinned tight against his head. “What a load of rubbish.”

“It’s not. You do mean the world to me,” Lance says, frigidly cold, stiff, hands at his sides. “I married you, and now my people will be safe. Your people will be safe. Our people are allies, and no longer at war. We have secured the safety of five billion people. And those people, Keith, mean the world to me.”

Keith’s tail, his face, his ears fall, his expression wilting. “You had a choice in this, didn’t you?”

“Technically, yes. Practically, I’d say no.”

“You chose this? Even though you didn’t want it?”

“Yes, we’ve established this.”

“And they gave you a useless runt who’s been a lord for all of a phoeb.” Keith sighs. Despite his seeming lack of patience and his... inconsistencies... that really need further exploring, Lance deserves better. He deserves a legitimate member of nobility. Not some stunted (both physically and emotionally) little Galra who isn’t even full-grown.

Lance waves a hand, dismissive. “It hardly matters to me, to be honest. The point is, we are married, in a horribly rushed, unorthodox, soulless ceremony that will have half of the population questioning if there’s going to be a famine on one of our planets and the other half wondering if I accidentally got you pregnant. Either way, we’re a means to an end, and the end has been achieved.”

“About that... I am capable-”

“Yes, I gleaned as much when Zarkon mentioned your season.” Keith’s grateful his fur can hide his blush. “Which means you’ll have a violent growth spurt, and spend a movement or two doing nothing but sleeping and eating. Then you’ll spike a vicious fever and-”

“How do you know all of this? About lights and wind chimes and-”

Lance blushes furiously beneath his scales. “I went to my sister for information. About Galra in general. As people, as opposed to an enemy or a society.” Lance sits down, and Keith joins him, taking the opportunity to touch the soft blue-green moss. It feels nice, just like he’d thought. He smiles, ears perking with delight. “I just... wanted to make it better for you. I knew nothing about you, but I figured you’d end up resenting me for all of this one way or another, so... here we are.”

Keith fiddles with the moss, avoiding the prince’s blue-opal gaze. “Here we are... I like Allura. She was very nice to me. She's nice to everyone.”

“I miss her. Romelle, too.” Lance murmurs, gazing up at the stars above. Keith hadn’t noticed the room had a glass roof.

"I didn't meet Romelle. She wasn't well when Emperor Zarkon invited me for dinner."

“We grew up together, you know? Only a couple decaphoebs apart. My constant companions. My dearest friends.”

Keith takes a deep breath. “Shiro. He... My mother was a soldier, until Allura and Lotor married. My father died, and I was alone. My mother couldn’t exactly lower her sword for me, so Shiro took me in. He’s been Captain of the Guard for a centaphoeb now...

“I’m really going to miss him,” Keith whispers, swallowing as his eyes began to sting. A small chirp makes its way past his lips. “And my mother. She couldn’t even be here.”

“You’ll see them again, Keith.” Lance places a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. This time, Keith doesn’t shrink away. “I promise you. I’ll make sure you see them as often as possible.”

Keith imagines that that will still be never, but he believes Lance means it. Next to him, the Altean lies back, and one of the little flying lights, a blue one, lands on his nose. It's some kind of animal, with glass-like wings and tiny claws.

It pinches the end of Lance's nose, and the prince smiles, poking the creature gently. It seems to lean into his touch.

Keith quite suddenly remembers something Shiro told him about aesthetic beauty, and how captivating it can be. He wonders if that gentle, affectionate finger counts.

#LoveAftertheFact #LAtF #klance #galtean au #altean lance #galra keith #adashi #altean adam #galra shiro #voltron legendary defender #vld

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legendarysharpshooter · 5 years ago

Text

Lost Prince Ch. 1

First, Last, Next

A03

******

Each shot hits the target dead on, one after another, unrelenting until he’s out of bullets. The shooting range falls silent. He lowers the weapon to his side and stares at his targets with a frown.

It’s still not enough…

“How do you ever expect to be a leader if you can’t even lead a successful mission?”

Iverson’s words burn deep in his mind after another failed flight simulation. It’s not his fault Pidge can’t reach… or that Hunk gets sick. Well…. Okay, maybe he could have tried to fly like a sane person, but still… there’s medicine for motion sickness. All that aside though, he can’t even say it wasn’t his fault, because it was. Because he took his eyes off their flight path. He stopped paying attention to their surroundings to berate his crew...

It’s his fault they crashed.

At this rate, he’s never going to make it into space again. Not as an actual pilot that’s for sure. He can’t even fly a fake ship…. Because he’s not good enough.

Not as a pilot. Not as a leader. Not as Akiva’s descendent…. Not worthy of being a ‘prince’... Not worthy of the Black Lion….

Because at the end of the day, he will never be enough…

A touch. A gentle caress on his neck has his hair raising. He touches the back of his neck, confused as he glances over his shoulder. Empty space greets him. He sighs, shaking the feeling off and turns back to the task at hand. Targets aren’t going to shoot themselves after all.

He hears it as he begins setting up the next round of shots. Whispered words on a soft breeze.

Lance.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise.

Something dances at the edge of his vision.

He looks around again, only confirming what he already knew. He’s the only one in the shooting range right now.

“Great... “ he mutters to himself. “Now they can add crazy to the list of why I shouldn’t lead….” He looks around the area again with a frown before rubbing at his eyes. “Maybe I just need to sl-”

The door swooshes open behind him. He jumps, spinning around and aiming his gun at the intruder. There’s a yelp and then brownies spilling to the floor as his friend uses the plate to shield himself.

Hunk, his best friend and current roommate. A big, burly teddy bear of a guy, cowers behind an empty plate of brownies. Next to him and a couple feet shorter, stands Pidge; their crewmate. Pidge looks eerily similar to Matt, in Lance’s humble opinion, though he insists there’s no relation. Lance isn’t too sure but doesn’t have much to prove his theory.

For all he knows, they could be cousins and Pidge just doesn’t want special treatment from the Garrison.

Pidge looks up at Hunk unimpressed before grinning.

“I told you he’d be here,” he says, smugly. Lance lowers his gun with a frown.

“What are you two doing here?” he asks. Lance huffs looking at Hunk’s cowering form. “Put the plate down, Hunk. I’m not going to shoot you.” Slowly the boy lowers his plate, un-scrunching his face into a relaxed stance.

“Sorry….” Hunk says. “I wasn’t expecting to have a gun pointed at me today… or ever.”

“Sorry, you startled me,” Lance replies, setting his weapon down on the counter behind him. “Now… what are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Pidge asks. He sighs at Lance’s blank stare. “Well…. Hunk wanted to cheer you up with brownies but that obviously isn’t happening now.”

Lance looks down at the floors with a grimace. Of course he’d ruin a present from his friends. They’re only trying to make him feel better and now he’s ruined it.

“How’d you even find me?” he asks before his thoughts can get any more negative.

“Everyone knows you come here when you need space,” Hunk says as he stoops down to pick up the fallen treats. His face drops. “I didn’t think you’d be here though… especially after Iverson chewed you out like that.” The trio falls silent; Lance thinking over Hunk’s words; Hunk too busy picking up brownies, and Pidge thoughtfully watching the young prince.

“Don’t let him get to you, Lance,” Pidge says. “Iverson’s a jerk and you’ll make a great leader someday.” Lance smiles half heartedly, appreciating the words of encouragement. It falls off his face just as soon as it arrives.

He can’t even connect with the Black Lion. How is he supposed to lead his people?

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees, standing back up again, full plate in hand. “Iverson’s just hard on you because he can see your potential.” Lance huffs, smile playing on his face.

“I bet you say that to everyone,” he says. Hunk sputters, nearly dropping his plate again.

“No!”

“Well… either way, we have a project to finish,” Pidge chimes in, adjusting his glasses. “And we can’t do that without Prince Charming. So maybe stop shooting for a bit and help us?”

“Oh yeah…” Hunk says. “That’s the other reason we came. We need your help putting together the slides for our presentation tomorrow.”

Lance stares at them, mind drawing a blank. What project are they talking about? He doesn’t have any presentations coming up. What classes do they even have tomorrow? A class that has a presentation…. Are they even in a class like that?

“Well this is embarrassing. He completely forgot,” Pidge mutters. He sighs, leveling the young Altean with an unimpressed look. Lance stares at him, lost on what they’re even talking about. He doesn’t have anything due tomorrow. Not that he can remember at least.

“Can I tell him?” Hunk asks, shifting anxiously. “We’re wasting time waiting for him to remember.” Pidge rubs his chin thoughtfully before shaking his head.

“A hint,” Pidge offers. “There’s a lot of historical events to remember after all.” Lance sucks in a breath, eyes going wide.

Crap.

He forgot about their History project…. The very one he promised them he was working on.

“You did do your half, right?” Hunk asks.

“What?” he squeaks. “Yeah! Of course I did! Why wouldn’t I do it?” His nervous laugh has the hope falling right off Hunk’s face. It’s not his fault he put it off until the last minute… okay, maybe it is, but a report on Altean history is a walk in the park. He knows their history like the back of his hand.

“Lance….”

“It’s fiiiine, Hunk,” Lance says, walking over to his friends. He turns them towards the doors, slinging and arm over Hunk’s shoulders. “We’ll just go back to our room and work on it there. I’m like… a walking Altean Historian, you know. We’ll have this done in no time.”

Pidge and Hunk look unconvinced but follow him out of the shooting range anyways. At least they have all night to work on the final project.

Besides, how hard can it be?

It was supposed to be a simple mission. Get in. Find the Red Lion. Remove it from the Galra…. Somehow. The Galra are keeping it under pretty tight surveillance, though, so even if he could get to it, he’s not too sure how to get it off the ship. It’s a simple notion, really, if it weren’t also for the fact that this was meant to be a covert mission. He can’t exactly draw any unwanted attention to himself.

As it stands, the Red Lion’s holding bay is guarded by sentries and he doesn’t have the authorization to enter on his own.

He has no idea what Kolivan was thinking sending him here….

“Yorak.” He jumps to attention as one of his commanding officers moves from behind to face him. “You know you’re not authorized to be in this sector.”

“Sorry, sir,” he mutters. “I got lost again…” The Galra officer regards him with a look of disdain. Of course someone like him would get lost on such a big ship. Especially considering he’s only been here for a few days. The officer waves it off with a sigh.

“Just try to not to get lost again,” he says.

“Of course, sir.”

“It’s good that I found you, though,” he replies. “Commander Sendak has requested your presence on the bridge.” His eyes go wide, hand slowly dropping back to his side. What could Sendak possibly want? “Best not keep him waiting.”

Yorak quickly salutes and turns away, darting off down the halls. He can only hope Sendak hasn’t caught wind of him snooping around the lion. That could only spell trouble for everyone involved. Hopefully, it’s just something else unrelated.

Lance wakes with a start, chest tight from not breathing as his heart races. He stares up at the ceiling as images from his dream refuse to fade. They flash through his mind incessantly. He can hear the faintest rumble as he finally takes a breath and sits up. Across the room, Hunk snores softly, cuddling his teddy.

It’d be cute if Lance could actually take a moment to focus on the scene.

As it stands, the young prince is climbing out of bed and stumbling over to his desk. He knocks papers and notebooks off in his frantic search for a sheet of paper.

The images won’t stop coming.

Shiro with a scar across his face and a shocking spot of white in his hair.

The shadow in his vision has grown more defined.

He sees Pidge with a small, flying robot made of Galra tech. Hunk cooking some type of alien cuisine in what can only be described as a space mall food court.

