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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year

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Beast.

That’s how everyone describes him. Town to town, village to village, whispered voices describing Prince Keith’s roaring temper and snarling fury. The manners of a lone wolf and attitude of an angry grizzly bear, those are the rumours. He’s vile, he’s mean, he’s ugly and horrible and rude.

And Lance is supposedly engaged to the asshole.

To be wed.

Is this really what he has to look forward to, in life? Trading himself away for his future husband's riches, essentially? A life of luxury and opulence in exchange for his soul? He might as well make a deal with the devil. He might be able to stay at home, then.

“We’re here,” Marco says softly. He pulls on the reins, stopping Blue – the McClain's horse – in front of the impossibly tall iron gates. He swings off the saddle, landing soundly on his feet before reaching up a hand to help Lance.

Lance snarls at him, heaving himself off himself and stepping away from his brother, busying himself with stroking Blue’s broad, soft nose.

“Lance,” Marco tries, sighing heavily. “C’mon. I know it’s not…ideal, but it’s a castle, right? I know you’ve always wanted to live in a castle.”

Lance grits his teeth, keeping his back to his brother. Rage makes his hands shake and clench where they’re wrapped around Blue’s mane, so he forces himself to relax.

“You don’t know anything about what I want. None of you do. None of you care enough to know.”

“Lance, stop it. You have to know that none of us wanted this –”

“There are four things I know, brother,” Lance spits, finally turning to face him. Marco starts at the anger in Lance’s expression, the vitriol in his tone. Lance stalks forward, and Marco takes a small step back on reflex. “I know that the town gathered to choose one young person to be engaged to the prince, as is custom.”

He takes another step, but this time Marco stays where he is.

“I know that every single person in the town, man and woman and child, made their vote.”

He takes one final step, milimeters between him and his brother, jabbing his finger into his chest. Marco remains where he stands, face stony.

“I know that there are nine other people besides me in my family. And I know that there were only three people in the entire village who didn’t vote for me.”

Finally his face crumples, anger finally giving way to the pain churning in his chest.

“I know that six of you at least decided I wasn’t worth keeping. And for that, you’re all dead to me.”

Marco says nothing. His face remains impassive, not even a glint of sympathy or even pity in his eyes. Nothing but stoicism. Lance thinks of how his mother had already had a bag packed for him when the results of the lottery were made public, how she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. How his father wasn’t even home to see him off. How he wasn’t allowed to see his niece and nephew one final time. How he heard his siblings arguing over who would have to escort him to the castle, how Marco had drawn the short straw.

His heart hardens in his chest. He averts his eyes, wiping his cheeks. He’s only embarrassing himself.

Lance wraps his hands around Blue’s reigns and guides her to the gates with him. “I’m taking Blue.”

“Wait, Lance, you can’t –”

Fitting, that Marco speaks now.

“Consider it my dowry,” Lance snaps, and slams the gate behind him.

He ignores Marco’s calling, taking the first turn he sees on the cobblestone paths to finally duck out of his brother’s sights. Marco won’t follow him past the castle’s gate, anyway, but he’ll give up faster if he can’t see Lance, and Lance is tired of hearing him. He deserves the walk home, anyway. Lance hopes it takes him a couple days. Maybe he’ll send Blue back when he’s in a better mood.

If he’s ever in a better mood. Seeing that he’s basically locked into a fancy prison for the rest of time, now.

“C’mon, Blue,” Lance mutters, tugging her along. She noses gently at the back of his neck, but trots along happily. “Let’s find you a stable or something, huh? I’m sure a fuckin’ stone from the ground of this place is worth the entire town. If they don’t have a stable, I'm rioting.”

Lance keeps grumbling as he guides Blue along random paths, stumbling over poorly-kept paths overgrown with roots and vines. “Some place this is, huh, Blue? Our cluttered kitchen is more organised than this place. What kind of rich asshole prince doesn’t pay a groundskeeper, or something? Weirdo.”

Blue neighs at him, looking at him in a way that’s almost chastising, if a damn horse can look chastising.

“I’m allowed to call him names! He’s basically forcing me to marry him because he’s too horrible for anyone to fall in love naturally!”

At another one of Blue’s looks, Lance huffs, kicking a random rock off into the distance. “Yeah, yeah, okay. I’ll be nice. But, like, proportionally. I’m not going to kiss his royal ass, or anything. I’ll just refrain from kicking him when I’m so inclined.”

This time Blue’s whinny is almost amused.

