Lance was never proud of the one thing that could make him stand out.
(The one thing that made him stand, even in his family, the one thing that destroyed the chances of affection and hugs and attention, the one thing he’d never move past, the one thing that’d always haunt him, the one thing that could get someone killed)
Lance was born with a smooth back, tan skin free of birth marks but full of freckles. Lance was born with beautiful blue eyes, deep tawny hair, and a dazzling smile. Lance was not born with a pair of wings.
Lance was wingless.
Less than 1% of the world was wingless, and that meant those who were….never had good fates. Abandonment, abuse, neglect, suicide rates almost a solid 100….anyone born wingless in this time and age was destined a shitty fate, to die for the lack of something they could not have.
But Lance did not.
His mother hated him with her very soul, but even she wasn’t heartless enough to murder someone, no matter how indirectly. His siblings might laugh with him, might eat with him, but they were never around for more than a few seconds, tossing looks over their shoulder for a parent or aunt or uncle. Lance was hidden away, kept out of sight by his parents and family for his whole life, living in the attic or traipsing the private stretch of beach that had been in his family for years, hearing the voice of the sky but never being able to answer it. (Not like he could without wings, anyway)
But then, he found a way he could.
The Galaxy Garrison, a military school where uniforms over wings were required, where group preening, cuddling, and flying sessions were encouraged but never mandatory. A place he could hide in plain sight and still see the sky. A place Lance signed up for in secret, got a scholarship, and shoved it all at his parents, the father who’d taught him the wingless were useless and the mother who never hugged him. A place that hate crimes couldn’t trace back to and murder his family if his secret ever got out.
It was too good to be true.
And it was. Lance was never the best, always mocked for trying to answer the call of the sky for the first time in his life. It wasn’t like when he’d answered the push and pull of the ocean. The ocean was cool, sometimes cold or freezing, but sage, wise and ready to crash and fall and crest back up. Ready to change, ready to grow, ready to soothe. Content to watch and learn, finding complexity in the simplest things, but brave enough to venture out on it’s own, to try on its own to live up and live past expectatons. The ocean was a gentle hand running over his back, swirling him around in currents of fate and past, gentle but wild, pushing but never shoving.
The sky shoved, but in what Lance saw as a good way. Watching gaggles of siblings and uncles and aunts swoop and soar, thrown out into organized anarchy midair, riding drafts. The sky was wild, insane. It could not sit still, it could not listen, it could not be gentle or understand. It was headstrong or helpful, stubborn or relenting. There was no in between. When it’s chicks matured and reached for the air, the sky threw them out, to the ground or the air.
A few chicks crashed, or came close, but they picked themselves back up, flapped with crooked or straight feathers, and chased the others. The ocean did not work that way. It could mimic, but it would never let it’s young crash or drown unless it was the best choice. Lance was glad for that, though he knew the sky would have pushed him faster, harder, to be who he could be, he knew he’d be the rare smashed egg, splattered on the concrete.
If it took years, he didn’t care. He was alive.
Lance remembers the looks at the Garrison at night or on weekends when he wore a bulky jacket and the issued pajamas, instead of snatching the chance to stretch his wings. The stares, the quirked eyebrows that the kid who joked, flirted, and screamed on a regular basis wouldn’t try for more attention.
Hunk, dear god Hunk, had wings big enough for both of them.
Beautiful, mahogany feathers that glowed golden on the ends when light shined on them. Thick, massive wings that he’d drape around Lance’s shoulder, wings that engulfed him in warmth and affection and took away unwanted attention. Too many people saw Hunk’s wings as plain. Lance saw them as a fucking savior, the first thing to treat him nicely and warmly.
But this savior need protecting from the savee.
Which was why Lance never told Hunk, or the team, that he was wingless.
Even Alteans had wings.
Coran’s were a gorgeous tangerine color, white, brown, red, and black speckles slipping between the feathers and coating them like candy sugar. Allura’s were an exact image of Alfor’s, deep, black wings the color of the vastness around them, silver streaks and dots making constellations that shined in lights.
