taylor-tut  asked:

Maybe Klance and #4? :O

4-awkward kiss. Also AAAAAAH! I can’t believe that you sent me a prompt! I’m so flattered! Okay fangirling over. This is my first time writing for Voltron, so I hope that it turned out okay!

It was supposed to be an easy mission. So naturally, everything went to hell.

They lost contact with Lance seven minutes ago, and Keith started panicking approximately six minutes ago. Only Shiro’s soothing reassurances that Lance is probably fine, just lost his helmet or his communicator is busted, are keeping Keith in check.

Moving swiftly, they approach the door to the room where Lance had said he was last time they had heard from him. The metal crumples like paper when Shiro punches it with his prosthetic arm; Keith hurriedly shoves the wreckage aside and enters.

His heart almost stops when he sees what’s inside: one of the Galra soldiers is standing over a battered and bruised Lance, his hands around Lance’s throat, squeezing tight. Absently, Keith notes that Lance’s helmet is lying near the entrance of the room as he rushes over to Lance’s side. That’s not important right now.

He viciously yanks the Galra soldier off of Lance and he’s about to beat him into a bloody pulp when Shiro joins him, putting a hand on his arm. “I’ll deal with him,” Shiro says urgently, squaring himself for a fight. “You help Lance.”

Keith nods blankly, kneeling carefully beside Lance’s prone form. He barely registers the sounds of battle around him as he checks Lance’s vitals. He finds Lance’s pulse-it’s a bit weak and fast, but it’s there. He’s about to breathe a sigh of relief and start patching Lance up when he realizes that Lance. Isn’t. Breathing.

Somehow he manages to avoid completely panicking and losing it and dredges up his memories of learning CPR at the garrison. Numbly, he does the required number of compressions, pressing down hard over Lance’s heart, before pressing his lips over the blue pallidin’s, trying to force the air back into his lungs.

After several rounds, Keith is starting to lose hope, when Lance suddenly stirs, jerking upright and smashing their lips together in a very awkward kiss. He groans and blinks blearily, coughing as he pulls away. “Were you trying to bring me back to life by kissing me?”

Keith flushes bright red and sputters angrily. “I was doing CPR, which you would know if you ever paid attention at the garrison!” He abruptly cuts himself off when he realizes that he’s shouting. “Sorry,” he mutters sheepishly.

“S'okay,” Lance reassures him, attempting his usual shit-eating grin. He’s still a little pale and shaky, but he’s breathing, at least. “Does this count as another bonding moment?”


anonymous asked:

Bellarke police/spy/fugitives? If you prefer canon though, Clarke gets sick and Bellamy looks after her (those tropes are endlessly satisfying hahah).

I have no knowledge of anything in that area so probs wouldn’t be able to do it justice

Let’s go with Clarke gets sick (it’ll take place after 4x12) sorry it’s crappy, short and took so long!!

She knew there was a possibility that the nightblood solution wouldn’t work, yet in the heat of the moment she took her helmet off anyway. It was the least she could do really after nearly testing the solution on Emori, and maybe this would fix the remaining conflict between her and Murphy - or maybe not.

To say Bellamy was angry at Clarke was an understatement, however, he didn’t let her know this; particularly when she fell ill.

Keep reading

"Death Is Knockin' On The Coffin"

Darkness. Darkness was what he was greeted with, once he opened his dirt-crusted eyes. There wasn’t a single sound to be heard in the cramped box he was held within. Other than his, now increasing, pants. Panic crawled its way up his throat. The darkness…. The silence….. It was too much….

“S-SOMEONE PLEASE HELP ME!” He wailed into the shadows of his coffin. “PLEASE!!! HELP ME!” He cried, hoping against hope that someone would hear him. He knew in the back of his mind that no one would heard him. Six feet underground. Soon, his paranoia pushed him into desperately clawing at the flimsy planks above him. Of course, if the planks had actually given way to his futile attempts, he would have been crushed under the dirt now covering his grave. But his terrified mind could only focus on the fresh air that awaits above.