Lance maybe needs to see if there’s someone his age around here to make friends with, or something. He’s going batty if his only friend’s a damn horse.

“Oh, hey, that looks like a stable. No other horses, though. And how old is that hay?” Lance pokes at the pile, which disintegrates to nothing at his touch. “Well, that’s not very welcoming. What kind of castle can’t afford some decent hay?” He guides Blue gently into one of the admittedly spacious stable stalls, carefully untying her saddle and harness and hanging it on the wall. He guides her head into a thankfully full water trough, and then sets off in search of some food for her. He hums quietly as he peeks his head in each of the other stalls, then steps outside of the stable. “There’s gotta be something somewhere.”

But there really isn’t. Lance must look for twenty minutes before he finally gets frustrated, stomping back to Blue’s stall with his hands on his hips.

“This stupid place is barren,” he tells her. She lifts her head from the water for a moment to neigh softly at him, nudging him gently. He presses a kiss in between her eyes, then pats her on the side before stepping to the side. “I’ll find you something, though,” he assures. “I’ll be back in a bit, okay? I’m gonna poke around ‘til I find somebody.”

He takes his time strolling around the castle grounds, whistling to himself and poking through every door he finds. He finds several garden sheds full of old, rusty tools, and several gardens that are completely overgrown with weeds. Every window he looks through is so caked with dust and cobwebs that he can barely make out anything. Every side door has a lock that’s completely rusted shut.

“Am I in the wrong castle, or something?” he mutters to himself. All earlier feelings have completely faded in favour of confusion. He may not know much about princes and royalty and riches, or whatever, but he’s relatively certain that most castles don’t look so…run down. Tired. Old.

Abandoned.

Finally he makes his way around to what must be the front entrance, with doors several dozen times the size of him. He runs his fingers over the grain of the wood, feeling a surface much rougher than he expected, like wood that hasn’t been oiled in years. Several rose briars grow across the door, holding it shut. Lance has to jog back to one of the garden sheds and use a dull pair of garden shears to hack them away. (He feels bad for destroying such beautiful plants, but decides he’ll save the buds and make a flower crown for Blue later. She looks adorable in pink, so she’ll look like a horse fit for a prince once Lance has finished braiding the roses into her mane.)

He’s expecting the door to be jammed shut, like all the others he tried, so he gives it a very hefty shove to try to encourage it to open.

And then lands on his ass with a yelp when the door opens easily.

“I love my life,” he announces to no one but the dank, dark entryway. “It is so wonderful here. First I get married off to some rando without any input, and then this entire stupid castle exists. If one more bad thing happens to me I am going to simply cry until I dry out like a salami, and then I shall allow myself to be eaten by crows.”

Lance swears he hears a muffled giggle.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

No response.

“Okay, I’m a little kooky, but definitely not so much that I’m imagining people laughing at my truly excellent jokes. I won’t bite, you know. And I promise I’m very charming and only a little miserable about my situation.”

There’s another giggle. He’s sure of it, this time. He tries to follow the sound, but it doesn’t really get him anywhere, because this stupid castle apparently decided to splurge on the creepy and imposing factor and skimp on all the lighting. He stumbles forward, hands outstretched, seeing if he can find an oil lamp or something. Hell, even a stick he can light with the scattered matches he has in his bag. He finally finds what feels like a table of some sort, and runs his fingers over it – grimacing at the thick layer of dust – until he finds what he thinks is a candelabra, which is hilarious. The place can’t afford a rag to wipe off the surfaces, but it can afford a real-life candelabra.

“I hate rich people,” Lance says mildly, striking the match on the rough door and lighting the three half-melted candles.

“Careful with that match, kiddo. This place is really flammable.”

Lance shrieks, throwing the candelabra – the living candelabra! The talking candelabra! What the fresh fuck! – to the ground and scrambling backwards. The candelabra clatters to the ground with a curse – what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck – rolling a couple feet before straightening itself out and bending its arms to its centre as a man might bend his arms to put at his waist.

The candelabra has a face, in the wax.

“What the fuck is going on,” Lance whimpers. The candelabra’s face seems to soften. Lance fights back hysterical laughter at his own mental pun, even though it’s objectively hilarious. It’s not the time. Now is the time to freak the fuck out.

“Hey, hey, take a breather,” the candelabra says. It has a deep, smooth voice, that makes Lance think of those shiny knights in the stories his Abuela used to tell him.

“You are a talking candle,” Lance responds.

