he had a way out

[ okay but you know what i want you to imagine ??

i want you to imagine veronica capturing kiran, making it look like he disappeared just like zacharias did, b/c she knows that’ll hurt more then just outright killing him and also she probs wants to get him to use his summoning for her. now

imagine kiran becoming her first friend. imagine kiran understanding her loneliness b/c he was too until he met the others. imagine him helping her see the good in working with the heroes instead of simply controlling them. imagine even after all veronica’s done, kiran still being nice to her, b/c he feels that he could’ve turned out the same way as she did had things been different— if everyone hadn’t been so kind to him, ( after all he could’ve easily sided w/ her instead of askr )

imagine him returning w/ veronica w/ him and helping bring the kingdoms back together again. imagine him helping alfonse and sharena and anna and veronica all get along, and being so infinitely patient w/ all their shit.

i just want you to imagine this not ending w/ one big fight that ends in a tear filled confession and instead just kiran being kiran instead of the great hero ]


When technically you’re the chill friend but your best friend for whatever reason refuses to accept the happiness he deserves smh

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3x02 Clarke is just like…Peak Clarke:

plays dead
tries to garrote man 2x her size
screams when asked to be quiet
is petty
stabs a man in the chest
gets in roans head
is generally a Huge Pain in the ass
gives no fucks
cries about bellamy #relatable
begs for bellamys life


Finally drew a new blog header for myself! ^ ^ Everyone is happy and no one is dead, yes? ;D


“The peace sign was something that ran with Abraham and Sasha, throughout the whole series. It was this sort of unspoken, this very loaded peace sign. We had to find a way for Abraham to connect with Sasha, for him to say goodbye, specifically to Sasha, because we had already established in the finale of last year that eye contact was not broken, but you saw Abraham’s point of view when he got hit by the bat, he got knocked down, he came back up. We could add dialogue, because we didn’t know if he was talking or not, with the ‘suck my nuts’ line, but there was no way for him to literally turn away and address, any way, even kind of nod, and nothing to Sonequa [Martin-Green], because we’d already filmed that. So going back into it, we had to figure out a way that he could basically tell Sasha that everything was gonna be okay, and to say goodbye.” - Michael Cudlitz on Abraham showing peace sign right before his death

i’m rereading philosopher’s stone and chamber of secrets and i’m more and more convinced that lupin was, if not the first character jo came up with (i’m pretty sure she came up with harry first), definitely an integral part of the narrative from the beginning. maybe remus as a character was an idea she had floating around even before she came up with harry, which she then decided to stick in harry’s universe because she was so fond of him. i know i’ve mentioned the wonderful irony of a dark creature teaching defense against the dark arts before, and jo said she wrote prisoner of azkaban in a huge rush, she just went tearing through it and it was fantastically easy to write because all the plot elements were there and it was just a matter of piecing it together.

but yeah, i think that lupin was one of the earliest characters jo made up. just look at the way she’s built up the concept of werewolves in the potter universe (and even the idea of interchangeable DADA professors) before lupin’s official introduction:

philosopher’s stone:

  • at one point, harry and ron look up ways of treating werewolf bites in quirrel’s defense class. this is just a passing mention, no details in the text itself, though they must have learned how painful the bites are, how hard they are to cure, how you have to apply silver and dittany to the wound and how most bitten wizards literally beg for death. (also, slightly related: harry is writing down the definition for dittany a few chapters later, while studying for his exams.)
  • malfoy straight up refuses to go into the forbidden forest during detention for fear of werewolves. harry hangs onto draco’s words (but doesn’t he always??), and once they find the dead unicorn, his mind jumps to a potential werewolf attack. THEN, when they first hear quirrel skulking around, harry asks hagrid if this new, unknown thing is a werewolf. the boy is plainly petrified.
  • another tiny mention: hermione mentions the werewolf code of conduct not coming up on their exams, which means that they definitely learned about the whole issue of werewolves not wanting to be documented for fear of admitting their lycanthropy on record. i’m sad.

chamber of secrets:

  • gilderoy lockhart’s wandering with werewolves continually comes up, from justin finch-fletchley recounting how lockhart supposedly survived getting trapped in a telephone booth with a werewolf (?) to lockhart actually making harry act out the part of the werewolf in front of the whole class, which is interesting because
  • lockhart obviously wants to play himself and so the part of the werewolf goes to harry, but it’s notable that of all the reenactments lockhart had harry do, the one that gets its own scene with dialogue and all (lockhart making harry howl, oh man) is the werewolf one.
  • “Nice loud howl, Harry—exactly—and then, if you’ll believe it, I pounced—like this—slammed him to the floor—thus—with one hand, I managed to hold him down—with my other, I put my wand to his throat—I then screwed up my remaining strength and performed the immensely complex Homorphus Charm—he let out a piteous moan—go on, Harry—higher than that—good—the fur vanished—the fangs shrank—and he turned back into a man. Simple, yet effective—and another village will remember me forever as the hero who delivered them from the monthly terror of werewolf attacks.” 
  • i mean, just look at lockhart’s dialogue here. he makes harry howl (which is, admittedly, hilarious), then has him make this inhuman, wailing moan while he’s got his wand to harry’s throat. lockhart’s body language, his words, his obvious display of power all indicate his, and all of wizarding society’s, prejudice against werewolves. he sees them as creatures to be overpowered and subdued, even though they are in effect humans 97% of the time. lockhart has a whole book on this, and he’s so popular and influential at this point that anybody who’s anybody is adopting his viewpoints.
  • (please imagine remus lupin standing in flourish and blotts, reading wandering with werewolves with mingled curiosity and disgust.)
  • another aside: “No one wants to read about some ugly old Armenian warlock, even if he did save a village from werewolves. He’d look dreadful on the front cover. No dress sense at all.” how the fuck did the original guy do it??? is the homorphus charm actually real????!!! i doubt it, i bet this guy actually straight up killed a werewolf, saved the village, and then gilderoy adapted his story to make it a little more reader-friendly. there’s no way that charm exists, full stop.

and then, finally, in prisoner of azkaban, we meet a real werewolf, but we don’t know this (or at least, we’re not supposed to know) until the climax. remus is level-headed, articulate, dependable, funny, and a bit mischievous–I think about dumbledore’s comment at the end of CoS, “And I must draft an advertisement for the Daily Prophet, too…we’ll be needing a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher…Dear me, we do seem to run through them, don’t we?” imagine harry and co.’s sense of immense relief when they finally, finally get a decent DADA professor. i mean, they had a stuttering wreck who turned out to have voldemort growing out of his skull, and then a self-absorbed fraud who tried to memory-wipe two of his students and then abandon another student to a literal basilisk. remus not only knows his shit but he’s so decent, so endearing. and he’s a werewolf. 

i really love how jo built it up, and then people’s subsequent reactions. hermione jumping to conclusions about remus and sirius working together, and immediately going, “it’s because he’s a werewolf; he can’t be trusted,” and then immediately outing him; ron’s “get away from me, werewolf!” comment; snape’s extremely prejudiced jabs at remus when he shows up– “don’t ask me to fathom the way a werewolf’s mind works,” “i’ll drag the werewolf”…while, throughout poa, we are shown that remus is everything but the savage, inhuman, animalistic image of the werewolf which jo subtly introduces throughout the early books. 

Headcanon that James Potter DIDN'T ask Lily Evans out 50000000000000 times a day.

Because his parents raised him better than that. He may have been arrogant, but he wasn’t stupid.

His parents raised him to always treat ladies with respect. They taught him that no means no.

Headcanon that when James asked Lily out during Snape’s Worst Memory, that was the ONLY time he ever asked her out.

Headcanon that he only did it because Sirius made him.

Headcanon that after she said no, James backed off because if they were meant to be together, it would happen eventually.

Headcanon that when he and Lily finally started dating it was because LILY made the first move.

I am so sick and tired of this “James relentlessly pursued Lily for years” bullshit.

I mean, COME ON! Do you honestly think that Lily fucking Evans (who was most definitely a feminist) would’ve really agreed to go out with James if he had treated her that way (even if he did mature)

I’m not trying to say that James wasn’t an arrogant douche (because he definitely was), but stop making him out as some creepy stalker who treated Lily as some prize to be won rather than a human being.


Even though he had Cas back from purgatory, Dean still had the occasional nightmare. He was used to the usual nightmares about the random pieces of shit they ganked every other week, but these nightmares were different. He had spent a whole year looking for Cas even though he had a way out of that awful place. The things he experienced while searching for his angel were not easily forgotten.

It pained both Sam and Cas to see Dean wake up in the middle of the night, sweating bullets, with a need to physically touch Cas in some way - a need to make sure this Cas is real, home.

