#dancer lance
Text
Keith presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and exhales deeply. He lets all the air trickle out of his lungs until his chest feels concave, until spots dance behind his closed eyelids, until his lips start to go numb. Then he lets go and lets the air get sucked back into him like a vacuum.
“One more try,” he whispers to himself, conscious of Lance sleeping — finally — beside him. “One, and then we move on.”
He swipes the touchpad on his computer to wake it back up, dragging the blinking curser over the rarely-used blue ‘10’ under the Google logo. The page loads, and loads, and loads, and finally spits out the next few results.
Most of them he’s already seen before. Dozens of times. BARGAIN BALLET TICKET SUBSCRIPTION, reads one link, CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF YOUR FIRST MONTH. Another reads, Rush Ticket Prices — Buy Now!
He’s been there. Clicked that. Priced it out. Looked at the worst possible, next-to-the-washrooms, garbage seats. Nothing. Not a single ticket within their limited budget — or even close to it.
Completely out of the realm of possibility even if they hadn’t agreed on a price limit for their Christmas gifts.
He keeps scrolling down a few pages that all advertise the same thing — a disgustingly costly subscription here, bargain-but-not-really tickets there, more scammy resell ads than one would believe possible. Even, notably, a still-active link from 1997 that Keith peruses for clicks and does not actually count towards his one-more-try limit. (It even tries to accept his Paypal, which is crazy and means that someone updated the site to accept modern payment for a show that is no longer running. Keith is so amused by the pure audacity that he has to fight the urge to buy one. Wild thing, ADHD.)
Just as he’s about to give up and buy his boyfriend yet another plant this year, a link catches his attention. It’s the very last result on page 13, with no description, no punctuation, hell, hardly even a sentence of text. Nutcracker ticket sales, it reads, for a website called ‘FeuillesBrillantAcademie.org’.
Keith shrugs. Might as well. Not like anything else has been promising.
He clicks the link and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The ugliest website he’s ever seen literally assaults his eyes — a bright blue and a neon purple, clashing in the worst possible way. It takes at least four solid seconds for his eyes to unblur enough to recognise the screen in front of him as having words rather than a solid wall of Bright And Bad. Even then, he has to squint, glasses practically touching his eyeballs.
Feuilles Brillant Academy is pleased to present the final performance of the hard-working dancers this season, is what he can finally make out. The show begins at 7 p.m. on December 23rd, tickets for $20 per person. In-person payment not accepted. Please pay via e-transfer using the link below. Call out administrative office if there are any difficulties.
Keith stares at the page for as long as his eyes can handle, then he looks up at the ceiling. (Where, he may add, he can still see the screen perfectly, because the damn thing has been burnt onto his retinae. He will never mock Matt for his web design degree again. Well, probably.)
This seems…too good to be true.
It’s outrageously cheap, for one. Keith has been looking for literal days and the cheapest he’s managed to find is $50 per person, for bad rush tickets. $20 is bonkers. For two, this is a perfect time, and nearby, as well. And there are still tickets left. Somehow.
Something is amiss.
Keith’s first thought is that it’s a prank page. But the page is buried so deeply — page thirteen of Google. The hidden archives, basically. If this is someone’s prank, it’s garbage. His second thought is that the link is a virus, which, while possible, is still kind of unlikely for the same reasons. Why on Earth would someone post something nefarious so obscurely? It doesn’t make sense. This might be one of those rare times when something isn’t too good to be true, it’s just good.
Then again. Keith just got his laptop back from the last time he fucked around and well and truly Found Out.
Time to get a second opinion.
Despite the disgustingly late hour, the phone picks up on the second ring.
“Hey, stinky,” says Pidge. Keith can hear the smile in her voice as clearly as the explosions and gunfire of Call of Duty in the background.
“Asshole.”
“Turd for brains.”
“Skidmark.”
“Rotting splatter of parking lot vomit at three in the afternoon in Arizona during high summer.”
“…Pidge, that’s disgusting.”
She snickers. “I win.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Keith freezes as Lance stirs next to him, curling his arm around Keith’s bent leg and muttering something in Spanish too fast for him to understand. Keith smiles, tucking a stray curl back under his fluffy frog-eye hairband, lingering over the scar on his temple from a skateboarding accident when they were fifteen. “I need your help.”
“Well, obviously. You’re calling me at three thirty four in the morning. Usually you’re in bed by nine because secretly you look up to Adam and emulate his habits.”
Keith flushes. “I don’t remember ordering a psych analysis, fucker.”
“Consider it a bonus! Tell Auntie Pidge about your troubles.” He can practically see the face she makes immediately after, and snorts. “Ignore that. My mouth is not attached to my brain. Carry on.”
“I need you to check out a link,” Keith says, choosing to be merciful. “It’s pretty buried and obscure, but honestly I think it’s fine —”
“Yeah, last time you thought a link was fine you fucked your shit up so bad I had to download another virus to cancel it out. I’ve never had to do that before. You fucked your laptop up so bad I’d actually never seen that kind of damage before, Kogane. And I do this for a living.”
Keith pouts. “No, you commit cyber crimes for a living.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel and have never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. I am a law abiding citizen. Send over the link.”
Switching his phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, Keith does. “I need to know if the link does what it says it does.”
Pidge hums. He can hear the ding of her laptop as his e-mail goes through, and then the sounds of her clicking as she inspects the website, running it through her various programs that Keith cannot fathom for the life of him.
“What did you say you were looking for, again?”
Keith closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it thunk gently on the thin wall under the big window, in the corner of the apartment where they’ve shoved their bed. He lets his eyes go blurry, lets the stars they stuck on the ceiling before they did anything else turn into bright green dots. They’re real constellations. The two of them spent hours on them; Lance on Keith’s shoulders, tripping and shouting and laughing.
“I need tickets,” Keith says quietly. He turns his gaze slowly to Lance, who is sleeping soundly again, who has bags under his eyes, whose hands twitch every few seconds, who frowns deeply. “And we can’t — these are the only ones I could find. That I can even pretend to afford. I need it to be —” He swallows. “I need you to tell me they’re real.”
Pidge is quiet for a moment. The only sound is her breathing, her nail tapping slowly on the edge of her screen.
“The link is exactly what it says it is.”
Keith sits up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah, man.”
Keith bites back a cheer so he doesn’t wake Lance up. Hell yeah! This is perfect! Exactly what they needed! Just — a little bit of luck. A little bit.
“Thank you, Pidge,” he gushes, hurrying to punch in his information. “Seriously.”
Pidge huffs fondly. “Okay, dweebus. Gross. Go be all affectionate somewhere else.” She pauses. “Take a picture when you tell him.”
Keith smiles. “I will.”
———
It takes every inch of Keith’s willpower to keep his mouth shut for a whole three weeks.
“I Know you are hiding something, Kogane,” Lance says while walking home from classes, while curling up into him as they watch TV, while cooking, while showering. “I see it in your face.”
“It’s nearly Christmas, you dweebus,” Keith says every time, and every time he softens it with an exaggerated kiss to Lance’s cheek, one to make him laugh despite himself and shove Keith’s face away. “Of course I’m hiding something.”
But it’s eating at them both. Lance’s blatant curiously makes it that much harder for Keith to keep things hidden, to stash the tickets between the pages of his corniest romance novel that Lance won’t touch with a ten foot pole. To wait, and wait, and wait, as they set up the three-foot high discounted Christmas tree and Lance changes their sheets to the flannel ones his mother gave them.
But the days pass. Finals come and go and so does the time. And finally, finally, it comes time to crawl onto the creaky mattress, knees on either side of Lance, nose kisses down his neck, and murmur, “We’ve got plans today.”
Lance groans. “No we do not.”
Keith smiles widely. He knows Lance can feel it, because he scowls harder, trying to hide his own fondness even as he melts into Keith’s affections.
“Yes, we do. I know. I planned them.”
