#post S6

[jelzorz]

183.

The damage to the castle is pretty extensive. Callum doesn't need to be architect to know that. He and Rayla had managed to fly back in just after dawn this morning, their hearts clenching at the sight of its broken silhouette on the horizon, afraid to even wonder who'd made it out and who hadn't and whose bodies might still be in the rubble. It's pure coincidence that they spot Soren and Opeli riding in from the South Gate with a handful of troops, every one of them haggard and obviously exhausted, but alive in spite of the blood and ash on their faces.

"We're all fine," Opeli tells them while Soren is barking orders at the soldiers to start a sweep for survivors and to salvage what little they can. "Most of us, in any case but there are a number of civilians who have not been accounted for. We've sent word to King Ezran to inform him of what happened but it could be days yet before his return, and even longer before we get anymore aid."

Rayla presses her hand over her lips, her face pale. "How can we help?"

"We need supplies for the rest of the survivors," Opeli tells her briskly. "And we need to start retrieving bodies. Those who were unlucky deserve their rites and their families deserve closure. Help the soldiers, if you can. Bandage up any survivors. It's all we can do. If you'll excuse me, Your Highness, My Lady." She nods at them both and hurries away, first aid pack swinging from her shoulder to help a couple of the soldiers drag an unconscious civilian out from beneath the rubble.

Callum just wants to throw up.

Soren gives them more specific instructions when he spots them—"Check the East Wing for survivors, let us know if you find anyone,"—before he too hurries away to help pull bodies from the ruins. Callum has never heeded any instructions from him in his life, but he and Rayla do as they're told without argument.

They pick their way across the ruins, sifting through powdered bricks and molten stones for people, for supplies. Rayla finds one of the maids trapped under a support beam miraculously still alive, and Callum finds a number of slightly singed bedrolls that still work perfectly and are better than not having one at all.

He doesn't tell anyone that he's on the hunt for a third thing in the ruins of his old bedroom. It's neither a person nor a supply and can't be considered a priority in any regard but it's still important, if only to him, and it'd be a heavy loss indeed if he doesn't find it: a book, bound in blue and gold, small enough to fit in his pocket but unlikely to have survived.

His dad's poetry collection.

Callum doesn't remember him very well at all, but he was a good man who loved him and his mother with all his heart. He wrote more books, but this one was written for his mother, and for him when he was born, and if it's gone too—

It's not the same as another death, but it's something else lost. Something else to mourn.

The hours pass. The sun begins to set. Soren calls off the search for the day at dusk and starts herding soldiers and civilians back to the carts at the gates. Callum is still moving rubble when Rayla gets to him, her touch soft on his shoulder.

"We have to go," she says quietly. "We're losing light. We can keep looking in the morning."

"It's not—" Callum stops, his throat clogged emotions he'd managed to bury until now. This was his home. There are a line of bodies in the square, people whose names he'd known growing up, people who'd helped his mother through her grief when his father died, all of them lost to anger and violence and hate. His dad's book is nothing in comparison but it's all he has left of him, and everything else is gone so if he just—

"I can't stop yet," he manages. "I need to find it."

"What's 'it'?"

"My dad's—" Callum swallows. "My dad's poetry collection. It's—I don't have anything else, and everything else is gone. I just—it's all I have left of him, Rayla."

Her eyes soften. She touches his face. "I'll help," she says quietly. "Let me tell Soren we'll meet them back at the temples and I'll help you look, okay?"

"You don't have—"

"Shush." She presses her lips to the corner of his mouth and brushes his hair out of his eyes, her touch jarringly soft against his skin after a day of shifting rubble and ash. "I get it," she says. "After everything you've done for me and my parents, helping you find your dad's book is nothing. I'll stay. Okay?"

Callum swallows. "Okay," he manages. "Thank you."

She squeezes his hand.

She's the one who finds it, in the end. It's a little singed on the edges but was well protected under his collapsed bookshelf, and the gold lettering still shines in the moonlight when she presses it into his hands. Callum breaks when she hands it to him, his exhaustion and his grief catching up with him in one great rush, but Rayla's arms are warm and steady, her presence a shining beacon in the dark.

She is his truth for a reason, and in the ruins of his old home, he's grateful to still have one in her.

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Keith?”

Keith hums. “Yeah, Lance?”

Lance doesn’t answer right away. Keith can hear his breathing, quicker than everyone else’s, if only slightly. After all they’re the only ones awake. Everyone else is conked right out, curled up around the low-burning embers of their campfire. He’s quiet long enough that Keith is half-convinced that he isn’t actually awake, and only called out for Keith in his sleep.

(Keith couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face if he tried. He doesn’t try, though. The idea of Lance dreaming about him is a nice one.)

There’s a sharp intake of breath from beside him, confirming Lance is not asleep, then a beat of hesitation.