He does his best to ignore it as he furiously scribbles on the blank page.

A quick sketch of Keith with long hair and a mark on his cheek; by his side, a large wolf.

He draws space mice performing tricks for a young, female Altean.

He scribbles five more before a large hand reaches out to stop him.

“Dude,” Hunk mumbles. “What are you doing?” Lance blinks, and sits back in his seat. What is he doing? He stares at the pages before him. The images finally fade from his mind, lost to the depths of his consciousness.

He rubs his eye with a frown and blinks. The shadow has taken the shape of a person, but still eludes his direct gaze.

“I just…” he mutters. Something was pushing him to remember. To not forget whatever it was showing him. He needed to not forget. “I had to get it on paper….”

Why does this seem so familiar?

“I don’t….”

What was he doing before this?

A small gust of wind tickles at the back of his neck, stronger than it’s ever been. He shivers, brushing a hand against his neck. He looks up at Hunk.

“Did you feel that?” Hunk yawns, shaking his head as he moves back to his bed. It takes the boy a moment to process Lance’s words.

“Did I feel what?” So… he didn’t then. Hunk would know what he was talking about if he did. It’s impossible to feel the air from the vents at their desk. There’s no way he’d feel something like that. Especially not on his neck.

“Nothing… sorry I woke you.” So if it’s not the wind then it has to be something else… Lance sighs, rising from his seat and returning to bed. He rubs his eyes again, frowning at the shadow in his vision.

As the young Altean, falls back to sleep, he’s hears the faintest roar and the quiet whisper of his name.

Sendak, like most Galra, is large and intimidating. His ears give Keith the impression of bats, and his red, prosthetic eye always makes him feel like he’s being targeted.

Even so, he enters the bridge and steps up to the Commander, standing straight with an arm across his chest. Sendak grins at him, sharp teeth on display. It’d be scary but Keith knows he can take him.

“You asked to see me, sir?”

“Yorak,” Sendak replies, grin falling off his face as he looks Keith up and down. “I had expected to you to look…. Less scrawny.” Keith does his best not to grimace, but he’s unable to stop his ears from twitching. It’s no secret that he’s smaller than the average male Galra. He’s heard the whispers… that others thing he’s a half-breed.

His mom is on the smaller side though, so that definitely helps curb those rumors. It would do no good for them to learn the truth…. That his father was human. He’d be cast out of the ranks much like others before him. He would be useless for undercover missions.

He’s worked too hard to get this far for that to happen.

“Despite that,” Sendak continues. “You come to my ship with high recommendations.”

“Thank you, sir.” Sendak sneers.

“It is not a compliment, welp. Words mean nothing on this ship. It would do you good to remember that.,” he snaps before composing himself. “I have an assignment for you.”

“What are your orders, Commander?” Keith asks.

“We have a special… package being delivered into our possession. You are to escort the vessel to our coordinates and ensure nothing happens to it.”

“Of course, Commander.”

“Now go, before I change my mind about sending you.”

“Vrepit Sa!” Keith says, saluting him once more before departing. Whatever he’s transporting must be important if they need an escort.

Lance.

He startles, hands violently jerking the controls in his grasp. The ship rattles around them, veering wildly off course.

“Lance!” Pidge snaps, glare at him from his spot in the back. “Try keeping the ship on course, maybe?”

“Sorry,” he grumbles, taking a moment to steady his mind. Now really isn’t the time to be hearing things. It’s bad enough that stupid shadow won’t go away. He doesn’t need to be distracted with talking.

Off to his left, Hunk heaves, face going pale. Lance huffs, turning his attention back to getting on course. They’ve wandered into a new area of this planet but he can just follow Pidge’s new trajectory. It looks like they’ll actually arrive early anyways.

He’s totally got this.

The ship appears as a small dot in the distance. Keith squints at it, wondering why such a small ship carrying important cargo is all alone out in space. Are they really that confident nobody is going to attack it?

With a frown, he opens a transmission to the small vessel.

“Attention, cargo carrier,” he says. “This is Yorak of Commander Sendak’s ship. I am here to escort you back to his location.” A screen pops up moments later along with a familiar face. He blinks, taking in the light blue skin, large white stripes and pointy ears of none other than a fellow Blade.

“Ulaz?”

“Yorak,” Ulaz replies with the smallest of smiles. “It’s so nice to see a familiar face! How kind of Sendak to put us in such capable hands.”

“What….” Why is Ulaz out here? Isn’t he a medic or something? Shouldn’t he be healing Galra somewhere? And what is he transporting that’s so important?

“I have been tasked with transporting a very special piece of cargo,” Ulaz replies. “Perhaps you should come aboard so we can discuss in further detail.”

Lance definitely doesn’t have this. He frowns, watching the screen from their simulation go black. Failure flashes before him in bright red letters. Pidge groans, climbing back into his seat from the floor.

“Nice job, tailor,” Pidge grumbles, as the door to the simulator swings open. Lance unbuckles himself, sinking into his seat with a groan, trying in vain to ignore the heavy footsteps approaching him.

“Need I remind you, cadets,” their teacher, Iverson growls. “That the purpose of these simulations is to complete them.”

Lance huffs and gets out of his seat to be greeted with Iverson’s unimpressed scowl. He’s convinced it’s the man’s default expression. None of them have so much as seen Iverson show a different emotion.

The young prince slinks over to join his friends in front of their teacher, frowning at the ground.

“Why is it, then, that you three are the only ones incapable of completing even the simplest of tasks?” None of them have an answer to that…. At least, none that will be considered acceptable. It’s not that they can’t do these simulations…. Lance just has a hard time taking them seriously because he knows it’s not real. Simulations and real life are completely different.

Still… another failed mission doesn’t look good for any of them. Lance can only imagine what his mom must be thinking. She’s going to be so disappointed in him.

No wonder he can’t connect with the Black Lion….

Lance sighs, sparing a look at his friends. Hunk’s face is still pale and he looks like he’s trying in vain not to puke again. Pidge just looks frustrated.

“You three will be pulled off simulations,” Iverson says. Lance’s attention jerks instantly to their teacher. Pulled off simulations? What is he talking about? “At least until we can reassess you all and decide the best course of action.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Pidge snaps.

“It means, cadet,” Iverson replies. “That we have to determine whether you are truly a good fit for the program since your record seems to say otherwise.”

“You’re kicking us out?!” Hunk squeaks. “Oh man…. I’m gonna be in so much trouble….”

“You can’t be serious!” Pidge protests.

“Well maybe if your pilot was able to watch his surroundings you wouldn’t be crashing so much,” Iverson snaps. Lance swallows the lump forming in his throat, eyes burning with unshed tears. Of course the blame would be put on him. Iverson isn’t finished though as he zeros in on the smallest of the trio.

Pidge meets his gaze unflinchingly; the two entering into a staring contest. Iverson sneers at him.

“Or perhaps, Gunderson,” he says. “The navigator should have been watching the monitors more carefully.”

“Perhaps, sir,” Pidge responds. “Blame shouldn’t be placed on one specific individual when we are a team and failed as a whole. Singling one person out doesn’t constitute camaraderie and instead perpetuates an environment of everyone for themselves.”

Iverson’s lip curls back as he rises to his full height. Lance uses the moment to push Pidge aside.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” he says, quickly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have gotten distracted. This was my fault and I’ll be sure to do better next time.” Iverson’s face returns to its usual scowl as he watches the Altean for a long moment. Eventually, he sighs and looks away from the trio.

“Get out of here, all of you,” he grumbles. The trio scramble to exit the space, Iverson calling after them as they go.

“And don’t come back until you’ve learned to work as a team!”

The transport ships ends up being larger up close than Keith was really expecting. Thankfully, that means he’s able to land his ship in the holding bay. Ulaz is waiting for him when he steps off his ship. Sentries wander about the bay, but otherwise keep a respectable distance from the pair.

“Keith,” Ulaz greets. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“Why are you here?” Keith asks, eyeing the sentries. It’s a little weird hearing his real name after being undercover for so long… yet refreshing at the same time. Ulaz stares at him for a long moment.

“Perhaps we should talk somewhere more…. Private.” Confused, Keith follows him out of the holding bay and through the halls to the bridge. Thankfully, the journey is short considering the ship is much smaller than Sendak’s.

Ulaz turns to him the moment the doors slide shut.

“It’s most fortunate that you were the one tasked with escorting me to Sendak,” Ulaz says. “I am transport a very important person for the Empire.” Keith watches him, trying to decipher what the Galra is talking about. Who could possibly be so important they need to be escorted in a cargo ship? Someone secret maybe….

“Who…” Ulaz sighs.

“Something happened about a phoeb ago,” he replies, looking away from the young boy. His face falls with sorrow. “We were told not to tell you for fear of how you may react… but I feel now there is no choice.”

“What happened, Ulaz,” Keith growls anxiously. What was so awful that they couldn’t tell him? Did something bad happen to someone? His mind reels with the possibility. Who could have possibly been hurt?

Ulaz takes a deep breath before continuing.

“You must understand,” he says. “We chose not to tell you for the safety of everyone involved. You would have been compromised. Made rash decisions. Our mission can’t afford that.” He gazes at Keith, eyes searching his face for something Keith can’t quite identify. He’s not really sure how he’s meant to be reacting right now. If something happened that they chose not to tell him about….

That can only mean one thing.

“Was it Lance?” he asks, dread washing over him.

“No,” Ulaz answers much to Keith relief. “Shiro managed to get him away in time.”

“Shi-” Keith’s eyes go wide, heart skipping a beat. He looks away from his fellow Blade, moving over to the wall for support. They got Shiro? Is that what Ulaz is telling him? How? He gets it now, why they didn’t want to say anything. He definitely would have dropped everything to save his former mentor.

“He goes by the title Champion within the Galra ranks,” Ulaz says. Keith looks at him in disbelief. Shiro’s the Champion? He’s literally one of the most valuable prisoners in the Galra Empire…. And they’re delivering him right into Sendak’s hands.

“We have to free him,” Keith says. “He needs to go back to Earth.”

“Your mission is to remove the Red Lion from the possession of the Galra. Freeing Shiro is not part of that plan.”

“I don’t care,” Keith snaps. “We can’t let Sendak have him…. I’ll just say you were shot down by rebels or something.”

“Sendak would kill you for your failure,” Ulaz points out. “And if he doesn’t then Zarkon certainly will for losing his precious Champion.”

Keith huffs, ears twitching in irritation. He knows, deep down, that he can’t compromise his position. Still… Shiro being here can’t be good. It means the Galra know of Earth. Do they know about the Alteans? Has Earth tried coming after them? Or perhaps they asked the Blade for help returning Shiro…. Who else was taken? More importantly…. How has Lance been doing without his bodyguard?

“I have to get him back to Earth,” Keith says. “I don’t care if I can never return to the Galra. I’m getting Shiro out of here and taking him home.”

“How?” Ulaz asks. “You know they’ll just track you back to Earth… and then what? All you efforts will be for nothing and Earth will be in the Galra’s line of sight.”

“Well then maybe we need to take him home in something that isn’t Galra….” Keith replies. Something that he’s been tasked with retrieving. It’s a big risk and assumes the Red Lion will open for him but… it does solve the problem of removing it from the Galra. He’ll have to give him his position for awhile, but it’ll be worth it if it means Shiro can be home again. “Call Kolivan. There’s been a slight change in plans.”

Kolivan is just going to have to be on board with it.