The candelabra huffs. (Can the candelabra huff? Does the candelabra have lungs to huff, or is it just an attitude thing? Did Lance hit his head on the way to the castle ground, and is now dreaming?)

“My name is Shiro,” the candelabra says. He smiles softly. “You must be the fiancé.”

Lance decides, right in this moment, that he’s just going to accept his weird delusions until he wakes up. It can’t hurt, right? Nothing can be worse than being married off to Some Guy, prince or no.

“That would be me,” Lance says, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his tone. “Mail-order bride, at your service.” Shiro makes a face, wax eyebrows furrowing, so Lance decides to take pity on him. “Yes, I’m the fiancé. My name is Lance.”

“It’s good to meet you, Lance.” Shiro blows out the candle on one of his arms and holds it out. Lance shakes it, wary of the hot wax. It’s not Shiro’s fault Lance is in this garbage situation. “I’m sorry there was no one here to greet you. Over the years we’ve gotten a little…lax, in our hospitality.”

“That would explain the general air of despair and misery.”

Shiro laughs again, brightly and fully. “You’re a witty one, aren’t you?”

“So I’ve been told. My suitors lined up along the block, you know. I’m sure Prince Keith had to fight them off with his bare hands. Shame he ditched before we could be properly acquainted. I suppose we have the rest of our lives to get to know each other.”

“I’m sure it’s not proper for me to laugh at jokes at the expense of my Prince,” Shiro says, in a way that tells Lance he is holding back giggles.

Lance is very proud of himself. He may never be the smartest or strongest person in the room, but he’ll be damned if he’s not the funniest.

“I’ll wear you down eventually,” Lance says, waving a dismissive hand. “Now, do I get to meet the coathanger butler and duster french maid, or are you the only talking furniture?”

———

next chapter

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llamaoftheinternet · 2 years

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We really heard the phrase "opposites attract" and ran with it.

Hear me out, there are so many trope ship dynamics that, at the end of the day, can be boiled down to "opposites attract" and I'm going to name just couple to prove it.

Enemies to lovers

On the opposite side of some kind of conflict, from different backgrounds and life experiences, might even have opposite moral compasses.

The red and blue ships

I may be slightly presuming you know what I mean by this but let's just say it's a very common character aesthetic because of prime colours.

One of them is normally more introverted while the other is extraverted. Or they butt heads a lot.

Jock and nerd

The Jock/popular girl is ever seen as well loved by everyone or a bit of an ass, and the nerd is seen as quiet, keeping to themselves.

They normally end up together via tutoring sessions given by the nerd.

Royalty and commoner

Royalty from a high class background where they are not given that much freedom and either don't realise it or are fed up of it and want to be free. In most of the things I've read they meet the commoner because they've snuck out of the castle/estate or the 'commoner' works in the grounds, therefore seen as lower/working class.

I'm not actually sure if this is a well-known one or just one that I've seen a couple of fic use but it fits.

Beauty and the beast

If you use the Disney film as an example. Belle is perceived as beautiful and smart but from a simple village and the beast/Adam is perceived for most of the film as as ferocious and a little feral from a formally grand castle.

The whole film was based around the concept of opposites attract and looks don't matter, you can't convince me otherwise. I've seen a very similar concept be used in other fics that don't directly linked to beauty and the beast but it's the most well-known case.

Flower shop and tattoo shop AUs

The florist is most likely seen as bright and chipper, while the tattoo artist may be seen as edgy and intimidating.

These are just a couple but feel free to add to it because I find it interesting that despite it being a very simple concept we've found so many ways of exploring it.

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katelfiredemon · 2 years

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Ok, running lights for Beauty and the Beast all summer has me convinced that it’s the perfect au for Klance 😭 Keith being half galra and feeling unlovable and lashing out with anger and feeling like there’s no hope for him, exactly like the beast feels about what he’s become. Lance may be really charismatic and personable, but never feeling like he actually fits in or is wanted and appreciated for all of who he is, like how Belle is considered the prettiest girl in the village but despite that people think she’s weird and feels isolated from everyone 🥺

And them having a really rough start but then slowly learning to understand each other and finding solace and friendship with each other when they felt like there was no hope for themselves 😭😭😭 I’m crying it’s just too good

#also belle’s sassy comebacks in the musical are perfect for lance #klance #beauty and the beast au #please come cry about this with me #if people like this then maybe I’ll make a post of some of my headcanons for the au

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thedemigodpaladin · 1 month

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I’m gonna do all of them at some point, but I just want to see what people are interested in

#klance #klance fanfiction #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #a03 writer #alternate universe #keith kogane #vld keith #lance mcclain #vld lance

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apocolypsekittyyy · 8 months

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why cant i find it???

i read this one beauty and the beast klance au where keith was the beast and lance was beauty and I CANNOT FIND IT ANYWHERE

#help #where is it #lance excelled at pissing keith off too

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kaiayame · 2 years

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✨🥀 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖆𝖘 𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖊, 𝖘𝖔𝖓𝖌 𝖆𝖘 𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖆𝖘 𝖗𝖍𝖞𝖒𝖊…

my instagram & twitter.