“Do you ever wonder what happens when we die?”

Keith blinks. He opens his mouth to answer, but stops himself. He looks up at the unfamiliar stars, tracing random constellations. There’s a sword, where Orion usually is during Earth summers. And a lick of flame, replacing the Big Dipper.

The brightest star in the sky shines red.

“No,” Keith says softly. “It’s — dangerous. Letting myself think about that. We’re too close, you know? I don’t want my last thought to be panicking about what’s to come. I want it to be — not that. I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

Keith waits for Lance to offer an explanation, a reason for his curiosity, or even a subject change. When nothing comes Keith shifts, propping himself up on his elbow and glancing over at the red paladin.

“Why do you ask? Just curious?”

It’s a long time, again, until Lance answers, but this time Keith knows he’s not asleep. He’s tense, lying ramrod straight, head centred on his pillow and arms hooked over his blanket. His brown eyes — almost black in the dark night — stare straight up, but there’s something off about his expression, something fixed and plastic.

“I was surprised, is all. It was — nothing like I expected.”

It takes a moment for Keith to process what Lance said. He almost wishes he hadn’t, when it finally clicks. Never in his life has cold dread seeped through his bones so quickly.

“…What?” He can barely hear his own voice. He can’t at all, actually, the hoarse shock of it swallowed up by the crackling of the coals and cooing of nocturnal insects and wildlife.

Lance, though, must have heard him anyway, or been expecting his shock, because the plastic stiffness melts from his expression as he shoots straight up, scrambling to his feet and pacing back and forth barely paces away from the small flames. Bizarrely, Keith chokes down the urge to warn Lance about the uneven ground that he might trip on.

“I — I was never religious, you know?” One of his hands tugs at his hair, making the dark curls frizzy the more he messes with it. The other waves frantically back and forth, faster with every word. “None of us really were. But Mamá dragged us to church anyway. Every Sunday. Maybe to give us something to be bored about, I don’t know. She never really explained herself. I didn’t ask.” Lance stops abruptly, loud hands freezing, marching back to his bedroll and standing on it for a moment, looking lost. “I don’t — it’s not that I liked it. It was boring as hell. But I — I guess I believed some of it. I dunno.” Before Keith can blink he collapses on top of his blankets, like his strings have been cut. Both hands slide in his hair, now, dark strands clenched between his fingers, elbows resting on his knees. “It was just…dark, though,” he says softly. “Empty.”

Keith feels as if he’s encased in ice. His heart pounds, galloping against his chest, rushing blood through his ears so quickly he can hardly hear anything else. Part of him hopes Lance is playing some kind of cruel joke, but he knows he isn’t.

“When did you —” he doesn’t even know how to phrase it. Hell, he doesn’t know what he’s phrasing, really. “What —” He trails off again, lost. He looks at Lance blankly. Something bitter floods his mouth.

He imagines, for a moment, making this trek home without Lance. It’s not something he’s allowed himself to think about before. Even with Shiro missing, he’d stubbornly refused to even entertain the idea that Shiro was gone for good. The only time he’d let himself think about it was — was Naxzela. And even then, he was the one sure would be going.

They come to him now, unbidden, thoughts. About life — without Lance. Without his loud teasing and big smiles and quiet kindness, without his begrudging but unwavering support, his steady hands and clear voice as he says we’re all behind you, Keith, we’ve got you. I’ve got you.

A tear burns hot down his cheek, startling him back to the stillness of the night, the cool air and quiet noise. Another follows, and another, and then he’s swallowing the giant lump in his throat and holding back a sob.

“You nearly…when?” He can’t bring himself to say the word, to ask directly. To ask would make it real, concrete.

“The Omega Shield,” Lance whispers. He has yet to look up, but has stopped pulling so harshly on his hair. “A blast just —” he shudders. “Right through me an’ Red. You know when — when it’s cold out, and you walk a while without gloves? And your hands get so cold they burn?”

“Yeah,” Keith says softly. His lips taste of salt.

Lance glances at him. His eyes are big and brown and desperate, aching. Glassy, wet and ready to break. “It was like that. All over. Like every molecule was tearing itself apart, like I was unravelling. I was almost grateful when it stopped.”

“And when it stopped?” Keith chokes out.

“Nothing. Endless, nothingness. For a thousand eternities. I lived and grew and died for the rest of time, alone.” Lance heaves, like he’s about the sob or throw up or both.

The first tear finally drips down Lance’s face, tracing from the corner of his eye down his nose, pausing at the tip of it before dropping, finally, into his lap. It springs Keith into action, and before he can even think he surges forward, gathering him in his arms and pulling him into his lap, squeezing tightly and rocking them back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Lance doesn’t so much as twitch, crying great hiccuping sobs into Keith’s chest.

“I’m afraid to sleep,” he chokes out. “I haven’t in days. Every time I do I’m terrified I won’t wake up.”