“Alteans are typically a peaceful race. They tend to lean more towards diplomacy rather than turning to war. It has certainly helped the people of Earth over the centuries and assisted with maintaining overall peace,” Lance recites in a voice that is far peppier than he’s currently feeling. He’s just been having a shitty day and doing this stupid presentation isn’t helping. The constant breeze that only he can feel doesn’t help either. It’s practically full blown wind at this point and he’s about to jump out a window.

He barely pays attention as Pidge recites his part, prattling off facts about Earth and what it might have been like if Alteans never showed up. His gaze wanders to the window, mind straying elsewhere as Pidge’s voice becomes nothing more than a distant hum.

He blinks.

The shadow in the corner of his vision moves.

Confused he blinks again, and suddenly Shiro’s standing in front of him. He’s changed since the Galra took him. His right arm is made of metal and there’s a scar running across the bridge of his nose. His hair has a shock of white in it. Shiro looks at him and steps closer, reaching out to him.

Lance.

Shiro touches his forehead.

Lance gasps, eyes going wide as he’s suddenly transported out of the classroom and light years away from Earth.

Wind roars around the pair, thunder rumbling in the distance as they stand together for the first time in a year. He blinks and Shiro disappears, leaving him in the hurricane force winds.

“Shiro?” Lance shouts, looking around frantically for his friend. The wind carries his voice away and grows stronger. Thunder rumbles closer to him now. He continues to look around, shouting for his lost companion, voice steadily growing hoarse.

Lance sucks in a breath, frustration mounting. How is he supposed to find Shiro in this chaos? He can barely hear himself think! Tears prick at the corner of his eyes as he squeezes them shut. He crumbles into the ball on the ground hands clutching at his hair.

The wind grows stronger, pushing him onto his knees. He just needs one moment of peace. Of quiet to just…. Just think!

The ground shakes with a loud clap of thunder. It sounds vaguely like a lion’s roar.

Lance’s eyes fly open and he looks up.

“Quiet,” he mutters, and the wind dies down. It parts around him as he stands. A sense of calm rushes over him and suddenly the gale is circling around him. He’s in the eyes of the storm now.

Lance looks around, listens for the thunder. It rumbles in the distance and he follows the direction of the sound.

“Black,” he whispers. Everything stops. The Black Lion lands in front of his, eyes glowing as it meets his unwavering gaze. Lance holds a hand up to the large robot. “Show me.”

The pair disappears in a flash of white.

Getting Shiro onto Sendak’s ship was the easy part. With Ulaz’s help they take his sleeping body to a prison cell and leave him there. It’s weird seeing a friend out in space…. Especially one from Earth. The scar, Keith knows, he got from a fight in the Coliseum. The arm, Ulaz informed him, was a present from Zarkon’s witch.

Haggar’s been experimenting on the human and Keith shudders to think of what’s been done to him. Everyone’s heard the rumors of her Druids and their experimentations. It’s a fate nobody wants to face.

Keith sees Ulaz off before reporting to Sendak. He seems please that Keith managed to return Shiro but quickly shoos him off, instructing him to make himself scarce.

Keith finds himself wandering down to the prison block before veering off towards the Red Lion’s holding bay. They can’t know he’s interested in Shiro. I would only raise suspicion and the would compromise his goals. At least walking past the Red Lion is part of his usual routine. Nobody tends to question that.

Still though, he eventually returns to his room to figure out how to release Shiro and get him to the Red Lion without raising the alarm.

He paces the length of the room, mulling his options over. Kolivan didn’t seem too pleased by his decision but ultimately relented under the condition he doesn’t get caught. He’s not even sure how to pull that off. One way or another though, he’s getting Shiro back to Earth.

Keith huffs. The Blade of Marmora operates under secrecy. They don’t do things that could possibly expose him.

“I don’t exactly have many options here,” Keith mutters to himself. How did Kolivan even expect him to take the Red Lion without being caught? Frowning, he sits on his bed and pulls out his knife. The dark blade gleams in the light, a small crystal tied around the hilt.

Even after all these years, he’s kept Lance’s gift…. Not that he ever uses it anymore. He’s long come to terms with his heritage and grown to be proud of his Galra half.

His Galra half because nobody in the Empire know of his human half…. And maybe it’s time to reclaim that human half.

“Hold on, Shiro,” Keith says with a grin as he removes the crystal and resheathes his knife. He stands up, plan forming in his mind. “I’m coming for you.”

Lance stumbles back with a gasp, knocking everything off the teacher’s desk. The whole room stares at him in stunned silence. He looks around wildly, gaze landing on Hunk and Pidge.

“Come with me,” he snaps, grabbing their wrists and dragging them out of the room. They stumble after him as he picks up the pace. Soon the trio is running through the halls.

“Lance!” Pidge shouts. “What are we doing?”

“Yeah…” Hunk replies, huffing. “As much… as I like skipping class…. Why?”

“Something’s coming,” Lance replies, gaze focused straight ahead. “And I need both of you with me.” Hunk and Pidge share a confused look behind their friend’s back but they fall silent.

Lance leads them right to Iverson’s office. He barges in without bothering to knock.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Iverson shouts, standing from his seat. “You can’t be in here!”

“I come to you as Prince of New Altea,” Lance says confidently, standing tall. “By orders of Queen Ourania herself, I am declaring galactic emergency. All off planet communication and travel is officially on lockdown.” Iverson calms himself, staring at Lance for a long moment. Pidge and Hunk watch, confused and curious from outside the room. Whatever’s going on, it’s important and Lance needs them.

“What is this about, my Prince?”

“The Galra are coming,” Lance replies. “And I need you to take me to the Black Lion.”

Sirens blare around him as he ducks into corners and dodges the sentries running about. Behind him, Shiro groans, clutching at his head. He’s only been awake for a few minutes but there was no way Keith could discreetly carry him to the Red Lion’s location. As it stands, his cover has been completely blown.

The Red Lion is their only chance to get out of here alive.

Keith watches and waits for the coast to clear before grabbing Shiro’s hand and sprinting down the hall. He halts, pushing Shiro into an alcove and he peers around the corner. Just down the way, one of Sendak’s flunkies guards the door to the Red Lion.

He can probably take them…. Especially if Shiro gets his act together long enough to help. Keith glances back at his friend, still delirious from sleep.

“Shiro,” he whispers. “I’m going to need your help for this next part, okay?” Shiro flashes him a thumbs up though Keith’s not too sure he actually heard. Either way, they manage to tag team the Galra and take him down in moments. Fate must be smiling on them too because Keith’s able to use the Galra’s hand to open to doors.

The Red Lion looms inside its shield, quiet and unwavering. Shiro takes a seat next to it with a sigh, head dropping between his legs with a groan. Whatever they knocked him out with is going to take a while to work through his system. They don’t have time to wait though…

“Hey,” Keith calls up to the lion. “Open up! We need your help!” The shield remains standing. He huffs and knocks on the surface. The Red Lion ignores him. Keith growls, kicking the shield and stomping away from the stubborn creature.

Is creature even the right word? They’re supposedly sentient…. Does that count as them being creatures? Sentient machines are a thing…. Right?

He doesn’t know…. Nor does he care. This stupid thing needs to let them in before they’re all caught.

“Freeze!”

Keith jumps, spinning around to come face to face with a group of sentries. They level their blasters at him and Shiro.

Quiznack. This is not how he wanted things to go… he eyes the bay door and the console that opens it. An idea quickly forms in his head.

He draws his sword and charges towards Shiro just as the sentries begin shooting. Shiro jumps to his feet with a shout, alarmed to see a Galra running towards him. Keith grabs him and sprints to the console, slamming his sword into the ground just as he hits the button.

The doors swing open, sucking the sentries into space. His sword holds for a moment but the suction and weight of him and Shiro drag them out into space.

Keith holds his breath, eyes shifting wildly as he tries to figure out how to return to the lion. Shiro slips out of his grasp, distracting him for a split second.

Next thing he knows, the giant maws of the Red Lion are closing around him and Shiro, and flying away from Sendak’s ship.

Shiro gasps next to Keith, rolling off his back sluggishly. Next to him, Keith rests on his hands and knees trying to regulate his breathing. They sit in the Red Lion’s mouth, collecting their breaths before Keith attempts to stand. He wobbles to his feet and stumbles over to his companion.

“Shiro,” he mutters, holding a hand out to help him up. Shiro take his, allowing Keith to pull him to his feet. They stare at each other for a long moment before Keith’s pulled into a crushing hug. Keith hugs him back, resting a hand on Shiro’s shoulder.

His hair becomes wet where Shiro’s face is buried in it. His shoulder shake with sobs. Keith doesn’t realize he’s also crying until a drop lands on his hand.

“I’m so sorry…” Keith mumbles, voice breaking. “I’m so sorry…. I… I didn’t know… I would’ve come for you… I….”

“It’s okay,” Shiro replies, brushing a hand through his hair. He pulls away a moment later, face tear-stained but no longer crying. “You came when it mattered and that’s enough.” Keith smiles, rubbing the tears off his face.

He may have just blown his cover. He can’t return to the Galra or the Blade…. But he got Shiro back. They’re going back to Earth where they can be protected and find help. The Galra may come after them, but Earth will be prepared. That’s a worry for another day though. For now…. There’s only one task at hand.

“Let’s go home.”

His mom is waiting for them by the time they arrive at the Black Lion’s den. Iverson stops his buggy and lets the trio climb out and gather their things before driving off again. Lance watches him go before turning to his mom. A bag of this things hangs by her side.

“I see you’ve brought some friends,” she says, glancing briefly at Hunk and Pidge. “And you’ve declared an emergency. Mind telling me why?”

“The Galra are coming….” Lance replies. “The Black Lion showed me.” Surprise flits across her face, mouth falling open slightly. She looks back at his friends and then to him.

“And your friends?”

“They have to come with me.” She raises a brow at that, but Lance remains firm. He knows what he saw. He won’t back down from this. Behind him, Hunk and Pidge share a confused look. Hunk is the one to step forward.

“Um… excuse me, your grace,” he says, giving a little bow. “Not that Pidge and I mind much but… what’s happening?

“And for that matter,” Pidge chimes in. “Where are we going?” Ourania laughs a little, eyes lighting up in delight. She looks back at her son, proud that he’s made friends at the Garrison.

“It seems my son failed to mention some details on the ride over,” she comments. “So much like his father.” She steps behind Hunk and Pidge, waving her hands at them as she ushers the trio inside.

“Lance?” Hunk says, hesitantly steps through the doors to the den. His eyes roam up and down the cave walls. Carvings lines the inside of Alteans and lions alike. Gemstones gleam in the light, adding splashes of reds, blues, greens, and yellows to the portraits. “What’s going on?”

“The Black Lion, it seems,” Ourania answers. “Is finally ready to accept Lance as its Paladin and you two will be joining him.”

“Whu-”

“We have to go fight the Galra,” Lance says, gaze focused straight ahead. Their footstep echo down the hall as they draw closer to the lion’s resting place. “And find your lions.”

“Wait!” Hunk protests as they step into the Black Lion’s gaze. It’s shield is finally dropped, eyes lit up as it awaits the prince. “I’m not a pilot! I can’t fly a giant cat robot!”

“Well… you better learn!” Ourania replies teasingly, shoving Hunk and Pidge towards the lion. She straightens and steps over to her son. She hands him the bag. “Extra clothes and some things for you and your friends.”

“Thanks, mom,” Lance say with a smile, taking the offered bag.

“There’s a communicator in there too, so you better keep in touch.”

“We will.” Her eyes shine with unshed tears as she gazes lovingly at her son. She pulls him into a hug.