“Well, then, un-plan them,” Lance grouches. He turns over so he’s facing Keith, now, trying hard to glare up at him, but late afternoon sunlight bleeds into his dark brown eyes and makes them shine golden, and they are as warm and bright as the rest of him, and his hands slide up Keith’s chest, over his shoulders, brushing through his hair, to rest on his cheeks. “Come nap with me.”
Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Lance’s palm, keeping his mouth there. Lance rolls his eyes, and can no longer hide his smile. “Later. I made plans. Dress up, I’m gonna pick us up some food for the way. We’ll leave in forty minutes.”
“Ugh.”
“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, baby. I can see you eyeing the closet.”
“Shut up and get me a burrito.” He soothes the bite of his words by pulling Keith’s face closer to his, pressing their lips together softly. “Please.”
“Whatever you want.”
God, he’s whipped, and Lance knows it, because he grins, pleased, and pulls Keith even closer, kisses him stronger. It takes Keith a good five minutes to muster up the willpower to pull away, and Lance knows it, smirking.
He finally manages to yank himself away, stumbling backwards towards the kitchenette of their studio. Lance pouts at him.
“Menace,” Keith says sternly, deliberately turning away as he pulls on his boots and coat. He ignores his boyfriend’s grumbling and finally makes it out the door, hustling to their favourite bodega and hoping it isn’t too crowded.
Thirty-seven minutes later, burritos secured, Keith is shoving his frozen fingers around the door handle to jimmy it open. The bodega was indeed crowded and they are indeed late. The show starts in an hour. From what Keith remembers from Lance’s recitals — and he has been to many — people who are late are people who miss the show. The ballet does not fuck around with tardiness and disruptions; if you’re late, that’s tough shit for you. Plan better.
“You’re going to eat shit,” Lance says, amused, the fourth time Keith power walks right over black ice and nearly actually dies. “Slow down, babe.”
Keith does not.
“Can’t,” he huffs, keeping a half-eye on the pavement. A tourist walks into him, shoving him into Lance, who takes the opportunity to slide his hand into Keith’s back pocket and wink at him when his cheeks colour.
“Why can’t we slow down? Where are we going?”
“It’s like you don’t know what surprise means.”
“I do know. I also know that if I annoy anyone long enough they’ll snap so I’ll shut up.”
“Nah. I like it when you talk.”
He’d meant it as somewhat of a comeback, as a jab back to Lance’s teasing. But suddenly Lance stops, spine going rigid, something like shock flirting across his face for half a millisecond before he blinks it away and moves again. It happens so fast that Keith would almost be convinced he’d imagined it, except Lance’s cheeks are crimson.
Keith smiles. “Lance.”
“Shut up.”
“Babydoll.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m barely sayin’ anything, baby.”
“You are so fuckin — gay, you know that? God. Who fuckin — who says shit like that? Who on this Earth?”
Keith laughs, bending down to kiss right below Lance’s ear, to feel his flushed skin warm to frozen tip of his nose.
“You are so easily flattered.”
“Easily flatter this dick. How about that. Fuckin. Jerk.”
He lets Lance grouch at him, pleased and embarrassed about it, as he pulls them along the overcrowded streets. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes ‘til the show starts, thirteen minutes ‘til they get there. Hopefully.
“Are we almost there? It’s cold and these shoes are pinchy.”
“I told you to wear comfortable shoes!”
“You told me to dress up! I can do one of those things, Akira!”
At the seven minute mark Keith starts running. Lance, surprisingly, doesn’t complain — a grin pulls at his sharp features, actually, and he wraps their hands together and runs faster, despite not knowing where they’re going. Every time they bump into someone in a suit he laughs. He laughs harder when they curse at him. Keith has to fight to keep his head in the game, to keep running, to not stop where he’s standing and watch Lance laugh for hours and hours and hours. It’s been too long.
He nearly pulls Lance’s arm out of his socket when he stops then abruptly, shouting “Here! Here! We’re here!” and pulling him inside a well-kept brownstone.
“Where’s…here?” Lance wonders, taking in the well-salted walkway and pretty red-and-green decorations all over the aged brick.
Keith doesn’t answer. “Close your eyes.”
Lance narrows his eyes. Keith makes his expression as wide and pleading as possible, and in seconds Lance caves, much to Keith’s satisfaction.
“You’re a pain in my neck.”
Keith kisses him quickly and chastely. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let me walk into anything.”
Satisfied that Lance won’t peek, Keith shuffles them over to the box office, holding out their tickets. The stewardess smiles at him, scanning them, eyes twinkling at Keith wordless plea for her to keep the secret, and gestures towards a grand set of doors.
“Up the stairs, to your left, seat and row on your ticket,” she murmurs. “Enjoy the show.”
Keith nods his thanks and rushes them off.
“This sounds very fancy,” Lance observes as their shoes click on the — literally marble, how the hell were these tickets $20 — floors. “Dangerously so.”
Keith shrugs. “Perhaps.”
“…Not to be. A bummer. But please tell me you remembered our budget, Keith.”
“I did, Lance. I swear.”
Lance relaxes into him, and Keith realises for the first time how tense he was. He winces to himself. He probably could have made things a tad less stressful and still kept the surprise. He’ll remember that for next year.
“Okay, good. I trust you.”
They barely make it to their seats in time. Keith’s butt barely makes contact with the cushioned chair before the lights dim and the orchestra starts tuning, the rest of the audience lapsing into almost immediate silence.
Lance inhales sharply. “Keith…?”
“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”
Lance does, and they’re wide, and his mouth drops open, slightly, and for a moment he just stares, frozen, at the stage and the lights and the set, the familiar set, as the dim light casts shadows onto his face. The orchestra’s tuning note reaches its satisfying peak, harmonizing as one sound, and Keith’s full attention is on the lines of Lance’s face, the set of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones.
“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.
Before he can say anything else, before Lance can say anything else, the familiar sound of pointe shoes tapping delicately across the stage steals Keith’s attention. He turns his eyes to the stage, watching the dancers strut on the stage, and — stops.
He leans forward, squinting.
What?
Keith is…very familiar with the Nutcracker. He’s grown up alongside Lance’s family since he was eight years old. He’s been to more recitals than he can count. He’s been dragged to more performances than he can ever remember. Lance has lived and breathed and loved ballet his whole damn life, for the entire time Keith has known him, and that love bled well outside of the studio, has lasted even after he aged out of the program last year. Keith knows how the Nutcracker begins, and nothing about the program said this one was supposed to be any different.
Half of the dancers walking onstage are significantly shorter than they should be.
Now he knows damn well that there are kids in the Nutcracker. The main character is a kid. That’s the whole deal.
But there is not one adult on that stage right now. Hell, not even a teenager.
Keith looks down at the ticket — Feuilles Brillant Academy. He looks back at the stage. He looks at the other audience members — lots and lots of people with camcorders. And other small children.
Keith sinks into his chair, head in his hands.
His dumb ass bough a ticket to a children’s ballet recital.
Lord above.
“Lance, I am so sorry,” he whispers, “I was so caught up in the ticket being in budget I didn’t bother actually, like, looking deeper into things, this is totally — Lance?”
Keith leans forward in alarm, hands immediately falling on Lance’s knee, on his back. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed to his eyes.
“Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” Keith says desperately, embarrassment replaced with panic. Everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, as dramatic as that is. He’d been so excited for this. Now it’s a whole mess. “I didn’t mean to — fuck things up, shit, we can leave.”
Lance shakes his head. Blindly, he reaches over the grasps Keith’s hand, holding tightly. His own hand is damp from his tears.
“No, no, it’s — perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I —”
His chin trembles, and more tears spill over his cheeks. As the music swells along to the climax of the first dance, Lance lifts the armrest separating their seats, half crawling over Keith until his head is tucked in the crook of Keith’s neck, arms folded between their chests, hands clutching at the fabric of his sweater. His voice is wet with tears and soaked in an emotion Keith can’t quite name, an almost — relief.
“It’s been so long. I didn’t want to — I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this again. I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”
Keith lets a huge, relieved exhale, sagging forward. He wraps himself more comfortably around Lance’s frame, squeezing him back, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.
Growing up has been…hard. For the both of them.