“I’ve got you,” Keith assures, at a total loss. He lays his hand on the back of Lance’s head, holding him tightly. He can feel Lance’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed together, stuttering and sprinting.

“I don’t want to die.”

“You’re not gonna die.”

Lance only sobs again. Keith is aghast, terrified to hold him any tighter but unsure of what else to do. Lance has never been fragile, to him. He’s more stubborn than an ox, a streak of fire lighting up his spine, dark eyes shining with fury every time his forehead’s pressed to Keith’s, screeching ‘till he’s blue in the face that he’s right and Keith’s wrong and he’s gonna show it to him, just you wait and see. He’s seen Lance angry, seen him annoyed, seen him golden with the fire of competition and glowing with the brightness of his laughter. He’s seen Lance worn and insecure. Never, not once in the years Keith has known him and fought with him and led with him, has he seen Lance fragile.

But he is, right now. Now, quivering in Keith’s arms, sobs shaking his frame, Keith feels like he’s holding him together, like if he lets go Lance will shatter to shards on the floor.

So Keith holds him. He holds him until his arms ache, and past that. He holds him until his shirt is soaked and cold in the chilly air, until his knees burn from the tiny bumps of the ground. He holds him until Lance’s sobs peter out, until the orange sun of the system they’re stopping in peeks out from the horizon, stars blinking out of sight.

Hours later, Lance shifts, pulling away slightly. Keith holds tighter, refusing to let him pull away too far.

“Don’t,” Keith says, before Lance can apologize.

That cracks a smile on Lance’s face, to his own surprise. “No?” His voice is wrecked, throat no doubt raw.

“Save your apologies for when you actually do something stupid,” Keith affirms. He hesitates a second, then reaches out, brushing the frazzled curls from Lance’s forehead and wiping the tears from his cheeks. Lance winces slightly as Keith’s thumb brushes his cheekbone.

Keith pulls away. “Sorry. Rough hands.”

But Lance’s hand darts out and grabs Keith’s. “No, it’s — I don’t mind it.” He places it back on his face, shutting his eyes, breath shuddering. His sleeve falls down his arm.

Keith narrows his eyes. Criss-crossing Lance’s arms are dozens of jagged white scars, like lightning bolts across his skin.

“I wake up with more every day,” Lance explains, noticing Keith’s expression. “I was — I died, Keith.”

Keith flinches. Lance swallows, carrying on.

“I felt my heart stop. I don’t know how long, but it was…there was a severance. Something permanent. I felt it.” He runs his hands through his hair again, but much gentler this time. A fidget instead of a panicked tugging. The roots are white, like Shiro’s. “Allura did her best, I think. But I was gone so long. And she’d never done it before.”

“Is everything…working alright?” It’s an awkward way to say it. But Keith doesn’t know how else to say am I going to lose you? Later? Are you here to stay?

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to hear her tell me it’s not.”

“I don’t want to wake up one day and find out — find out, Lance.”

Lance swallows. “I know. I don’t — what do I —”

“We’ll talk to her,” Keith promises. “We’ll figure it out. I’ve got you, Lance.”

Lance’s chin trembles, but he slumps forward, exhausted. “Promise?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” He’s silent for a moment, face tucked in Keith’s neck. The muffled sounds of the team waking up starts to fill the air. “I’m tired, Keith.”

“I’ll watch for you. I’ll make sure you wake up.”

“Okay,” Lance whispers again. Keith feels his eyelashes flutter closed, feels his heartbeat slow, his breathing even. “I trust you.”

As Lance starts to grow heavier in his arms, Keith tightens his hold. He presses a kiss to the top of Lance’s head.

“I’ve got you.”

I won’t let you fade away.

———

part two

[thatartiststudios]

"It Always Was, It Was Always Her,"

Chapter 1: If You Let Me, I'll Bring You Comfort

Rayla didn’t need to see Callum’s face to know how utterly devastated he was. As he stared out at the massive trail of smoke rising in the distance, which could only be coming from Katolis—his home, the weight of his despair was palpable.

She glanced at Runaan beside her—battered and weary, with his left horn broken just above his cuff, his right gauntlet and worn pants the only remnants of his former attire. Runaan’s presence was a bittersweet reminder of the past, but it was Callum who needed her now.

Rayla approached Callum and took his hand, intertwining their fingers with a gentle squeeze. She had missed this closeness—the warmth of his hand in hers—and had cherished every moment since that night at The Starscraper. The memory of their shared confession echoed in her mind—“I love you, Rayla,” “I love you too, Callum.”

But now, he needed her closeness for a different reason.

