#wandered away from them to poke at trees and sit in the snow. i dunno i just feel better away from ppl. my brain gets a lot louder if ive | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

long-roads-travelled · 5 years

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Chapter 5

I woke up to Deklan moving around, grumbling quietly under my breath. Sleepy and hardly aware of what I was doing, I wiggled further into him and tightened my hold around his waist.

“Oh, sorry, did I wake ya?” Dek asked, his voice lower than usual and raspy. I sighed and relaxed at the sound.

“Yeah. ‘S fine,” I mumbled. Realizing what I was doing, I rubbed my eye and hesitantly sat up, starting to get off of his lap. He grabbed my arm gently and pulled me back down.

“You can stay here an’ doze if you want,” he murmured, squeezing my bicep before opening his arms. I slumped against him after thinking about it, knowing he probably needed the cuddling more than I do after last night.

I yawned as I put my legs over the arm of the sofa-chair, crossing my arms and looking out the window. It was snowing again. White mounds were covering the ground, the only contrast being the gray and brown trees that circled the cabin, and I could make out a red stag with a decently-sized rack wandering amongst them for a second before it slipped out of sight.

The two of us sat in a comfortable silence for maybe fifteen minutes, but I interrupted it. “How’re you feeling, Dek? Last night seemed pretty rough,” I said with a gentle voice, tilting my head to fix my eyes on his face.

“Uhm,” he hesitated, “I guess I don’t feel that much better…” Dek mumbled, his ears pinned back now.

“That’s okay.” I moved to be sitting on the arm of the chair instead of his lap. “How’re your bruises?”

“Still sore. Ozzy took the ice pack before he left, since it was warm.”

“Want me to get it?”

“If ya wouldn’t mind,” Dek sighed, scratching just behind his ears.

“Of course not.” I smiled at him and squeezed his shoulder. Getting off of my perch, I went to the icebox, my hooves thunking against the floor.

I opened the top and dug for the ice pack, grunting softly since I had to lean over the edge, as it was all the way at the bottom for some reason. The buzzard—Sterrin, we’ve named him—flew in from the other room and landed on the top of a cabinet, a dead mouse in his talons. I paid him no mind. I eventually found the ice pack, standing up and closing the top before heading back over to Dek.

“Here,” I hummed, giving it to him, getting a small nod in return before he tied it over the large bruise on his chest with a series of quiet grunts.

I watched him, sighing to myself. Deklan was so much more fragile than he looked, I knew now, and it was mildly distressing. He curled up and rubbed his eyes, then yawned with a tiny squeak that made me smile ever so slightly.

“Wanna try to go kayaking?” I asked. He needed to distract himself, so I figured this would be better than moping around all day.

“Oh, sure,” he murmured before putting his legs down again and getting up.

“I still have a coat of yours.” I went to grab it from the coat rack, hearing him follow me. I then gave it to him and sighed. “I’ll be right back, I have to put on some proper clothes.”

“‘Kay.” Dek nodded, staying where he was whilst I went off to my room.

I shut my bedroom door as noiselessly as possible, standing there for a moment. I thought to myself, wondering what kind of other things he could be hiding from me. There was no way Duana was the sole reason why he decided to get shitfaced… Was King Kazimir part of it too? He did seem pretty heavily spooked by that gargantuan stallion. I think most of us beys would be, though. His reaction seemed different, like his fear stemmed from something else about Kazimir.

I shook my head; I could think about this more later. I went to my dresser and pulled out pants and a white button-up that was thicker than it looked, then put a black sweater on over it. The leg wraps went on last. I made my way back out to Deklan, a kind smile on my face.

“Ready now, Con?”

“Yeah, you?”

“Yeah, let’s get going,” Dek hummed. It seemed like he suddenly felt better, but I knew that wasn’t really the case.

I followed him outside, then trotted up to walk beside him. The snowfall had finally stopped, leaving everything covered in about a foot of the stuff, meaning we had to trudge through it. Otherwise, the weather was perfect, although I wasn’t sure we’d be able to go kayaking as planned. We’d probably find something else to do.

The walk to the riverbank where our kayaks were didn’t take long. We maneuvered down the incline carefully, slipping in parts, and got down safely.

“Yep. It’s frozen,” I sighed, walking up to the ice. I stomped on it to see how thick it was. “Goes down far, too.”

“Ah, damn,” Deklan grunted. I heard him walk up behind me.

“Well, we could—” I began before I was promptly nudged onto the ice. Startled, I threw my arms out and waved my tail wildly to keep balance, my hooves slipping. I heard Dek laughing from the bank. “You— You gobshite!” I shouted, squealing at the end, and it only made him laugh harder.

I lost the battle to balance myself and fell on my back. The shock made me groan, and I just laid there for a minute. From what it sounded like, Dek was at the point of keeling over from hiw hard he was cackling at my buffoonery. What a prick I’ve decided to befriend.

“Woah, uh, Connie,” Dek’s laugh dissipated into concern. “There’s a massive crack under ya.”

“Wha?” I sat up and looked around myself. There was indeed a huge crack in the ice. My ears went down, tail flicking as I tried to think of how to get off the ice before it split and sent me into the freezing water below.

“Here, I’ll come to you.”

“No, you stay where you are. You’ll crack it more,” I ordered him as I carefully got onto my knees. Hopefully my pants would have enough friction here. Slowly, I inched my way back to the beach, having Dek hold out a branch so he could pull me the rest of the way.