When it happens for a fourth night in a row, Cas enters Dean’s room. He crawls into the bed and wraps his arms around a thrashing Dean. He whispers, over and over, against the back of Dean’s neck, “Hey, I’m with you, okay? Always.”

Dean finally startles awake and turns quickly to face Cas. His breathing is heavy, sweat is making his hair stick to his forehead, and his voice is the most uncertain Cas has ever heard it, “Cas?” Dean swallows and reaches a hand up to caress Cas’ cheekbone, “Is it really you? Are you really here?”

Cas smiles as he presses a light kiss on Dean’s hair-matted forehead, “I said always, didn’t I?”


I’m sorry, Dean. I really am — I never wanted to hurt you or anyone. But I swear, even if the word ‘family’ didn’t mean the same thing to me as it did to you way back then… you made growing up in the place we did a little easier. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there, okay? You kept me sane sometimes. You were my only constant friend. 

You’ve gotta know, my heaven wouldn’t have been right without you there. 

Why do you think we share one?

Punkcup (<3) belongs to @oh–you–pretty–things

forgive me for I have sinned

now to go dig myself a grave of shame


“i’m  r u i n e d  over you.”


downworlder appreciation week.
day five / favorite downworlder line: “i’m not being cryptic, i’m being coy.”

REQUESTED: “Credence has a praise/attention kink, like to start off with it’s just him needing it but after a while he discovers it stirs something in him(?) You can go wherever you want to go with this!“

Warnings: Unprotected sex (wrap up, everybody)

Word Count: 1,554

A/N: I went smutty.

Credence did not know that things would turn out this way. He had been starved for positivity and love, and Newt and his friends—especially you—had given him those things when he had most needed them. And the thing was, he still needed them, the praise and the kind words; it gave him bursts of confidence and feelings of self-worth to hear you tell him that he did a good job or that he was such a good boy. However, he had begun noticing that hearing you say things like that also did…other things to him. His breaths would come out in little puffs and the tell-tale tightening of his pants would send a furious flush to his cheeks, and he had no idea how to tell you this.

Things, however, reached their climax on one fateful Friday night when Credence, who was more confident now but just as reserved, had declined an invitation to go out with Newt and his friends for a well-deserved break. What he hadn’t realized was that you had also decided to stay in for the evening in favor of some silence and calm. So, hiding his surprise when you emerged from the kitchen and asked for some help with dinner, he got up from the couch to assist you.

You had asked him to reach the spices in the top cupboard for you and add what he wanted into the broth you had cooking, and really, it wasn’t hard a hard task. You were still happy he was helping though, and you were used to giving him compliments now—you loved seeing him share a small smile with you and blush—so you did what you always did. Only, this time it was too much for Credence.

You had tasted the broth from the spoon Credence had held out to you gently, cupping your hand underneath. Maybe this was what had him so off-guard for the compliment, because he was so busy noticing how beautiful you were smiling at him as you swallowed the liquid, which had him gulping at the sight of you. Regardless, you reached around to place a soft hand on the small of his back, gazing up at him with a warm glow in your eyes, and said, “This tastes great!! Better than what I would have put together. You’re just so good, Credence.”

Normally, he would have blushed and said thank you and turned away to hide exactly how much those words affected him, but somehow the “Thank you” got caught in his throat and a whimpering moan came out instead. His cheeks warmed, and he shuddered, turning away as he heard you click off the stove top. He couldn’t look you in the eyes because of all the shame he felt trapped in him until you had reached up gentle hands to cradle his face and turned him to look at you. “Credence?”

He finally dared meet your eyes and was shocked to find…curiosity, and maybe some hunger in there, if he could properly place what that look was. “Yes, Y/N?” Oh, that soft, rasping voice had always been too much for you even though you kept your distance, but you hadn’t realized your want for him had been mutual. And to see him now, trying to angle his hips away to hide his hardening… You couldn’t even speak, could only look up at him questioningly. “When you…tell me that I’m…good… It makes me…” He couldn’t finish his sentence; it was too shameful.

What you did next shocked him. Slowly, you brought a hand to his hip, turning him toward you and pulling him by a belt loop against you. He shuddered violently and couldn’t help the way his body curved in toward yours. You angled your face up toward his, letting your lips graze just slightly as you said, “You like it when I tell you that you’re my good boy?”

