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alternislatronemhq · 4 years

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Congrats, BEE, you have been accepted to AL for the role of DOLORES UMBRIDGE (FC:Olivia Taylor Dudley). OH MY GOODNESS, BEE! Your portrayal of Dolores was just stunning. I found myself laughing in places and gasping in others. You’ve really gotten into the head of a character that is just awful and played that out in a way that’s captivating. I can’t wait to see what chaos she brings to the dash! Please send in your blog (no sideblogs for first characters, please) in the next 24 hours and be sure to take a look at our new player checklist. Welcome home (once again), we’re so excited to have you join the family!

OOC

name — Bee age — 29 pronouns — She/her timezone — MST activity level — I have quite a bit of free time at the moment! I can usually manage being on for at least a little while every day and I’ll average a handful of replies a week at a minimum. any questions? —No questions per se, just a small disclaimer to let anyone reading know that I am a tolerant and open-minded individual, so while I’m excited for the creative challenge and entertainment of potentially writing an absolutely loathsome person like Ms. Dolores Jane Umbridge, anything offensive that she says or thinks or does IC does not reflect my own personal views!

IC Overview

name — Dolores Jane Umbridge—but my friends call me Lo, at least they would if I had any FRIENDS. -hold for laughter- Yeah, eat your fucking hearts out all you moronic lowlife swine. Hem hem. faceclaim — Olivia Taylor Dudley, Jenna Coleman, Mae Whitman age — 32 gender — Cis-female, and uncomfortably cutesy girly-girl for a woman over thirty. Hyperfemme caricature with BDE. Never met a shade of pink she didn’t just love.

sexuality — Outwardly, all Dolores cares about is locating the picture-perfect partner for the type of life she wants to be seen as having and lock them down, and in her mind that person is a man. She wants a husband with money and looks and brains and power, but not so much of any one that it would outshine her; she craves to be in the power seat of a power couple, and to get the attention she feels she’s always been unjustly robbed of. She’s got no interest whatsoever in romance and finds the whole concept a laughable waste of time. But for all she projects to the world, Dolores in reality harbors a deep, deep, DEEPDEEPDEEP same-sex attraction. She has thoroughly locked herself in that closet and a Norwegian Ridgeback swallowed the key.

patronus —Persian cat. This animal has all the appearance of being sweet and cuddly, but rub her the wrong way and those barely-retracted claws are coming out in an instant. Vain, independent, calculating, haughty, and very, very well-groomed at all times.

boggart —Stemming from her Napoleon Complex, Dolores’ boggart takes the form of herself shrunken down like Alice in Wonderland after sipping the drink me potion; her voice squeaks higher and higher into an undetectable range no matter how loud she yells and she can just barely avoid getting squashed beneath someone else’s disgusting, dirty shoes. Dolores as a person demands attention to function and she simply will not tolerate being made to feel literally small.

IC In Depth

personality traits —

tidy - Dolores is obsessed with beauty and perfection and symmetry in all things and nothing makes her skin crawl more than disorder—to the extent that after her mother and father split and she lived full-time with her father, Dolores developed OCD (though it hasn’t been properly diagnosed as such, and Dolores would immediately write off anyone who attempted to call it that to her face). In her mind she is simply particular; she has very high standards and she expects the world to rise to them, or else she’ll root out the filth around her weed by weed. She cut off the heads of her stuffies who stepped out of line at her toddler-age tea parties you’d better believe she’d do the same to you and care less about it.

passive aggressive - Dolores is well-known for her disconcerting calm in face of disagreements, her calculated cute-sweet demeanor and high-pitched voice. But make no mistake; Dolores is sugar laced with arsenic. In all likelihood she hates your guts and has already cooked up an in-depth five-year plan to chip away at you piece by painstaking piece. It’s a mystery how she manages to keep all that highly-pressurized rage simmering beneath the surface the way she’s somehow perfected, because she’s wound up so tight that it’s a wonder her eyes don’t pop out of her damn head and she’s about twenty-five seconds away from a full-blown psychotic break on a good day.

jealous - Dolores wants what she feels she’s due, plain and simple. When she sees others gain the things she wants while she gets overlooked, it stokes that ever-burning vindictive flame inside of her. It started in early childhood when her father gave attention to anyone or anything that wasn’t her, and it’s only gotten worse every day since.

intolerant - At this point in her life, her infamous intolerance is still in its earliest seed stages, but the seed is planted. One of the most interesting things for me about writing a character like Dolores at this age is to see how and why this mentality grows out of experiences she encounters in these formative years.

character biography —

Born ten pounds of spunk in a four pound, five ounce package, Dolores Jane Umbridge came into this world pink and perfect.