The team’s may have been Earthen, but god, were they ethereal. Shiro, had a collage of slate gray and white, individual feathers breaking layers of colors, proof of the stress of the Arena. They peaked at the top, and were enormous, taller than Hunk’s but not quite as wide or thick. Pidge’s wings were peaked, but they curved out into cute little floofs. They only reached her hips, not past her calves or thighs like everyone else. They clearly weren’t fully grown, but Lance loved their speckled outsides, the tawny, earthy, color so close to her hair but clearly had a more hay-ish tint.
Holy shit, Keith.
His wings were like giant sparrow wings, angular but not peaked, wide burgundy curtains of feathers that fell to his thighs. They were warm, and firm, like a well trained muscle (which they were, technically). The ends were sharp and sleek, but the shy wing touches he sometimes gave Lance proved they were incredibly soft. Lance was always reminded of a wolf when he saw them; built for fast paced marathons. They were no where near as strong as Hunk’s, but Lance had watched Keith carry a Pidge in a simulated rescue. Wings weren’t designed to carry more than the weight of one person, the person with them.
He would never have a pair of wings.
So he reveled in the freedom that lacking a pair of wings gave him. Lance climbed, slept on his back, swam, and learned how to read emotions through little tics. The swimming came easily, like the ocean changed for him, parted and shifted to let him pass or propel him ahead. Lance knew he did. Wings weren’t an instant evolution. Generations of humans developed the genes and mutations of wings - Lance wasn’t just going to instantaneously sprout gills. He could, however, form a thin membrane as a sideways, second pair of eyelids. The same membrane acted as a moveable filter in his ears to hear underwater, and a slight webbing between his fingers. Strategically placed, retractable fangs a little bigger than his front teeth weren’t hard either.
The most notable change was when his legs stopped kicking, his knees disabled, and they swished back and forth. He could easily switch to kicking, but the longer he spent in the water, the more his legs acted as a single mass of flesh and bone. It wasn’t a tail, and Lance sometimes thought he was imagining it, but it was like a snake’s body, swinging side to side to move forward.
Wings were amazingly expressive, every angry twitch or nervous shuffle gave way to a mindscape, a scope of emotions and thoughts Lance learned to pick up on. Hiding your wings was seen as a sign of fear, distrust, and refusing to show them was a red flag in any relationship, platonic or romantic. It was normal to reach out and rest a wing on someone else’s as a sign of reassurance, and to purposely keep your tucked away meant you didn’t trust anyone with them. Your wings were essentially your life - if they got wet or mutilated you were grounded, tied to Earth and water.
And water drowned.
To his team, Lance was a hallow corpse without emotions. He was jello before it froze. They could hear his laugh, see his smiles, hear his cheers. But without his wings, the team couldn’t read him clearly. It was like they had lost their glasses, and Lance was the blurred board they couldn’t see, couldn’t guess, couldn’t decipher more than a few letters from.
They didn’t know, so they couldn’t understand. Lance wasn’t sure if he ever wanted them to understand.
LAMP, au where everyone is born with wings distinctive to their personality but can only fly after meeting their soulmate (can be platonic if you want), fluff please!!!
**This got so ridiculously long, and I am so, so ridiculously pleased. This is 2,760 words. How did this happen?
Warnings: Small amount of swearing, some angst but I couldn’t resist a fluffy ending, lots of tears shed
This is poly sanders, Romantically involved because I’m a sucker for romance**
It happened when Virgil was born. There was a problem with the birth and he had to have surgery done, resulting in the loss of his wings.
“What did they look like?” He used to ask his mother. She’d tell him how soft they were, how dark they were, the color of the night sky dipped in the ocean. How beautiful they could have become. After awhile, he asked less and less sad to hear about what could have been and what would never be, and by the time he was ten he had come to hate the mere mention of his non-existent wings.
All of the adults pitied him, all of the children teased him.
Virgil was teased for it, of course he was, all throughout school. All the other children had wings, all the other children would find their Soulmates.
It was bitter on his tongue.
Another tragedy all the winged beings encompassed themselves with.
Everyone had a Soulmate.
‘You probably don’t even have a Soulmate. That’s why they took your wings away.’
At first, he denied it. He wanted so desperately to fit in. He told them, he did have a Soulmate, and his Soulmate would be the most beautiful person ever. They’d tease him. They’d laugh at him. They’d tell him he was wrong.