“You’re going to do great things,” she murmurs. “Akiva would be proud of you.” Lance sucks in a breath, eyes suddenly burning.

“I’m going to miss you,” he murmurs back. She pulls back, placing a hand on his cheek.

“We will all miss you,” she says. “Now go get your lions.” She places a kiss on his cheek and steps away. Lance gives her a final, sad smile before turning to his friends.

“I know I’m dragging you into this,” he says to them. “But… this is your chance, you can turn back now. Nobody’s forced to do this.” Pidge scoffs, giving his arm a punch.

“Are you kidding? This is our chance to go into space and prove Iverson wrong,” he says. “You aren’t the only one who has business out there.”

“Yeah,” Hunk adds before Lance can reply. “I mean… the fighting part sounds kind of scary but we’re in this together. If you… erm…. Well, I guess the Black Lion, rather, thinks we’re meant to be Paladins then who am I to argue with it? Besides… we’d be helping others, right?”

“Thanks, guys,” Lance says, grateful to have such loyal companions.

“And don’t worry about your parents,” Ourania calls to them. “I’ll be sure they are informed of where you’re at!”

“I guess this is it then.” Lance heft the bag onto his shoulder and looks up at the Black Lion.

The moment of truth. He takes a deep breath and steps up to the lion. There a beat, a moment, where nothing happens, and then the Black Lion crouches down, opening up for the trio. Relief floods through Lance. He’s finally being accepted.

He takes a moment to give one final wave goodbye before entering the lion’s waiting mouth.

The journey has finally begun.

#voltron #vld #shance #fanfic #lost prince

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itstimeforspring · 5 years ago

Text

i can see the clouds are moving faster now (6 of ?)

title from ‘hold on’ by tobymac. evidently it takes a quarantine for me to write for this fic again. i have a very (very very) vague plan for the rest of this fic but it turns out grad school is no joke so who knows when it��ll happen <3

here on ao3 and here on ff.net

Emma jogged down the street with nothing on her mind except finding Ashley. They didn't know what was going on, she and Killian, but maybe Ashley knew something else. It couldn't be a coincidence, Killian seeing Ashley at the dock explosion that almost killed him and then finding her again in Storybrooke.

Even if it was a coincidence, it was one that she needed to follow up on as quickly as possible, mobile husband or not.

Emma really didn't have much going for her in this search. She had a decent knowledge of the town, but she hadn't been back in four years and that was just a social visit, so who knows what had happened to the darker ends of town. And that was basically it—she didn't know where to look, she didn't know what she was looking for, and she didn't have backup.

She was moving fairly silently, thanks to broken-in shoes and practice, so at least she'd be an unexpected guest to… wherever she ended up.

She had a basic idea of going back to where they'd seen Ashley the first time and circling that area. With any luck, Ashley would be doing something or living nearby and they could have a little chat. She suddenly regretting running out without anything aside from her smallest pistol in her waistband. Regina would be so annoyed.

She stopped to catch her breath in front of Mr. Gold's shop. A light was on in the apartment above the shop, but that was probably just Gold himself. A movement in the alley caught her eye, and she took a step closer.

Ashley crouched in the darkness, the steps of a dancer evident in her movement. She suddenly remembered taking Alex back to Ashley's dance class, the one indulgence she and her parents allowed her when she was a teen mom and they could barely afford to feed themselves, let alone have fun.

"Emma?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.

Emma nodded. Ashley stepped out of the dark path, her blonde hair catching the light from the streetlamp. She held a gun loosely in her left hand, her right hand plainly visible. Emma settled into a defensive pose, pulling her own gun out and gesturing with it. "Come out the rest of the way and slide the gun toward me," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ashley glanced up at the lighted apartment. She didn't speak, but the frightened tilt of her head was enough to convince Emma to try to trust her. Ashley set the gun down, sliding it a few inches toward Emma's foot, before ducking back into the darkness.

She grabbed the gun, testing the weight and trigger. Then she followed Ashley into the alley. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I know what you and your husband are, and I think you have a better chance of helping me than I can on my own."

Emma blinked at the flood of words, quiet as they were. Ashley was backed up against the wall, keeping distance as her only defense. Then the meaning behind Ashley's statement hit her. "How do you know about me and Killian?"

Ashley exhaled sharply. "The people I work for, they know everything. When I said you were in town again, they said that you and your supposed boyfriend are in law enforcement."

Emma sighed, tucking her own gun into her waistband, keeping Ashley's gun in hand. Terrible technique, but she had the advantage in hand-to-hand fighting and she could tell Ashley knew it. "What do they want with us? Or, better yet, what do they have on you?"

Ashley shrugged. "I don't know what they want with you, aside from maybe killing you? They definitely meant to kill… Killian is his name? And they…" She sniffled and Emma's heart sank. "They have my baby."

"Alex?"

She nodded, shifting from foot to foot. "Sean is fine, he just thinks I'm the scum of the earth and took Alex away from him. He's in New York now."

Emma heard something in the street, possibly a footstep. Could have been a cat, but that had turned out to be a person last time, so she wasn't going to risk it. She motioned at Ashley to get down. Ashley immediately copied the movement, and they waited in silence. She blessed her senses when voices grew closer.

"I don't hear them, Keith."

"Me neither. I could have imagined it, but Ashley isn't in her apartment and I thought I saw Swan."

"Do you think she's just police?"

"They were at the dock, Tom. And now they're here."

"Yeah, cause her family lives here. That doesn't mean they know…" They moved out of Emma's hearing and she sighed inwardly. Ashley started to move but Emma waved her back down. They stayed in silence for a few more minutes until Emma couldn't hear anything aside from the wind in the trees.

"You need to go home," she whispered to Ashley. "I'm going to do the same and we're going to pretend that we haven't spoken. My husband and I will decide what to do next. Keep on with what you're doing, don't draw any attention to yourself."

Ashley nodded, looking even more scared than she had been when she and Killian saw her a few days ago. Emma handed the gun back to her (again, terrible technique, but there's no way someone wouldn't notice that Ashley suddenly wasn't armed) and watched her creep out of the alleyway and dart into the shadows. She realized, heart sinking, that someone had trained Ashley. Very few people had the innate skill of wandering through shadows without being seen (Killian among them), and someone had clearly cared enough to teach Ashley to become one with the night, as Killian liked to joke.

Finally she stood and crept through the alleyway until she could start jogging in the light again. She wandered through the town, making notes of dark places and spots she didn't remember, hoping to check them out with Killian in the morning or maybe just sometime soon when he could walk again. Finally she decided she'd been out long enough to take any attention off her break from moving around in the street, and she made her way toward home.

It was just after midnight when she got back to the house, and the light was on in her room. She clambered up the wall, hoping that no one was around to see how graceful she was when she was trying to move really fast, and tapped on the window.

Killian's face appeared and he had the window unlatched and a hand on her arm before she could even offer a hopeful hi-are-you-mad smile.

"Hey, are you okay?" he murmured, tugging her inside and latching the window again.

"I'm fine. I found Ashley—" Her words were cut off with a kiss.

When he eventually pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers and they just breathed for a minute. "Please never leave me again," he muttered.

She breathed out a laugh, pulling him a little closer. "I really didn't like going out without you, so I'll do my best."

"I couldn't sleep, Swan, not even a little. And I know I'm not that good at sleeping, but you've been gone three hours and usually—"

"I'm sorry, Killian. We work best together and I would say I forgot that but I literally never forget that." He grinned, almost preening, and then she noticed that he was standing on one foot. "How's your ankle?"

"It hurts but tomorrow I'm breaking out the good meds and pretending that it's fine." She opened her mouth to shut that idea down, but he pressed a finger to her mouth. "I'm not letting you go again, my love, not when I can manage it."

They glared for a few seconds but the competition dissolved when one of his eyebrows went up of its own free will and she giggled. "Fine. Anyway, I told Ashley we were going to work together on everything, so you're kind of needed."

"Thanks, dear. What did Ashley say?"

She filled him in on the details of their conversation as she changed into her pajamas. The shower would wait until the morning; it was cold enough that she was going to deal with it. By the time she finished telling him about Ashley's skillful disappearance into the night, the light was off and she'd pulled the blankets to her chin.

Killian was silent for a minute. "Did she mention our employment?"

Emma shook her head, curling into Killian's side. "Even Keith and Tom didn't mention anything specific. I think they think we're just police. They probably won't think that much longer, especially if they have the resources to check into actual New York police."

"Then they'll decide we're something else, maybe more of a threat than just NYPD." She nodded into the darkness and he exhaled slowly. "She didn't give any clues about what's going on or why Storybrooke's connected to a dock explosion that almost killed me?"

"She probably would have if not for Keith and Tom, but we had to hide and then I made her go home to try to lessen the chance that they would find her still gone if they checked again. And she's worried about Alex, Killian."

He fumbled through the sheets and found her hand and squeezed tightly. "Normally I'm sure I wouldn't be okay with pursuing this, even if just because we don't have any sort of jurisdiction."

"When have you ever really cared about jurisdiction?" Emma muttered. "Certainly didn't in Miami and the robbery. It was our anniversary, too."

"Good point. But this is your hometown, and Ashley was your friend, and they're making Storybrooke their target somehow. So we'll do something about it."

Emma leaned over and kissed him, conveying her thanks in the embrace. "I love you. And I'm sorry for leaving you to chase someone over town."

"As long as you come back to me, Swan." His voice faded into a whisper and she closed her eyes as exhaustion took over them.

"Always."

Emma woke up the next morning with dreams of Brooklyn-99 still floating around in her head. The ridiculousness of her brain was something she was grateful for most mornings, since it generally kept away the worst of the memories from the job. It did take her a few minutes though to realize that the chattering downstairs definitely wasn't any characters from the acclaimed TV show.

She pulled herself out of bed with a groan, wishing that she'd gotten in from her scouting maybe an hour earlier; that would have been a good time to be sleeping. Amazing how she could live on three hours a night when on the job and could barely survive with eight hours when at home. She was midway through washing her face when she saw Killian's ankle brace on the bathroom floor.

"Killian Jones!" she called from the top of the stairs, brandishing the ankle brace. There was no way his ankle felt okay enough to go without the brace.

"Emma Jo—Swan!" Killian called back from the kitchen. He finally stepped over into her viewpoint, laughter and the smell of chocolate chip pancakes trailing behind him. "What is it, love?" She waved the ankle brace and he winced.

"Get up here, then." Killian stepped up the stairs oh so carefully but without too much of a visible limp. "What did you take?" she asked as they maneuvered into the bathroom.

"First of all, good morning, my love." He kissed her quickly. "Secondly, that was probably the closest call we've had so far aside from Ruby, I think we should keep in mind that someone probably heard my almost-mistake in your last name."

Emma sighed. "True. But are they going to comment on it? Not likely. Tell me about the ankle."

"Thirdly, you accuse me of taking drugs? What do you take me for?"

"You sprained your ankle yesterday. Even you with your supernatural tolerance for pain can't go on like this." She lowered her voice for safety's sake. "And it's not even safe, remember that we sometimes have to run for our lives and if you're damaging your ankle permanently—"

He leaned forward and kissed her again, cupping her cheeks in his hands. It was a good combination of I-love-you-so-much and please-shut-up and you're-the-only-person-I-will-let-fuss-over-me-like-this kiss, and she was smiling begrudgingly by the time he pulled away. "I'm not letting you go out there by yourself again, so I took one of the pills for my hand. Which feels marvelous, by the way. Right now, everything feels marvelous. Remind me to never let them give me medication this strong again. I've had far worse, Mrs. Jones, and I'm going to be okay."