#klance #beauty and the beast #klance au #disney au #keith x lance #otp #my art #this cropping is really only to serve the instagram setup #also yes it's 2022 and here's another klance au. we are creatures of habit.#also do not kill the part of you that is cringe kill the part of you that cringes. blah blah blah

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aimadduragon · 3 years

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Tale as old as time ❤️💙

#voltron #vld #voltron legendary defender #voltron fanart #klance #voltron lance #voltron keith #keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance au #klance fanart #disney fanart #beauty and the beast #lgbtq art

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ironmanismydad · 4 years

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Ok but give me a Beauty and the Beast AU with Klance or give me death tbh

#klance #voltron #keith #lance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #keith x lance #keith as beast and lance as belle #bet #beauty and the beast #beauty and the beast au #fanfiction #fanfic request

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bleusarcelle · 7 years

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Nothing But The Weather // Chap 1

*Deep breath* Alright.

This is my new multichap fic I’m focusing on, guys! It’s a Beauty and The Beast Klance Au (Oh yes, so original, I know) But it’s a mix with the original story! So, it may have some twists!

Anyways; here’s the link for Ao3 http://archiveofourown.org/works/9215594/chapters/20901749

And that’s it! I hope you enjoy!

Disclaimer: Voltron doesn’t belong to me.

It’s raining.

The fifteen years old prince pants heavily as he leans forward, resting his forehead against the cold ground at the entrance of his own castle, his dry heaving being tuned out by the sound of the raindrops falling down on him.

The loud and shallow breaths he’s making are not enough to fill his lungs and the desperation to breathe increases by the second. Everything around him it’s bright; the abnormal purple glow envelops him in a tight and suffocating ball and he can’t breathe.

Something on his ear pops and then Keith’s finally able to hear. Thunder and raindrops make their way to his ears and Keith could almost laugh in relief when his lungs take in the air they were missing.

He stays still for a few seconds, inhaling and exhaling rhythmically until the pain in the back of his head disappears and the hot feeling inside his skin dims just enough for him to feel the coldness of the rain on his skin.

Groggily and with a hint of dizziness, the Prince blinks slowly only to snap his eyes wide open as they meet the reflection on the puddle below him.

Big and bright golden eyes stare right back at him, just as wide and terrified as he feels. Any sings of his birth eye color erased entirely, the white area around them gone and leaving behind only a deep golden space on its place.

The teen lets out a shaky breath, “W-what –?”

It takes him a moment before he acknowledges the smug chuckle coming just a few feet from him.

A tall dark figure stands proudly in front of him, looking down on him with pale golden eyes similar to his own and something inside him snaps at the sight.

“Haggar.” Keith whispers dumbfounded as he recognizes the figure of the exiled witch before he frowns deeply, “What did you do to me, you witch!” He snarls, sharp and angry.

The figure hums unamused at his anger, “I made you a favor. You should be thanking me, young Prince.”

Keith suppresses the shiver that went down his spine at the deep and eerie voice. Not being satisfied with the answer, he slams his fist against the ground, water splashing at the hit.

“What did you do to me!?” He shouts, his voice dripping with venom and yet the witch just laughs at his face without flinching.

“I made you stronger.” Haggar hisses, “You’re one of us, now.”

His blood turns cold.

“What –“

“Congratulations, Prince Keithel, you’re now one of the most powerful creatures in the kingdom.” Haggar smirks, as she waves a hand over where prince’s on the ground, gesturing to his whole being.

”Vrepit sa, young cub.”

“No.” Keith whispers horrified and yellow teeth appear from the Haggar’s wicked grin.

“Yes.” She whispers back gleefully.

Keith numbly raises his hands and stares at them in front of him, shocked and terrified.

Fur. He has fur. Purple and wet fur hugs him tight to his skin and then his hands go flying, pressing themselves against every inch of his body and his eyes widen as he doesn’t recognizes some features: the fangs on the corner of his mouth, the ears, his nose, the sharp claws, his feet and ankles; everything’s different and deformed and Keith can’t catch his breath.

