#kidnapped lance

[autisticlancemcclain]

prologue part one

–––

“You know, there can’t be that many humans in space.”

There are several simultaneous sighs in response over the comms. Keith doesn’t need to have the video feed open to guess the faces his team are making; the annoyance, the tired irritation and flat dismissiveness. He’s used to it.

He doesn’t care. If anything it’s amusing, actually.

“I’m only speculating,” Keith continues, casual. He ignores Red’s sharp pangs of warning in the back of his mind. “The movie references, the bomb, the attitude –”

“Do you ever shut the fuck up,” Pidge says icily, and Keith has no issue ignoring her, either.

“I mean, how many times would the Galra have come to the Milky Way?”

Pidge is no longer the only one telling him to stop. He counts two more voices but doesn’t let himself recognise whose, pretending it’s just background noise, because he’s damn right and he knows he is.

“We know four confirmed humans to have gone missing in space. Who’s to say it’s not –”

“Can it, Kogane!” Hunk shouts, and he’s much harder to ignore, if only because Keith wouldn’t put it past him to ram his lion right into Keith’s.

He shrugs and picks at a loose thread on his undersuit. He said what he needed to say, anyway. So. It doesn’t really matter.

Hunk’s breathing is heavy and carefully controlled, static over the comms, building up a tension that Keith can’t help but delight in, a little. He knows Hunk’s waiting for a response, maybe even an apology, so Keith takes his time in answering, poking idly at his dashboard.

(Keith has sat through Matt and Coran’s grief counselling just like everyone else. He knows how he’s supposed to handle this, how he’s been asked and trained to handle inner-team conflict. He has been presented with mindfulness worksheets and team building exercises. He knows the stakes. He knows that they are supposed to preserve the caricature of Voltron that they have left, continue animating the skeleton of the Coalition. 

But then again, he sits in grief counselling in silence, because he has nothing to grieve yet.)

“Not my fault you gave up,” Keith says, faux-casual.

Many voices erupt at once, because it is the wrong thing to say. He knew it and said it anyway and watches the aftermath with a deliberate and defiant brand of ennui.

“You just don’t fucking get it, do you.”

No, Keith doesn’t understand. He will never understand the ease in which everyone has simply accepted what seems to be. He doesn’t understand how quickly everyone else gave up. He doesn’t understand why they are moving forward, why they are bothering, when Lance has not been returned safely to them, when they haven’t even found a fucking body, if that’s the route they choose to pursue. He will never understand why everyone has given up on Lance as if it’s the right thing to do and he will never forgive anyone for it, either.

So he says nothing.

But Hunk is used to him starting things and backing away, now, so he continues.

“Lance was my fucking brother, Keith. I don’t have a single memory in my life without him in it. I fucking –” Hunk’s voice shakes, and Keith can’t tell if it’s rage or pain. When he speaks again he sounds reedy, drawn out. “I won’t turn his memory into one of your conspiracy theories. I know it’s hard for you, I know you loved him –”

Keith shuts that line of thought down fast, bouldering over Hunk loudly. “So help me look for him.” 

Keith’s words have no conviction. They have had this argument before and they will have it again, although every time they do, the patience for Keith wears thinner and thinner. 

(Keith knows they are getting tired of him. He knows they are losing their affection for him the fastest and he know he is making it worse for himself but he can’t fucking stop because if he stops then that means he’s given up and he can’t give up not on Lance. Not on Lance he promised. They have never found a body. There was the tape of course there was the tape but Keith knows down to the very soul of him that if the roles were reversed Lance would never ever stop looking and who would Keith be if he stopped. He knows his family just wants to grieve and he is standing in their way but he cannot choose between Lance and his family he can’t.)

“...Alright, Keith,” Hunk sighs, exhausted. Keith squirms until he forces himself still. “Alright.”

They ride in silence for the rest of the flight. Keith remembers a time when flights this long almost guaranteed a game of some sort, or playful argument that lasted half an hour, then immediately wishes he didn’t. He busies himself with the mission bulletpoints from the pre-mission briefing to keep from falling down that trap.

The intel Kolivan passed onto them included a very convoluted amalgamation of Haggar and her operations. Maybe even all of them. Keith’s not sure, it’s mostly been Pidge and Shiro and Allura looking at it, decoding and puzzling it out. What Keith does know is that the mission they’re on now is one of confirmation, a tentative testing of the waters, to add credibility to the intel. The massive file has informed them that the base they are approaching has been abandoned for months; planet totally ravaged of its resources and left behind when the Empire could no longer had use for it like the goddamn parasite it is. If the intel is correct, then the base should be empty of everything except a few patrolling sentries, easy to take out, and rife with bridges for Pidge to build to more information rich systems. 