He’d never have a Soulmate.
And he grew to hate them, too.
He grew to hate his non-existent Soulmate. The reason he was teased. The reason he was mocked. The reason he was alone.
Virgil would never have a Soulmate.
It was years after he had graduated high school that he met another with very similar thinking to his own.
They had run into each other on the street. An accident, really. Virgil hadn’t been looking where he was walking, hood pulled up and eyes cast down, and had collided with a man as he turned the corner.
Logan, he’d soon learn, hadn’t been watching his steps either; nose buried in some book more important than his steps.
Virgil was sarcastic and bitter, Logan was frozen, frowning at his wings.
“Do I know you?” He asked finally, as Virgil stepped past.
“It’s just….” He shivered.
“I don’t care.”
Two years later, and they were happily living together as a couple.
Logan had similar thoughts to Virgil when it came to Soulmates.
“I don’t want my love to be determined by “pre-existing forces”. I should be allowed to decide for myself who I live the rest of my life with.”
Semi-similar to Virgil at least- Logan’s view point wasn’t stemmed from years of self-loathing and teasing.
“Good thing you got me then,” Virgil would say, smirking. After all, they loved each other, but Logan couldn’t fly.
He once said that his wings felt odd whenever Anxiety was around. Lighter almost, but said his heart felt that way too and then the conversation would usually lead into the “emotions” territory, which both men were terrible with.
But, they knew they loved each other, and that’s all they needed.
“I…. I met my Soulmate today.”
Virgil immediately dropped his phone to the couch, eyes wide for a split second before falling flat and empty.
“Yeah…. It was… odd. My wings,” He glanced behind him, flexing out the gray feathered appendages so they brushed the ceiling and then folded them back and frowned, “I felt…. they fluttered. All on their own. It was like air was-”
“Yeah, I get it,” Virgil cut him off. Logan snapped his mouth shut.
Virgil didn’t like talking about his own wings, yes, but he seemed to live through Logan. Always asking to feel the otherswings, to groom them. He’d ask for Logan to tell him how they felt in the wind, how it felt to sleep, how it felt to have them pet…. He may not remember having his own wings, but he did seem to miss them.
“I’ll take you flying one day,” Logan told him one night as they curled together in a hammock, his left wing draped over them. “I’ll carry you in the sky with me in the night. Just you and me.”
“If you’re flying you’ll have your Soulmate,” Virgil had pointed out bitterly, a word very accurate to anytime he discussed Soulmates.
“Sure. I’ll find them, but I don’t need a Soulmate. I have you, and you’re all I want.”
“Look, just get on with it already.” Virgil’s words snapped Logan from his thoughts.
“Get on with what?” He asked in confusion, not an emotion he particularly liked, but one he found himself dealing with often when it came to his boyfriend. For someone who didn’t like feelings, Virgil had quite a few of them.
“You’re leaving, right? You’ve discovered your real Soulmate, you’ve realized being with me is foolish and you’re going to go be with them, right?” He wasn’t looking at Logan now, simply staring at his lap. His tone was emotionless.
“Hey,” Logan’s tone was sharp. He immediately walked over and sat beside the other. “Virgil,” He picked up the others hand and got no resistance. “Yes, I’ve found a Soulmate, but that means nothing. I’m interested, I suppose that’s the pull of the soulbond, but I would never, ever leave you. It’s you’ve I’ve fallen in love with Virgil, and it’s you who I’ve chosen to spend the rest of my life with, soulbond be damned.”
Virgil couldn’t stop himself, “Don’t say that.” He sniffled, “I know the power of a soulbond.” He didn’t, obviously, but he had been told, “I know it’s nearly impossible to resist. I don’t…. I don’t want you to hurt, because you’ve ignored them, I-….”
Logan reached out and lifted the others head, his own eyes meeting Virgil’s watery own.
“I just don’t want you to leave me-” His voice cracked at the end, and Logan was holding him then. Whispering soft sweet nothings and promises he would never break.
He would never leave Virgil. He could never leave Virgil.
If he could, he would give his own soul to him.