She glared up at him for another few seconds, leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss him again, and said, "Fine. I won't say anything."

"It's my fault if I trip and die somewhere, I get it."

She nodded. They walked back down the stairs hand-in-hand to see her family grinning up at them like a single cat that caught the canary. "What was that about?" asked her dad.

"You guys are too cute," her mom gushed.

"Did you call her Mrs. Jones?" Henry asked.

Emma squeezed Killian's hand just a bit more than necessary and Killian immediately sprang back into pancake mode. Henry's question was lost in a sea of flipping bacon and almost burning everything and pouring juice and tossing pancakes around the kitchen and it was probably the homiest scene she'd seen in years, possibly since she'd gone to college.

"What are your plans for the day?" Mary Margaret asked.

Emma and Killian glanced at each other and shrugged. There was basically no investigating they could do during the day, Emma figured, so they didn't have anything necessary. "We didn't have any plans," she said. "Did you guys have something in mind?"

Mary Margaret grinned. "Grab your scarves and hats. It's snowing again."

And that's how they found themselves walking through the town once more, the five of them arm-in-arm, looking at the Christmas decorations that had suddenly sprouted around the town.

"It's like they grew overnight," Killian said, squeezing her hand.

David laughed. "Storybrooke decorates for Christmas, Killian. It's a fairy town around holidays."

"You'll see if you and Emma stay for a while longer!" Mary Margaret piped up. Emma sent a sharp glance toward her mom but she was resolutely staring at the cotton-filled display at the jeweler's.

Killian tugged her a little closer as she felt the familiar guilt close in again. It wasn't her fault she was never around—except it was; she chose to take the job, she chose to spend her life lying, and she chose to stay away whenever possible.

"It's okay, love," he whispered.

"I'm not sure it is," she whispered back. He kissed the side of her head in answer.

Henry interrupted the slight tension with a request to go to Granny's, David agreed with the slightest of pauses, and they all turned down Main Street immediately. The Nolan family never said no to Granny's.

Ten minutes later they were huddled in the booths, trying not to freeze to death.

"Sorry about the temperature in here, guys," Ruby said as she passed out the food. She had taken it for granted that everyone was having their usual and that Killian's usual was now the lasagna. "Granny's refusing to turn the heat on until it's snowed for four days straight."

"It's only day three!" Granny snapped from behind the counter.

"But it's so cold," Leroy wheedled.

"Were they ever together?" Killian asked, glancing at the arguing pair. Henry gagged and David looked vaguely horrified. "Ah, my apologies." He went back to the lasagna. "Remind me to charm the secret ingredient out of the chef, Swan."

"Good luck with that. Granny hasn't even told Ruby most of her secret ingredients, last I heard."

Mary Margaret leaned forward, the better to block out the argument at the bar. "I'm sorry I was pushing about you staying longer, Emma. I know your work's important and you have a life that isn't in Storybrooke. We just—we miss you."

Emma reached out for her mom's hand and almost dragged her sleeve through her ketchup. "I miss you guys too, so much. I should have come back sooner than now. I'd love to stay, we'd love to stay, we just have a tyrannical boss."

"You could quit your jobs!" Henry said.

Killian tried to cover a laugh. "Can't do that, Henry." Emma tried not to show the slight panic that that suggestion brought. The main way to quit their jobs was to not get out of an explosion or not dodge a bullet. Not happening. Never happening. They planned to retire at the ripe old age of Old and move on with their lives. That was the plan. That was in the twenty-year plan Killian had written for them a month before they got married (it was in calligraphy, and it was framed in their closet).

Henry shrugged. "Worth a shot. I think Mr. Gold's hiring at the pawn shop, you'd probably have fun there."

Killian sent a sharp glance in her direction and she gave the slightest nod possible. That was the place. "I bet we would."

They finished their lunches in far better moods than they'd started in. David got up to pay and argue with Leroy and Leroy's friend… something, Emma couldn't remember. Just as they were all about to leave, Ruby cornered her. "Have you told your parents yet?"

"What?" Their conversation immediately came back to her—had it only been a few days since Ruby found out that they were married? Felt like so much longer. "No, and you can't tell them!"

Ruby held her hands up and backed away, shaking her head and smiling. "I won't, but you're going to have to!"

Emma sighed. "So much pressure!"

"What did the lass say?" Killian asked, taking her hand when she finally joined everyone outside.

"She says we have to tell them we're m-a-r-r-i-e-d."

"I'm sorry, love, I didn't get that," Killian dead-panned. "But I'll propose tomorrow if you want. I think I have a ring, actually. It might have a few scratches, but that's just because someone's worn it for a few years."

She leaned into his shoulder and tucked her other hand under his arm. "As long as David and Mary Margaret get to watch."

"So many demands."

"Speaking of demands, if you're going to keep insisting that your ankle is fine, we're checking out the pawn shop tonight. I want to see what Mr. Gold's actually up to, because I don't think he'd tell Ashley a third of what he's really doing."

"Sounds marvelous, love. I'll bring the weapons, you bring the cheer." They paused on the sidewalk to seal the agreement with a kiss. "I'm thinking the 9 mm. That should suffice." She hummed and tried not to grin at the fact that he was thinking about guns the way most people would think about what book to read next or what cut of steak for dinner. Although, with Killian, she wouldn't be surprised if either of those were part of the next sentence out of his mouth.

Somehow, Mary Margaret managed to hear one word of the conversation and ran back to join them. "Killian! Your ankle!"

"It's fine, milady, I promise," Killian tried to reassure her, but her motherly nature found them all back to the house in record time with Killian soon resting on the couch with an ice pack on his (slightly swollen) ankle, Henry running upstairs for comic books to share with the invalid, and an almost-amused Emma standing above him.

"Jones, you said it was fine." Killian shot a glare between her eyes, his hand, his ankle, his hand again, and back to her eyes. "Your hand is not the standard of injuries." She brought out her (good unless she's actually in England) English accent. "I mean, it's not as bad as the time I almost destroyed my hand in a boating accident, so I'm fine!"

"First of all—"

"I don't sound like that," they said in unison. Killian glared again.

"Second of all," he continued, "it is fine. I don't feel any of it."

"Because it's very, very cold outside and your feet are frozen!" Mary Margaret chirped from the kitchen. Her future/current son-in-law taken care of, she was returning to the world of dishes and cleaning. Since Killian was officially pouting, Emma patted him on the head and joined her mother.

They worked in silence with the dishes for a few minutes before Mary Margaret turned to Emma. "Why can't you quit your job?"

Emma was struck silent. What could she really say that wasn't a complete and utter lie about the insurance cover story she hadn't thought about in way too long? If I left, the government would not be happy. Regina would probably kill me. Killian would get himself killed in a foreign country. I would be bored out of my skull. "It is fun most of the time, Mom, and I do enjoy what I do. Please don't worry about me. Us, really."

Mary Margaret accepted that as fact. "You know, it is so cute that the two of you have an office romance."

"Isn't it," Killian called from the couch.

Mary Margaret sent a beam in his direction. "Do you have any plans for the future?" Emma shrugged. Her immediate plans were mostly job- or Netflix-related. Ariel had probably finished Parks and Rec by now. "I do want grandkids at some point, you know."

Emma choked on nothing. "Mom!"

"Mom, please don't, that's so weird!" Henry added, emerging at the best possible moment with a pound of comic books. "Here, Killian!"

Killian, slightly pink-eared, glanced at her for a second before turning to the comic books that Henry was holding aloft like they held the secrets of the universe. Some of them probably claimed to.

Mary Margaret turned back to the dishes with a slight sniff. "Well, weird or not, I mean it, Emma. And I just want you to be happy."

She leaned over and hugged her mom as tightly as she could. "I know, Mom. Just please don't mention kids in front of my boyfriend."

It was the first time him being simply a boyfriend was really convenient.

"Are we still thinking kids in three years?" Killian whispered as they jogged through Storybrooke in the dead of night. The snow that hadn't melted all day was adding confusion to the sound, which was really interesting. They hadn't had too many cases in the snow.

Emma snorted. They had in fact had the kids conversation—it was one of the conversations she thought was pretty important to have, especially given a pregnancy scare when she was in college and one of their own eight months into their relationship—and had in fact come to an agreement. "I think it's closer to two years now, if we're going by the original plan."

Killian stepped into her space for a second, cupping her jaw in his hands. "I don't care when we have them, whether in nine months or seven years. Whenever it feels like it's time."

"Me too," she whispered, leaning forward to kiss him quickly. "As long as we're not in a complete crisis."

Killian grinned, the soft smile she loved so, so, so much transforming his face into a thing of beauty. She took a moment to admire her husband before turning away to keep jogging. They'd decided to make a full lap of the area before settling down near the pawn shop, both for the exercise they hadn't been getting and in an attempt to draw someone out. Anyone. Someone to gently interrogate.

They were silent for a few minutes. "They better have your hair," Killian said.

"And your eyes. How many are we thinking, anyway?"

"Two, right? One of each. So they can be rapscallions together. Too many more and Regina would attempt to make us retire too early. I'm not going out before I'm forty."

"You'd still get the plaque, probably, for really good and longer-than-many service."

"And gods know that's why we're in the business." They were about two blocks away from the pawn shop, so they slowed to a walk. Killian wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "Or we could have mirror images of us. My charm and your inexplicable beauty. They could take over the world."

Emma breathed out a laugh, her breath hanging in the air like smoke. "I don't think it'd be a bad world once they were done with it."

"Not at all." They stopped and stared at the pawn shop. "Ready to commit a crime that could get us a significant amount of jail time if we get caught?" he asked.

"With you?" He quirked an eyebrow, the smallest of smiles growing in his eyes. "I guess so," she fake-sighed. "Anything with you, Killian."

Hand-in-hand, they stepped toward the dark shop.

tagging @kmomof4 <3

#i can see the clouds are moving faster now #my ff #captain swan #cs ff #also the first time i've been on tumblr since march #sorry #again #grad school is no joke

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justwannawriterps · 5 years ago

Text

Forgotten Lies

Where: Halloween

When: 1st November

What: Eli tells a little white lie...

Who: @keith-crane

Having lost touch with everything he once regarded as close or familiar, Keith Crane was walking across the ballroom hall with nothing but a drink. A poor, sad attempt at easing his nerves somehow--which clearly was not working. He wasn't even sure why he dressed like this..or who any of the people around him were..and that had him wanting to get some air..eyes darting towards the male currently standing by the glass doors.

Elijah saw Keith and he was going to avoid him when he saw the other staring at him, "Erm, are you OK?" He asked, confusion racking his brain, "You seem lost?"

Keith exhaled softly, hesitant for the most part. He wasn't sure he wanted to out his situation, let this stranger think him crazy for not knowing where he was..or who he was--but his lips parted in the end, eyes looking up at Elijah and shifting away. "I just need some air, that's all. I don't..quite remember where I am."

Elijah bit his lip, "Lost your memory" he whispered, remembering his hard conversation with Fawn, "I'm Elijah, me and you, we are close" he spoke, lying, "You could say best friends"

"Are we?" Keith frowned, feeling himself become even more confused..if possible. He did give Elijah one quick up and down though...his lips pressing together slightly. Best to take advantage of whatever help he might get... "..do you know how I got here, then? What--happened to me?" The vampire still needed some air and for that reason, took a step closer to the other, giving his glass a way to a member of staff.

Elijah laughed, "Promise of a better life unless you are a slave but don't worry about that, shall I help you to get some air?" And he offered the other his hand. He knew this was wrong but he needed to find a way to best the man.