And if the intel is correct about this base, then it is likely correct about others; others like the giant citadel in the Qelrn nursery star where Druids are supposedly born, others like the factories in twelve different galaxies where all Empire sentries are assembled, others like the almost immeasurably massive fortress built inside the most powerful star in the known universe. Places that, when hit, would not only cripple the Empire, but destroy it.

But of course they have to kick around this stupid abandoned shell of a base, first.

“Cloaking on,” Shiro announces as the base starts to blip on their radars. 

Keith listens without argument. He’s pushed enough today. 

He’s bored on the mission, as he expected to be. He takes the lead in the beginning, but it takes him all of fifteen minutes to wipe out the sentries scattered throughout the base and then his part of the mission is basically done. He’s not trusted to go digging around in files, not anymore. (Not after the tape. Not after taking down the Empire stopped being anywhere close to his first priority. Not after he became a Liability.) So he stands off to the side as everyone else crowds around the control centre of the bridge, swinging and slashing his sword around with no real purpose. He wonders if anyone would notice if he just got in Red and fucked off.

Probably. 

Sighing to himself, he sits heavily on the floor, not bothering to soften the impact and knowing the hard clang of his armour will leave a bruise. It’s a dangerous path to go down and he knows it, but he allows himself to think about what it would be like if Lance was here, on this mission and alive. Lance would be with him, probably. Neither of them have ever been able to maintain interest in hacking and computers and coding and everything. If Lance were here Keith would be allowed to explore the ship, since they'd be a pair. They wouldn’t find anything interesting but Lance has a way of making mundane things interesting. Keith wonders if they would have fun or if they’d spend the whole time arguing.

He smiles slightly. Both, probably. 

He hates their new normal. He hates it so much. He knows that they don’t have the resources to look for someone who’s very likely dead. He knows Pidge was never allowed to just up and leave and look for her family in the beginning, and it’s no different now. He knows that tactically, the smartest thing the Empire could do with Lance would be to kill him. He knows that and he’s not stupid enough to think Haggar and Zarkon and whoever the fuck else would mess that up, keep Lance alive, allow him the possibility to escape and reform Voltron.

It had been Lance to point that out, actually. Quietly and on the observation deck, one night when Keith couldn’t stand the sound of his muffled sobs through the thin wall connecting their rooms any longer and dragged him there to help mellow him out. The conversation had rolled around to the time Allura was taken, somehow, and Lance had confided in Keith that he was so angry in Keith’s and Allura’s insistence that she be left behind because he knew that they would kill her. 

“It’s the fastest way,” he’d explained, chin hooked over his knees and halfway haunted look in his dark eyes. “Voltron is a team or nothing kind of deal. There is no four paladin Voltron, there is no wormholing without the Altean heir to run it. Yeah, they could torture us for information, but why bother? Why expend that energy? You kill just one of us and we’re fucked forever. You could take Voltron out with one lucky shot.” He’d shuddered. Keith feels bile rise at the back of his throat even now, at the memory, at the surety in Lance’s voice when he said it, like he knew one of them was going to die and it was only a matter of time. It freaked Keith out then and makes him nauseous now. He doesn’t like the idea that Lance knew, that he prepared for it.

The train of thought makes him want to crawl out of his skin. He hates that his mind always goes here. He scrambles to his feet and stumbles out of the bridge, like he can outrun the memories, leave behind the fear in Lance’s face. He’s down a random hallway and swiping cobwebs and dust from his hair before he realises what he’s doing. He stops, smack in front of a giant window in some forgotten hallway, pressing the heel of his hands to his eyes hard enough to see stars.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he says. He breathes deeply through his mouth for several moments. He still feels hugely twitchy, like sparks are just under his skin. He looks out the window and finds a random star, staring at it until he’s cross-eyed, until it blurs and blinks around the edges.

There is too much he doesn’t know. There is too much that has been left up to speculation and it kills him.  Keith has always been hellbent on figuring things out -- his heritage, the Garrison secrets, the mystery of the Blue Lion. He has always busied himself with finding the truth and damned the consequences. And there have been consequences. There always have been and they have always been painful. He has always had to choose between truth and comfort. 

He takes one final, deep breath, imagining the air flowing into his lungs and sinking into his bloodstream, and steels himself. He pulls out his comm and messages Kolivan. (Even now, even after Keith has long since left the Blades and will likely never return, Kolivan has a soft spot for him. Maybe it’s the way he had the answers Keith needed and Keith trusted him. Maybe Kolivan just needed a reason to be soft after so many years. But Keith is grateful for it nonetheless.)

He opens the file Kolivan sends him, no questions asked, no hesitation. The intel that he has not been expressly kept away from but that has not been openly provided to him, either. He watches the video, with the mysterious figure who speaks like Lance and walks like Lance and squares his shoulders the same way Lance always has, and Keith starts his search.