To say he regretted breaking into his neighbor’s house was an understatement. As the oxygen thinned. He calmed slightly. Honestly believing that he deserved this. He did deserve it, in a way. His labored breathing transitioned into soft cries. He wailed until his throat burned from the lack of oxygen in his deathbed. As his breath shallowed, and his heartbeat increased further. He could only think of his own twisted past…. Thinking of all the things that went wrong…. Thinking of all the times that he just barely got away from dangerous situations alive…. Looks like he wasn’t so lucky this time around.

His mind was becoming cloudy. Thoughts were drifting off into the void of nothingness he tried so desperately to find off during his waking hours before this fateful day. He started mumbling under his breath. About all the things he would do differently if he somehow survived this. He mumbled apologies and prayers. “Thank you’s” as well as occasional “f*** you’s.” Most of which were directed at his neighbor. For chasing him, for trapping him, and ultimately, for killing him.

Finally, just as his broken mind, and body were about to drift into eternal slumber. He heard a sound come from above. Then another, and another. Something was scraping at the dirt above his body. He wondered for a moment if the sounds were those of his demons. Coming the drag him into hell. The sounds increased in volume, signalling that whatever was making the noises was getting closer. He paid no attention to them. Content to just ponder that void in the back of his mind. Suddenly, a flicker of light shown through the darkness.

For the first time in years. Hope flared through his chest. Someone had found him! He weakly pushed at the planks keeping the rest of the dirt at bay. “Please…” he murmured softly. “Please, hurry…” His adrenaline long since ran dry after he had awoken to this nightmare, leaving him exhausted and weak. The light was pouring through the cracks between the wood now. He could taste the fresh air. The coffin lid was soon pried off, and that wonderful, wonderful oxygen filled his lungs once more. He leaned up, and pressed his face against his palms. With his eyes still shut, he took several deep breaths. Praising whatever gods were out there for this miracle.

Once his breathing even out, with his eyes still fully shut. He thanked his rescuer. He thanked them over and over, until his raspy “thank you’s” turned into choked sobs. He told them everything. He told them about the first day he moved in. He told them about his creepy neighbor that spied on him as he got out of his car that day. He told them about the scream he thought he heard coming from that house later that night. He rattled on and on about this neighbor that hunted him down with cameras and bear traps, the neighbor that finally decided enough was enough and buried him alive. He told them how he should’ve just left his neighbor alone. He told them how he was sorry he ever ventured into that house uninvited.

Finally, once his sobs lessened into quiet whispering. He briefly felt arms wrap around his back and under his legs. He felt light as a feather. Someone was carrying him somewhere. He couldn’t open his eyes to see where they were going. He could only hear deep breathing from his rescuer’s chest, as well as their heartbeat. These noises, accompanied by crickets and wind-rustled leaves, finally lulled him to sleep.

Bright sunshine greeted his tired, swollen eyes this time. He sharply sat up, wincing, as his back argued with that action. His eyes darted around what appeared to be his room. He thought back to the coffin. To the darkness an that void of despair. He had briefly wondered if it was just some horrible, horrible nightmare from his lack of sleep. But once he looked down at his bruised and blood covered hands. He realized that it wasn’t a dream. It had actually happened. He let out a soft sob. Once more thanking anyone and everyone for his life being spared.


As he packed the last of his things onto his small, yellow car. He cast one last look towards his soon-to-be ex-neighbor’s logic-defying house. He took one long last look at it. Thinking about all the times he had broken into it. Thinking of how far he managed to get despite all the odds stacked against him. How close he got to the basement. He seriously considered writing some kind of apology note. Maybe coming up with some sort of excuse for breaking-and-entering. But, he thought that since the neighbor had literally buried him alive, he could pass on the apology and just call it even.

He wished he could’ve seen who his rescuer was.