Callum continued to stare at the smoke, his voice trembling, “It... it can’t be—” They both knew the horrible truth, and a tear formed in the corner of his eye. “No,” he shook his head, “no, no, no…”

Rayla stepped in front of him, blocking his view of the smoke. She placed a gentle but firm hand on his chest, feeling the erratic thudding of his heart beneath her fingers. “Hey,” she said softly, bringing her other hand up to cup his face, ensuring he couldn’t look around her. “I’m right here.”

Continue on AO3

[christinesficrecs]

first off, hi! i just stumbled upon your blog and have already found some amazing fics, thank you!

I’m very nee to the fandom (just finished my first watch through) I’m looking for a very specific fic, And I haven’t found one that really meets the criteria. I’d love for it to be canon compliant, and set post season 6. Are there any like that out there?

thank you!

Hey! I hope you found lots of great stuff to read. ❤️

I'm probably the wrong person to ask this question. Future fics are my jam! Whenever someone says future fic but also canon it always reminds me of Sacred in the Ordinary which is most definitely not Post S6 since it was published in 2012. 😂

Anyways! There are some S6 fics here and you could also try the future fics here, if you don't find anything in this rambling post. 😉

(Sacred) In the Ordinary by idyll | 78.7K | Explicit

The Pack, after college, graduate school and the starting of careers, comes back to Beacon Hills. Nothing's gotten less complicated after all this time.

Operation Rescue Sourwolf by HelloWhyTheFuckAmIHere | 4.2K

Derek Hale will not be accused of another crime he didn’t commit. Not on Stiles’ watch.

(What really happened when Stiles used his position as FBI Intern to save Derek's life.)

Framed by Nival_Vixen | 65.7K | Mature

Stiles' first day at the FBI was also going to be his last. That had to be some kind of record, surely?

Ghost of You by Lissadiane | 22.1K

In which Derek Hale doesn't realize the way he's built his life around Stiles until Stiles is no longer a part of it. A Season 6 AU that examines how things might have gone had Derek, Cora, Kira, Jackson, Allison, Erica, Boyd and Isaac been around to help Lydia take down the Wild Hunt and save the day.

Façades of Peace by andavs | 73.4K

“A Ger—there’s a Nazi werewolf in Beacon Hills?” Stiles was yelling now, he couldn’t help it, because what the ever loving fuck was their lives. “A Nazi were—an alpha Nazi werewolf.”

Anywhere, as long as we're together by sterekanigans | 5.4K

Stiles is acing the FBI life, much to everyone else’s chagrin. So much so that when he hears Derek is a wanted fugitive, he sweet talks his way onto the SWAT team tasked with taking him down. Or perhaps harass until they finally agreed is more accurate. Because he would do anything for Derek. But nothing could have prepared him for this moment, staring down once more at Derek.

[daniwib]

Pictures of You

When Abuela passes away, Eddie struggles with profound grief, trying to cope with the emptiness left behind. Memories of their shared moments bring both comfort and pain as he considers life with her absence.

As he mourns, Eddie finds strength in the legacy of her wisdom to take the final step and admit his love for the man who’d been by his side the entire time.

[Fic is complete, chapters will be posted weekly]

Read on Ao3 here

[dadbodbobby]

A mini fic I wrote because I promised @thebuckley-hans that I’d send it to her. Was so proud of it that I decided to post it here.

Bobby and Maddie is an underrated pair and I thought this prompt was perfect to explore that.

Obligatory S6 spoilers under the cut.

First of all, Maddie still felt like she was walking on air. The love and security she felt in this engagement was so different from the last time she did this, and the ring was FOR HER. It just felt like her too.

Doug’s ring was fancy, and big, and so obviously (in hindsight), meant to show off to everyone how fancy and rich and important Doug was. It was like a collar on a dog, to show ownership, she knows now.

But this ring, Chimney’s ring, Howie’s ring, her ring, was a symbol. It was a symbol of love.

A symbol of the long nights spent talking, the bufFridays, the karaoke, the fight to get back to where they once were, the promise to never leave again. The promise to love each other, and their daughter, to stay a family and together. In sickness and in health, for better or worse, for richer and poorer.

All of that being said however, Maddie still couldn’t get the ring off. It had been weeks. Literally weeks, and she still couldn’t get it off. No matter what she tried. And she wasn’t about to cut it off, she wasn’t that desperate.

And even if she was, there was no way in Hell that she was using Buck’s ring cutter to cut it off. She still couldn’t make direct eye contact with her baby brother after learning THAT little tidbit about him.

But regardless, she couldn’t get her ring off with hot water and dish soap, and Josh’s suggestion of butter just made her hungry, so that was a no go. Maddie refused to tell Howie her ring was stuck, it was just too embarrassing. So that’s how she found herself at the firehouse.

Her logic was that out of all the tools that must be in the truck, one of them must be able to get a ring off of a finger without cutting it off. It’s only once she got there that Maddie realized one big flaw in her plan.