[sinlizards]

my final piece for @eurekazine ! leftover sales are going on now until 3/1 so be sure to get your copy while you can :]

[gracehwells]

I was rewatching the 2022 F1 Intro and I found some gems that are Lance Stroll, Mick Schumacher, Daniel Ricciardo, and George Russell

• 10000/10 big upgrade from 2021

• THE EYES HELLO? I'm boutta combust

• he looks like Michael i am unwell

• THE STANCE? THE BLUE EYES? 1000/10

• Bbg cannot be menacing for the sake of his life

• cameraman knows what's up

• sir I am on my knees

• not arguing with a man with big beautiful brown eyes like you do you pookie 100/10

• the camera angles are delicious

• 2022 was a warmup and a warning what was to come

• the angle the pose mwah 1000/10

• the waist hello?

• if he looks at me like that I will actually cry

I ain't doing the rest of them their's kinda ass

[foxgloveprincess]

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female Reader, Lance Tucker x Female Reader [Second Person Narrator]

Summary:  You’ve never had a vacation quite like this.

Word Count: 2,996

Attic Wives Anonymous Masterlist

Warnings: UnBeta’d, Dark, Stalking, Fear/Paranoia, Horror Elements, Unreliable Narrator, Yandere Vibes, Kidnapping, Bondage, Drugging, Smut (Vaginal Penetration, Fingering, Car Sex, Coitus Interruptus), Pet Names (baby, li’l birdie, pidge, etc). Minors do not interact (18+).

A/N: It’s time. Let me know what you think!

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. However, I give no permission to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work on any third party website or app. Seeing my work posted anywhere beside my blog, my library blog, or my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess) means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

I don’t do tag lists, so follow @foxglovefics to sign up for notifications on my fics. 

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age or if you are uncomfortable with the pairing, themes, dynamics, or warnings. You are responsible for your own media consumption. Thank you!

Trees pass outside the window. Lance holds your hand in his lap. You breathe deeply. A full week. Just the two of you. Lance’s cabin in the woods. Despite how your stomach flips, you’re excited. The first time really alone with him. Possibilities endless. 

“Just another hour now,” he says with a squeeze to your hand. “How’re you doing? You need to stretch your legs?”

“I’m alright,” you say softly. “How about you?”

“I’m fine,” he says with a kiss to your knuckles. 

Your sigh and look over, a contented smile quirking his lips. Gaze tracing his profile, you can’t get enough. The strong set of his jaw and the crinkle around his eyes. Even the cute little bump on his right ear. It’s not even just his dashing good looks either. 

The warm fuzzy feeling whenever he puts his attention on you plenty of reason to keep you enamored. Or the way he takes care of you, thinks of you, and appreciates the things you do in return. He’s picture perfect. You could really fall for him. 

“Oh,” you comment, reminding yourself in your reminiscing, “I thought you might want your electric shaver, so I packed it with a few extra batteries charged.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” He chuckles. “I wasn’t sure I wanted it.” His fingers release yours to caress the sides of his face. “But even now the stubble’s getting a little itchy.”

You smile and turn your attention back to the window. With only an hour left, you figure the time will pass quickly. It’s then you feel Lance’s fingers tickling along your thigh. You readjust in your seat, hands falling to your lap and grasping at the fabric of your skirt. 

“What are you doing?” You ask in a whisper. 

“Making the time fly.”

His hand disappears under your skirt. You raise yourself from your seat, wary of his intentions. 

“But the road—”

“We’ll be fine, cupcake, now let Daddy play with his pretty pussy.” 

You withhold the cringe and settle back in your seat, your legs spreading on the leather. He hums deep in his throat. Lips pressed together, you try to swallow down the whine when his fingertips make contact with the fabric of your panties. 

The trees keep passing outside your window, stretching for miles in every direction. As the only car on the road, Lance lets his foot off the accelerator, letting more of his attention fall to you. 

Your pulse thrums and flits through your veins. An excited trill that spikes higher and higher the more Lance teases. 

His fingers slip between your silky panties and your cunt, already sensitive with your arousal. He toys with your lower lips, massaging them and tracing their curves. His nails gently scratch over the tops of your thighs. You shiver. The anticipation kills you.

Your lips part, breathy pleas of, “Lance, I need more. Want to feel you so bad,” falling out. 

Your boyfriend simply chuckles and keeps up his game until you drip. Coat his fingers, fill the car with the scent of sex, and squelch around his playful prodding. Only then does he show mercy. Circling his thumb around your aching nub and angling his fingers to plunge into your pussy. 

You grip his forearm, head tilting back in relief. Filled as much as he can. He breathes deep and shifts in his seat. Track pants tented with his dick. 

As worked up as you are, you’re unsurprised when your orgasm crashes over you. Sending you spiraling through bliss and clenching on his fingers. You grip at the handle above the passenger window and roll your hips with the movement of his wrist. 

“That’s it,” Lance coos, “show me everything, baby.” 