Perfect. Perfect. Perfectperfectperfect.

Even from a young age it was all Dolores cared about. Her father Orford Umbridge would whisper to Dolores what a beautiful perfect princess she was and Dolores believed it with every fibre of her being. Beautiful. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect.

Then her mother Ellen gave birth to a younger brother who showed not the faintest trace of magic, and that was not perfect. The rift between parents and siblings grew into a cavern as Orford’s whispering words turned against Ellen; her fault. Worthless. Vile. Mudblood. Filthy Squib. Repulsive. Disgraceful. Wrong.

It wasn’t long before the couple split up, with Ellen and her son being banished to the Muggle world, and then it was just Orford and Dolores, together in their once-more perfect world.

And would that it could have stayed that way forever. Orford had always had wandering eyes and Dolores, desperate always to be the only girl in her father’s life, grew jealous and suspicious and hateful (and nonononono NOT anything else nope) for the beautiful vapid creatures that drew his gaze, threatening to upend what was hers.

Knowing nothing beyond her childhood of constant praise and adoration, Dolores went to Hogwarts expecting the world to cater to her every whim. So when people didn’t immediately kiss the ground she walked on, it made her angry. When all the girls and boys didn’t fall all over themselves to try and woo her, it made her furious. When the professors and adults didn’t sing her vast praises on high, it made her outraged.

How was everyone on earth too fucking useless to see how perfect she was?!

Dolores was a bundle of dynamite wrapped up in a pretty pink bow, just waiting to blow.

She went to the Ministry with adjusted expectations on being outright offered what she knew she deserved, and was proven right when she was overlooked by grotesquely unqualified superiors in favor of the sniveling ingrates all around her. But Dolores was prepared to play the long game and bide her time, just waiting for that one weak crack in the system where she could dig in her knuckle and crumble an empire with a smile on her face.

And she thought she’d found that perfect crack when she went to the Dark Lord. Surely he would see Dolores for all she was worth, surely he would bestow upon her all that power, finally, finally, finally. He was only a silly man, after all.

But the foul, imperfect world let Dolores down again. The Dark Lord gave his preference to some other detestable twots just like Dolores always feared Orford would, and then he paid the price for his idiocy when he fell from power (serves him right the arrogant swine), and Dolores returned to her long game at the Ministry with a newfound fervor to crush all who dared try to overlook her beneath her pink kitten heels.

Waiting for the next perfect move to present itself. And when it does, she’ll be ready.

plot ideas —

Girlsgirlsgirls. I would love an opportunity to unpack some of Dolores’ deeply rooted internalized homophobia. Maybe it’s an openly gay and proud woman who drives Dolores up the wall, maybe it’s a beautiful lady who despite all of Dolores’ efforts starts to get beneath her skin, someone she can’t seem to shake… This could go in so many directions and I’m here for them all!

Ministry Spats. Anyone she might have dustups with on her Ministry stomping grounds—Arthur Weasley, Alastor Moody, etc. Also anyone with pro-creature leanings and/or sentiments at this stage could greatly inform her later mindset and I would love to have them interact.

extra —

Headcanon: Dolores hates children; she thinks they’re disgusting tiny wastes of breath and absolutely looks down on anyone who has chosen the family plan for their life.