At your words, something woke up in him that he hadn’t realized had been so dormant until now. He breathed out a harsh and raspy “Yes” as he leaned down to catch your lips before they could pull away. He didn’t really know what he was doing, but the hum you released against his mouth seemed to tell him that he was doing it right. So he kept kissing you and brought a tentative hand to your neck, gasping when you reached up to curl his fingers more securely there. You kissed like this for a while, dragging lips and aching breaths, before you placed your hand against his now fully erect member, eliciting a shuddering gasp from him. “Please” was all he could manage to say as you pushed him back to living room and onto the couch before straddling him.

“Does my precious boy need me to touch him?” You hardly recognized yourself, but the way his eyes were screwed shut and the way his hands scrambled to hold onto anything affected you in the most arousing of ways. So you kept going. “You sound so good for me like this, Credence.” You were teasingly dragging your lips across his neck, savoring his breathy noises.

He let out a whining moan that had you rolling your hips onto him and gasping at the feel of him against your clothed center and had him throwing his head back, revealing the long, white column of his throat so that you could press sloppy kisses there. “Y/N…” Your name escaped him in a breathy prayer that had you whimpering against him.

“You feel so good, baby, so, so good. You’re all I can think about, Credence. You’re all I’ve been thinking about…” He let out a loud, drawn out groan as he bucked his hips up against you, pulling one of your own moans from your throat at the feel of him. You couldn’t undress fast enough before gently pulling his pants down, asking him if it was okay and nearly exploding at the desire in his eyes as he nodded desperately at you.

You positioned him carefully against your entrance as you slowly lowered onto him, never looking away from his face, taking in every twitch and gasp he released. His eyes were still screwed shut as he gasped “Please” one more time before you were rolling your hips again. The pleasure was intoxicating, and the feel of him inside of you was incredible; but his face was what had you completely wrecked. His head was still thrown back, showcasing his long neck now covered with love bites, hands fisted against the couch, mouth hanging open helplessly. “You feel so good inside of me, Credence. Does this feel good?”

Another twist of your hips had him moaning and nodding as he pressed his face sideways into the couch. One of your hands brought his to your hip, which caused him to snap his eyes open at the contact. He couldn’t take his eyes off the way his scarred hand looked holding onto you. Your other hand came to rest on his face, bringing his eyes up to yours, as you continued to ride him and capture each of his moans in open-mouthed kisses.

You could feel him start to twitch inside of you and knew he was close, even as you were taking in every one of his pants and pressing kisses to every inch of him you could reach. You knew the push he needed as you leaned in and moved his face to look at you—“Are you going to be a good boy and cum for me?”

You watched his eyes roll back before he shuddered, closing his eyes and releasing without warning. The look on his face tipped you over, the swollen red lips, the way his mouth hung open, the moan that so desperately filled the room… So you joined him, orgasm hitting you hard and fast. You both clung to one another, shaking from the force of it, and panted quietly for a few minutes as you waited for your heartbeats to calm down.

When you managed to pull away, you could have sworn Credence’s eyes were glowing white, holding something delicate inside, thinking and alive and…aware. He was always so very aware of everything. “Did you…mean it?”

You furrowed your eyebrows and placed a soft kiss to his eyebrow. “That I’ve always thought of you like this?” You traced a finger down the slope of his face, transfixed with the way his eyes fluttered shut, as he nodded. “Of course I meant it, Credence.”

His answering smile was blinding, an expression you weren’t used to seeing but were absolutely delighted to have been shown, and when his eyes opened, you felt your breath leave you at how bright they were, and how intelligent. “I like being good for you,” he felt himself whisper and blushed deeply, thinking that his filter must have been weaker after such intimacy.

You couldn’t help but smile devilishly back at him, placing a kiss to the corner of his mouth before saying, “I like how good you are for me.”

At that, he blushed scarlet, he knew it, but he also knew that you meant it, and that you cared deeply for him. And he couldn’t help but wonder how much better he could get for you.


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People say Qrow’s a bad paternal figure? I gotta ask ‘how’?

Sure he’s a drunkard, an asshole and kind of all-round dick (given his upbringing he probably used to be a lot worse as a kid), but whenever he’s in front of the kids; you never see the flask; you never get a rude comment (bluntness isn’t rudeness), and he’s got a proven record of looking after and protecting the kids. He is a completely different person around Ruby and Yang, encouraging them both in his own way.

The ONE time he had a flask out in front of the kids that we’re aware of, was the last episode of V3. Sure, drinking then and there wasn’t appropriate, but given Beacon just fell and it was going to be a difficult as shit conversation with Ruby? You can’t blame him for sneaking a quick nip.

anonymous asked:

Klance, galra rescue, if that's okay with you??