Okay. What the hell? Keith let out a sound of frustration, not sure this man wasn't taking the piss, and took the hand, allowing him to lead him outside..where he let go off it. The ad-man leaned against the railing outside. "You haven't answered my question." he mumbled, "..what is this place? Why am I here, Elijah?"

Elijah sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, "It's an institute with some, hidden things. Mainly you are here for an education and you are a master, as told by your lack of collar" he explained, "You probably came here to learn and like most people don't want too leave... Or cause you are supernatural"

Keith listened to everything the other was willing to tell him, feeling his hands clench into fists the more nonsense he spoke..and yet, as he cast one look over his shoulder, it kind of ..just did. All of those young people, the thirst he hadn't been able to quench no matter how much alcohol he had..it all clicked. "Why do I not remember?" he said in a plea.. "How am I supposed to believe you when you keep..saying all these..crazy things?"

Elijah sighed again and be shrugged, "A few people can't remember" he spoke as he looked around, "I'm not crazy and I'll prove it" and with that he pulled his likely pocket knife from his trousers and cut a small cut in his finger, letting blood gather, "If what I'm saying isn't correct, if I don't know how, then this blood won't bother you"

Keith's eyes widened the second his eyes landed on the object, having half a mind to stop Elijah ..except he couldn't. Before he could reach over to grab his wrist, the young man had dug a cut on his finger..drawing blood. Within a moment, his senses spiked and he felt himself fall under its spell..his fangs breaking through his gums at the strong scent... "..this can't be real..." he groaned, feeling his teeth with nimb fingers. "You're..you're right. What the hell am I?"

Elijah smiled and he licked his lip, "You're a vampire and that's perfectly normal here" he spoke with a nod, "You are probably rather hungry". He paused, Keith could owe him big time for this, "Here" and he held out his arm, "Eat"

Keith struggled but at last, he was able to pull his attention away from the bleeding finger, partly turning his back on Elijah. "..this is crazy." he muttered twice to himself, "I can't. I don't think I'll be able to stop if I do..you shouldn't trust me.."

Elijah gulped, "I'm claimed by someone who feeds on me. I know when I need you to stop and I'll tell you when I need you too stop". He looked around, "Keith, you must be hungry if you can't even remember what you are"

"But what if you can't stop me?" He snapped, mostly out of frustration, rather than anything else. Christ, why was he so hungry all of a sudden? "I'm fine."

Elijah looked at the other and he shrugged his shoulders, "Then you don't stop and you I guess eventually that means you would turn me? Which honestly, it's whatever". He had been thinking about those that got to live forever, "Eat Keith, you need it or you'll get sick"

His nostrils flared, "You don't want to feel like this...trust me." he rasped, now turning despite his best efforts. Damn..that stupid smell was intoxicating. "..you have to push me away. Promise me you will."

Elijah watched the other and it actually upset him to see how hard the other was trying to keep himself in check, "I want to live forever with the ones I love most" he corrected and he held out his hand again, "I'll push you away. Trust me, l take great joy in that"

The male tried to seize control over his instincts again, but perhaps his promise was all reassurance he could want or need..and so, not without hesitation, of course, Keith Crane took the man's wrist and wrapped his lips around that finger. Fuck. He had needed it. His eyes shut immediately, savoring the explosion of taste in his mouth..and he glanced up, into Elijah's eyes..and that neck.

Elijah watched the other and he couldn't help but smile. He'd wanted to mess with Keith but now, he knew he needed to help. He watched the eyes and he nodded, "You can bite my neck Keith, I don't mind"

Keith debated chewing on that forsaken finger but the allowance of biting into that man's neck soon detered him from that prospect, making him nod once. He said no words. Just walked into the other's space as veins began to form under his eyes, and pressed his mouth against flesh, gripping around Elijah's shoulders as felt for a vein.

Elijah tilted his neck to the side to allow better access and he closed his eyes, "You own the blood bar" he whispered, "You don't understand how good it feels to have a supernatural person drink from you"

Finding what he was after, the vampire let out a pleasurable groan in response and let his pealry whites do the work, successfully piercing the skin before blood at last..began pooling into his mouth. In that moment, he gripped the other much tighter and closed his eyes once again, swallowing a couple of mouthfuls... "..will your master be mad?"

Eli let his eyes roll in his head and he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling, "They won't mind me helping a friend out" he smiled as he moaned softly.

Keith furrowed his eyebrows, momentarily questioning why he was saying 'they' instead of he or she, but continued regardless..taking perhaps a bit more blood than Elijah surely had bargained for. Yet, he couldn't quite get himself to really hurt him --too dubious about how much could kill him. Squishing him gently, thus, the adman procured a couple of soft licks across the puncture wounds and detached himself with a groan..half staring up at the other.. "..this is..I feel better now.." he nodded, "..you probably need to sit."

Elijah felt his head go a little light and he nodded as he moved to sit on the edge of the wall, "See, I told you I would be OK and now you are too" he spoke as he took a deep breath, "I'm a good guy Keith"

The vampire pressed a hand on the other's shoulder to help sustain Elijah and sighed, quickly wiping off the splatter of blood across his lips with a tissue. "..thanks." he said. Keith would be lying if he said he didn't feel a bit awkward standing there..but what he said next about being a good guy confused him a bit. "..why would I think otherwise?"

Elijah shook his head and looked down at the floor, "Just feel like some people don't believe when I say it but I'd never let someone struggle you know?"

Keith moved over to sit right by Elijah's side, keeping some distance still and leaned his head back against the wall..gazing up momentarily. "Then prove it. Show people--just like now." he managed, "It's that or not caring what others think."

Elijah nodded his head, "Yeah I've been trying but people still wouldn't believe me". He paused and he looked to the other, "If you need more, you can take it. I'm very good at not fainting"

"Don't bother then." the vampire mumbled, almost without thinking as he met the other's eyes. "Let them think what they might..and make yourself proud instead." It was definitely not as easy as it sounded but he didn't really know any better. Shaking his head at the offer, Keith willed his fangs back for the first time. "I'm fine..thanks."

Elijah rested his head against the wall and he nodded, "You gunna be OK?" He asked

Keith paused at the question..giving the other a furrowed look, almost like he was not sure about what to say. "..I should hope so.." he said, "I have to start remembering at some point, right?" 6 November 2020

Elijah nodded and smiled, "If you need me, I'll be around Keith" he smiled

#keith

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maandags · 6 years ago

Text

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

-- -- --

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

-- -- --

if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

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kitten-keith · 6 years ago

Text

Again

Klance, some NSFW bits, 5910 words.

Years after their beak up, Keith finally goes on a date and who should come across his little outing, but the man who broke his heart.

You’ve already read the beginning per my post here but I posted it all together because I felt like it, so just scroll past it if you need to.

As usual, I got derailed. There will be a (probably waaaay more nsfw) bonus to this later if I have anything to say about it though.

---

To set the scene, Keith is in a booth sitting across the table from some cute nameless guy, they’re making polite conversation and Keith is smiling, not really feeling much but the effort is there. He’s been single for years now other than a couple one night stands to scratch an itch that never worked. It was time he got back out here and found someone to love as much as he who should not be named.

But god does he love he who should not be named—

Did. God did. Past tense. No current love. No sir.

So, Keith is doing his goddamn best okay.

And the guy across the table is so sweet and so kind and even pretty attractive— though not as attractive as he who should not be named but uhh let’s face it, that kind of luck was pretty unlikely to happen to Keith again.

Someone as attractive as that man who wasn’t going to break his heart? Yeah. Totally. Totally not real.

Ow.

Okay stop.

“No no I totally agree, it would have been so easy for them to go the right route but they just had to mess it up.” Keith offers to the conversation, fingers tapping awkwardly on the side of the table while they wait for their server to come back with their food.

The guy laughs, and it’s a cute laugh. Cuter even than he who shall not be named because his laugh always sounded so goddamn stupid but—

But Keith fucking loved his laugh. Loved the way he’d look down just before as if embarrassed by how funny he just found something. Loved the way he’d stand around with his jaw gaping like a fish. Loved every stupid thing about that horrible stupid man—

Keith stop, you’re on a date with a cute boy, stop, it’s been years, it’s been actual years, don’t do this to yourself, move on.

Why is he thinking about this dude so much anyway? Is it just the fact it’s a date? It’s a genuine smack in the face to every promise he’d made not to love anyone but that reckless stupid—

Chill. Chill chill chill.

Why does he feel so nervous? So on display, so judged. The guy across the table from him isn’t even trying to mentally undress him, so this uneasy feeling isn’t coming from him.

Quickly Keith scans the restaurant, looking for some homophobic idiot or someone who thinks it’s gross Keith went out wearing leggings as pants. (He likes them, fuck off.)

He doesn’t find anyone.

He must be imagining it.

Must be.

“Hey, don’t look, but there’s a dude behind you— over by the bar who will not stop staring at the back of your head. I think he spaced out.”

Space. Lance loved space.

Bad sign.

Keith makes to turn his head and his date laughs again, quickly reaching out to hold his hand and draw his attention back to him, “Hey, I said don’t look!”

Keith looks up into his smile and nods awkwardly before settling on his hand. It stays there, even if Keith is no longer turning. Keith isn’t sure how he feels about it.

It’s been… a really long time since anyone’s held his hand.

He decides he’ll let it be for now. His date seems to like that and casually rubs his thumb over his skin.

Like Lance used to do.

Ah god it’s been years, is Keith really, really still not ready?! Lance sure was! Lance moved on through the whole damn university’s freshman class before Keith was even done coming to terms with the fact, they were over. Who does that?! Who bleeds love and romance like Lance does and then just— just— trivialize it with a bunch of nobodies while the love of his supposed life curls up on the floor of his dorm trying to figure out what the fucking phantom limb pain is— and let’s face it, he couldn’t just call his brother all “we broke up and it feels like I lost my right hand” cause Shiro would then have every right to disown him.

No. No. Keith should be over this. So fucking over this.

So UNBELIEVABLY FUCKING OVER THIS—

He looks at his date and stares into his eyes as softly as he’s able, casually reaching over to cover his hand with his in a way he hopes is reassuring.

“Right, right… so what were we talking about?”

His date smiles wide at the movement before his face takes on a more serious edge.

“Oh boy. Now he’s coming over. Shit.”

Keith pulls a face, about to inform his date he could probably take just about anyone who wants to cause them trouble when a familiar voice crashes through his senses like a bloody train wreck.

“Knew I recognized that mullet.”

No.

Keith retrieves both his hands and slips them under the table to grip at his knees.

Of all the horrible luck...

“Oh— you know him?”

No gods no please.

This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening this can’t…!

“Yeah man. Keithykins here and I go way back.”

Keithykins. Keith hated when Lance called him that. It always meant he was up to no good which he clearly was at this exact moment.

But Keith couldn’t move. Couldn’t look up. Because Lance’s voice is doing things to him just the way it’s always done and suddenly he’s 19 again, laying right beside the love of his life as he plays with his hair and holds him close, talking about where they’re gonna move when they graduate…

Lance was supposed to move. He was supposed to be gone. He was supposed to be anywhere but here in this bar sliding into the booth next to him, putting an arm around his shoulders and smelling like heaven never truly left him—

“Lance don’t—”

Lance reaches forward with the hand not currently squeezing Keith’s shoulder and grabs Keith’s chin.