“No, no, no, no, no.” He shakes his head in denial and it only makes Haggar to laugh.

“Yes. You shall be a great acquisition to our Empire.” She declares, walking towards the Prince on the ground, “You shall replace what we lost. You will be better and stronger than our Champion could have ever been.”

“Shiro was never yours!” Keith snaps angrily at the mention of his brother, “You stay away from him, you old witch! Leave him alone!”

“Yes! Yes!” Haggar cheers, grin widening as Keith’s anger just increases, her yellow eyes mesmerized as his sharp claws starts digging into the wet dirty, “Canalize that anger. The hate and disgust you feel; keep it inside and allow them to control every sense of your being. Let them break free and see the wonders that they bring you.”

Keith gasps and shakes as he tries his best to control his emotions. There’s not enough air around him and his body isn’t answering him. He’s frozen in the ground helpless as Haggar walks slowly towards him.

The young prince vaguely notices the worn out boots in his vision as he struggles to stay conscious.

His vision wobbles, his breath starts to leave him and he can’t concentrate. The dirt on his hands is not enough to ground him and he’s losing the battle to stay awake.

All of his senses are turned off and he can just stare blankly at the spot on the ground in front of him, oblivious to the dagger hovering dangerously over him.

“Let the Galra mark your path and you will be free.” Haggar says calmly, almost soothing, “Fight it and you will face the deadly consequences.”

Keith starts shaking. He closes his eyes and rocks back and forward, shaking his head, putting his arms around him, fighting back the feeling that’s eating him from the inside. “No, stop. No.”

Haggar grits her teeth together in annoyance at the resistance and kicks the Prince in the ribs, making him fall back on the ground limply with a shout of pain. “Stop fighting!”

Keith continues to shake uncontrollably while hugging his mid-section protectively. “N-No.”

Haggar frowns. “Boy, you will not condemn me. I’m going to finish this mission one way or another.” The witch threatens darkly, “One last chance; Rise and accept your call or face death.”

Slowly and wobbly, Keith’s able to raise his head and with only one eye half open, he glares at her with the reminding energy he has. “I f-face d-death, you harlot.”

The exiled witch scowls angrily and Keith knows that’s the last strike.

“Suit yourself.” She whispers as she takes a swing and brings the dagger down straight to his chest.

It takes only a second, before the dagger clatters on the ground and Haggar is thrown against the castle’s wall, dropping almost lifelessly on the ground right after.

“Keith!” A new voice shouts, worry and desperation dripping from it, “Keith, are you okay? What happened? Keith, answer me!”

“Shiro.” Keith calls weakly, recognizing the voice of his brother.

He can feel Shiro’s hand cupping his face carefully and as Keith tries to open his eyes groggily, he catches a flash of gray eyes roaming on every inch of his face.

“It’s okay, Keith. It’s going to be fine.” Shiro murmurs softly, pushing Keith’s bangs away from his face, wincing slightly when Keith’s new golden eyes stare right at him, “You’re going to be fine, little brother, I promise.”

Keith has always trust Shiro’s words. Ever since they were kids, Keith has always looked up towards his big brother but somehow, as Keith feels the hot angry feeling swirling inside him, wanting to get out and slash out, he can’t help but think that his brother might be wrong for the first time.

He loses track of time after that. Images come and go from his vision. Shiro’s worried faced is replaced by a familiar face with orange spots.

There are voices and they surround him. There are whispers and desperate shouts. He can’t pick up anything that’s happening and yet –

“There might be a way but –”

“Coran, please! Just do it!”

“To fight a curse with another curse is risky, Shiro, you have to understand –”

“Just do it! I don’t think he’s going to last – Keith? Keith, no! Keith, stay awake! Breath!”

Someone’s touching him. There’s a faint glowing light behind his eyelids and then the rock pressing against his chest lifts and then he can hear Coran’s faint healing words.

After that, there’s only silence until a small weak voice breaks it.

“But how do you destroy a monster without becoming one?”

Keith passes out after that.

It’s only just when he jolts wide awake the next morning in his bed with the faint rays of sun coming from his half open window that Keith allows himself to breathe out in relief.

He doesn’t move. He stays still and breathes out slowly, praying for anything that may be out there to grant his wish of the last night events being just a nightmare.

That all of that had been just a bad dream and he’s not monster, that the feeling that had been eating him had faded into oblivion along with the nightmare and there was nothing left.