How in the hell was she going to be able to look through tools on the truck, find one that looked like it would work, figure out how to use it, get the ring off, clean the tool, and put it back all without being noticed? God this was a bad idea. Maddie hears Chim talking upstairs and panics, speed walking to the downstairs bathroom.

Maddie grips the sink and closes her eyes, letting out a deep sigh. “Okay,” she whispers, trying to calm herself. “I can do this, it’ll be okay. I successfully raised my kid brother for over a decade, I can figure out how to get this ring off without anyone noticing it was ever stuck to begin with.”

“Your ring is stuck?”

Contrary to popular (or correct) belief, Maddie does NOT jump three feet in the air. She simply startles. Anyways, Bobby’s in the doorway, staring at her with a concerned nosey expression.

“No.”

In hindsight, Maddie doesn’t know why she thought lying would work. Bobby was basically the Sue of the firehouse, and married to Athena. Of course lying wouldn’t work.

In the present, Bobby just gives her a soft but knowing dad smile. Maddie feels a quick pang for the girl she once was, the girl who lost any traces of receiving those smiles after losing a brother.

“Bobby I’ve tried everything but nothing works and I can’t tell Howie and I am NOT using Buck’s ring cutter-“

“Why would Buck have a ring cutter?”

“…do you really want me to answer that?”

More confusion, Jesus she thought Eddie was naive about these things.

“You know what, ask Athena. She can explain it.” Maybe she could also explain why it was in the kitchen instead of the-oh dear God!

“…anyways, I can’t get this off and I’m not willing to cut it off, because it’s mine. And I can’t tell Howie because I really do love it, but I need help!”

Bobby gives her the dad smile again, “Just wait here and give me a minute.”

He leaves and Maddie takes the chance to take some deep breaths and ground herself. She does get more antsy waiting for Bobby than she’d like to admit.

Eventually he’s back, with dental floss, of all things, and an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to take so long, but one of the prices of being 57 is not being able to wait when you need the can.”

Maddie supposed that was a fair enough reason, especially if he was going to help her. He walks over to her and tears off a decent length of floss. Next, he wraps it tightly around her finger, starting at her middle knuckle and working towards the edge of the ring.

He slips the end of the thread under the ring, pulls it taut, and starts unwinding it in the same direction. Maddie holds her breath, feeling the ring slowly creep up her finger, until lo and behold, it’s off completely and Bobby’s handing it to her.

“Oh my god Bobby, this is incredible, thank you so much!” She wraps her arms around him then, and squeezes. When he hugs her back she can’t help but want to stay like that forever. Maddie honestly couldn’t remember the last time her father had hugged her like that. It felt nice.

He chuckles and responds to her gratitude, before he pulls back. She does too, and can’t help asking,

“Hey, how did you know that trick? It would have never occurred to me to use dental floss like that.”

He breathes through what Maddie recognizes as a wave of grief.

“When Marcy was pregnant with our son, her fingers swelled up a little. Not too badly, but enough that her ring got stuck. We tried everything short of cutting it off, but it didn’t budge. Her mom visited our apartment one day, and she used that trick to get the ring off.

Apparently it had been used for generations by the women in her family. Marcy used to joke that Brooke should go ahead and get a ring stuck on her finger, so she could have practice helping her daughter out. I guess the tradition died with them.”

Okay there was a huge chance that she was about to (understandably) offend Bobby, but she had to say it anyways. He just looked so sad at the thought of that lost tradition.

“Well you just taught me, and I have a daughter. Maybe it’s legacy will live on.”

The look Bobby gives her makes her tear up (“As do most things,” Buck would say, the hypocrite), matching his own tears.

“Thank you,” they keep eye contact for a little bit, and it’s funny. In these past few minutes Bobby’s been more of a father to her than her own father had been to her and Buck since before Buck was even born.

No wonder he considered Bobby his surrogate dad. Maddie was beginning to think that maybe she would be too. She’s too close to crying to be able to talk, so she just nods.

The moment lasts a little longer, before Bobby breaks away to sniff and wipe his eyes. Maddie takes the chance to do the same.

He takes a deep breath, puts his captain face back on like a shield, (or masking, if he’s on the spectrum), her nurse brain unhelpfully supplies, and exits the bathroom like they hadn’t just had a moment.

Maddie waits until the bell goes off, which thankfully doesn’t take too long, before she makes her exit. She enters the main floor just as the vehicles drive out.

Watching the 118 race to the call, she reflects back on everything that just happened. While not a particularly religious woman, she finds herself sending up a prayer to keep her family safe. All of them.

She’d lost a father once, before she lost a brother. But maybe it isn’t too late to be given a new one.