They’d been told by everyone who knew them that they were being stupid and reckless. Keith has been promised that they won’t last more than two years by almost every grownup he’s ever known. Even his own brother had sighed his trepidation when Keith told him, stubborn and bold-faced, that he was moving in with Lance, that they were going to start their lives together the second they pulled off their caps and gowns, that they were ready for the next step. That they were eighteen and ready to face the world.
“Sacrifices,” Shiro had warned, “are going to be half your life now. It’s not that I think you can’t, Keith. I just. There’s a reason people don’t move in with their highschool sweetheart they summer after they graduate. Katy Perry wrote a whole song about it. It’s a banger.”
Keith hates it when his brother is right, and this time he was right about so many things in consecutive order. Living on your own is hard. Learning to live with someone else is harder. Doing it in a city far away from home, while balancing school and work and rent and groceries, is the hardest.
“I miss dance,” Lance croaks, and Keith closes his eyes and breathes deeply and holds Lance tighter.
He knows Lance misses dance. He knows that he hasn’t so much as listened to a ballet since they moved to New York, unless it’s in the dead of night, and he thinks Keith is asleep, and he puts in his headphones and moves their furniture as silently as he can to the edges of their tiny ass studio apartment and laces up his falling-to-pieces pointe shoes and dances like the very act of it is tearing him apart, and cries the whole time. And then stashes his shoes in the bottom of his gym bag and crawls back into bed and pretends again in the morning that he left his pointes back in Arizona. And Keith looks away and lets him because school is already twenty thousand a year and in no shape or form can they afford that and money to rent a studio.
But Keith can give him this. For a little bit, maybe, even if it’s little kids with handmade costumes pirouetting across a stage.
“I know, bluebell.”
Lance exhales, shaky, breath ghosting across Keith’s collarbones, and finally turns back towards the stage, keeping tucked under Keith’s chin. The kids dancing as the Snow Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are — three years old, maybe. At most four. They keep twirling right into each other like clumsy little bumblebees. It’s maybe the cutest thing Keith has ever seen in his entire life, and what’s better is the tiny smile that graces Lance’s face, despite the tears, growing bigger every time one of them wobbles back up to their feet and prances on, oblivious.
They watch the rest of the play in silence, Lance hands entwining with his sometime around the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and holding fast. They stand and clap as loudly as the gathered parents, louder even, at curtain call, as each kid jumps and twirls across the stage to thrown roses and cheering. It’s adorable.
They’re among the first to walk out, because the majority of the crowd surges towards backstage to collect their kid, so the walk is blessedly unrushed. They take their time, observing the pictures of grinning ballerinas that line the walls and numerous awards on endless shelves. Keith is filled with a deep and strong longing, a strange feeling of coming home — years of waiting on plastic chairs for Lance to finish solo practice when they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Of taking his boots off at the door and quietly sneaking in the back of the studio, ducking away from other dancers’ boring stares, to watch Lance shine under the studio lights, reflected a thousand times by mirrored walls. Of the smell of lemon cleaner and polished hardwood floors and satin.
He notices a poster on the wall, among dozens of drawings and pictures of intricate sets, and freezes.
“Lance,” he says, tilting his head, “look.”
At the end of a hallway, right next to a door, is a hand-painted banner, reading: WE’LL MISS YOU, MISS RAULA! HAPPY RETIREMENT!
He squeezes Lance’s hand. “I bet they’re looking for a replacement.”
Lance stares at the poster for a long time. “You think?”
“I think it wouldn’t hurt to shoot them an e-mail.”
Smiling, Lance stops them in the hallway, puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders, stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him, long and sweet and loving.
“I’m already in a pretty tight spot now,” he murmurs, still standing so close to Keith and smelling so sweet that he has trouble focusing on his words, “‘cause this is already kind of the best Christmas gift ever. If that ends up being true I’m never topping you again.”
Keith laughs, suddenly, not expecting the turn, and Lance grins, pulling Keith down to him and kissing him again. It’s less of a kiss and more of a press of smiles, a clack of teeth, a shared laugh.
“I love you, Lance. Merry Christmas. I will be the Gift Giving King forever.”
“Shut up, goober.” He lifts Keith’s arm, tucking himself under it as they walk back out into the snowy December night. “I love you too.”
———
based on this post (third slide)
#FUCK YEAH IM SO PROUD OF THIS ONE IT CAME OHT AS ID HOPED IT WOULD#vld#voltron#keith#keith kogane#lance#lance mcclain#klance#established klance#modern au#pidge#pidge holt#pidge & keith#dancer lance#whipped keith#brown eyed lance#adhd keith#soft keith#soft klance#langst#true love and christmas and the nutcracker bc i am a sentimental fool#this could be the applebees universe kind of but like an au of it lol#my writing#fic#longpost
270 notes
·
View notes
Text
"Lance can dance" is part of my religion but I feel like y'all are understimating the deep similarities between dancing and fighting: what I'm saying is Keith could also be an amazing dancer and, dropped the 'I don't dance, can't dance, won't dance' act he would learn in .5 seconds
32 notes
·
View notes
Text
this is kinda old art but the coloring is pretty recent lol
uhhh not much to say once again. i did try to make it look like lance's outfit is kinda see through but it just looks like a very bland blue lol (it's actually kinda tricky to make skin tight clothing look see through wow)
AERIAL DANCER LANCE!!!
#art#fanart#my artwork#vld#voltron#voltron legendary defender#digital fanart#lance mcclain#lance voltron#aerial#aerial silks#aerial dance#dancer lance#aerial dancer lance#why are none of these tags wtf#acrobatics#aerobatics
26 notes
·
View notes
Text
Pose taken from an Erté sculpture. A ballet dancer AU, maybe?
#plance#pidgeance#flirtyrobot#pidge#pidge holt#katie holt#lance#my art#art#fanart#ballet dancer AU#erté#people are still hard to draw#kiss#plot bunny#vld#krita
24 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lance VLD Fanfic Idea:
Remember that time when the wormhole destabilized? (Yeah I know this is used a lot, but if you got a better idea do it!)
Lance is spinning out of control, plummeting towards empty space at dizzying speeds. All he remembers is purple electricity, his team yelling in confusion, then shooting out of the ship at his current trajectory.
“Come on baby,” he grits out through clenched teeth, white knuckled as he works to help Blue equalize. “We got this, I got this, it’ll all be-”
Why did no one think to put seatbelts in the lions? Lance pushes up from his spot on the floor, kneeling to see what stopped his uncontrolled spinning. Neon lights flash over his view screen, and a sign on his left depicts an alien woman (maybe, he really doesn’t want to judge) made from lights, leaning back on a pole, tail “swaying” as the lights flash, and her four arms sensually flashing across her body.
“Please, don’t tell me,” he stands to get a better look, bellow him sprawls a metal city, flashing lights, fireworks, brightly colored aliens, and most worrying; more stripper adds topping buildings and floating outside doorways. “Pidge will never let me live this down.”