Your eyes close a moment to gather your wits, a satisfied hum droning in your throat. His fingers retreat, petting over your pussy one last time. When you turn to your boyfriend, a cocky smirk plasters on his face. Looking at each mirror and out the windows, he wipes his fingers on his track pants while pulling off to the side of the road. 

“Are we here?” you ask, glancing around with him. 

“No,” he replies, throwing the car in park and nodding toward the backseat. “But I can’t keep driving like this.” He gestures to his pants and a thrill zips through your veins. “So I’m gonna fuck you back there until your legs give out.” 

“Won’t someone see?” Your voice drops low, excitement laced through the words but still wary. 

“No one will see you,” Lance promises, taking your hand in his. “Don’t you trust me?” 

You inhale a shaky breath and nod. 

It’s a squeeze, but you climb to the backseat of the sedan. Lance unbuckles and gets out of the driver’s side. Quick fingers discard your panties on the floor and you tug your skirt up and out of the way. 

Lance opens the back door and sighs. “That’s what I love to see.” 

He leans in for a kiss, pinning you to the seat and closing the door behind him. It’s a cramped space, but you make do. His hips slotting to yours and your packed pillows making just enough cushion for your back and head. 

He stretches you around his cock and rocks his hips. Thrusting into you at a steady pace. Your face tucks into the side of his neck, breaths panted against his skin and fingers combing through his hair. 

“Lance,” you moan, legs locking around his hips. Your eyes squeeze shut, finding that glimmer of another orgasm right within reach. “I’m gonna cum.” 

He grunts and jolts you as his hips clap faster against your own. The thrill of breaking the rules, of your naughty tryst, adds to the steamy grit of the moment. You reach between your bodies with a free hand and circle your clit, cumming with a cry and clutching Lance closer to you. 

His lips slant against yours, swallowing your sounds, tongues tangling. His hips stutter so close to his own release. He only stops with a knock on the car window. 

“Shit,” he growls, pulling away from your lips. 

Heat floods your cheeks. Heart skipping a beat, you’re too scared to look out the window behind his back. 

“You folks alright in there?” a deep voice asks. 

Under your breath, you chant a succession of, “oh no, oh no, oh no.” 

Breathing heavily, Lance adjusts your skirt and calls out, “We’re fine, fuck off.” 

“You sure? It looks like your tire’s low on air and—”

“I said, fuck off,” your boyfriend repeats with a little more bark in his tone. He glares over his shoulder, slipping out of you and pulling his pants back up. 

You grimace and take a peek. The man stands outside the window. A smirk tilts his lips, his hands shoved in his pocket. He wears large glasses in retro frames. Long hair pulled away from his face but falling out of its tie. He meets your eye through the glass and winks. Nausea pools in your belly. 

Your hands grip at Lance’s biceps, shaking now not from pleasure but an instinctual terror. That man is dangerous. 

He shrugs after the briefest moment and says, “Well then, you best get on your way before something does happen.” He backs away and turns from your car. 

Your boyfriend blows a frustrated breath between his teeth. You smooth your skirt over your thighs and breathe deep, keeping the panic at bay. 

“Oh my god,” you whisper in the quiet of the car. 

“Hey,” Lance says cupping your cheeks, “he didn’t see anything. We’re fine.” 

You nod and wait for him to get up, freeing you to step out of the backseat and take a lungful of fresh air. The stickiness cooling on your upper thighs. You shiver and glance to where the man stood. Relief yet to settle.

Thwack. 

Thwack. 

Thwack. 

You keep an ear out for every chop. Lance outside preparing some firewood. Wrapping the blanket more fully around your shoulders, you descend the stairs. Assured of his presence. 

When the two of you had arrived, you were impressed by the cozy structure. Some running water, electricity, but no heating or cooling. With the temperature dipping, Lance insisted on getting a fire started. But that required a trip out to the shed and some time spent with an axe. If you listen closely, you can hear his labored breathing and his grunts. 

And you’re listening closely. Ever since that man knocked on the car window, you’ve felt off. Something amiss, crackling in the air around you, making your hair stand on end. 

You’re halfway down the steps when you hear a dull thudding sound in the kitchen. Your phone buzzes in your pocket and you jump, slipping down three of the steps. A yelp flies from your mouth, hand clutching to the railing with a death grip. 

Frozen in time, you try to catch your breath. You’ll drive yourself batty like this. You breathe a moment, listening for the thwack of Lance’s axe and sit on one of the steps. Your phone buzzes in your pocket again. The reminder notification that you have a text. 

Sighing, you pull the device out and marvel at the reception. Lance did mention something about a cell tower nearby. The screen shines up at you. An unknown number attached to the text—and a picture. 

Your finger swipes before you can comprehend what’s happening. 

Grandad said to say that he doesn’t miss you!