[celerylapel]

Chapters: 3/? Fandom: Community (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Annie Edison/Jeff Winger, Annie Edison/surprise guest, The study group - Relationship Characters: Jeff Winger, Annie Edison, Shirley Bennett, Britta Perry, Troy Barnes, Abed Nadir Additional Tags: Post S6, pandemic year 2020, Pining, The Princess Bride References Summary:

Jeff decides to get the girl!

[fan-of-chaos]

Oh.

So it was her, all along...

[jedidragonwarriorqueen]

[themistdragon]

Spoilers for S6

- THE FACT THAT VIREN, DESPITE ALL ODDS, LIVED, ONLY TO DIE PROCLAMING HIS SERVITUDE TOWARDS HIS HOME

-THE FACT THAT RAYLA RECOGNIZED THE BEHEMOTH'S PAIN BECAUSE IT MIRRORED HER OWN

-THE FACT THAT RAYLA IS CALLUM'S DEEP TRUTH, AND FULLY ACCEPTING HER BACK INTO HIS HEART WAS THE CURE FOR THE DARKNESS IN HIS SOUL

- THE FACT THAT RAYLA HAD TO LET HER PARENTS GO BECAUSE SHE COULDN'T SEPARATE RUNAAN AND ETHARI, OR HER PARENTS FROM EACH OTHER

-THE FACT THAT RUNAAN WAS CORRUPTED NOT BECAUSE OF DARK MAGIC, BUT BECAUSE OF HIS OWN GUILT AND REGRET

-THE FACT THAT RUNAAN, THE MAN NOT AFRAID OF DEATH, JOYOUSLY AND INCREDULOUSLY EXCLAIMS "I... I'm alive!"

-THE FACT THAT EVEN THOUGH TERRY STUCK BY CLAUDIA AND WANTED THE BEST FOR HER, SHE STILL CHOSE AARAVOS AND HIS BULLSHIT OVER HIM

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

———

Keith’s eyes burn. His shirt is soaked through and cold, and Lance is a dead weight in his arms, making his limbs dead and heavy.

Keith barely registers any of it.

As the slowly rising sun gently rouses the rest of his team, the music of the birds and the bugs dragging them from the slumber, he thinks of each of them in turn: do you know what happened to him? Do you know how badly he’s hurting?

He cuts his glance to Shiro, who sits criss-cross-applesauce on his bedroll, eyes closed and head tilted towards the sun. A small smile graces his face, and it grows as Pidge complains about everything in general and Hunk repeats everything she says in a muppet voice. Maybe Shiro understands. He —

Keith swallows, rough from the dryness of his throat. Even thinking the word sends a stab of fear through his heart, a shot of adrenaline through his veins.

Lance. Dead. Not ‘nearly’, not a close call, but — dead. Gone.

He died.

“Everything alright, dear?” asks a voice, startling Keith out of his thoughts and right out of his skin, too. Coran crouches beside him, looking immaculately groomed and put-together in his ridiculous blue silk pajamas despite the fact that Keith literally saw him roll right out of his bedroll and onto the hard ground not two minutes ago.

Truly amazing, that man.

“Fine,” Keith says, half-shocked by the hoarseness of his own voice. He glances down, looking at his right hand man, face streaked with tears, scar-covered hands clenched tightly in the fabric of Keith’s sleep shirt.

Keith deflates, sighing as he slumps forward. “Rough night,” he admits. “For…both of us.”

It’s stating the obvious. As much as Lance is visibly not okay, even in sleep, Keith doubts he looks so hot, either. He feels like the fear and hurt is pouring out of him in waves.

Coran doesn’t look surprised. He reaches forward slowly, as if waiting for Keith to stop him, and brushes gentle fingers through Lance’s hair. The movement shifts the strands, clearly showcasing the white roots.

Coran frowns, something like disappointment clouding his green eyes. Keith doubts it’s directed at either of them.

“I’ve had my suspicions for a while,” he murmurs, hand stilling in Lance’s fringe for a moment before shifting to gently trace the shape of his cheekbone, the high point of his temple. His touch is gentle, wary, wracked with guilt.

Paternal.

“Lance has been…off. For movements. He usually comes to me, if he’s hurting, even if he he just wants company. But he’s only withdrawn from all of us.” He pulls away, almost as if he has to force himself, and straightens out, stretching his legs. He looks back to Keith once he’s settled, and his expression is grim.

“I think it’s high time we show him we’re not going anywhere.”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees softly. “I don’t —” He looks at Coran, helpless and desperate. “I don’t know what to do, Coran.”

“I’ll gather the team,” the advisor assures. He runs his hands through Lance’s hair one more time, and then presses a kiss to his forehead before getting to his feet. He walks over to Shiro and leans in close. Keith doesn’t keep watching to see Shiro’s face crumple. He’s not sure he can handle it. Instead he drops his gaze back down to Lance’s sleeping face.

Over the night, one of the lightning scars has crept up the side of his neck and curved over his jaw, just like Lance had said they’d been doing.