#al:accepted #harry potter rp #hp rp #marauders rp #marauders era rp #dolores umbridge

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housedzemael-archived · 4 years

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So Phoebe inspired me to write some tooth rotting fluff of a far future bit of ye olde pair of dragoons so like. Enjoy. The TLDR is Danica is a Hug Fiend

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Light filtered in through the frosted window of a small home in Ishgard, falling gently on the faces of two who would much rather it still be dark, still be the common mans hour of rest. One was still deep in the arms of sleep, her chest rising and falling gently, peacefully, the most at ease Estinien Wyrmblood had ever seen his companion in the years he’d known her. A small smile tugged at his face, even as he cursed the lights intrusion. Rest. They’d finally found their rest.

As much as he would have loved to sit there, admiring the way the light danced through her black hair, splayed out across her pillow and his chest, His stomach urged him away. Such a rudeness, hunger was, interrupting such gentle times. And to feed said hungers, he’d have to find a way out of the warm cage of her arms. She was much like a cat really, one who loved warmth, and gentle affection. One might call her clingy, with how she wrapped around him whenever she could, but he wouldn’t dream of doing so. Her warmth was so different than the chill his life was used to, and by the Fury he wouldn’t lose it.

Slowly, gently, he moved her arms from around him. Replacing his warmth with one of her many plush animals. She loved those things, so soft and warm and cute. He hoped they’d be at least a passable stand in for him as he got something to eat. She furrowed her brows as he moved, causing him to pause, holding his breath for a second, afraid he had woken her. Thankfully, it appeared just to be a stirring in her dreams, for soon she drew the plush animal close to her chest, and rolled over still very much asleep.

He exhaled, relieved. Sitting up fully now, he swung his feet to the cold stone floor. They really needed to invest in a rug. He could feel the heat seeping from his body before his feet even hit the ground. Shivering, he slipped into the slippers Danica had bought him instead of a rug. Moogle shaped, with poms on the back that had fallen off sometime during his use of them. A nameday present she had sworn was practical, and reminded her of him. His smile grew, he turned his head once more to look at her, gently reaching out and pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, and then finally headed towards their bedroom door.

The rest of the house was just as cold, but that didn’t come as a surprise. They did live in Ishgard after all. At least for now, he knew Danica was still looking for the perfect place to open an Inn somewhere distant and and gentle a place where people might not visit often or might not know her name. Anonymity was what she sought, something she had lost long ago, to be the faceless but always listening innkeeper.

He lit the stove with a few quick strikes of a match to tinder as his mind continued to wander. Slowly, meandering through every dream and vision and idea that appeared in his mind. He’d go with her when she found that magical place. If she’d let him that is. Every so often his mind would grow dark, moody, and he’d wonder why she even found comfort in him, as much of a broken, tired man he was, had once been. How closed off and cruel to her, especially early on in their relationship. He shook his head, Danica would poke his side if she heard him thinking such things, remind him that he has no say in how she feels about him. That she loved him and the dagger weilding fiends in his mind had could do naught to change that.

He found one of the few pans they had. He was glad they still managed to have one clean. Both Danica and himself had forgone cleaning dishes the night before, for no reason other than they wished to both be warm and lazy. He laughed a bit to himself, so very different from when they were on the road. Regimented. Up at Dawn. Clean things directly after they were used. Work till Sundown. Sleep. Repeat.The laziness was a breath of fresh air, really.

Eggs. Check. Four of them. Did they still have any bacon? Or had they forgotten to go shopping the other day. Ah just enough for the two of them, if she woke to the smell. He’d never been a masterful cook but he knew enough not to make something passable with what they had, and passable was all his stomach required. Especially when the siren’s song of a warm bed awaited him not too far away.

The pan sizzled, the smell of bacon slowly filling the room, perhaps even the entire house, and once again Estinien found himself gently smiling. A door shut further in the house, he heard a loud yawn, and slow, languid footsteps. Ah, it had woken her. Perhaps he wouldn’t return to bed after all. Considering, to quote danica, what made it a warm bed and not just a cot was the presence of each other.

Finally turning the corner, a bleary eyed Voss stood for a moment, blinked, and then continued zombie like towards the other dragoon. She was the picture of exhaustion, long black hair wild and unkempt all about her, one of his shirts, half buttoned and falling off her right shoulder, a grumpy look painted on her beautiful face. Beautiful, she was beautiful.