The picture shows Harlan sitting in his personal study, a game board between him and his grandson. Bewilderment doesn’t really begin to cover how you’re feeling. Unsure why he’s contacting you. For one, he promised not to. For two, what a strange thing to say. For three…Your phone blips with a new text just received. The next message from Ransom filling in under the photo. 

What he actually said was to enjoy your week off, but asked where you kept your notes on the stonefish?

Brow pinched in both confusion and concentration, you type out explicit instructions where you filed the information in your desk and what page of your notes might prove most useful. 

A shadow dances in the corner of your eye as you press Send. Your head whips up to catch the figure, but find no one. You clutch your phone in a tight grip and stand back up. 

You walk to the bottom of the stairs and turn to the kitchen. Peeking out the window, you expect to see Lance, hear him still hard at work. All you see are trees and the afternoon sun casting shadows across the landscape as it dips closer to the horizon. 

Perhaps he’s building the fire now? You glance over your shoulder toward the living room. But he’s not there either. 

Fear grips your body like an ice cold hand. Something’s definitely wrong. 

A white scrap of paper sits on the kitchen counter, illuminated by an overhead light. You walk over, eyes darting about. A creak upstairs makes you scamper to the note and grab it. 

“Lance?” You call up, hoping for a response from your boyfriend. Praying for one. 

Your hand trembles as you fold open the paper and read the messy scrawl.

I’ll see you soon, pidge.

You swallow down a scream. Darting into the living room, you hide behind the couch. The scent of cigarette smoke clings to the cushions. Your nose scrunches in disgust. Neither you nor your boyfriend smoke. A hand raises to block out the scent.

A scratch skitters next to your ear. You stifle your shriek and whip your head around. Nothing. Your heart pounds. You’re hearing things. This is bad—this is bad. 

The back door creaks open. You look over, hopeful of seeing Lance, but only make out a large, dark figure looming in the doorway. 

“Lance, is that you?” you ask, voice shaking in terror. 

No response. You tuck your head back behind the couch and crawl your way around it. Closer and closer to the front door. Maybe then you’ll be able to get to the car and drive. Call Lance in the safety of those four metal doors. 

You make it around the arm and peek behind the back toward front door. A clear shot if you can hurry fast enough. The car keys just on the side table next to it. Casting a glance toward the back door, still wide open, the figure gone. Phantom fingers creep up the back of your neck. You swallow another shriek and bolt. 

Hand wrapped around the doorknob, you struggle to actually turn it. Through your desperation, though, it finally swings open. You grab the keys and race out. Fresh air filling your lungs and spurring you faster. 

Down the steps and feet away from the car, you fold in half. Over the steel band of an arm around your waist. The punch of air out of your lungs refills as you prepare to scream. 

A damp cloth presses over your nose and mouth before you can even try. 

Your head pounds. Like someone put a too-tight cap over your skull. Pressure behind your eyes threatens to make them pop, but you open them. 

The world expands around you. Four posters to your bed, wood stained dark. Gauzy fabric draped across the frame. Wide open space with an artful rug, a black leather chair, an ottoman. The walls covered in art, arranged just so. Heavy velvet curtains hang over frosted windows. A chandelier dazzles from the center of the ceiling. 

You swallow hard. You’ll admit it’s nice, design-wise. The duvet covering your body clutched tight in your fists. Panic seizes your limbs, unable to move. Even as your heart jackrabbits and tells you to gogogo. 

Sweat sticks under your arms and gathers on your palms. You throw off the cover. The bite of the cold room prickles along your skin. Still dressed like you were before, at least. Though that means you’re still missing underwear. Lost somewhere behind Lance’s back seat. 

One more glance around the room and you’re ready to investigate. All alone with no one lurking anywhere, you gather your wits and stand. Your left leg falls heavy to the floor. Weight following the movement down. A thick chain. Banded around your ankle. Tethered to the giant bed frame. 

The length of it takes you to the closed door across your bed. Even stretching as far as you can, though, you can’t get your fingertips to reach the handle. 

Not that it’s necessary when the door swings open and misses your nose by a hair. You jolt away and scurry backward, eyes and mind unable to connect the dots between them. The man before you and the circumstance in which you find yourself. 

“Hey, pidge,” he says and even then you still can’t believe what’s happening. Convinced your mind must be playing a trick on you. 

Ransom undoes the belt of the fancy silk robe covering him. It drops and reveals naked skin. Not a stitch of clothing left on his body once the robe puddles at his feet. His cock stands hard and bobs in the air. You swallow and look away. The flood of memories from your transaction overwhelming—enticing. Tears dot your eyes. 

“I can’t wait to feel your pussy around me again.” He sighs and then groans. In the corner of your eye, you catch the movement of his hand stroking his cock. “Been waiting too fucking long.”

You whimper and back away. Hoping maybe once you get to the bed things will make sense. 

Ransom follows you step for step until you fall back onto the cushion. He pins you to the covers and smirks. 