Keith feels it when all of them really get it. He can feel the air turn sharp and electric, almost, the way you can taste it before lightning strikes. Tangy, almost. Ozone and petrichor.

It’s not a nice feeling.

Allura approaches first. She hurries over, like she’s worried something will happen if she doesn’t make it to them in seconds, but she stops right in front of them. Keith can see her bare legs out of the corner of his eye, covered in doodled pen marks of flowers and stars. She hesitates for a second, pink-painted fingernails tapping her knee, then she falls on the ground in front of them faster than Keith can blink. She pulls her knees up to her her chin, long braids falling down her shoulders. The rest of the team hesitantly sits next to her.

“I didn’t realise,” she blurts eventually. Keith flicks his head up to meet her gaze head-on, and he realizes that tears are dripping steadily down her cheeks. He’s never seen her look so upset. “I knew he was — I felt that he was hurt, that it was serious. I knew the blast was dangerous. But I didn’t —” her face crumples, and she hides her face as if she’s ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I should have checked harder. I was stressed, but that’s no exc—”

“It’s not your fault,” comes a firm voice. Lance shifts in Keith’s hold, dragging himself upright and blinking the sleep from his eyes.

He doesn’t pull away, though, shifting until he’s comfortable and then leaning back onto Keith’s chest. One of Keith’s hands is clenched tightly in his.

“I’m so sorry,” Allura begs. “Lance, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry —”

“Allura,” Lance insists again. His voice is stronger, less reedy. “You didn’t — I made that choice, ‘Llura.” He reaches forward with his free hand and gently pries Allura’s apart from where they’re clenched together, squeezing gently. “I knew what was gonna happen to me.”

“Did you?” Hunk asks quietly. Keith feels Lance tense slightly before forcing himself to relax. “Did you choose to — to die?”

Lance doesn’t say anything for a moment. And then another moment, and another. Keith feels a drop hit his hand.

“I was scared,” he admits, voice as low as a whisper. “I am scared.”

Keith feels his chin tremble, the memory of Lance pacing back and forth, hands clenched in his hair, rambling in his terror flashing fresh through his mind. He squeezes Lance tightly.

“It is scary.” Shiro hunches in slightly, angling his head to catch Lance’s eyes. He smiles, a mix of sad and comforting, when Lance’s brown eyes meet his. “I was scared, too. Felt like the pins and needles you get when you come in from the cold, but all over, and it didn’t end until it didn’t. And then I was just scared.”

“…Oh.” Lance looks stunned, like he’s realizing for the first time that he’s not alone, actually. There are people who love him, someone even who knows exactly what he went through. “I — oh.” He relaxes back into Keith’s hold. “Okay.”

“We love you, Lance,” Pidge says in a small voice. Her face is streaked with tears, too, but her eyes are determined. “I love you. A lot.”

Lance’s lips quirk up. “Love you too, Pidgey.”

They all stay there, for a while. The sun has long since risen, but they all watch the sky anyways, tracking the pale green clouds, just sitting silently with each other, happy to be together and alive.

“Thank you,” Lance whispers, too quiet for anyone else to hear. Keith glances down. Lance looks back up at him, smiling softly. His eyes don’t look fragile, anymore. It’s a relief.

“I would do anything for you.” It’s a little more than he meant to say, but he can’t help himself. Not with Lance’s eyes glowing amber in the sunlight, Lance in his hold, Lance alive and better than he was yesterday.

Lance’s smile gets a little wider. “I know.”

Hoping he’s reading things right, Keith leans in close, pausing millimetres away from Lance’s face, glancing down at his lips. He means to say something smooth, something charming, a one liner in a teen movie. But he can’t think of anything. “I want to kiss you,” he blurts out instead, like a dumbass. Immediately he winces, but Lance only laughs. He hears sniggers from the rest of the team, as well. His face reddens.

Lance’s hand moves up to rest on Keith’s cheek. “Well, chop chop then, Mullet.”

Keith doesn’t waste anymore time. He moves all the way in, pressing their lips together softly. Lance tastes of salt. Keith knows it’s from his tears, but it makes him think of the ocean. He kisses Lance again, because he can’t help himself.

“We got all the time in the world, Keith,” Lance murmurs against his lips.

“Let me kiss you anyway,” Keith begs.

He feels the curve of Lance’s grin. The rest of the team has gone conspicuously silent.

“Yeah. Okay.”

[thatartiststudios]

WIP Wednesday

Finally started on the prequel to 'I'll Give You My Life, From Now Till Forever' (and if there's any inconsistencies between this and the other fic, you don't see them)

Callum wanted to marry her, he was sure of it. He’d known from the moment he’d kissed her again at The Starscraper. Known it after every brush with death, every time her smile lit up the dark corners of his heart. And now, with both of their 18th birthdays behind them and the war dragging on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the time was right. The battle against Aaravos had shown no signs of stopping, even though the archmage was somehow weakened. Callum didn’t understand it—it didn’t add up.