Through lots of talking, and after many months, Logan began happily dating his Soulmate, Patton. Whom, he’d come to find, was not his only Soulmate.
“Who knew you were so high-maintenance,” Virgil joked when he found out.
“It’s very upsetting,” Logan had frowned.
“How so? We not enough for you now?” It was a joke, but Logan always took Virgil’s self-depreciating humor seriously. Some small part of Virgil was thankful for that.
“You shouldn’t measure yourself out like that. Virgil, you’re greater than you know.” He kissed the others head, “And, I was referring to the fact that I still am unable to carry you through the skies.”
“Hm, well I’m still holding you to that, so get on that “finding your other Soulmate and/or Soulmates” thing.”
After about three months of Patton and Logan being together, Virgil finally met the famed “Heart”.
Virgil never understood why Logan referred to him like that. Yes, Logan gushed (though, he wouldn’t admit to it) about the other and his emotional state of every second of every day, and how open he was about his feelings, but the nickname was still out of place.
Then, Virgil saw him.
His wings, large, red, and shimmering, were the shape of a heart when extended to full length. A large extension of the man himself.
It took merely three weeks for Virgil to fall head-over-heels for the other man, but he never said a word. This was Logan’s Soulmate- Virgil didn’t belong anywhere in that mix.
So, he kept his distance. He stayed out of the confusion that was Soulmates. Especially, Soulmates that weren’t his.
Puppy love, he called it. He was sure it’d pass.
Everyday, it seemed his affections grew, until one day he confessed his feelings to Logan, apologizing over and over about butting in where he doesn’t belong, about getting in the way of his and Patton’s soulbond.
“Virgil,” Logan had said, “Virgil it’s okay. You can’t help who you love, anymore than I can. Love is okay, Virgil. You’re the one who taught me that. It’s okay.”
And a day later, Virgil had more than he could have hoped as he sat inbetween his partner of so many years, and his partner of seven minutes.
Patton had, or so he said, loved Virgil since the day they met.
Virgil said Patton was just being dramatic.
Patton only ruffled his wings in reply.
“Why don’t you understand, I have no control over this?” Logan ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
“You said you did! You said you’d never leave me! That you chose me!” Virgil yelled back, tears streaming down his face.
“I can’t choose who my Soulmates are, it’s not my fault!” Logan shot back, raising his voice in frustration more than anger.
He had met his Soulmate. Apparently, he had only two. He had all but flown (literally, he had to restrain himself) when he had run into a young man hurrying out of the local town hall, the two running hard into each other, but Logan having leaped back (okay, maybe he had kinda flown) so he didn’t fall.
Logan could finally fly.
He had flown home immediately to tell Virgil, who had been ecstatic to learn Logan had found his other Soulmate. Getting to know Patton and understand Soulbond’s better had really opened his mind and allowed him to see past what years of pain had done to him.
A week later, Logan was already dating Roman, and that’s when things got rocky.
Roman was all Logan talked about. Roman was all Logan thought about. Roman was all Logan cared about.
Patton met Roman.
Lo and behold, Roman was his final Soulmate as well, and he had soared with love, high into the sky.
Roman had a third Soulmate, though, as Virgil had been told he still couldn’t fly.
And now, two months later, Virgil was done. He had been hoping, he had been hoping so hard things could work.
But his love wasn’t even close to enough when it came to soulbonds. They would always be more. They would always be better. And they would always be…. not him.
He knew he loved Logan and Patton. He knew they loved him, too. Though his mind liked to say it was lies, he had put all his faith and hope into their love and he would trust them with it.
It was hard though.
He wanted to believe the others loved him. He wanted to be enough for them. But, it was obvious now that he wasn’t. He’d never compare to their souls. He’d never compare to what they had.
Not the wingless, soulless nobody.
Which lead to now. When Virgil had declared their relationship over. When he said he was leaving.
“You said you understood that I was with them! If you didn’t like that I was with them, why didn’t you say something?!” Logan fumed.
“BECAUSE THEY’RE YOUR SOULMATES!”
Virgil screamed, and the tears fell.
Everything was silent.
“Because, I could never, ever make you choose. Because, I know that you could never choose me over your soulbond.”