A couple things
Lance can’t get blue back online
This place is deep into the empire so there aren’t Voltron friendly
A brothel mother takes lance in
He starts as a server, but he spends so long there he needs to get an apartment
Stripping gives him good money
A blade of mammora finds lance, reports to kolivan
Team comes for lance, there was a time dilation (1 month lance = 1 day team)
Lance is there for a little over a year (12 1/2 days team)
Lance rejoins team, and uses his new skills to complete undercover missions, lipstick missions, and even trains some of the blade
This all makes Shiro uncomfortable, but lance is 18 so he can make his own decisions
Keith secretly loves it and when lance and him start dating, lance takes full advantage of his skills
Pidge loves to bring it up in front of Shiro and lance joins them in embarrassing their leader
Hunk spends time researching alien stds and acts as lances muscle on missions
Allura is hesitant about sending Lance on these missions at first (she still sees him as immature) but soon realises how much lance matured and the insane amount of info he can get from these missions
Coran briefs lance about alien anatomy and cultural beliefs before missions, and treats lance when things get too serious once, vowing to do anything to keep his adoptive son safe
Maybe a couple assassinations when he unlocks a pistol on his bayard
* Free for anyone to use, as long as I am credited *
#free fanfic idea#vld#voltron#voltron fanfic#lance vld#lance voltron#keith x lance#lance voltron fanfic#lance fanfiction#lance mcclain#exotic dancer lance#exotic dancer lance AU
34 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lance McClain who used to do Ballet. He started it because he loved watching the old videos of his mother dancing with beautiful red dresses and lively music, all grace and confidence. He listens to her talk about her old days of dancing, her making jokes about how she uses to be so skinny and how marrying a good cook and having all her baby children helped her feel more full both physically and in her heart. Lance begs her to teach him and shoes does, small things at first before he turns six and she gets dancing lesson for free from some of her old friends and even one of her old teachers. He goes to competitions and wins, making friends and ignoring the nasty kids in his class that mock him for various reasons. The girls mock him for wanting to do more feminine dances, the boys for how his mother coddles him and all of them for how ‘annoying’ he is for getting along with the teachers so well. It’s not out of malice, he just wanted to be their friends, but no one ever believed him. When he joins the garrison, he only does stretches in the morning and sneaks into the roof at night to practice some of his favourite dances, even if he doesn’t want it for a career anymore. For a long time Lance just sees dance as an art form, for beauty and a way to tell a story. It’s when he’s in the training room and uses a simple spin to avoid a hit from one of the bots that he starts to mix his passion of dance with his skill at fighting. He still prefers to be a sniper, the satisfaction of hitting that perfect shot might as well be an addiction for him. Yet, when ever he does close quarters combat, he finds himself feeling just like his mother in those old videos. It’s not a faux reaction when he acts confident afterwards, like it usually might be. He feels brave and smart and gorgeous in a way he never thought he could. He uses leaps and spins and pointed toes to his advantage, to avoid hits and knock weapons out of hands. After a while he starts to use pistols, adding them with his grace as best he can. During a tough fight we’re he was cornered and alone, his Bayard changed suddenly, forming a thin, almost steal like ribbon. He had danced hundreds of ribbon dances before, it was the same, only now when it whipped around his body it became a shield, it cut through his opponents with a sharp crack and silent flow. He gets stronger, faster and smarter than ever before. He’s quick thinking as he uses their own weapons against them, as he uses a overhead beam to surprise attack a droid, even when he’s talking with possible allies he is quicker to catch lies and hidden interest. Lance knew dance could be powerful, he just needed to know it could be dangerous as well.
42 notes
·
View notes
Text
absolutely fucked up over two of my faves from literal worlds apart wearing basically the same shirt
#the collar is a little different but the frills. the SHEER body. im losing it#this isnt the only time liu yu has worn a shirt like this either loil#man loves his frills#james lance#liu yu#fyi james lance is an english actor and liu yu is a chinese singer/dancer/actor (idol)
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
cosmic dancer
one of my favorite things about finding a comfort character is, and this is very specific to me only lol, if i’m formulating a fan mix in my head can i use nick cave’s version of “cosmic dancer”?
you might even say that folks become my favorite character because they fit this very specific vibe. so i dedicate this song to my beloved trent crimm and his well-worn t. rex t-shirt
this is maybe my favorite song of all-time. and it can have so many interpretations, but for me it’s about finding out who you are and accepting yourself for it all and going back through the history of your life and recognizing yourself for the first time over and over again.
and after listening to jimmy’s interview on FTBBW (x) where he talks about reincarnation and personal spirituality and truly finding himself in his 40s and that on his last day on earth he’d want to be at a concert where nick cave is playing yeah this one is also dedicated to jimmy lance too ✌️♥️
9 notes
·
View notes
Text
Introduction
Hello, and welcome to this Fractures roleplay blog! Have a read through all these rules for all the need-to-knows for this blog and me as a potential roleplay partner:
• Please be polite and respectful. Of me the admin and of other people who interact with this blog ❤️
• Even if you interact with this blog frequently and actively, you are not obligated to follow it. You are free to follow as you please.
• Roleplays can be done in the reblogs of asks or in pms.
• Roleplays can be started based on prompts from prompt lists or scenarios of your own.
• My favourite character is Naeus and I will likely roleplay him the most, so expect a lot of Naeus content/speaking. My second favourite character is Rain, and this logic applies in the same vein, only less so.
• I am open to roleplaying AUs and/or crossovers. But if it's for a fandom I'm not in (do take a look at my main blog for reference) then please send me a long-ass explanation in pms for everything I need to know. Or send/tag me in your character bios or whatever.
• Note: if you want to handle the narration by revealing your character's/fandom's story as the roleplay progresses, that is what we shall do.
• Aside from that, I welcome OCs, whether they be from Minecraft, other fandoms, or are fandomless.
• There is no "time limit" for you to reply to roleplays. You can take as many days/weeks as you want. I will be waiting patiently and will always welcome you. I, too, will take a long time sometimes. I won't rush you, and I expect to be treated the same way.
• If you see me actively replying to someone else but not you, please ping me. I will never purposefully ignore you. I'm sorry if the note gets lost, or if I forget. Whatever it is, know that I am not deliberately ghosting you.
• I'm not finicky about roleplay length. If a one-worded piece of dialogue is enough to convey everything, then that's fantastic. Of course, this won't be the case most of the time, so something needs describing, do that. Don't make the roleplay bland.
• If you're someone who's vehement about your rp partner cutting roleplays, then this blog might not be for you; please understand that I am strictly a Tumblr mobile user and do not have that function.
• I do have anon on; I logged in through my browser and did it. But otherwise, I am staying on the app.
• If...okay, if anybody does wish to roleplay smut, I am open to it, but it MUST be done in pms, and you MUST be 18 or older. AND NO RAPE.
• I also cannot roleplay suicide, self-harm or abuse, because they are triggering for me.
• I'm okay with any romantic ship except Rain/Patrick and Rain/Azura, because Patrick and Azura are Rain's adoptive parents, which is why they have the same last name.
That's all! I hope you interact with me. Please enjoy your stay :)
#fractures#rainimator#fractures roleplay#fractures rp#naeus#naeus the nether king#king naeus#rain wynter#rain the dragon tamer#rain the last ender watcher#kane#ciara#netherbane#netherbane clan#the netherbane#stella the enchantress#lance the rogue ender mage#ceris the end matriarch#zeganirn the end dancer#vordus the dragonseer#abigail crysteffor#abigail the nether princess#vanessa crysteffor#patrick wynter#ser patrick#azura wynter#azura the frostbourne scholar#daryll the bandit#kralos with wither knight#hogsworth the nether conqueror
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
So… I can’t help but imagine Robotech songs being set to Whisper’s backstory.
Been getting more into the IDW run after that arc hooked me. I can’t help but imagine Lancer’s songs to describe her inner turmoil.
“Lonely Soldier Boy” definitely captures her in the present while “Look Up! The Sky Is Falling” has lyrics that fit with her loss of the Diamond Cutters.
“It Don’t Get Any Better” would capture learning to appreciate life with Tangle, especially with the song’s eighties rock energy.
Weird crossover I know but Sonic does share elements of New Generation/Mospeada with its Freedom Fighters going against enemy mechs and even some of their own.
#whisper the wolf#tangle the lemur#tangle and whisper#idw sonic#sonic the hedgehog#robotech#robotech new generation#mospeada#genesis climber mospeada#lance Belmont#yellow dancer#lancer#yellow Belmont#eighties songs#80s music
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
art by the insanely talented eleora ( @awhoreintheory ). photo id in alt text.
———
Keith barely sees him for even half a second before he’s striding forward and pulling Lance flush against him, burying his head into the crook of Lance’s head. His arms are tight around his shoulders, and his fluffy hair — not technically a mullet anymore but Lance will call it a mullet until he dies — tickling Lance’s ears.
Lance chuckles, standing on his tiptoes to press himself closer and patting Keith’s back gently. (Thank god for pointe ballet skills, because something tells him he’ll be holding this pose for a while. ‘Something’ being Keith’s shuddering exhale against his skin and the frazzled nerves he can feel pouring from his boyfriend in waves.)