If Keith doesn’t cradle carry an injured Lance at least once during the series then what even is the point

Hope you enjoy!

           Lance closed his eyes, breathing slowly through his nose, concentrating on the faint sound of the footsteps, just audible through the reinforced prison door. One two, two two, three two, four two, five two, and they drew even with the door. Six two, seven two, eight two, nine two, ten two, eleven two, twelve two, thirteen two, fourteen two, fifteen two, and they reached the end of the hall. Perfectly consistent, every single time. It would be 600 seconds before another soldier passed by his door. He turned away from the door and slid his butt back towards his feet, which were the real problem. He’d figured out everything except his feet. He had a way to get the door open, he knew the routines of the guards well enough to circumvent them, and he had been on enough Galra ships at this point that he knew how to find the emergency escape pods. He just had to pray they were close enough to a planet where he could land and hide until he could get a message to the castle. His feet, however, were still posing a problem.

           The Galra had cuffed them together as soon as they’d stripped off his armor, and as soon as they’d brought him to a cell, they had locked the cuffs against the floor. Since then, Lance hadn’t moved from this spot. At least they gave him a bucket they emptied fairly regularly. He wondered morbidly if he ought to be flattered, in a way, that his interrogators came to him. Did they really think he posed such a threat that it was too dangerous to even move him from one part of the ship to another? Still, it was conundrum for Lance: they weren’t cuffs like anything he had ever seen, made of shimmering purple light and yet somehow solid. If he had to guess, it was probably some kind of druid magic mixed with technology.

           He massaged his bare feet absently while he thought. They had gotten swollen and sore from being still for so long, and had developed a habit of falling asleep all the time, waking Lance up with painful pins and needles. His best solution at the moment was to fake some sort of collapse, since he was reasonably certain he was still valuable enough to the Galra to be taken to a medical facility – but every time he thought of inviting needles and scalpels and god knew what else near him, a vision of Shiro’s metal arm flashed before him like a specter and made him set the idea aside with a shudder.

           A sudden impact against the ship threw him sideways, his elbow smacking painfully against the floor. As he pushed himself back to a sitting position, the ship shuddered again, and he thought he could make out the distant sound of blaster cannons firing. He strained his ears, hardly daring to hope—

           The door of his cell flew open with a bang, the crumpling, sparking form of a broken guard drone tumbling after it. Keith stood in the doorway, breathing hard. His sword retracted into the bayard handle, flashing back to his waist, and he rushed forward.

           “Lance!” he cried.

           “Keith!” Lance gasped, finally overcoming his surprise, only to be knocked speechless again as Keith dropped down and caught Lance in a tight hug.

           “Guys, I found him. He’s alive,” Keith said into his helmet. Right next to his head as he was, Lance could faintly hear the tinny sounds of the cheers of his teammates. “Lance, are you okay? Are you hurt?”

           “N-nothing a night of sleep in my own bed and a good face mask can’t cure,” he stuttered, bringing his arms up to return Keith’s hug. “Did everyone else make it off Uveer okay?”

           “Yeah, we’re all fine,” Keith said, and Lance could’ve sworn his voice cracked just slightly. “Even Blue’s back safe and sound in the castle, waiting for you.” He pulled out of the hug and grabbed Lance’s hand. “Can you walk? Come on, let’s get out of here.” He pulled, snagging Lance’s feet against the cuffs.

           “Keith, wait— I can’t,” he said, pointing at his feet. Keith looked down, noticing the problem for the first time, and drew his bayard. “Wait NO—” Lance shrieked as Keith brought his sword down. It bounced off the cuffs, which sent an arc of lightning up Lance’s body. He screamed and collapsed to the floor.

           “Lance?” Keith asked, dropping back to his knees, sliding his hands under Lance’s head and back and lifting him up. “Lance, are you okay?”

           “Every time you try to break them, they do that,” Lance panted, muscles still limp. “I have no idea how to get them off.” Keith frowned.

           “Guys, can anyone else make it into the ship?” he asked his helmet, and paused. “We need to find the key for Lance’s cuffs, I can’t break them,” he explained. After a moment, he cussed, glancing between Lance and the open door of the cell, where red emergency lights washed the whole ship in the color of blood. He gently lay Lance back on the floor and stood. Lance struggled back to a sitting position. “I’m going to go find a key. I will be right back, I promise,” Keith said. Lance stared up at him, feeling hope slip away, despair settling back into his limbs like lethargy. Keith must have read it in his face, because he crouched down briefly and brushed Lance’s cheek with his fingertips. “Lance,” he said, his voice low and soft and rough. “Look at me. I’m getting you out of this cell and off this ship. I promise you won’t spend another hour here. I promise.” Their eyes met, and Lance felt a tear slide down his cheek. He nodded slowly. Keith hesitated, and then pulled off his helmet and settled it over Lance’s head. “Say hello to everyone else in the meanwhile,” he told him. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Lance nodded one last time, and Keith disappeared out the door.