“What do you know about Soulmates?” The words left his mouth in rage, and died immediately in the battle.
It didn’t matter.
Their damage was done.
Virgil sobbed and covered his mouth with his hand.
“Virgil, I didn’t mean it-”
He was gone. Out the door like lightning, and tears falling like rain.
He wouldn’t know, but Logan immediately called Patton, and both took to the skies to look for him.
Hard to find one man in a city though, however hard they looked.
He managed to make his way towards the center of the city, twisting through streets until he was sure he had to be in another Country, walking for long, long hours he never wanted to end. He didn’t want to go back and face what had happened He didn’t want to face the reality he had been thrust into.
Why couldn’t he just have a soulbond like everyone else? Why couldn’t he have been normal?
He fell backwards as another person collided with him.
He kept his gaze on the ground as the other lept backwards into the air.
Another person to rub it in his face how alone he was.
Suddenly, hands were holding his face, and making him look upwards into the face of one of the handsomest men he knew. Though, to be fair he was, had been, dating the other two.
“You’re- why are you crying? Are you hurt?! Is my first act upon finding my true love only to hurt them?! Oh, how tragic! How dismal! How utterly horrific of me! I must-”
“Let go of me,” He pushed the other off and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands, “you didn’t do nothin’. I’m fine.”
“Well, that’s one relief,” The other sighed, but then he knelt down and was brushing the hair from Virgil’s face, “But, when I find out whoever it was that hurt my Soulmate, they won’t be so happy.”
Virgil chuckled bitterly, the salty tears finding the corners of his lips as if to remind him he needed to be sad.
“Don’t know if you’ve noticed buddy,” He motioned to his back, “But, I’m afraid you have the wrong guy.”
“Nonsense!” He jumped at how loud the other became, “It was your touch that brought me flight, thus it is your final soul that is bound to mine!”
Virgil scowled at the ground, “Look. I don’t have a soul, so it can’t be me. Just leave me alone!”
His pursuer stayed silent. He crouched down in front of Virgil and brushed the hair, once more, from his eyes.
“I don’t know what’s befallen you in life to make the sun so dark in your eyes, and I can’t take those filters away, but allow me to help, and I can brighten the sun tenfold until all you can see is its beauty.”
And it was all Virgil needed.
He had lived, all his life, every waking moment, believing he was soulless. That he couldn’t be anybodies. He couldn’t, wasn’t, like others. And suddenly, this man swoops in and tells him he has a soul. Further yet, that it has a mate.
And he’s sobbing again, and he’s being held and whispered, too. Told that everything would be okay.
He hears, vaguely, the other mention carrying him in flight to Virgil’s home, but he turns him down.
Logan, his first love, currently one of his only, had promised him his first flight. And now, he may never ever get it, but he wouldn’t destroy that promise. He held it dear, closer to his heart than his soul, and he couldn’t give it away.
“Okay, let me call for my others, and they can come help, okay?”
Virgil didn’t understand, but he nodded anyways.
A few short minutes later, he heard it.
A loud clap as shoes met pavement, and then he was being barreled into and pulled from his supposed Soulmate into new arms.
“Virgil, Virge, thank God, thank God,” Someone wept, “I was so worried, so scared, I didn’t- I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
It was Logan.
It was Logan that was holding him.
He clutched tightly to his shirt.
It was Logan who came for him.
Soulbond be damned.
It was Logan he loved.
It was Patton he loved.
His heart wrenched.
….This was it. What he didn’t understand before.
A solebond hurt.
A solebond hurt so much.
He may not love him now, but he knew. He knew he’d love him later.
He knew he’d love his soulmate- this man he had met only an hour earlier.
Had he known, he would have recognized this feeling many years ago, when he first met Logan.
He’d say, as he leaned into Logan’s chest, wind ruffling his hair as they flew across the stars.
Roman was twirling through clouds, attempting to be Peter Pan and discovering that clouds are, infact, made of water.
Patton was connecting stars with his flight pattern, creating large dogs, and fluffy cats in the sky.
(For all that you belong here, have the dirt and salt and scent and feathers to prove it, for all that, Elsewhere has a hold of you now. Time to see which hold is stronger.)