Slowly, she wrapped her arms around him, pinning them both to his side, and nuzzling his shoulder with her head. He chuckled, managing to worm his far arm out from her grasp, only to lose it in her hair.

“DeeDee” He spoke her nickname gently. Like it was a secret name, only for the two of them to hear. Of course that wasn’t the truth. Many called her that, most of her friends did so often! But to him, calling her something so intimate almost exclusively when it was just them, that was special.

“DeeDee, I need my arms for this. Else we’re looking at a house fire and burnt bacon.” He chided, halfheartedly attempting to pry his other arm free. She grumbled something unintelligible. Holding tighter, harder, like her very life depended on her proximity to him. Ah, she wasn’t fully awake it seemed after all. She had just followed bed down the stairs. He chuckled.

“You’ve two arms.” She managed to spit out intelligibly after a moment, before once again burying her face into his arm, covered by the cascade of hair he had tried so hard to keep as far away from the stove as possible. Back to square one, his free hand pushed back a selection of strands so that one of her eyes, the golden one, peaked out at him. He shook his head, she pouted.

“Well, if you want to eat burnt bacon then...” He started, turning back towards the stove. The food was in no danger, but it would be if she kept this up.

“I want to be back in bed. Actual bed not just the furniture.” He smiled. Seemed no amount of plush animal would pass for him. She moved her head a bit, looking at him now with her two sleepy, grumpy eyes. She inhaled, as if she was about to state some grand case that he should forgo food and simply return to bed, but she stopped. Sniffing audibly. “Ok fine. Bacon.”

But yet, she still did not free his arm. At least not fully. Instead, she lifted his captive arm high for a moment, only to slouch herself and plaster herself to his side. Leaving his arm free, but elevated, around her shoulders. She smiled into his side, basking in the warmth of his arm.

“Problem Solved.” She couldn’t stop herself from giggling at her own brilliance. Figuring out a way to be warm, to be in his arms, and to save the bacon! Genius! “I am the smartest Dragoon.” She stumbled out, after getting herself suitably comfortable.

“Hmph.” He feigned insult at that, he too was a dragoon after all! Had she forgotten! From the smile he saw peeking out between her messy bangs he doubted as much. Simply that she was tired and speaking with a tired mind. Gently he wound a bit of her hair around his finger, before tilting his head. Thinking back on the times when yes, she had been awake, aware, working.

“Yes, yes you are. Now go get some plates.” He ordered, only to be met with grumbling. He expected as much, she wasn’t keen on leaving a place once she got comfortable. Removing a hand from her shoulder, he reached up and managed, just barely, to grab two plates with one hand, without either of them falling on the pair.

And within moments, breakfast was served. She slipped from his side to greedily pick up her plate and fork, stuffing half a strip into her mouth before remembering to say thank you. He shook his head, taking his own plate and heading towards the large couch her father had acquired for them some time before they set up shop in this tiny corner of Ishgard. Another thing they needed to get soon, a proper table for dining. He’d have to write these down later.

She had followed him, plate in hand, and promptly crawled into his lap as soon as he has situated himself upon the couches pale red cushions. Hr chuckled, placing his own plate upon her lap and wrapping his now free hand around her back as she leaned into him.

“Don’t you ever get tired of all the affection?” He asked, not seriously expecting an answer from her this early in the morning. His own sleepy brain however wished to air it. She shook her head no, almost violently, before grabbing his face and gently kissing his cheek before returning her head to his shoulder.

“Good. I’m glad.” He replied, relief painting his voice.

And with that, silence fell over the pair. Slowly eating their food, enjoying each others company, and watching the sunlight grow brighter through their few windows as early morning continued its transformation into Midday. Slowly, he watched her fall back into the clutches of sleep. Her hands growing lax upon her plate, thankfully not dropping it before he could whisk it away, her breathing growing regular, and gentle, and her eyes fluttering and staying shut.