“You like it?” he asks, nodding around to the surrounding room. “Once I had you, I knew you’d fit right in.” His nose traces along your throat. A shiver follows it and darts down your spine. 

“What did you do?” you whisper, uncertain whether you want to hear the answer. 

“I took what’s mine,” Ransom replies. His hands wander down your body, pinching at your hips before cupping your cunt in his hand. “I can’t stop thinking about this.” He squeezes gently. “About you.” He dips his head to steal a kiss. Groans against your lips. “Now there’s no more distractions for either of us.” 

“But Lance—”

“Will get what’s coming to him. Thinking he could take what belongs to me.” Ransom chuckles. “Did he make you cum, pidge? Make you coo so pretty, like I did?”

You press your lips together. Refusing to respond to his crass comment and still trying to piece together what happened in the cabin. 

“You texted me from Harlan’s study,” you murmur. Ransom nods in response and no longer waits for you. His mouth and hands busy reacquainting themselves with your body. “So you had a friend kidnap me?” 

“Is it kidnapping if you’re mine?” 

The questions hits you like a punch to the gut. Winds you as you puff out a breath. Letting his words hang in the air a moment, you shift as he sighs. Nails grazing along your hip. Your legs tremble and the chain jangles in the background. You shift and stretch, his touch plucking at your desire, coaxing it awake. Already you feel arousal pooling in your belly and making your lower lips slick. Recollection your enemy as you remember the delicious stretch of his cock, the way he took pains to ruin you completely. And cannot help but anticipate, ache for it again. 

“If the door’s locked,” you finally ask, blinking away the tempting haze of lust. “Why do you have me chained to the bed?”He places a kiss right below your ear before meeting your eye. “I thought you liked to be tied up, li’l birdie,” he says with a sharp smile, descending down your body to reclaim his place between your thighs.

[pitconfirm]

connor not you calling the geriatric BOWSER??!??!

sorry but….

and……..

[promsielhk]

Klance Alien Stage au where Lance is Till and Keith is Ivan in Round 6, but imagine if it was Lance who sang Black Sorrow instead, while Keith sang Unknown (Till The End)

I’ve been thinking about it and it makes sense for their characters to sing those respective songs since Keith has always been the rebellious one while Lance is the type to sing his feelings out and we live for the Lance angst

Imagine they got caught and are now forced to sing in this alien karaoke competition where they have to sing to live. Imagine Lance singing in the round before Keith’s, expressing his sorrow for being not enough, the 7th wheel, out of place, homesick, all the angst. Lance, who loves to sing, putting all his heart into such a song that resonates with him. Imagine Lance singing so passionately that he won and can’t help but feel guilt as he watches his opponent get terminated right next to him, thinking that his opponent could’ve had loved ones waiting for them to return.

The competition moves on to the next round and now its Keith and he’s singing a completely different song from what was planned like what Till did. Like Lance, Keith also puts his emotions into the song. But Keith dedicated that song to Lance, about developing feelings and the like.

Then round 6 happens :)

[shellys-apprentice]

What if Giovanni was too sick for Celebi to cure? What would he say to Silver?

I'm sorry, this really ran away with me~

Three days, five hours, and twenty-ish minutes.

That’s how long Silver’s had Usaring back.

How long he’s had the house key he’s silently fiddling with as he walks through the forest.

And how long Giovanni Sakaki has been dead.

If Silver lets his mind wander too much, he can still feel the moment his hand had gone unnaturally still against his cheek in Sinjoh.

(He’s trying not to think too hard about everything else that happened in the ruins. Like the fact that Giovanni didn’t need to be there. That he’d probably be fine if he’d stayed in Ilex. That if Silver wanted to be cruel and unreasonable, he could blame everything on Lance. But he won’t.)

There’s a funeral tomorrow. Arranged by someone Silver doesn’t know. Who might not even know he exists. He’d only found out because he’d happened to take the train back through Saffron. Happened to run into Sabrina in the station.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to go. Or if he should. He can show up later, when it’s over, on his own. That’s probably better, right?

What he does know is that Giovanni had pressed the key to what should have been his home into Silver’s hand before he died, while quietly telling him that Ursaring could take him home if he went to Viridian.

That everything went to him.

That he would be fine.

That all he had to do was go back to Viridian, and everything would be fine.

He can’t really find it in him to be happy about any of that.

Up ahead of him, Ursaring pushes through the undergrowth and out into a clearing, then, when Silver follows, is revealed to be the yard of the house.

She keeps plodding on through the yard, but Silver slows, taking in the building.

He feels like an intruder. Like he’s breaking in, even as he slips the key into the lock.

Ursaring nudges him towards the stairs once they’re in, and he lets her lead him to a room that looks like an office.

The rest of the house had felt too tidy, with nothing out of place, and this room is the exception; there are two boxes sitting neatly on the desk, and, on the chair behind it, a green sweater that had been forgotten over the arm of the chair.