You go through security, board the plane. None of the metals pull at your bones. Just to see if you can, you spin fanciful lies about yourself as you make conversation with your seat mate.
(The words want to stick in your throat, but you’re mostly sure that’s from years (and years and years) of choosing your words ever so carefully with strangers, and not for any less …mundane a reason.)
(( I have finished Michael the Angel! A introverted, machine loving angel who works for Bella as both Communication/ Head Mechanic for @thelostmoongazer ’s Mob!Au and My Organization, Shadow Watch. Michael has never met another angel but he has seen a certain rebel one around town a few times. His wings are constantly used more as a second pair of hands then wings which explains the graying of his feathers from all the oil, dust and grime that stained them. Michael also has a small workshop for more private projects such as Project Cherub. Some lovey forshadowing = ). He’s also the Tarot of the Hermit ))
*insert detailed mental image of an overstuffed ravioli with blue feathers sticking out of it in random directions screeching “I’M BEAUTIFUL” while a plate of plain spaghetti with gray tribal feathers and Rasta beads sits motionless nearby, because I’m not an artist but I sure as hell wish I was*
Can you spot the one yellow-white flight feather on Benjamin’s wing? All of his other long flight feathers are gray, except that one! I really like it, and hope that once it molts off, another white one will replace it :)
''Why are you whispering?'' ''Because there's a meman in the kiddie pool.'' ''A merman with exceptional hearing, I'll have you know.'' Shklance
I’m sticking this with my earlier thing of the Mythic au I did with Pidge and Lance, if that’s okay!!!
When Pidge said her flock was taking an ocean trip, Lance did not expect them to find the cove he and Pidge made into their little secret hideout. He peeked over the rocks and outright stared at the moonlit Vampire on the bank, who was staring back. It was late, the sun had just gone down and Pidge had said she was going on a quick trip to grab a can of whipped cream. A few minutes after she’d vanished overhead, this mulleted Vampire rushed in, calling for Pidge.
They were currently engaged in a staring match, indigo versus shiny sky blue.
A male Avian was walking in, having brought the Vampire with him in search of Pidge. She’d actually missed dinner, which was why they were out looking for their tiny flockmate. “Keith, did you find her anywhere?” He called, and Lance flinched at the booming echo. The Vampire, Keith he assumed, shushed the feathered man. “Quiet, Shiro! You’ll scare it away!” He whispered, a finger to his mouth. Shiro, the black, white and gray feathered Avian, blinked.
“Why are you whispering?” He questioned, voice much softer this time. “There’s a Mer in the pool.” Keith whispered back, and Lance decided enough was enough and called out to them.
“A Mer with exceptional hearing, I’ll have you know!” He trilled, slapping his tail against the water for good measure. Both men jumped, startled. “And for your information, I am not an it, I’m male. A Merman. Rude much?” He pulled away from the rocks, disappearing under the water and popping up onto the silvery sandy bank at the feet of the other two Mythics.
Both men scrambled back, startled. Lance grinned and flipped his tail up. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna splash ya and get your feathers and fur all wet.” He crooned, tilting his head like an innocent puppy. The sound of overhead wings had him rolling onto his back, looking up and swishing his tail excitedly.
“Lance! I brought the- Oh quiznak!” Pidge squawked, wings flapping frantically as she tried to pull back only to topple head over heels into the water at the sight of Shiro and Keith. Lance trilled in alarm and dove after her, wrapping his upper body around her struggling form and hauling her to the surface.
Coughing, Lance cooed and carefully manipulated the water out of her feathers and lungs, drying her off and setting her on the bank.
Shiro glared down at her. Lance tucked himself behind Pidge, a tiny bit turned on yet afraid of that commanding gaze. “I….have a lot of explaining to do, don’t I.” Pidge sighed, leaning back against her scaly friend.
“Yes, you do. And you better tell us the truth.” Keith growled, Shiro puffing up his wings with dominance.
“Well, it actually started eleven years ago….”
Here’s the part I mentioned- https://tokyoteddywolf.tumblr.com/post/159884297303/eleven-years-of-friendship-and-i-still-dont
But yeah, if you guys want more of this AU just let me know! It’s fun to write ;) :3