“Hard day, cielo?”
“Mmf,” Keith says instead. He shudders again, then presses a kiss to the skin on Lance’s neck before saying: “You are my comfort.”
And that — that’s something. That’s…wow.
“I am?”
Keith makes a humming noise. The rapid fire of his heart that Lance can feel even through their big sweaters — Castle’s heating has been iffy lately, so he’s loathe to leave his room in anything except for three layers at minimum — starts to slow as Keith calms down.
“Yeah. I just — you. I was overwhelmed and irritable and everything sucks but as soon as I touched you and smelled you and was near you it all went away. I didn’t know a person could do that, but you do.”
Lance blinks away the tears forming in the corners of his eyes, clenching the fabric of Keith’s worn red hoodie in his fists. He squeezes his boyfriend even closer, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“You’re my comfort, too.”
#short and sweet and gay bc nothing can match up to that art#actually made me emotional like so much#made my heart pound and eyes water#in fact i have another fic for it tmrw!!#vld#voltron#lance#lance mcclain#keith#keith kogane#klance#established klance#soft klance#soft keith#soft lance#affection#dancer lance#my writing#fic fragment#tall keith#klance art#klance fanart#permission to repost
484 notes
·
View notes
Photo
Pict of Lance Lotter and some nameless stripper with an exploding head from ROKA #330...
1 note
·
View note
Text
having multiple weapons reminds of how eyrie definitely carried around a bow, side sword and lance for many years and that all three were lost in battle at carteneau ;—;
#it wasn’t their exact bow sword and lance from when they left the forest#since they had to forgo those when they joined the imperials#but the new stuff is similar enough. to which they lose it all yet again ;—;#oh now I’m thinking about job weapon lore ;—;#like their dancer weapons were crafted after EW w the feathers from redacted#while their lunar ones were a gift from Nanamo after helping her find out about her parents#their summoner book is fashioned after alphinaud’s wooden summoner bok#but eyrie’s has touches like purple draconic details#to echo both bahamut and their daughter’s more flamboyant summoner book#their red mage weapon was a gift from feo-ul. it’s got some whimsy but isn’t ostentatious#they commissioned their DRK weapon and did a lot of offhanded decorative sketches they took to the blacksmith#they have several bows: one was a gift from redacted in redacted in ShB before they left. it was a nice parting gift#and a gentle way of telling them they would always have a home there in the forest#the other was a gift from aymeric at some point post HW. just a small useful gift given after everything as a way of showing appreciation#eyrie took the gift and politely told aymeric he wasn’t allowed to thank them again snsnsnd#oc: eyrie kisne#but yeah! they carry around several different weapons#not all of those all at once they usually keep a good knife on them at the very least#and their summoner book strapped to their lower back
1 note
·
View note
Note
rafe getting so jealous that boys were staring at you at a party he bends you over and fucks you then and there
ℳ𝓎 𝑔𝒾𝓇𝓁
𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
literally blushing 😵💫 I made this based on a p0rn link I saw 😽
Warnings: smut, mdni, 18+, oral (fem!receiving), overstimulation, p in v, not proofread
༶•┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶
༶•┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶
If he eye-fucked you from afar one more time, Rafe was going to fuck this kid up. He stared at the boy, he was probably no older than 17.
If he went to jail for beating up a minor, so be it.
Rafe was sitting on the couch, his arms spread and so were his legs. He huffed the smoke from his joint out, eyes landing directly back on you.
Barry and Topper were next to him, talking. But Rafe wasn’t listening to them. You looked at him with a smile.
He gave a lazy and small smile back when you looked at him. He then looked around the party some more, seeing the same boy that was checking you out earlier closer now.
Now there seemed to be more guys checking you out, he noticed when he looked closer.
“Rafe? Rafe?” His friends repeated, snapping him out of his trance. He cleared his throat, looking at them now.
“What’s up?”
“We were asking if you know Lance.” Topper said, pointing to a blonde haired boy. Rafe shook his head.
Topper and Barry gave glances to each other. “Why?”
“Cause, he was asking us about your girl.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “What?”
“He’s my neighbor. Asked us if we knew her.”
Rafe sighed, his jaw ticking as he looked back at you, and the men that had their predatory gazes on you as well.
Topper held his hands up in mock defense, and leaned away from Rafe, knowing how he was when he was mad. Taking one last hit, Rafe gave the joint to Barry who furrowed an eyebrow.
Rafe stood up, shoving his way past the dancers and to you. He grabbed your wrist, you whipped around and looked at him, confused.
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t say anything as he picked you up, making you yelp as your friends laughed. “Rafe.” You whined in his ear when he threw you over his shoulder, he had a smirk on his face when he finally got into the bedroom, glanced back and saw the shocked face of one of the guys, who was whispering to the others.
He shut the door, threw you onto the bed, and locked the door.
“Rafe, what’s wrong?” You asked him, a hand coming up to his chest when he got on the bed and began to kiss you.
“You’re mine.” Was all he mumbled. As if you didn’t know that already.
“Baby-“ you were cut off with a moan when he started to suck the skin on your neck, your hand held the back on his neck as he bit down.
“Saw all those men lookin’ at you, flirting with you.” He grumbled out in between his attack on your neck.
“What?”
He didn’t answer, just took his lips off your neck, his hands reaching for his shirt, then yours. He unclipped your bra swiftly and easily, throwing it onto the floor.
He let out a quiet groan when he saw your underwear, matching with the bra now thrown onto the floor. You were soaked, he thought when he moved your panties to the side, not wanting to take off your precious skirt.
“Fuck.” He mumbled, running a finger through your folds, the cold metal of his ring making you jolt. He held you down, mumbling a quiet “stay still.”
You tried your best to, but it was hard when he licked a stripe up your cunt, making you let out a moan, he gripped both your thighs, pulling your legs apart and gave you a devilish smirk before he ate your pussy like it was his last meal, his tongue was godly, your hand immediately going to his hair.
It wasn’t long before you were cumming, you came with a cry of his name, but he wanted you to scream it louder, loud enough for the whole damn party to hear.
He came up, his lips covered in your cum. He licked his lips, and you threw your head back onto the pillow. Fuck why was that so hot?
He moved back to your lips, crashing his with yours, you could taste yourself.
He slid his tongue into your mouth, making you let out a quiet moan, he was so unbelievably hard that he had started to lightly hump the bed for any sort of relief.
You noticed and smiled, leaving his lips. Quickly, he took his jeans and boxers off, throwing them as well.
“Face down, ass up.” He said to you, sounding like an order. You listened and did exactly that. He angled his dick to your entrance, and held you as he slowly slid in, his hands on your stomach and his other rubbing your ass, smacking it a few times.
You both cried out, Rafe mumbling out a string of ‘fucks.’ under his breath.
Your hands tried to find his, a small smile made its way onto his face and he held your hand.
He started to move, snapping his hips into yours, you bit your lip to contain your moans, but Rafe noticed. With a free hand, he ran his thumb over your lips.
“Don’t. I want everyone to hear you.” He said to you, his eyes boring into yours, you listened and let out a moan when he smiled at you and his thrusts became faster. He was relentless with it, fucking you like there was no tomorrow.
Your hips bucked and he could tell you were close. You clenched and shouted out his name. “R-Rafe!”
You came on his cock, making him groan as he watched it. But he didn’t stop. He continued to fuck into you, a smirk on his face as he watched you writhe, getting overstimulated.
“Rafe, Rafe, ‘s too much.” You whined out, lightly pushing him, he wasn’t having it.
“Rafe!” You groaned when you felt him cum inside.
“I’m not on the pill!” You scolded him when he stopped, staying still in you, panting and rolling his eyes at you.
“Shoulda told me that before. I’ll get you a morning after later.” He mumbled onto your skin, slowly taking his dick from you.
Someone knocked on the door. Rafe groaned, throwing his clothes on quickly as you hid behind the bed, covering yourself up.
“Rafe, are you seriously having sex on my parents bed?!” Topper said with a groan, your eyes widened as you heard the words.