He walks over to that first, snatching it up to hold close.

It smells like freshly turned earth, and he keeps his arms wrapped tightly around it as he turns to the desk.

One of the boxes contains papers that have to do with Team Rocket, with a note on top, simply telling him to do what he wants with them.

The other, smaller, box contains the pokeballs for Giovanni’s team, and Silver stares at them, his chest aching all over again.

Because all of this seems to make it clear that Giovanni had never actually thought that going to Celebi would work.

Clinging tighter to the sweater, Silver turns to the two pieces of paper sitting between the boxes.

One has a phone number, for someone named Nanu, with an assurance that he wasn’t connected to Rocket, and would be able to help him with anything, and a few more details he doesn’t read because he’s distracted by the other, longer, note.

Silver-

I would like nothing more than for you to never read this. To have been able to come back and burn this, and pretend I never had to lay out all this for you.

But if you are reading this, then that means I am dead, and I need you know that I am sorry to be leaving you like this. I tore this region to shreds trying to find you, and I’ll freely admit that I would do it again if I thought it would buy me even just another hour with you, but I suspect at this point nothing will.

I’m leaving you my team. Your ursaring is an excellently trained pokemon, and I only wish I had been the one to help you accomplish that. I know you’ll do well with the rest of them.

And I know this may ring hollow coming from me, but I am proud of where you’ve ended up. When I first heard of a red-haired boy with a  sneasel tearing through Rocket in Johto, I wanted it to be you. Both to know you were alive, and because it would mean you had gotten that strong and capable.

I wish I had been able to help you reach that point, but I’m glad you did nevertheless.

I hope I am at least able to see you to send you here, but if I’m not, know that nothing I’ve done is your fault. And that anyone who tries to tell you otherwise is not your friend.

I love you.

Your father,

Giovanni

[shima-draws]

I started rewatching my favorite TTS episodes on a whim and ooghghg. I’m normal about him. Shut up I’m NORMAL about him SHUT UP,

[findmeinthefallair]

Day 5: In-Extremis

"It all starts with you. A weak link, amongst the Paladins."

[autisticlancemcclain]

Nearly two years ago, Lance had gone on a solo diplomatic mission to a seemingly harmless planet, with the intention of recruiting them for the Coalition. It had been his first solo mission, and he had been so excited. He had researched and prepared and done everything he could to be ready to make the mission as smooth as possible, but had still been despairingly nervous despite his eagerness. It had honestly been kind of adorable for everyone else. No one doubted him – if anyone could get a planet to join the Coalition by themselves, it was Lance.

When he missed his first scheduled update, no one was worried. As meticulous as Lance tends to be, he often gets caught up on big projects and forgets to do things like sleep or eat. Missing one update wasn’t a huge deal.

When he missed his second update, everyone was a little wary, but they were so busy with other tasks and missions that they figured they could afford to give him the leniency of a couple missed checkpoints.

Upon Lance’s third missed update, everyone really started to freak out. At that point, it had been almost a whole day, and the mission really shouldn’t have taken more than a few vargas at most. It definitely should not be so harrowing and difficult that Lance wouldn’t even have a moment of free time to shoot the team a text, at the very least. And so the team had paused any other tasks, made their way to the bridge, and wormholed over to the Flxr planet to figure out what the hell had happened.

Numerous attempts at contact with the planet were ignored, and the team truly started to panic. Lance had not contacted them at all since he left, and now the planet he was supposed to be on was completely radio silent. They had descended on the planet in a fit of fear and fury, desperately hoping to find a sheepish Lance who had simply forgotten to check in. Instead, they were greeted with the smug royal family of the planet, boasting on how they had tricked the Blue Paladin, and he had been handed over to Zarkon in exchange for their guaranteed freedom, power, and status in the Empire.

Allura and Keith had slaughtered the royals where they stood. No one did anything to stop them.

For months after, the team had been a wreck. It was honestly like they didn’t know how to work with each other – they argued over every word and decision, screamed at each other for every little thing. They isolated themselves during every moment of free time. At the end, they were so broken and damaged that they very nearly called the whole thing off, too angry and miserable to be in the same room. Their reputation had taken a huge hit, so few people trusted them anymore, and they hadn’t completed a mission in months.

It had been the combined efforts of Matt and Coran that had brought them back together, actually. Coran started forcing them all into grief therapy – individually at first, then as a team. Matt had whipped them back into shape team-wise, reminding them how to trust and work with each other. Slowly but surely, they reformed themselves into a team. Although the pain of losing Lance had never lessened, it no longer threatened to tear them apart. They all learnt to live with the pain, to work with it.

That’s not to say they were perfect. They still didn’t work as well as they used to, they still didn’t spend as much time together as they once did. They were still family, but it often felt like they were no longer friends.