Perhaps she was right, perhaps sleep even now was the place to be. Gently, he pushed their plates to the side, leaving more of a mess for them later of course but later was later. Now was something much more important. Then, he brought her up into his arms, careful, as if not to wake her again.

Returning once more to their small room, and their small bed, and the warmth it provided. Basking in the rest and comfort it gave them when truly it was complete.

Much later in the day they would wake. They would work among the world. Building, and planning, cleaning, and talking. But for now, all that mattered was their rest.

#ffxiv #ff14 #Estinien #Estinien Wyrmblood #Danica Voss #jo talks

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theundergrounddrabbles · 6 years

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“Nacchan, how many?” The voice asked behind the captain when she turned back.

“You waited for everyone to leave to ask about my life?” The captain turned back with a chuckle. “So many? Are you interested?”

“I turned eighteen. You guys tease me because I’m just tall and slender. While you guys get curves and then talk about drinking. Finally, when you guys do gravure, it’s all over the table. Miku and Nako have more than me.” She argued upon the world around her when she felt the captain’s lips.

“Mikan.” Nacchan called out. “I’m jealous as well. Both of them have been a bit open about being naked. I’d blame Sasshi for it however, you’d always wrap the towel around your body and walk off. You are shy about it.”

The taller girl sat down next to the captain and forced a smile. Starting from age eleven, Tanaka Natsumi was going head first into what she had thought to be the road to stardom. She had felt to be the runt of the group from the first generation. Meeting a person like Riinu was a blessing in disguise. She was nice to her as being warm with a few of the others however she had still had to develop her personality.

Graduations took her back often about how life would be approached. She truly loved others although she wanted to show her bratty side. Hearing an announcement made her sick and the rest had slowly fall into place as a generation and seeing the success drove her forward. Then, she had been given a chance to bloom as a person.

Learning to do more intense dancing had given her a challenge. Everyone from the outside had struggled yet she always found a niche in something that had made her better, variety. Life had been a bit easier until it ended promptly as it started. Returning back, it was different than to train with the better dancers however it was the turn to move forward as who she should be, a female.

“Mou, Mikan~” Nacchan moaned. “You zoning out?”

“You want to make me a woman?” She said under her breath. “It would be okay by me.”

“Eh? You know Riinu would be sad. Also, it is something we all can’t turn back.” The captain sighed. “If you want to, you have to be open by everyone wanting to know your experiences.”

“Well being with Yukachan doesn’t help, you know? She isn’t like suitable to talk about this.” The taller girl groaned as Nacchan nodded slowly.

“You seem ready… just trying to confirm that we can go ahead.” The captain trailed off as she pushed the younger female back to the couch. “Take off the shirt.”

Tanaka threw the item off her body as the captain stared upon the sky blue bra with the padded cups and reached out slowly onto the body. She had never seen Nacchan act hesitantly towards people. The moment had brought her back when after her eighteenth birthday with Chiichan as she walked away. Feeling the shift upon her chest, she’d never accepted the fact that it was something drawing closer to her when she felt the warmth upon her lips.

The girl’s body froze with the thought of Nacchan’s lips on hers. She had grown close with her as of late to become evolved from her previous act however the strength of her embrace drew her back when she grabbed the captain by the shoulder and pushed her back.

“Something wrong?” Nacchan asked.

“No. Nothing’s wrong, just… is it that I have to accept any invitation?” Tanaka asked.

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. It’s just… people will know and it was like that with the others. You have to feel confident to sense the emotion that it pours out. How about we see your chest?” Nacchan smiled, reaching behind her.

The thought became swift when she felt the straps fall off her shoulder and the item landing upon her lap. She’d seen the captain topless on occasion. Nacchan was complexed by her lack of a defined chest yet when it came to gravure, the hips were her weapon. Tanaka felt compelled that she was naturally curvy from her hips as her eyes came down to her.

“You have a cute chest.” Nacchan squealed. “Is this what you’re hiding?”

“It’s small. The others…” She spat when she felt the warmth on her orb. “Nacchan~”

The lips latched onto the breast as she drew the head back. The sensation radiated up to her brain with the slow nuzzling on her body. Releasing an audible cry, she felt the other side gripped upon with the captain’s hand as her body felt cold suddenly with the action slowly driving by when Nacchan drew her head up.