“So you heard it?” He asked with a cocky smirk on his face. His hair was disheveled and his clothes unbuttoned.
“Everyone in the whole fuckin’ party could!”
“Good. I’ll clean the bed, sorry top.” He replied, putting a hand on toppers shoulder.
“I hope that was the best dick you ever had, because if my parents find out anyone had sex on their bed they will have my head.” He said, looking at you now. You just nodded, your cheeks heating up on your face as you said “Sorry, Topper.”
#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe cameron#rafe x you#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x reader#rafe cameron smut#rafe imagine#rafe fic#rafe obx#obx x reader#obx fanfiction#obx imagine#obx fic#obx smut
644 notes
·
View notes
Text
“It’s a simple three step beat; what aren’t you understanding about it, Mullet?” Lance asks, annoyance beginning to leak through his voice. He’s tried to cap his frustration as much as possible throughout the past hour. But this has become ridiculous. If anything, Keith has gotten worse at dancing than when they started the lesson. Brief pain sparks through Lance’s foot and he cracks. “And stepping on my toes isn’t one of them!”
“Some of us didn’t get three years of ballroom dance lessons,” Keith snaps, irritated.
“Which is why I’m teaching you. But you’re not listening to a single thing I say! You can’t even get close to me.” Lance tries to tug Keith forward but he remains just as stubborn as always, aggravating and infuriating.
What looms between them is a larger gap than needed, with Keith holding him at an arm’s length as if he’s a poisonous snake ready to bite. A balloon would fall straight through to the floor; Lance’s arms are almost entirely extended. He thought Keith would be a little more willing considering the stake of the mission.
Keith clenches his jaw. “I’m trying.”
“For someone as coordinated as you on the battlefield, this shouldn’t be this difficult.” Lance scowls, taking a page out of Keith’s book.
“Me not knowing how to dance isn’t going to break the alliance.”
“Were you even listening to Allura?”
“Were you?” Keith bites back, too smirky for Lance’s taste. Yeah, he may have been fiddling with his comm device under the table, trying to play an old earth game Pidge had downloaded onto it. That’s beside the point.
So Lance ignores him. “The Zolxox see dance as a creation of trust and loyalty between two groups of people. If we miss a step, they won’t join the coalition.”
“But why’d it have to be us?” The Zolxox only needed a pair of dancers, not their whole team.
Lance rolls his eyes. “Because I have three years of dance experience, duh.” But his annoyance quickly fades when Keith doesn’t snap back with their classic banter. In fact, he continues to stand there, his hands not exactly touching Lance anymore but hovering. Keith stares at him with such a blank expression that Lance allows a bit of the truth to spill. “And–And because I work best with you,” he mumbles, ducking his head to avoid any minute reaction from Keith. When he does flick his gaze up, Keith remains impassive. “But you gotta listen to me, Mullet. Why won’t you just follow what I say?”
That’s when Lance loses Keith entirely. He steps back from Lance, arms folded against his chest, not loose at all. Keith can’t seem to look at him anymore either. “It’s awkward… being close to you.”
“Oh.” Lance drops his empty hands, suddenly despondent. He didn’t know Keith felt that way about him. He thought they’d finally become friends, maybe inching toward something more. Maybe Lance should have chosen Allura for this mission like everyone thought he would. His shoulders begin to hunch forward.
“Shit, no, not in that way.” Keith groans as he cards a hand through his hair, frustrated at himself. Strands stick out in multiple directions, silly enough that Lance wants to punch through whatever new wall is between them and fix it for him. But Keith wouldn’t appreciate that. “I just meant, I know the way I feel about you isn’t how you feel about me and I don’t want to make it weird for you.”
“How do you know how I feel about you if you never once asked?”
Keith gives him a look. “Please. You flirt with everyone but me. Even I understand what that means.”
“That’s not—That’s—Oh my god—” Lance suddenly steps forward, waving his arms as he talks, too flustered to be rational. “With everyone else, it’s fun, meaningless, a way to lighten the mood.” His skin heats enough that he must be glowing from embarrassment. “But you—With you, it’s different. I try to spend time together and constantly try to get your atten—wait.” Eyes popping wide, Lance starts to point, jabbing his finger into Keith’s chest. “You just told me you liked me!” His brain finally internalizes what Keith had said, what Keith implied. It immediately derails his train of thought. “You like me!”
Keith startles before his entire expression pinches. He growls. “Uh uh, we’re focusing on you and your terrible flirting techniques.” He steps up to Lance and keeps stepping toward him until he is the only thing Lance can focus on. Those violet eyes bore into Lance, head tilted and brows drawn. “How was I supposed to know I was different?” he asks, low and steady.
“Goddammit, Keith.” Lance surges forward and kisses Keith square on the mouth. His hands weave through Keith’s hair, musing it further, while Keith’s strong grip lands on his waist, fingers hooking into his belt loops. He pulls Lance in and tugs on his lower lip, his teeth scraping slightly but in a way that buzzes across Lance’s skin. When they part, Lance is breathless with swollen lips and eyes half-lidded. It’s a struggle to speak but he manages to mumble, “Does that clear things up?”
Keith nods. Blush stains his pale cheeks though he holds Lance’s stare, never wavering, and he even starts to smirk the longer they remain in silence. Like he knows that he affected Lance just as much as Lance affected him.
He’s going to be the death of Lance one day; this man…
“G-Good,” Lance finally says, struggling to regain his composure, if he ever had some to begin with. “We’ll talk about this later. But right now, we dance.”
Kith groans, though less annoyed than before, and for the first time, effortlessly moves all the way into Lance’s space, smiling a small smile. They dance without any issues, except for maybe a few butterflies.
#klance#voltron#vld#voltron legendary defender#klance fic#keith x lance#my writing#happy valentine's day!!
121 notes
·
View notes
Text
unknown sister - lance stroll
4.2k words
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an ethereal glow over the city, Lance Stroll found himself wandering aimlessly through the bustling streets. His mind was elsewhere, lost in thought, as he weaved in and out of the throngs of people. He had no particular destination, no particular purpose - he was just there, existing. And then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw her: a girl, no more than a few years older than he was, who bore a striking resemblance to someone he once knew. Intrigued, Lance followed her at a discreet distance, his heart racing with anticipation.
As she ducked into a quaint little café, Lance hesitated for a moment before mustering up the courage to enter after her. The moment he stepped inside, the familiar scent of coffee and freshly baked pastries enveloped him, sending a wave of nostalgia washing over him. His eyes searched the crowd until they alighted upon her: sitting alone at a table in the far corner, lost in thought, a steaming cup of coffee in front of her. His heart skipped a beat as he realized that this girl was his sister; the one he had never known existed.
Cautiously, Lance made his way over to her, his steps slow and deliberate. He cleared his throat, trying to gather the words that seemed to have deserted him. "Um… excuse me?" he finally managed to say. "I'm Lance Stroll. We… we might be related." There was a long pause as he waited for her reaction, his heart pounding in his chest.
The girl looked up from her coffee, her eyes widening in recognition. "Lance?" she whispered, her voice trembling with disbelief. "It can't be…" She set her coffee down and pushed it aside, her gaze fixed on him. "You're Chloe's brother?"
Nodding, Lance felt a lump forming in his throat. "I am. I found out about you a few days ago… I just… I had to see you for myself." He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. "I'm sorry if this is weird or confusing for you. I just… I wanted to meet you."
For a long moment, the sibling just stared at each other, the air thick with emotion. Then, slowly, the girl stood up and moved around the table, her arms opening wide. "I'm Layla," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "And yes… I am your sister." She pulled Lance into a tight hug, burying her face in his shoulder as they clung to each other.
Lance was at a loss for words, but he hugged her back just as tightly, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and connection. As they pulled apart, their faces wet with tears, Layla wiped at her eyes and forced a shaky smile. "I can't believe it," she whispered. "All this time… we had no idea."