[spinoff-antithesis]

RATING: G RELATIONSHIP: Female Pokedex Holder Blue | Green & Silver (Pokemon) SUMMARY: green feels that she has a lot to apologize for. silver, on the other hand, doesn't know how to explain to his sister that he doesn't blame her for anything. EXTENDED SUMMARY:

“I’m proud of you. I don’t know what all happened on your journey,” she starts, looking back at the direction they’re taking, “and I wish you would’ve contacted me before you started working with Lance, but you made it out in one piece and better than I could’ve ever hoped for. I’m just sorry I wasn’t able to be there more for you.”

Silver stares at the back of her head, walking on autopilot.

He wants to tell her that she’s done enough, that he’s sorry for never reaching out until they ran into each other by pure chance. That he’s thankful for her and keeping him together in one piece when they were no more than children and that he wants to get stronger to protect her and keep her from ever having to go through something like losing her family again.

Instead, what he says instead is, “Why did you leave me that night?”

[lit-in-thy-heart]

besparkled with blood

Rating: Teen+

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Categories: Other

Relationships: Lancelot/Merlin

Characters: Lancelot, Merlin

Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Whump, Angst, Protective Lancelot, Protective Merlin, BAMF Merlin, Whipping, Trapped in a Well, Torture, mild but rather graphic with fingers in wounds, Physical Abuse, unwillingly done but thought safer to tag it than not, Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, again it's not in the usual way but safer to tag, Guilt, Canon Era, between s3 and s4, Kissing, Blood and Injury, Hurt Lancelot, very very hurt lancelot, Knife Merlin, this whole fic is basically me going how could i make this worse and then doing it, yes it was meant to be max 5k, yes it is over 10k, watch me flail for reasons why merlin can't use magic to get them out bc merlin is so op, merlin and lance get all the braincells this time as a treat, Forehead Touching, Forehead Kisses, Sharing Clothes, Innuendo, there might be two lines that count as crack, Scars, Infection, Caretaker Merlin, if you've read marigolds this has kind of similar vibes, Hugs, themrys, They/Them Pronouns for Merlin, look i have no idea if the last section is accurate, bc there is no nearby well and i can guarantee i would not have volunteers            

Words: 11,653

Chapters: 1/1

Summary: Lancelot had bundled almost all of the fragments of himself into Merlin’s open hands, had stuffed their pockets with tales from his childhood and filled their mouth with sweet oaths. He had written powerful prose from the syllables crafted when his fingertips fell on their skin, sentences stringing together the blood in their veins, and Merlin had never asked him for anything more.

When their picnic date is interrupted by a rude kidnapping, Merlin and Lancelot get a little more alone time than they had bargained for.

Written for @mercelotweek (day 2: Beauty and the Beast - Forest/Kidnapping)

Opening:

As far as dates went, this was not the best one that Lancelot had planned. Of course, he hadn’t planned for a kidnapping to take place just as he had leaned over pilfered pies to kiss Merlin gently, but him not having planned that didn’t make the date any better.

Lancelot had stolen into Merlin’s room with the dawn, stroking their cheek to wake them gently, and had presented them with a large basket and a wide grin. It had been relatively easy to get Merlin out of work, in the end: all it had taken was playing the messenger and telling Arthur that Gaius needed Merlin to collect some rare herbs that were only in season for a period of a week and he would accompany them, then telling Gaius that Merlin was receiving some basic training to defend themself all day. It hadn’t exactly been honest, but Merlin had barely been able to catch a break since they had taken Camelot back from Morgana. There had been countless training sessions to force Camelot’s knights to bond – not that Lancelot had any trouble bonding with the four knights he’d spent hiding in caves and ruins with, but most of the older knights were more guarded – and Merlin had been drowning in tedious chores for weeks.

In hindsight, perhaps Lancelot should have told at least one person where he and Merlin would actually be.

Read on ao3

[inbarfink]

[stellarwaffles]

Lance: this is why it’s so difficult for me to hang out with peasants :(

Aaron: believe me, that goes both ways bro

[fluffybunnybadass]

Top 5 Lance moments across any media

i'm counting my own brain's media too bc i can

when my dream made him text with nose emojis. it's canon. :-)

generations' lake of rage episode. literally the entire episode is gr8 but seeing him get to do secret g-man shit was such fun fan service

MASTERS. ALL OF THAT GAME

when he does his little hand across his chest bow to diantha in the masters 8 after they got announced for the round 1 matchups. swoon

everything but pokespe. but also sometimes pokespe. it depends.

bonus:

line i hate that lives on in infamy in my head for some reason and is why he is categorically a dork:

lake of rage main anime episode: "it's time to put the pedal to the metal!"

i have no idea why but it just rings. of maximum dorkage even by 2003 standards (line was overused by then to almost memetic status)

[linaselandbasil]

Lance just kidnapped me, I've never been happier in my life guysssss.

yaaass