But he wasn’t about to question their good fortune.

The thought of waiting any longer, of letting another moment slip by, weighed on him. As much as he tried to be optimistic and hopeful, this war had taught him that nothing was guaranteed. In a world where they had to fight to see the next sunrise, he didn’t want to risk another day without taking this step.

He couldn’t bear the thought of looking back and regretting not seizing the moment, not telling Rayla how much she meant to him, not making her his forever.

Though this would prove easier said than done. Callum had long decided that her parents’ opinions didn’t matter when it came to this. He was going to marry Rayla whether they approved or not. But, for her sake, he wanted to at least try to get Lain and Tiadrin’s blessing. Runaan, however, was another story. Callum had no intention of telling him until after the fact.

He decided to start with Ethari. He found him among several other Sunfire elves in the forges, hammering out weapons and armor. The forge was hot, and the air thick with the smell of burning metal. Callum caught Ethari’s eye and motioned for him to come over. Even if their conversation was drowned out by the pounding of anvils and the hissing of steam, he wanted a bit of privacy.

Ethari approached with a welcoming smile. “What can I do for you, lad?”

Callum took a deep breath, glancing away for a moment, before meeting his gaze again. This wasn’t just a request—it was almost a declaration, a quiet but firm order.

“I need you to forge a ring and a pair of horn cuffs for me,” Callum said, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

Ethari blinked, surprised for only a moment before a broad smile spread across his face. He clapped Callum on the shoulder warmly. “Very well, son. I must say I’m not surprised. I’d be honored.”

Callum couldn’t help but return the smile, a weight lifting from his chest. Ethari’s approval meant more to him than he realized, and hearing those words gave him a surge of reassurance.

“Thank you,” Callum said earnestly.

[lionguarded]

[ TAKE ]  for one muse to passionately kiss the other,  fueled by jealousy.  Jealous Silas we love

ugh.

silas never thought about how he looked, or spent a lot of time thinking about whether he would be considered handsome or not - he'd never really found himself wondering what others thought of him when he walked through new haven - or even back in willowshire. he didn't give any fucks whatsoever what others thought in that regard. he didn't mingle with the kids anyway, so why should he care what they thought? besides, he was very much aware that he didn't quite fit the typical omega stereotype anyway, so he'd never seen the appeal in worrying about it.

if ..someone found an interest in him, at least he knew it came from the heart, right? instead of all those kids fawning at his alpha when they walked past. like they'd never fuckin' seen an alpha in their entire twenty-fucking-something years of life. like dante was the only available specimen about. he really wasn't. did silas know dante would fuck whomever caught his interest? fuck him for that, seriously. but silas knew as much & there was only little he could do about it, other than to remind himself that he wasn't like them.

dante chose him.

not them. fuck them. they'd never even remotely find what dante & him had. yet, ....despite knowing all that deep down... despite knowing that dante chose him knowing his age & his broken, shattered parts, despite knowing silas was broken & came with a cub & heavy-ass baggage.. sometimes he couldn't help but wonder what he'd do if dante found someone else like him. someone... who caught his interest for more than an orgasm - for ...longer time. someone closer to what dante wanted. someone who was everything silas wasn't & more. a fully-functioning, actually proper ... being. yeah, he'd be fucked if that ever happened.

fuckin' dante. he got him so hooked on his dumbass fuckin' existence, silas couldn't even imagine not being the center of his world anymore. he couldn't.

there they were again, staring. he could feel their across the entire fuckin' room. pantheon's bar was a death trap for silas' nerves. dante didn't seem too bothered - he probably basked in the fuckin' afterglow of all those eyes on him, that little shit loved knowing he was hot enough to make heads turn. but silas... wasn't thrilled.

hands grabbed at the alpha's chin, fingers laying against his fine-ass perfectly aesthetic jawline, nails against that beautifully unblemished skin pulled & silas smashed their lips together, arms wrapped around his alpha's neck, chests flush & one leg pushed between dante's so silas could rub against dante's crotch - if he felt like it, which he probably would. kiss deepened, yep - leg lifted & pushed against dante's crotch.

all that in public. yeah, fuck those kids.

"can't fuckin' go anywhere without them all starin'."

[halyasgirl]

Bonus

[luthqrs]

"Hey, can I get you anything? Water? Soda? You hungry?" EMILY PRENTISS in CRIMINAL MINDS 6x02 | 'JJ'

[celerylapel]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Community (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Characters: Jeff Winger, Annie Edison, Troy Barnes, Abed Nadir, Britta Perry, Pierce Hawthorne, Shirley Bennett Additional Tags: Mild Profanity, Post S6 Summary:

The gang reunites for a special event