“You should try as well.” The captain smirked back, removing her shirt and bra swiftly as she held the orbs in her hand.

Tanaka reached out to feel the lemon-sized mounds. She felt impressed that Nacchan was allowing her to hold them before moving it slowly in her grasp as her eyes locked with the captain. The younger female delve into the fact of seeing her not flinch with the movements. Tanaka was knew she was compelled to go forward and leaned in with the scent of perfume weaving into her nose.

The null taste was unusual yet she could slowly move her lips around the chest as Nacchan had done to her with the captain lying back onto the couch with the hand upon her head, brushing the hair back slowly. The action was sporadic, waiting for the response before moving to the other side. Her chest being on the small side filled her conscious before glancing up like a dog waiting for the next command.

“Let’s remove the rest of our clothing.” Nacchan suggested as they both stood when her eyes peeled to the captain in one movement lowering the rest as she saw the mass of hair upon her crotch.

Closing her eyes, she pushed the button from her pants and slid the rest down. She felt Nacchan’s hand ran down the long torso onto her thigh. She had never seen another’s body up close and clutching her eyes closed made it harder as the captain shook her and awoke with the hand upon the mass of hair.

“Lucky you don’t shave.” The captain snickered. “It’s thick down here.”

“Stop it~” Tanaka moaned as Nacchan move her hand over and directed the finger to a damp place.

“So, you want to know?” The captain grinned in return as she guided it along the private area. “Mostly everyone on the team who is above eighteen.”

“Almost everyone… so does that mean…?” Tanaka thought when she paused. “Mado and Aoitan too right?”

“Yeah. I’m pretty sure mostly everyone. Yet is it okay to tell you to go forward?” Nacchan exhaled in return as the taller girl nodded. “Right here. Just push it in.”

She felt uncertain about where she was on her body but it felt tight upon the initial push. The captain stared upon her as she pushed her lips up to Tanaka. The slight grip upon her bottom lip was when the finger had been trapped by the area where she had pushed, Nacchan fell back to the couch and the taller girl stared down upon the location.

“Is this it?” Tanaka asked.

“Yes. Boss. It’ll be easier if you move it.” The captain announced as she reached out for the orb. “Back and forth.”

The area twitched after every move with the methodical approach. She came back to the thought that the captain was stoic compared to her usual moody self. The woman she got to know was a bit cold and shy around others when she didn’t seek attention however she did found a place with her modeling and how everyone was growing upon her shape. As for Tanaka, it was harder yet she found modeling to be the next goal rather than singing as she turned back to see a ooze falling into her palm.

“Nacchan, doesn’t it hurt?” She asked softly.

“It does… yet feels so good.” The captain replied audibly when Tanaka sat back.

“This feels dry though.” She swiped with her other hand as Nacchan pushed the tall girl back.

The captain pushed her knees into the chest and dove between her legs. The wet organ latched onto the woman as she ran along the straight line. Tanaka gripped the pillow and let out a thunderous cry into the room. She hadn’t felt such a rush yet it wasn’t the punch that caught her most with the idea that the pain would come next from the warning the captain had gave and moaned out with the lashing from the tongue before it stopped and saw Nacchan from above staring down.

“Chiichan taught me this.” She smiled as the captain pushed the leg down and moved her hips towards her body.

The sensation was different than what she had done to the captain but the sudden slamming of her soul came with the warm touching of the sex between them. Nacchan shifting her hips against her body was unusual yet her voice shrill out into the room with the continual motion as she kept face away from Tanaka.

“You feeling good?” The tall girl asked.

“I forgot how this makes me feel. Especially knowing it’s with someone I see as a little sister.” The captain announced when she nodded.

“Use your finger. I’m ready.” Tanaka growled with Nacchan pulling away and plunged the finger inside.

“You can do it too.” She said with her woman presented to Tanaka and instantly felt the digit within her.