The young prince’s thoughts are suddenly cut off and he freezes when the familiar sharp hot feeling hits him and makes him lose his breath.

The sun is high on the sky when the Castle shakes at a pained howl that echoes around the halls coming from the Prince’s room. The feeling doesn't fade that day, nor for the next seven years that follow.

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okanawolf · 5 years

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Klance beauty and the beast au

I know this concept has happened a lot, but I might write something short for this but head are my ideas!

-- with the addition of a library, it’s also a huge observatory with a giant telescope. The roof of the walls is covered in a bioluminescent shine of constellations and average stars and planets. In the middle of the library is a circular area of chairs and desks.

-there’s a hidden room found within the library, particularly behind the fireplace of this said room ^

-blue and red are cats who roam around the castle, sleeping anywhere they please. As well as the mice.

-the training room still exists which Lance discovers to be completely destroyed (it’s where Keith let out all his frustrations when he became the beast)

-instead of the flower being pink like in the movie, it’s a very beautiful shade of purple. (Get it cuz klance)

-when Lance runs off after being scared, Keith decides to chase after him, explain the detail of the chase. While Lance was looking behind himself as he ran, he turned around only to miss a branch in front of him and falls down to the ground, twisting one of his ankles. He lies there for several moments, waiting for Keith to show but he never does. Instead, he hears the whimpering and yowls of creatures fighting a distance away. So Lance actually tries to crawl over to where the noises are, only to discover Keith fighting with some sort of creature or creatures.

-Keith and Lance have more time to deal with this curse, not just like a couple of days. (Maybe a couple of weeks, more time to actually consider and fall in love(let’s be honest, love doesn’t take a week))

-one time Keith catches Lance sitting by the window of the library, watching the stars as they reflect against the lakes surface (there will be a giant lake near this castle ok!), he asks what all is wrong and they have a “bonding moment”

-in the beginning it was a sibling who was captured who got lost in the woods and found their way at the castle seeking warmth.

-when his sibling tells the townsfolk of the monster, they don’t believe him because he is just a child.

#voltron #klance #vld #safe klance #safe vld #safe voltron #beauty and the beast au #au #headcannons #write #writing

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freckled-moss · 6 months

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#I have no idea what to caption this #this was entirely self indulgent #and also I edited all of it while at work #klance beauty and the beast au #lance mcclain #keith kogane #klance #klance au #galra keith #keith x lance #fanart #moss draws #animatic

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autisticlancemcclain · 7 months

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prev chapter

“Just – don’t do it, Lance. I don’t want you to end up in the west wing, or things are going to get bad in here.”

If Lance is being entirely honest, he has no desire to deviate from Hunk’s directions. At least he didn’t. If Hunk hadn’t said anything, it probably wouldn’t have even occurred to Lance to go to the west wing anyway. This is the second time he has been warned away from the west wing, now. If Lance was curious before, he’s burning with it now.

But Hunk is his friend, and he’s doing him a favour, so he bites his tongue and nods his head and walks down the way Hunk instructed him too. It helps that he’s ravenous, and is more focused on food than anything.

But he won’t lie and say that he doesn’t have to force himself away from dark hallways and beckoning shadows.

———

“Oh, Lance, hello!” Colleen greets him enthusiastically when he walks in the door. Lance wiggles his fingers at her in a small wave. “I’m glad you came out, dear. I was worried.”

“Got hungry.”

“Of course, of course. Sal, heat up the food, will you?”

The giant wood burning stove in the corner of the kitchen chugs to life, vent forming an enthusiastic grin. The sound of frying meat and salted potatoes fill the air, making Lance’s mouth water.

The kitchen is quiet at this time of night; warm. It makes him think of his Abuela, on the many nights when neither of them could sleep, guiding his hands as he kneaded dough, sliced meat, prepared vegetables. Things he can do easily, now, without thinking, in a way he has never been able to do with a plow or bailer. Things that form callouses on the tips of his fingers rather than the pad of his palm.

He shakes his head, shoving the thoughts in the back of his mind. It doesn’t matter, now. The food is warm and smells heavenly, and more importantly, there’s no screaming fiancé to reckon with.

He scarfs back the food so quickly his stomach aches, forgetting to be self conscious. Colleen’s laughter is only teasing, after all, and there is no one else to see it. He smiles sheepishly at her and wishes her goodnight as he finishes his third plate, watching her hop off to a cabinet.