The siblings took a moment to compose themselves, each ordering a cup of coffee before settling into a comfortable booth. As they sipped their drinks, Lance began to fill Layla in on the details of his life: about Chloe, their parents, and his time in formula 1. Layla listened intently, her eyes wide with wonder and curiosity. In turn, Layla shared stories of her own, about her life growing up in another part of the city and her dreams of becoming a professional dancer.
As they continued to talk, the café around them seemed to fade away, replaced by a world where the only thing that mattered was their connection to each other. They spoke of their shared memories, both real and imagined, and began to forge a bond that transcended time and circumstance. They laughed together, cried together, and found solace in each other's company.
Eventually, their conversation turned to the future. Layla confided in Lance that she had been struggling financially and was considering giving up on her dancing dreams. Upon hearing this, Lance was determined to help her. He offered her a place to stay in his apartment and promised to use his connections in the entertainment industry to help her get her foot in the door.
Layla was overwhelmed with gratitude, and they hugged tightly once more. As they pulled away, Lance could feel a new sense of purpose and direction in his life. He knew that finding Layla had been a blessing, and he would do everything in his power to make sure that their bond only grew stronger.
as they were catching up, lance had received a call from their dad.
"I hope you haven't forgotten about the race this weekend, son," he said, his voice booming through the phone. "You've got a lot of fans out here who are counting on you. Don't let them down."
Lance smiled at his sister as he listened to their father's words. "I won't, Dad," he assured him, before turning back to Layla. "So, how about we grab some lunch and talk more about your dancing? I have a few ideas on how we can make things happen for you."
As they left the café and ventured out into the bustling city, Layla linked her arm through Lance's, a gesture of sisterly affection that filled him with warmth. "I can't thank you enough for this, Lance," she said, looking up at him with shining eyes. "You have no idea what this means to me."
Lance shrugged off her gratitude, feeling it was an understatement. "It's the least I could do," he replied, his voice gruff with emotion. "You're my sister, after all. We're in this together."
Their walk took them past a park where a small festival was taking place. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the sizzle of food on grills. They stopped at a booth selling kebabs and shared a plate, chatting animatedly as they ate. Layla told Lance about a dancing competition she'd heard of, one that would offer a substantial prize and a chance to perform in front of a prominent choreographer.
"I think that's something we should definitely look into," Lance said, wiping his hands on a napkin. "I'll see what I can do to help you get sponsored. And if you need any contacts in the entertainment industry, just let me know."
As they continued to walk through the park, they stumbled upon a group of people practicing some intricate dance moves. Layla's eyes lit up and she immediately went over to join them. Lance watched her dance with a mix of awe and pride, marveling at how graceful and talented she was. He couldn't help but feel a surge of protectiveness as well, wanting to make sure that no one ever underestimated her or stood in her way.
After watching her for a while, Lance noticed a young man standing off to the side, obviously captivated by Layla's dancing. He walked over and introduced himself as Adam, a fellow dancer who had been struggling to find his place in the industry. The three of them exchanged numbers, and Layla and Adam quickly became friends, often practicing together and offering each other advice and support.
As the weeks passed, Layla's audition for the dancing competition grew closer. Lance had been working tirelessly behind the scenes, using his connections to secure her a spot in the competition and even managing to find her a talented choreographer to help her prepare. He couldn't have been more proud of his sister, and he knew that no matter what happened, she would make him and their father proud. even though their dad dint know that lance had found Layla and was in contact with her .
Adam, too, had become a close friend to Layla and Lance. He had been an invaluable source of support and encouragement, always offering a listening ear or a helpful hand when needed. The three of them had developed a special bond, and Lance couldn't help but feel grateful for the positive influence Adam had on his sister. He hoped that their friendship would only continue to grow stronger in the years to come.
As the big day of the competition approached, Lance found himself feeling both nervous and excited for Layla. He'd never been one to dance himself, but he'd seen her practice countless hours, pouring her heart and soul into each routine. He knew that she had what it took to win, and he was determined to make sure that she had everything she needed to succeed.
The day of the competition finally arrived, and Lance, Layla, and Adam made their way to the venue. The atmosphere was electric, with dancers from all over the city gathered to showcase their talents. Lance helped Layla with her hair and makeup, making sure she looked her best before she went onstage. As she waited in the wings, he could see the determination and focus in her eyes, and he knew that she was ready to give it her all.
The competition was fierce, with each dancer bringing their unique style and technique to the stage. As Layla's turn approached, Lance felt a lump in his throat and a knot in his stomach. He knew that no matter what happened, he would be proud of her. When she emerged onto the stage, the audience erupted into applause, and Lance couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.
She danced with a grace and power that Lance had never seen before, her movements fluid and effortless. The choreography was stunning, and Lance could tell that the judges were impressed. As she finished her final move, the crowd rose to their feet, showering her with cheers and applause. It was clear that she had won over everyone in the room.
Lance couldn't believe his eyes as Layla was named the winner of the competition. He felt a wave of emotion wash over him as he watched her accept her trophy and give her speech, thanking him and Adam for their support. He couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that he had played a part in helping her achieve her dreams.
As they left the venue, Lance could feel the weight of the world lift off his shoulders. The constant worry and stress about their financial situation had been consuming him, but now, with Layla's victory, he felt a newfound sense of hope and optimism. He knew that things were going to be okay, and that Layla would have the opportunity to pursue her passion without having to worry about money.
as layla and lance made their way out of the competition, they were approached by Lawrence, their dad, well more like lance's dad as he didn't know it was Layla his eldest daughter standing in front of him, as he had left her mom when she had found out she was pregnant with her.
Lance was about to introduce them but then thought better of it, he would let them have their moment, so he stood back and just watched with a smile on his face as his sister and their dad reunited. It was a moment of pure joy and happiness that he would never forget. He could see the surprise, shock and then disbelief in his dad's eyes as he looked at Layla, taking in her beauty and grace, and then the realization hit him that this was his daughter, the one he had never met, the one he had missed out on all these years.
The emotion in the air was palpable, and Lance felt a lump form in his throat as he watched the two of them hug, tears streaming down their faces. It was a moment that he knew would change their lives forever, a moment that would bring them all closer together, a moment that would help them heal from the pain of the past.
As they pulled apart, Lance could see the love and pride in his father's eyes as he looked at Layla, and it filled him with a sense of hope and joy. He knew that their relationship would take time to build, but he believed that with patience and understanding, they could create a new family, one that was based on love and acceptance.
Layla seemed to feel the same way, as she introduced her father to Adam and Lance, her voice shaking slightly with emotion. Lawrence, taken aback by the depth of her feelings, could only nod in acknowledgment, unable to find the words to express his own emotions. The four of them stood there, bonding over their shared experience and the love they had for Layla, their amazing daughter.
As they continued to talk, Lance noticed a change in his father's demeanor. Where before there had been shock and disbelief, now there was a quiet determination to be a part of their lives. He wanted to make up for the time he had missed, to be the father Layla and Lance deserved. It was a moment of clarity for Lance, one that made him realize that perhaps their father's love was not as lost as he had once believed.
The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of introductions, hugs, and tears. Chloe and Lance's mother, who had never quite forgiven their father for abandoning them, seemed to soften as she watched the emotional reunion unfold between his other daughter he never got to see grow up. There was a new understanding in her eyes, a recognition that perhaps Lawrence had not been as heartless as she had once thought. It was a fragile peace, but it was a start. she soon introduced herself as Lawrence's wife and Chloe and Lance's mother.
As they all left the venue together, arms looped around each other's waists, they felt a sense of hope and unity that they had never experienced before. They knew that their lives were about to change drastically, but for once, it felt like it was for the better. They were going to be a family, a real family, with all its flaws and imperfections.
Lawrence, still struggling to process the events of the evening, couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in Layla's accomplishments. He knew that he had missed out on so much of her life, but he was determined to be there for her now. He promised himself that he would do whatever it took to make things right with her, Chloe and Lance, and to earn their trust and love.
As they walked to the car, Layla took her father aside and gave him a small, leather-bound book. "This is a journal I kept during my time competing," she explained. "It's full of my thoughts, feelings, and experiences. I wanted you to have it, so you could get to know me better." Lawrence, touched beyond words, promised to read it carefully and to treasure it always.
