is that bad por you

[Voltron]: a little solace and peace

sooooooo……first voltron fic?

for @longhairpidge bc she’s recently been enchanted with plance and she cheered me up yesterday when i was feeling crummy. so here’s hoping that the rest of your day starts looking up :)

Link to Archive of Our Own: [AO3]

Title: a little solace and peace
Pairings: Place (Pidge x Lance)
Summary: Pidge knows what it’s like to lose most of what you call yours and find yourself flung into space to fight a war she might not win. It’s not the time to want things that are silly and wish for things that won’t happen. But Lance knows that she deserves it.


a little solace and peace


Pidge cut her hair for Matt.

Sweeping her hair into the trash can, stealing Matt’s old frames, and becoming Pidge Gunderson was a manifesto to herself — a single-minded promise to bring her family back to her no matter the distraction, no matter the cost to her, no matter how long it took. If she ever lost sight of that promise, all she ever needed to do was look in the mirror, squint her eyes, let the edges of her reflection blur and soften, and wait until she saw Matt staring back at her, telling her not to give up.

So perhaps, on the outside looking in, it does seem rather ridiculous for her to be tearing her room apart, looking for a knife or some scissors to take to her hair after looking in the mirror that morning and seeing Katie — Katie who was letting her hair grow out too long, Katie who needed to remember Matt, Katie who made a promise — but this is all she has of him anymore. A worn photograph and his blurred face staring back at her in the reflection of her paladin helmet.

When she finds nothing, Pidge heads to Lance’s room because if there’s anyone who cares more about what stares back at them in the mirror every morning, it’s him.

He’s wiping off the last bits of his facemask with a towel when she opens the door, and he barely has time to ruffle her hair and spit out a dorky greeting before the words are flying out of her mouth, “I need to borrow a pair of scissors.”

Lance blinks at the volume and speed of her words, but looks back into his room — covered in facial products, old Altean lounge clothes he’s repurposed into robes and pajamas, gifts inhabitants from other planets have given him over the past year — and says, “I’m pretty sure I have some around here somewhere. Why, what do you need them for?”

Pidge swallows. “I just need them. Just for five minutes.”

Lance merely shrugs — it’s not the first time Pidge has asked her teammates for weird things to aid in whatever pet project is keeping her distracted that day — and invites her in, letting her sit on his unmade bed while he rummages around his drawers and produces a small pair of scissors that don’t look very sharp but will probably do the job just fine.

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