The pain was subtle compared to the initial thoughts. She wouldn’t have accepted Nacchan to be easy on her while she felt the pleasure coming from it. Tanaka was amazed that no one had told her about it although she was accepting the new her compared to the brat that she was before. Moving her finger in and out, the ooze came liquefied onto the finger.

The slow acceleration was different from moments earlier and matched up to test the captain’s pace. Tanaka let her cries escape when she heard the sounds from Nacchan as she picked up her pace upon the counter from the captain. She sensed the lower half tensing up swiftly as the roar came into the room with the escape of the weight from her body.

“Mou~ that’s a lot.” The captain wailed. “This isn’t normal.”

“I know what it is… Where is the nearest place to clean up?” She smirked.

“We have the showers… however we both have to go naked.” Nacchan snickered. “Let’s go~”

Even for a first experience, Tanaka never thought to consider the first time being with Nacchan although it was different than with someone else. The sudden warmth upon her skin made it comfortable to understand her new found adulthood would be to test the waters with others that could make her feel feminine compared to the start.

#matsuoka natsumi #tanaka natsumi #smut

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the-letter-y · 7 years

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Stuck With You

A voltron au consisting of the domestic lives of the ever loved klance. Summary- In which a moody artist rooms with an overdramatic florist.

Chapter 2: New rommate, new life

It has already been a week since Keith moved in and Lance was pretty sure that his roommate was planing to make the whole house his canvas. Just two days ago he had asked Lance whether he wanted to see a sunset in his room. Lance, utterly confused and in a hurry to get to work simply replied with a “Why not?” and returned to literally find a sunset in his room. Keith had actually taken the time to paint a sunset mural in his room and Lance couldn’t be more touched. The best part was that it wasn’t the kind of sunset you see on mountain tops, but the kind of sunset that could be seen by the seashore.

“A compensation for the rent,” Keith had said, red paint covering the side of his face and some splashes of paint on his shirt.

Lance being Lance had ruined the moment when he commented, “It looks more like a sunrise than a sunset.”

And Keith had replied with, “Whatever makes you sleep at night,” and retreated to clean himself up while Lance prepared dinner.

Keith had this red couch that arrived the second day after he moved in. It was a love seat that could obviously occupy two people, but as Lance approached it and questioned him about the couch, Keith had ran up and sprawled himself on to it.

“My couch,” he had hissed and Lance decided it was best he didn’t fight him about it and turned to his comfy bean bag instead.

Today was an exceptionally slow day for them, and they both had spent it in the living room. Keith was sketching something with his headphones on, laying on his red couch with his legs propped up on to one of the arm rest. Lance was messing around with his phone, looking through social media and scrolling through funny websites. Both minded their own business, it was more peaceful that way, less arguing.

“Hey Keith/Lance, could you go grab me a glass of water-” they both paused and looked at each other, one with narrowed eyes and one with a challenging brow raised.

“I spoke first!” They both say simultaneously, now glaring at each other.

“Keith.”

“Lance.”

Now they’re both aggresively playing rock-paper-scissors, shouting the namesake of the game repeatedly until Keith comes out victorious. Keith smirks in triumph as Lance, that overdramatic dork, groans loudly and stalks over to the kitchen to get Keith a glass of water. Keith returns to his sketching as Lance soon returns with his glass of water.

“Ya know Keith, if we’re gonna be living together under the same roof, you’re gonna have to-” he pauses mid-sentence and looks around the room as if searching for something. He then comes up with a mini white board.

Keith raises an eyebrow in question. “That’s mine,” he says, pointing to the mini white board.

Lance waves him off and sits crossed-legged infront of him, steals a marker from him and starts doodling. Keith watches as he doodles little round heads with faces on them. He also notices how Lance sticks his tongue out when he focuses on something and couldn’t help but add that to his mental list of Lance traits. Keith watches Lance doodle a bit more, his eyebrows scrunched up in confusion.

“What’s that?” He finally asks him, pointing at one of the doodles.

“This-” Lance gestures to the doodle, “-is you. And this-” he gestures to the other doodle, “-is me,” he says with finality and a proud smile.