" Next week is your sister Chloe's wedding and we would love for you to come and celebrate with us"
Layla's face lit up with joy as she hugged her father tightly. "Of course, I wouldn't miss it for the world." She glanced over at Lance, a small smile playing on her lips. "It's going to be a special day for all of us."
Lawrence returned her smile, feeling a sense of warmth spread through his chest. "It certainly is. And I want you both to know that I'm here for you, no matter what." He placed a hand on each of their shoulders, his gaze meeting theirs in a show of sincerity.
The rest of the evening was a whirlwind of celebration and joy as they all attended Chloe's wedding together. Layla and Lance glowed with happiness, clearly proud of their sister and excited to share this special day with their newfound family member. Lawrence found himself feeling more and more at ease with them, beginning to form real connections and bonds that he hadn't thought possible.
As they danced and laughed throughout the night, Lance couldn't help but notice the way his father looked at Layla. There was a sense of awe in his eyes, as if he couldn't believe the incredible woman she had become. Lawrence, for his part, seemed to be relishing every moment of spending time with her, treasuring each conversation and memory they made together.
Chloe and her new husband, meanwhile, were beaming with happiness as they shared their special day with their newly expanded family. They had been through so much, but seeing their father there, a part of their lives once more, made everything feel just a little bit brighter.
As the night wore on, Layla and Lance began to dance together, their movements fluid and effortless, mirroring the deep connection they shared. Lawrence watched them from afar, a small smile playing on his lips as he recalled his own wedding dance with their mother. He couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder at the journey that had brought them all here, to this moment, together as a family.
Chloe and her new husband, meanwhile, had taken the opportunity to steal Lance and Layla away for a slow dance, twirling them around the dance floor as they shared heartfelt words and hugs. It was a moving display of love and support, and it brought tears to Lawrence's eyes to see his children so happy and loved.
As the night wound down, the guests began to say their goodbyes, but not before Layla, Lance, and Chloe insisted on gathering everyone together for a group photo. They posed arm in arm, beaming with joy and pride, their newfound bond shining through in every image. Lawrence stood behind them, his hand resting on each of their shoulders, feeling a sense of peace and contentment wash over him.
As the last of the guests departed, Chloe pulled her father aside. "Thank you," she whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Thank you for coming tonight, for being here for us. It means more than you'll ever know." Lawrence, unable to speak past the lump in his throat, simply squeezed her hand and nodded, his own eyes misting over.
Meanwhile, Lance approached Layla with a gentle smile. "You were amazing tonight," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I don't know how you did it, but you made everyone feel so welcome, so included. I'm so proud of you, sis." Layla blushed, her cheeks flushing, but she didn't miss the warmth that spread through her chest at his words.
"Thank you," she replied, her voice trembling just a little. "I'm glad I could help. And thank you for being there with me tonight. You were amazing too, you know." Lance chuckled softly, reaching out to take her hand. "We'll always have each other's backs, right?" Layla squeezed his hand in agreement, her gaze meeting his.
As they stood there, lost in their own thoughts and feelings, they were unaware of the approach of their father. Lawrence cleared his throat gently, drawing their attention back to him. "You two are an incredible team," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "I couldn't be more proud of you both." His words hung in the air for a moment, heavy with meaning, before Lance and Layla stepped forward to embrace their father in a tight hug.
The night air was cool and crisp as they made their way back to the car. Layla and Lance had switched places, with Lance now driving his father's rental and Layla riding shotgun beside him. As they drove, the city lights reflecting off the buildings and streets, they found themselves lapsing into silence, each lost in their own thoughts about the day's events.
"Do you think he'll stay?" Layla finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Lance glanced over at his sister, then back at the road ahead. "I don't know, sis. It's a big change for him, moving out here and all. I mean, he's got his job, and he seems to be enjoying it, but…" He trailed off, shrugging slightly. "Who knows? Maybe he'll find a way to make it work. We can only hope, right?"
As they pulled into the driveway of their parents' house, they both glanced at each other, a mix of emotions playing across their faces. They got out of the car and walked together up to the front door, taking a moment to gather their thoughts and compose themselves. The night had been full of highs and lows, but they both felt a newfound sense of connection, not only with each other, but with their father as well.
Inside, their mother was busy cleaning up the remnants of the party, her movements efficient and graceful as she worked. "How did it go?" she asked, looking up from her task with a tired smile. "Did everything go alright?"
"It went better than alright, Mom," Lance replied, taking her hand and leading her into the living room. "Layla and Chloe did an amazing job tonight, and everyone seemed to have a great time." He gestured towards the photo album they'd put together earlier, sitting prominently on the coffee table. "We even got a group photo."
Layla nodded in agreement, her eyes drifting towards the album. "It was hard work, but it was worth it. I think everyone who came felt welcome, and that's all we could've asked for." She glanced over at her father, who was sitting in the corner of the room, looking thoughtful. "And Dad seemed to really enjoy himself too."
Their mother smiled warmly and squeezed Lance's hand. "I'm so proud of both of you," she said. "You've grown into such amazing young adults." She paused for a moment, her expression turning pensive. "And I hope that tonight was a step in the right direction for all of us, finding our way back to each other."
as they talked in the kitchen , Lawrence made his way and joined them, pouring himself a cup of coffee. He looked at his children with a mix of pride and sadness in his eyes. "You both did an amazing job tonight," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me to see all of you together, enjoying each other's company."
" i was thinking Layla, why don't you join me and lance for his race next week?" asked Lawrence, trying to sound casual. "I'm sure it'll be fun, and it'll be great for all of us to spend some quality time together."
Layla looked at her father, then at Lance, her eyes filling with hope. "I'd love to, Dad," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "That sounds like a great idea." Lance nodded in agreement, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. They all knew that this wasn't just about a race; it was about trying to rebuild their family, one small step at a time.
As the weeks passed, they all threw themselves into preparations for the race. Lance trained harder than ever, determined to do his best for his father. Layla helped out with logistics and publicity, using her organizational skills to make sure everything ran smoothly. And Lawrence, well, he was there for moral support, offering advice when asked and lending an ear when needed.
The day of the race finally arrived, and the entire family made their way to the track. The air was filled with the roar of engines and the excited chatter of spectators. Lance's heart pounded in his chest as he strapped himself into the car, but he felt a calm confidence wash over him when he saw Layla and their father standing nearby. They were his biggest fans, and he couldn't have asked for anything more.
As the race began, Lance focused on the track, determined to navigate the twists and turns with precision. He could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins, pushing him to go faster, to outperform his competition. But even as he raced, his mind kept drifting back to the people he loved standing on the sidelines. He knew that this race wasn't just about winning or losing; it was about proving to himself and to them that he could be the man they needed him to be.
In the grandstands, Layla and their father cheered him on, their voices carrying across the track. They could feel the raw emotion in their words, the unspoken love and support that flowed between them. As Lance neared the finish line, they held their breath, willing him to cross it. And when he did, emerging victorious amidst a cloud of burning rubber and deafening cheers, they erupted in applause, their eyes shining with tears of pride.
Lance climbed out of the car, his chest heaving, and threw his arms around his father. They hugged tightly, sharing a moment of connection that felt like it had been eons in the making. Layla joined them, wrapping her arms around both of them, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything was going to be okay.
As they walked back to the pit, Lance couldn't shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. There was still so much work to do, so many bridges to mend. But for now, he was content to bask in the glow of victory and the love of his family. He knew that with their support, he could face any challenge that came their way. and he finally had another sister who he could share his dreams with.
#lance stroll x reader#f1 blurb#f1 x reader#lance stroll#ls18 x reader#ls18#aston martin f1#lance stroll imagine#lawrence stroll#Ls18 x imagine#lance stroll blurb#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic
74 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
beheldandcompelled
a living chronicle of terror
sean-o-neill-photography
Sean O'Neill Photography
yuki-ume
Arisa-chan
yuki-ume
Arisa-chan
indefiniteavatar
sleep with your dreams?