           “Hey guys,” he said, his voice shaky, and was greeted by a chorus of his name. He felt a smile spread slowly across his face. “Yeah, it’s good to hear your voices too,” he said. “Everyone doing alright? Hunk? You holding up out there? Hopping Voltron around on only one leg?”

           “Yeah, we look pretty silly without you,” Hunk said. His voice, so warm and familiar, seemed to fill Lance with a sense of security he hadn’t felt in weeks.

           “Just hold on, Lance, Keith will be back any minute,” Shiro said. “He’s been on a warpath to find you ever since you didn’t make the rendezvous on Uveer.”

           “Really? Keith?” Lance wondered. There was no reason to doubt Shiro’s words, and yet Lance had figured Keith would be the one advocating they leave him behind. He closed his eyes, seeing the intense sincerity in Keith’s face as he promised he would be back, and something fond stirred in his heart.

           “Yeah, he—” Pidge’s words were cut short as the helmet was ripped from Lance’s head. He froze at the feeling of a blaster pressed against his temple. The Galra soldier standing above him pulled the helmet onto his own head.

           “Stop attacking, or your friend dies,” he said. Lance’s breath came shallowly. The blaster was cold, barely an inch from his eyes. “Now,” the Galra insisted. Abruptly, the ship stopped shuddering, and the distant sound of the blaster cannons went quiet. “Abandon your lions, return to your ship, and we will send your friend to join you.” Lance was afraid to blink, afraid to move, his heart thudding painfully against his chest. He flinched at the sound of his name.

           “Lance!” Keith shouted. “I found the—” He skidded to a halt in the doorway, taking in the scene. Lance stared at him wide-eyed, willing him to escape, to turn and run, to take Voltron and go because he wasn’t worth this, he wasn’t worth losing Voltron and he certainly wasn’t worth getting another Paladin killed. The Galra said nothing, only pressed the blaster closer against Lance’s head.

           “Get away from him,” Keith growled, low and dark.

           “Put the bayard down or he dies,” the Galra said.

           “If you harm a hair on his head, I swear,” Keith said, something dark and ugly and murderous in his tone that Lance had never heard before, “I swear I will kill every last Galra on this ship with my own two hands.”

           “Put it down.” Keith didn’t break eye contact with the soldier as he slowly bent and set the sword down. Lance shivered at the look on his face. He had never seen so much rage in Keith’s eyes before. “Good,” the soldier said, and Lance noticed he was a little breathless. He’s afraid, he realized. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. “Now, uh, put your hands up and, um, walk over to the wall.” Keith didn’t move, still glaring at the soldier. Lance, heart thudding so loudly he could barely hear, made a very stupid decision.

           As fast as he could, he reached up, grabbed the blaster, and pulled it away from his head. The Galra pulled the trigger in panic. Luckily, it missed Lance’s head. Unluckily, it managed to clip the edges of his cuffs, sending the worst arc of electricity he’d felt yet screeching through his body. It knocked him backward with such force that he took the soldier with him and the blaster went skittering across the floor. He struggled to breathe, his chest tight and his heart stuttering arhythmically. Keith was already on top of them, dragging the soldier away from Lance. Lance couldn’t turn his head to see what was happening, but the sickening sound of rending flesh and the soldier’s garbled, gurgled scream made him decide he didn’t want to. Moments later, Keith was kneeling over him, his helmet back on his own head, unlocking Lance’s cuffs. Lance twitched his feet, sighing in relief.

           “I told you I’d be back,” Keith said, smiling softly. “Are you okay?” Lance managed a nod.

           “Just a little… just a little out of breath,” he said. Keith gently pulled Lance’s arm up around his neck, and tucked his arms under Lance’s knees and back.

           “Let’s go,” he said. “Healing pod first, then face mask, okay?” There was something infinitely soft in the way he said it, and Lance felt some of the tightness in his chest ease.

           “Sounds good,” he murmured.

[I am no longer accepting prompts, just completing the ones in my inbox]