True enough that there was a little doodle of a frowning Keith and a smiling Lance, both being surrounded by a square-like structure, a triangular structure on top of the square-like one, probably an attempt of a poorly drawn house, he muses. Still confused as to why Lance drew this, he tilts his head as an indication for him to continue.

“Well, if we’re gonna be living under the same roof then you’re-” he erases the doodle Keith’s frown and draws a smile in place. “-you’re gonna have to be nicer,” Lance tells him with a firm nod, a look of satisfication on his face.

Keith scowls at the doodle, because the smile doodle Keith had was just too overbearing.

Keith finds the same doodle nailed on to their front door the next day and couldn’t help but question Lance about it once he got back from work, smelling like flowers and all.

“Oh, I took it to Pidge yesterday and left her to do her little gremlin magic so that the drawing won’t get rubbed of on contact,” he tells him swiftly like it’s the most normal thing.

“Pidge?” He says in a questioning tone and Lance makes an ‘o’ with his mouth.

“That’s right, you haven’t met my BFFs’” Lance says more to himself than to Keith and Keith just shrugs and tells Lance to remove the thing. Lance ignores him of course.

“We need house rules,” Keith declares to him one fine morning and Lance, still drowsy from sleep, could only stare at his roommate’s bedhead.

“So make some,” he replies nonchalantly with a shrug, accompanied by a yawn. “Man, I am tired,” he murmurs and sits by the dining table. Keith sits opposite from him, a paper and pen in his grasp and a frown marrying his features.

“Lately my jasmine tea has been decreasing in quantity. Do you have anything to do with it?” He questions, suspicious gaze and all.

Lance blinks, Keith’s words slowly processing in his mind as he turns a guilty look away and coughs into his fist. “Maybe.”

The suspicious gaze shifts to a glare. “No one touches my calming tea.”

Lance, with his hands raised in a surrendering pose finally gives in. “Fine, let’s set some freakin’ house rules,” he grumbles and Keith smiles in victory.

“Stuff?” Lance reads from the list of things Keith had given him. The list only consisting of paint, milk and stuff. What got him stuck was the ‘stuff’ written in neat cursive writing on the list, just below the word ‘milk’.

Lance is standing in the middle of aisle 10, where the cereals are kept. He is confused, hungry and utterly frustrated. Here he is, standing in the middle of a grocery shop just two blocks down from where they lived, staring at a list of things Keith wrote down like it was the world’s hardest puzzle. He just wants to get the groceries done.

He makes up his mind to call just call Keith and save him the brain storming. Because A)paint could define any paint, like paint for murals, acrylic paint, watercolours, etcetera. B) He didn’t know what kind of milk Keith liked, low fat, soy? It could be anything. C) Does he even need to elaborate on 'stuff'?

Keith picks up on the 5th ring, his voice sounding gruff and slurry like he’s just woken up, probably from a nap. “Yesh?” he replies sloppily and Lance fights back the urge to laugh at how child-like Keith sounded.

“Mind elaborating your nonspecific grocery list, Keith? I mean, ‘stuff’? Seriously? What does that even mean?” He questions as stern as he can get while talking to a half-asleep Keith who is also too adorable for his own good.

There is silence on the other end of the line and Lance frowns. “Keith! Don’t fall asleep on me!”

“Huh? Oh, you’re still there,” he says in between a yawn. “Ya know…stuff means…stuff,” he says and hangs up like the matter has been solved.

Lance stares at his phone, groans and regrets ever volunteering to do the groceries.

Lance, like the ‘good roomate’ he is, finds himself in Keith’s room when he was cleaning the house. At first it was out of curiosity, and then he finds out that his roommate is a conspiracy freak. The mural on Keith’s wall, the scenery of a forest and a shadowy image of Big Foot. Keith’s mat even had Big Foot foot print on it.

Lance swears that he doesn’t find his roommate cute. He then finds a huge stuffed hippo on Keith’s bed, its head tilted from the weight and staring at Lance with those beady eyes.

Lance’s roommate was fucking adorable.

A/N: Here’s another one!

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #stuck with you #swy #voltron au #my writing

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