And Keith wants to stop it, wants so terribly to push him off and beat him half to death with a bar stool but—

But between meeting in high school, falling in love, breaking up and the years Keith spent wishing and wishing and wishing for a moment just like this in his delusional heartbroken state… he’s just— he’s just been in love with Lance for so fucking long how could he ever say no…?

Lance tilts his face up to look at him and Keith could swear it’s like looking at the sun. He’s so bright and beautiful and perfect but it hurts so much it hurts

So much.

How is he still so gorgeous? How have the years not worn him down, made him tired? Made him into something that didn’t have complete and total control of Keith’s heart please—

“Isn’t that right, kitten?”

Those words amount to two things in Keith as soon as they’re spoken.

First, it’s fury. Blind, “I absolutely will beat you to death with a bar stool” kind of unadulterated fury. The kind of fury Keith is positive Lance has never before had to witness from him because he was always too cute or too funny or too hot (Jesus, baby, take me now!) to leave Keith in that state for long.

Second, and more pressing, unfortunately, was the way Keith ran through the million other times Lance had called him Kitten.

The “too hot” Lance who put Keith’s rage to better use.

He remembers the burn in his thighs, riding Lance in the backseat of the little blue civic, “you’re doing so well kitten, fuck, taking my cock so well!”

He remembered laying on his stomach in his bed, Lance’s face stuffed between his ass cheeks and humming, “you like this Kitten? You want more?” And Keith’s resounding fucking mewl when he sunk his tongue back into his heat.

He remembered sitting in Lance’s lap at a frat party, waiting for Pidge to finish her experiment so they could take her home, indulging in a couple drinks while Lance kept his arms firmly around his waist pressing small little kisses into Keith’s neck.

“Can’t wait to take you home, kitten…”

Keith remembers faintly how that comment had actually come from Lance’s anxiety over asking Keith to meet his family over the winter break and not just because Keith kept squirming against Lance’s cock that night.

He remembers Lance staring at him for a long while, when they’d gotten the BnB for their anniversary and Keith had tried to cook for them.

He remembers Lance’s fond expression after he’d angrily tossed a partly melted spatula into the sink and screeched at him, “What?! What is it?!”

And Lance had so easily slipped out of his chair, wandered up beside him and pressed their foreheads together, “my god, sweetheart, light of my life, kitten, you are so fucking precious… but please let me make breakfast.”

And so the fury melted into a single whispered lie.

“I hate you.”

—

Lance didn’t plan to go out tonight. He had planned to stay home with a barrel of bluebell ice cream and his cat and binge watch whatever new show he could find on Netflix.

But Hunk had insisted.

Nay, nagged!

And Hunk then confessed, after Lance had already agreed under conditions of bribery, blackmail, and the miraculous healing of Hunks weepy broken heart (the faker), that Hunk had arranged a date for him.

Lance had feigned a hint of interest over FaceTime before hopping in the shower and thumping his head into the wall a number of times that would have been questionable if he’d had a roommate.

Because he didn’t want a date.

He didn’t want anything.

He stupidly selfishly threw away the only thing he ever truly wanted for the unknown other and has spent the last few years regretting that decision with every bland girl and boy who could never make his blood run like—

He’d shaken his head, don’t think about him, you’re not allowed to think about him anymore he’s probably off and about with someone who actually deserves him. Who loves him enough to not be a stupid dunce about a thing like true commitment?

If he could go back.

If he could go back, he’d etch his name into his soul, never let go of his hand, never take him for granted again just—

Stop.

Stop it.

Keith was better off this way.

Lance can live in monotony, it’s his punishment.

Still, he was Lance. And he had an image to maintain. Desire to date or no. He made sure he was dressed like a charmer. Besides, he never really knows does he?

No one will ever be Keith but maybe he can still find some kind of happiness.

Right?

Was he allowed?

He hoped Keith was happy.

He wished Keith was there. Fingers curling in the little tufts of hair at the back of his neck, cracking jokes about Lance’s obsession with his long hair, “you can’t rock it like I can Lance.”

“Like I’d ever want a mullet.”

“You love it.”

I love you.

Stupid things he should have said.

He should have said it because even if he didn’t really understand it, he felt it and he knew Keith felt it and if he’d just said it—

Nope.

Stop.

Not allowed.

He checked himself in the mirror one last time for any minor imperfections and shot Hunk a text that he was on his way.

Of course, leave it to Hunk to not specify which lounge he was currently occupying and for Lance to make assumptions that it was the usual location.

He was sitting at the bar and had already ordered one drink when he got impatient and sent his best friend another slightly irritated text.

“I figured when you were inviting me out that meant you’d be here already…”

The response was an immediate

“What?”

And before he could text back his phone was ringing.

He rolled his eyes, took a sip of his rum and coke and pressed accept.

“Where are you, I don’t see you—” Hunk started before Lance replaced his drink and picked up his phone to face himself and the rest of the lounge behind him.

“I’m chilling at the bar since you couldn’t be bothered to—”

Hunk’s eyes widened and he shook his head, “oh man did I not mention?? We’re at the new place that opened up—”

Lance felt the beginnings of his temper about to flare and grit his teeth, “you’re telling me I’m at the wrong place? Dude, what’s wrong with Altea?!”

“Nothing’s wrong with Altea! It’s just that Shay has friends who just started working at The Balmera and we thought why not?”

“Well maybe you should have said something about that earlier!” Lance groaned and pointed his phone away from himself for a moment so he could rub his temples with his free hand before retrieving his drink.

He briefly heard Hunk mumble something just as he lifted the phone up again and when he could see his friends face again, he just had to ask.

“Yo did someone just get shot or something? Hunk what’s wrong?”

“Oh man. Uh. Nothing. You should get out of there though— like I mean. Hurry up and get over here— shit you started drinking— how about an Uber? I’ll order you an uber.”

Lance stared into the screen for a long moment before deciding Hunk could eat shit on his own time.

“Spill it or the first thing I’m doing when I meet Shay is talking about summer camp.”

“You know what? I would take that hit for you. Because we’re bros, now finish your drink so I can call you an uber.”

That? That was too much. There was no way Hunk was going to just take that abuse unless he was trying to cover for something really bad.

Finally, putting two and two together; Lance turned on his stool to investigate the rest of the bar and he immediately zeroed in on what had caused Hunk to get jumpy.

And honestly, he couldn’t blame him considering how fast his own heart jumped into his throat.

“Lance buddy no- just get over here okay? We’ll have an amazing night, Romelle here is like-- super sweet and dying to meet you- Lance come on-”

Lance didn’t look at his phone, barely registered he was still holding it until he heard his plastic cover start to creak under his tightened grip.

“It- It might not even be him okay!?” Hunk persisted.

Lance isn’t having it. Knew Hunk was spouting nonsense. Knew who that was better than he knew his own name.

Lance used to wake up every morning staring at the back of his head. Played with the ends of his hair. Kissed his neck. Bit into his shoulder. Gripped his hips. Mumbled sappy little nothings against his skin while the dark-haired angel in his arms started to breathe a little shallow and sway his hips…

Lance had actual heaven and he lost it.

But there he was. Perfect and beautiful and making small talk with—

Who the fuck was that?

He doesn’t know how long he’s staring before the beautiful boy turns his head, quick, Lance barely has a moment to register the bars mood lighting glinting off his skin,

But he knows without a doubt.

Hunk is still begging him to listen, to leave, to go out with him and the girls and pretend this wasn’t happening.

But how the hell was Lance supposed to do a thing like that?

The universe had presented him with a gift.

A gift he didn’t feel he deserved, but a gift he absolutely wasn’t going to squander.

If there was even a chance. Even a tiny piece of love left inside Keith for him then he needed to know.

If there was a chance in hell that Keith might ever even look at him the way he used to—he needed—

He hung up on Hunk and walked over without thinking. He spoke before he allowed himself to really look at Keith. He’s so blinded by the angry twisting in his gut when he sees Keith’s beautiful perfect hands in someone else’s grasp— is he still wearing those ridiculous gloves??— man, of course he is.

But then Keith retrieved his hands at the sound of his voice, and Lance follows that motion with his eyes, he really gets to look at him.

His hair has grown out a bit, and he’s broader in the shoulders. Honestly, he’s more gorgeous now than ever. Dressed in black leggings like he used to wear all the time at home, comfortable with one of Lance’s old shirts. Today it’s more black instead, tight, something he probably got before his last growth spurt but only managed to make him look even better as it stretched over his chest and shoulders. Just a little gap of skin at his waist where his shirt didn’t meet the waistband of his pants. Keith’s ivory skin was such a sharp contrast from the darkness he’d bathed himself in it was hard to keep his eyes from being drawn to certain places.

So, he forces himself to look only at Keith’s face then, to see how pointedly Keith tries not to look at him.

He sits down next to him, again without thinking. Maybe because it still feels so damn natural to gravitate to his side.

Lance felt the heat building in his chest, in his face, he knew what he was doing was wrong, he knew he was probably hurting Keith with this but…

Just one more selfish act. He had to look him in the eyes. He needed to see.

And if there’s nothing in Keith’s eyes for him Lance would leave. A quick peck on the cheek so he can tell himself that was their true last kiss, say something polite, try not to hurt himself on his way out of the bar when he’s positive he won’t be able to see from the stupid tears that would definitely build. But he’d leave. If there is nothing left inside of Keith for him Lance would let him be.

So, when Lance reaches out and turns Keith’s face to his, recognizing that look, it’s over.

It’s written all over his face.

The universe has given him a gift. And that gift is a Keith who against all better judgement is still desperately in love with him.

It’s everything in him to not kiss him right there. To not pull him onto his lap and tell the stranger to go. Because Keith is his, has always been his, will always be his.

“Isn’t that right, kitten?”

—

By the time his date leaves Keith can’t feel his fingers. Lance’s hands traced circles up and down his side just under the table the whole damn time making Keith feel both dirty and goddamn delighted because fuck, did he miss Lance’s hands but also no, what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck Keith get a hold of yourself?!?

When his date’s brows furrow and he actually tries— god help his poor unfortunate soul— to ask Keith if he’s okay, if they should go, Keith can’t even look at him.

His skin is hot and he’s sure it plays on his face.

And Lance knows it too, casually reaching an arm up to run through Keith’s hair before pushing him into his chest.

And Keith— damn his pathetic heart—he melts right into him.

“We’ve got a bit to catch up on, so I think Keithykins wants to stay, don’t you Gorgeous?”

Keith hates it. Hates himself. Hates Lance.

But he nods.

And with that, the stranger is gone and it’s just Lance and Keith on one side of the booth, Lance’s short nails bluntly scratching affectionately at his scalp.

Keith almost imperceptibly pushing closer, afraid that this is all some cruel joke and when he shows just how much love he still harbors in his heart Lance night pull away.

Might mock him.

Might hurt him.

What other reason could there be for this?

Lance left him. Lance left him to pursue some bullshit ideas about his identity or what the fuck ever, some other piece of crap reason to break up with someone when the truth is you just got bored.

Because that’s right. That’s what it took Keith so long to figure out.

He left because he got bored. Because Keith wasn’t enough for him anymore. Because feelings didn’t matter because caring for one another didn’t matter. Keith wasn’t attentive enough or hot enough or worth enough—

“You okay, sweetheart?” Lance mumbles into the top of his head.

He sounds timid now. Way less the menace that just ruined his date and more someone who might actually care about another person's feelings.

Hah.

Yeah right.

Yeah right yeah right yeah right—

Keith shuts his eyes tight and lifts his head, nosing into Lance’s neck.

He knows his actions won’t match his words, but he can’t help it.

“How the fuck am I supposed to be okay…?”