Slowly the lights in the kitchen fade as candles burn low and the embers of the oven start to die out, shadows shifting on the cluttered walls and full shelves. Lance picks up one of the newer candles before the kitchen goes completely dark, placing it gently in a (non-animated, thankfully) teacup to guide him down the corridors. He remembers Hunk’s instructions, pausing for a moment to flip them in his head so he won’t get lost in the wide, dark hallways – left, left, right; now left, right, right. Stick to the path.

He walks out of the kitchen, closing the heavy door gently so as to not wake anyone. He takes his time, not quite comfortable in the dark but not quite afraid, either; his shoes, worn and thin, provide a light enough cover that he can almost feel the smooth marble floors on the soles of his feet, and his free hand traces along the wall as he walks, feeling the rough bricks and occasional soft tapestries. He keeps his candle close to his face, both to help him see and to try and soak up some of the tiny flame’s warmth. His cloak is back in the servant’s quarters – his room – and the castle is warmer than outside but barely.

His fingers brush over a soft tapestry, threads so thin and tightly woven he can barely feel the difference between them, and then brick again, and then air. He pauses, holding his candle a little further from his eyes and squinting to make out what’s in front of him.

Difficult to see in the low candlelight, a massive stained glass window towers in front of him. The colours are too dark to make out, but when he places the candle at the base of the window and steps back, he can see the vague shapes of a young man, tall and regal and dark-haired, holding a sword and standing in front of a castle. Below him are panels of farmland and forest, and beside him are orchards, vills, estates. Above him, to the right, is a shining sun. To the left, a crescent moon.

Left, right, right. Don’t veer off the path.

Lance bites his lip, and follows the path of the moon.

The corridor, somehow, seems colder. As if the bricks are further away from the sun, no longer leaching the warmth collected as it was shining. The darkness seems blacker, too; heavier almost, and soon his candle burns down to the base, extinguishing, leaving him to stumble forward completely blind. He reaches out to steady himself, to trace the wall to stay on track, and has to choke back a scream when he feels a face instead of a wall, sharp teeth digging into the flesh of his palm, snarling and furious. It takes him several minutes to calm his racing heart, work up the courage to reach forward, again, touch the face, map curve of the stone jaw, curling horns, and twisted, scowling mouth. A gargoyle, although Lance has never heard of one inside before.

“Rich people are so goddamn weird,” he mutters to himself.

Shaken but determined, he moves forward.

As he creeps forward, more and more carvings dot the walls, each one angrier and angrier. At one point he has to pull his hand away, continuing forward on his legs alone, because he fears cutting himself on teeth that only appear to get sharper, brick that only seems to get rougher. He keeps his arms extended, moving forward slowly, cautious of what might be in front of him, too scared to stumble.

Eventually, his knuckles hit a door, the sound of the slight impact bouncing off the walls and echoing down the hallway. He flattens his hands against the grainy wood, mapping out the knots, the iron studs and hinges. He’s surprised to feel the lock pulled free. He wraps his fingers around the door handles and tugs, pulling the door open with a groan.

Moonlight spills into the hallway. It’s silvery and faint, but it’s enough that Lance can see the outline of his hands, even vaguely in front of him. He pushes the door open further, wincing at the slight creak, just wide enough for him to slip in.

The room is…huge. And destroyed.

Inside, it’s even easier for the moonlight to lift some of the oppressive shadow. It’s not bright by any means, but the window that makes up the back wall is massive and clear, and the doors are wide open, letting the full moon spill into the crowded, dusty room. Lance steps cautiously forward, hands still extended, looking around with wide eyes.

Broken furniture litters the floor, leaving splinters and shards of metal everywhere, casting long shadows on the wall. Lance is careful to step around it, but in his attempt to steer clear he very nearly walks into one of the many torn drapes and tapestries hanging from the walls and ceiling. He ducks at the last second, avoiding a facefull of it, but he still nudges it with his shoulder, causing a cloud of dust to fall to the floor, powdering his face and hair.

“Aw, that’s fucking disgusting,” he says, swiping it off his face and resisting the urge to throw up. He shakes out his hair, hyperconscious of how little it actually does, hoping that there is some kind of well he can find on the grounds in the morning to bathe. Or, God, maybe even a real bath! With hot water! It’s a castle, after all. There should be.

He looks again at the state of the room, with the shattered glass all over the wall and holes punched into the plaster walls. Paint is peeled or scratched off in many areas, especially where decorative fabric has been torn, or where coat racks or lampposts have fallen, scratching the walls on their way down. On second thought, hot water baths seem too nice for this shithole.

A glint catches his eye, and he lifts his head just to find himself face to face with his own fragmented reflection, startled expression mirrored back to him, brown eyes wide and eyebrows creased. Half the glass is missing, and the rest of it is spiderwebbed, in shards. The ornate carvings of the mirror’s frame have been half-crushed, like the whole giant, floor-length thing was picked up and smashed on the floor.

Sufficiently spooked, with his abuela’s warnings of bad luck ringing in his ears, he starts to turn away, unsure if he can be cursed if he didn’t break the damn thing but unwilling to take his chances. He's in a rough enough situation. He can’t really afford to make it worse. But as he moves forward, he catches sight of another face reflected out of the corner of his eye, and whips around to face it, hand curled protectively over his heart.

“Oh,” he breathes, air knocked out of him, transfixed on the portrait across from him.

It’s painting, or at least, it was. Like everything else in the room it’s been destroyed, half the man’s face shredded cleanly away. Left only is the shining thickness of his dark hair, the length of his pale neck, and the perplexing, swirling indigo of his eyes. He looks hauntingly familiar, in the way a name on a tombstone brings on a shudder of vague recollection, a chill down one’s spine.

Wary and curious, Lance slowly reaches forward, pinching the corner of the ripped flap of canvas with his thumb and pointer finger, cognizant of the accumulated grime, and hesitant for a reason he doesn’t understand. Slowly he begins to flip the canvas up, running his pinkies along the rejoining seams, too dark to make out the rest of the painting quite yet but noting the strong chin, sharp jawline, regal set of the shoulders –

A red light pulses, suddenly, nearly blinding the room, and Lance’s eyes squeeze shut on reflex, hands dropping to his sides. He turns slowly once it has faded, heart pounding, and sees to his great shock a flower, encased in glass, floating atop a small table, glowing as brightly as a ruby.

As if in a trance, he walks towards it, tripping over a table but quickly righting himself, eyes glued to the flower; noting the way it seems to rotate, almost too slowly to track, and sparkle like freshly fallen snow in early sunlight. He stops when he gets close, admiring it in almost a single-minded focus; the deep, dark green of the stem, the sharp thorns in great number along it, and the softly glowing pinkish-red of the three triangular petals. Lance has seen nothing like it before, not in his sister’s garden, not sold in the town square, not even wild. The flower is enchanting, and Lance is reaching out before he can stop himself, pressing careful hands to the glass and lifting it quickly, setting it on the floor and standing again as fast as he can manage, unwilling to take his eyes off the flower for even a second.

He’s nervous, now, as the flower lays without barrier, brighter and softer alike in the cool air and silver moonlight. His reach to touch it is slow, almost as if he must caress the air around it first, single finger poised to rest gently on the widest petal.

A shadow suddenly dwarfs him. He rips back his hand at light speed, but it’s too late, and Prince Keith snarls at him, teeth bared and mouth twisted and far more horrifying than any gargoyle.

He says nothing for a moment. Condensation huffs out of him in a cloud in the cold night, enveloping his head like a halo of smoke. In the next second he’s leaping forward and Lance doesn’t have time to move, doesn’t even have time to pray, can only let out a strangle shout and sharp inhale.

But Keith does not claw him to death, or sink his teeth into Lance’s heart. He only slams the glass case back over the flower, wrapping himself around it almost protectively, mouth still twisted and eyes still angry and cold.

“Why did you come here,” he hisses, stalking towards him, matching every step Lance takes backward. His claws scratch on the floor with every step.

Lance says nothing.

“What about this place seemed inviting to you?” Keith’s voice is low, carefully controlled. With every word Lance’s heart lurches, and with every step his lungs get tighter and tighter. “What about the darkness and closed door made you feel you had the right to enter?”

There’s no overt animosity to his tone, no animation. His voice is flat; deadly. This is not some kind of banter; there is no upper hand for Lance to gain. This conversation doesn’t need him at all.

This is a cornering. A final toying with a trapped animal.

“It’s only a flower,” Lance manages, and the words are barely out of his mouth before Keith roars, a hundred times louder than before, shaking the very ground with the force of it. There is nothing human or humane about it.

“Do you realise what you could have done?!” he shouts, so mounstrous it reverberates in Lance’s bones. He slashes wildly, splitting an already broken chair in two, flinging the halves at the wall.

Lance presses himself against the wall, as far away from him as he can manage, breath coming in short pants. “I didn’t mean –”

“Get out!” Keith booms, and Lance doesn’t waste a second.

He turns around, and he flees.

— — —

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