You’re the fucking devil and I’m still in love with you.

Lance takes a deep breath and his arms wrap tighter around Keith’s waist now, “yeah I uh… this was probably the biggest dick move of my life, huh?”

Keith snorts, and despite how hard he’s trying, he knows his cheeks are getting damp and Lance will notice soon. He lowers his head back to Lance’s chest to put it off as long as possible.

“You can absolutely beat the crap out of me later,” Lance offers.

Keith nearly counters with “let me carve your heart out and maybe we’ll be even.” But instead he huffs again. Because words are difficult right now.

“I just. Couldn’t pass up the chance to… see you again.”

Keith wants to scream.

“You never realize how big this city is until you start wishing you’ll turn a corner and see someone and it just… never happens?”

Keith knew damn well. Spent years after leaving university, a drop out who couldn’t get his act together again, watching for Lance everywhere, hoping to catch his eye and be offered a smile— a brisk jog over, an apology, an offer to get lunch together. Catch up. Try being friends again. Spend a few weeks dancing around each other stupidly until someone cracks and kisses the other and then Keith could finally feel whole again—

Yeah. Keith fucking knew how uselessly huge this fucking city was because he never saw Lance again.

Until now. Until he selfishly and cruelly let himself in on his date and made Keith feel so fucking much.

Proving to Keith that he hadn’t grown past the boy who’d selfishly decided to leave him in the first place.

“I…Uhm… I’m…”

“An idiot.” Keith grits out finally.

Lance physically deflates under Keith’s weight but nods.

“Yeah.”

“Selfish asshole.”

Lance nods again, slowly shifting his head so he can hide his face in the top of Keith’s hair. Not that Keith can see him anyway.

“Fucked up years of my life and the second I try to move past you here you are to fuck it up even more.” Keith continues. He doesn’t want this moment, wrapped in Lance’s arms to end, but he can’t just pretend Lance didn’t hurt him. Lance’s hold doesn’t weaken but Keith is scared all the same, so he wraps his own arms around Lance. It makes the taller man’s breath hitch ever so slightly but Keith can’t care about that. Won’t.

“You’re a cruel man.”

“I know.”

Keith blinks. The dampness on his eyelashes leaves droplets on his face but he can’t quite grasp the dejected way Lance spoke.

He raises his head, removing the barrier and comfort Lance has found in his hair, and looks him in the face.

“I’m a monster Keith. I know.” Lance says again.

And with those words, staring into Lance’s eyes even as he tries to look away, something clicks in his brain.

“No…” Keith breathes out, head bobbing up for a moment as he tries to make a decision.

Lance sees the motion and his eyes widen but he remains anxious, unsettled under Keith’s gaze. But Keith loves him.

Keith loves him and so he presses a small kiss to the corner of his lips.

“No. Not a monster. I know monsters.” Keith mumbles against Lance’s cheek.

“Stupid. Selfish. Reckless. Sometimes cruel. But you’re not a monster, you’ve never been.”

Keith pushes himself up on the booth seat, turns and throws a leg over Lance’s lap. The area is cramped, and his back is against the edge of the table but fuck it.

Fuck all of it.

Fuck the years of his misery fuck how much pain Lance had caused him. Lance was also the cause of the happiest moments of his life and he wanted that back damn it.

He just. Needs to make sure Lance wants it too.

“Tell me… are you sorry, Lance?”

Lance nodded.

“Did you spend these years wallowing in regret?”

Lance’s eyes looked damp too.

“You have no idea.”

Keith nods, “are you sorry for the stupidly devastating way you just handled things right now…?”

Lance opened his mouth to speak but paused. Keith retrieved his arms from where they’d landed on Lance’s chest in the shift in position and Lance reflexively pulled him in closer.

“I’m not going to lie, I’m only sorry it was devastating to you. I’m not sorry that I get to be holding you right now, that you’re in my lap looking at me like you might actually be willing to come home with me…I’m a dick but I’m not going to spit in the face of the universe.”

Keith rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms, letting them lean against Lance’s chest again.

“You’re a dumbass.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not coming home with you.”

Lance nods quietly at that one. He’s doesn’t seem disappointed, like he knew it was a stretch when he said it.

And it was. And Keith is already letting him off too easy it’s just…

Keith really wants to kiss him. Really wants to go home with him and forget the last few years ever happened. Hold him until morning and know he’ll never leave his side again.

“You… really hurt me Lance.”

Lance’s brows furrow and he breathes out through his nose and he leans his head forward to press against Keith’s forehead.

“And I am so, so sorry.”

“I could have given you everything— I did give you everything…!” Keith is panicking, because he knows what he wants and knows what he deserves, and he hates that in this moment Lance isn’t both.

And Lance knows it.

“Baby—baby, I know, I know I don’t deserve you. I know I ruined everything for us but please— if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Fuck.

Fuck Keith wanted to believe him.

“How can I trust that…?” His voice sounds weak and cracked and he hates it. “You couldn’t commit to me before how the hell are you supposed to commit to me like that now?”

“I was a stupid college kid who didn’t know any better. If I could go back to that cute little place we rented on our anniversary— the one where you tried to make pancakes you beautiful absolute chaos creature— I’d have asked you to marry me because living like this, without you has been the worst time of my life and I promise you— I promise—Keith…?”

“...marry you…?”

Lance blinks, reaching up with one hand and wiping one of Keith’s wayward tears off his cheek as Keith stares at him with wide eyes.

Lance tries to keep the awkward smile from playing on his face because he realizes mentioning marriage when your ex boyfriend is struggling with the idea of being with your ungrateful ass again something that big should probably wait but…

But it’s true. Lance should have asked Keith to marry him then, and he would happily do so now. If Keith wanted.

Keith lowers his head and mumbles something short and quick that Lance doesn’t catch.

“Sweetheart?”

“You don’t really mean that… do you…?”

Lance sighs and nods, “I do. I know I shouldn’t because I hurt you, but I do. I’ve spent the last few years mourning the life I could have had with you— that we should have had together. Kitten, I promise if you let me I’ll do everything in my power to make sure nothing, especially me, ever hurts you again.”

Keith feels his resolve breaking. As if he had any left when he sat in Lance’s lap and told him he wasn’t a monster.

“Call me that again…” he mumbles, staring at the collar of Lance’s shirt. It’s a deep v neck, showing off a bit of that firm chest Keith loves so much. He wishes he were staring out of love and not because he doesn’t think his heart can handle looking into Lance’s face.

Lance leans forward again, and Keith can hear the smile on his lips even if he can feel the tension in his arms.

“Kitten…”

“I want to kiss you, but I don’t think I can.” Keith barks abruptly. “Feels like I lose if I kiss you. It’s me giving in and forgiving you. But if you kiss me then it’s you being selfish and careless again. But I want to kiss you. So, so badly.”

Lance remains perfectly still for a long moment before Keith makes a small noise, “Please be selfish one more time…?”

And Lance is gone to do his bidding, one hand at the small of Keith’s back, the other just behind his neck as he captures his lips. Heart pounding so loud in his chest he feels like it might actually kill him. But so is Keith’s. Keith whose arms wrap around Lance’s neck and head to keep him as close as possible. Keith who pushes his body and conforms to Lance’s in a way that makes if feel like they’ve never been apart. They always just fit together like this and always would.

Keith’s lips are soft. Softer than he remembered them. A testament to the effort Keith put into his date before he’d come around to wreck it. But given how Keith slowly moves his lips against Lance’s, that Lance is the one who gets to taste those lips even if it’s just for a moment— well then it was kind of worth it right?

But as quick as it starts, it’s over and Keith is panting with his forehead against Lance’s cheek.

“Thank you.” He breathes out. And Lance can’t help it.

Can’t help but say the words out loud, the ones that he never said when he was supposed to before.

“I love you.”

Keith freezes.

Lance feels his insides start to twist uncomfortably.

Keith slowly raises his head to stare into Lance’s face and Lance knows he can’t hide the fear in his eyes.

“Again.” Keith mouths.

Lance’s face implores him, he’s terrified of these words, of saying them to Keith in this position. Talking about his desire to spend the rest of his life with him doesn’t feel as dangerous. If Keith were to hear those words from his lips and fail to believe him— to call him a liar—

He’s not lying.

He’s not lying, and Keith will know that and even if he doesn’t, even if Keith is still in too much pain to believe those words are true and he lashed out then— well, Lance deserves it doesn’t he?

“...I love you, Keith.”

Keith is silent, staring, his nearly violet eyes bare through him and give nothing away.

“I always have I was just… too stupid to believe it.. to say it…”

“Lance…” Keith’s voice is steady. “...again.”

“...I love you…”

Still Keith watches.

“Kitten…?”

“I guess you are a monster… to say that to me. Here. Now. Of all times and places…”

Lance feels his heart start to shatter at those words, but it doesn’t match Keith’s face, doesn’t match the way he starts to crawl off his lap but instead holds his hand, keeps their fingers intertwined as he pulls him up off the booth.

“Now you have to take me home, make me feel it.”

Oh.

Keith smiles at him and Lance feels like he’s seeing the sun shine for the first time in years, in the middle of the night in this parking lot.

Lance smiles and Keith feels like the pit of ice that had started in his gut and travelled up his chest to swallow up his heart so long ago was finally, finally, melting away.

Lance shows him to his newer blue civic. It’s still an old used car but this one is from this decade. Keith hates it, because he says this car doesn’t remember him like the old one does.

Lance laughs but Keith is already leading him, laying back against the passenger side door and pulling Lance down to him.

It’s an invitation and Lance wants to take it but waits. Waits because after everything, every move from here on out is for Keith.

And Keith intends to take advantage of it, “Hey Lance… you can start now.”

“Start....?”

Keith’s fingers tug at Lance’s V-neck, laying his head back against the car and peering up through hooded eyes, “Say it again. And make me feel it.”

Lance stares at him, feels one of Keith’s knees start to slide up his thigh, and he wonders how the hell he ever gave this up. Lance nuzzles into Keith’s neck, extended as it was by his position, and breaths him in, “God, I love you so much.”

Keith huffs, a more pleasant sound than when he’d done so earlier, “Yeah, I knew it, already getting old…”

Lance raises his head so fast, a small whimper in his throat and Keith laughs outright.

“Relax dumbass... one more time.”

“I don’t think I want to, now.” Lance whines.

Keith rolls his eyes, “Again. Lance. Please.”

Lance kisses him instead. It comes as a surprise and Keith’s hand almost comes up to push him away, but Lance is already leaning back, “No, you don’t have to say please. I love you. I’ll say it however many times you need me to, as many times as I can, no matter how much you want to tease me because fuck it I deserve it.”

Keith leans his head back against the car again, “Yeah, you do. But I’ll stop… for now. You can kiss me again instead.”

Lance nods and moves back in, lips against Keith’s once again, his hands wandering into Keith’s hair and tugging absently because he still can’t grasp how this might actually be his life again and he needed to latch on to something. Keith doesn’t seem to mind. He’s the first to part his lips, tongue not asking for permission so much as demanding it and Lance can’t give it fast enough.

Lance will do better this time. Make sure Keith never regrets tonight.

Will also have to dig out that little red box he’d bought so many years ago. Make good on that overwhelming desire that had scared him so much in the first place.

#klance #laith #voltron klance #bottom keith #bottom!keith #top!lance #top lance #post break up #getting back together #previous relationship #break up fic #lime #love confessions #idiots in love #commitment issues #lance is kind of a dick #he will absolutely spend the rest of his life making it up to Keith tho so chill

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