Dek started giggling again as I managed to stand, his annoyingly charming grin spreading across his face. “That was the best thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Yeah fuck you,” I grumbled, gently punching his arm when I walked past him.

“How’s your arse?”

“Sore. I better not catch you making ass-fucking jokes with Ozzy.”

Dek cackled at that and shrugged. “No promises, Roy.”

“Don’t call me that. That sounds weird.” I began climbing up the slope with him in tow behind me.

“Yeah, it does. Oops,” Dek chuckled.

I got to the top of the slope and grunted, rubbing my behind. I didn’t really care if Dek noticed. We were close enough friends that it didn’t matter. I turned around, catching him staring at me as if he was in a daze, all while he was still just on the edge of the hill.

“Hey, I know I’ve got a fantastic rump, but c’mon,” I teased, making him snap out of it. He cleared his throat and quickly got up, obviously quite flustered now.

“Uhm, sorry. I’ve got no excuse,” he muttered.

“It’s fine, man. No worries,” I assured him, beginning to walk back up to the path.

“Alright.” Dek brushed his wavy blond hair out of his eyes as he walked beside me. “So. What’re we doing now?”

“Well, Ossian’s over at Old Man Sean’s to help take care of the chickens and herds, so we could go there,” I suggested, looking up at him to see what he thought.

“Mm, I’m up for it.” Deklan nodded in compliance, putting his hands in his pants pockets. That’s when I noticed he wasn’t wearing gloves. There wasn’t much I could do about it, so I left him be.

We walked through the unbearably deep snow towards the outskirts of town, the two of us mostly quiet. It was a comfortable quiet, though. The grayed bark of the trees was a stark contrast against the bright snow. The tops of bare shrubs poked out, like they were trying to get a breath of air. The snow gradually started to get shallower.

“Hey, Conroy?” Dek asked, his voice soft.

I perked my ears; he almost never called me by my actual name unless he was deep in thought or nervous. “Yes?” I looked at him, tapping the back of his thigh with my tail.

“Uhm…” he paused, biting his lip. “Do you ever wonder if it’s, uh, any better in Rosnya?”

“Oh.” I furrowed my brows as I thought about that question. “I dunno. We never really hear about Rosnya unless there’s been conflict. So, I guess it’s possible.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Any other reasons…?”

“No, nothing else. Just wondering,” Dek replied swiftly. I knew he was lying now.

I simply rose my brow and looked ahead again. I figured if there was another reason, it was personal, so I wouldn’t press him to tell me what it was yet.

——————

We finally started coming up on Sean’s farm. I could see three figures on the front porch, but I was still too far to see who they were. Deklan hollered a greeting, waving at them. The figures turned; it was Sean and August, but the third I didn’t recognize.

Dek and I walked up to the step, and he started talking to them, once again back to his usual self. I studied the stranger, noticing he had white brindling on one side of his body. Looking more, I saw the bisected hooves. A moose-bey in Cothary? Weird, I thought to myself, and even weirder that he’s a chimera.

The stranger introduced himself to us as Doyle Gaughran. He caught my eye and turned his head towards me. Straight away I saw that his eyes were different colors too, and the dark ruddy-brown hair became blonde around the middle.

“Hello?” he waved his hand and snapped in my face, snapping me out of it.

“Oh, sorry,” I squeaked. “Just kinda… fascinated, I guess.”

“Get it all the time. It’s rude to stare,” he growled at me in mild annoyance. I just flattened my ears, looking off to the side.

I couldn’t help but realize the feeling of familiarity that was brought up by Doyle. He wasn’t my father, I knew that for sure, but… I don’t know. I think I’m being weird. I sighed and excused myself from the conversation, going around to the back of the house to find Ossian.

Sure enough, I found him in the chicken pen, but he had Officer Fallon with him. I rolled my eyes. Ossian turned around, a grin breaking onto his face as he waved at me. “Hey, Connie! Deklan with ya?”

“He’s talking with Sean and those other two,” I called back, trotting over to them.

“Ah.” Ossian came to the fence when I did. “Well, I’ve gotten to talk to Fallon some. He’s nicer than you make him out to be.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I sighed, leaning against the fence.

“I’m flattered,” Fallon chuckled, in the middle of swapping the straw bedding in the coop. “Why don’t you like me, Conroy?”

“I’ve never really trusted the military,” I murmured, adjusting my beanie. “It’s a long story.”

“Ah, well, that’s alright. I’m not that upset,” he shrugged. “I don’t much like it myself.”

“Well, I’m glad we could agree on something,” I sighed, rubbing under my beanie when my scalp itched. “I guess I’ll go handle the livestock.”

#long roads travelled

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searching-for-mercury · 6 years

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Voltron -- Klance -- Fake BF

All I Want for Christmas is a (Fake) Boyfriend

Summary: A while ago, in a fit of anger, Keith told his mom he had a boyfriend. Did he actually have a boyfriend? No. Did he care? Also no. At least, not until his mom, months later, tells him to bring his supposed boyfriend over for the holidays. Not wanting to admit he didn’t have one, Keith asks around for someone to play the role and who agrees to play the part? The annoying guy from his Lit class.

(ao3)

----

Chapter Three

It was warm. That was the first wriggle of thought when he woke up, but Keith hadn't yet opened his eyes. Warmth and comfort. The blankets were thick and perfect and he dreaded the thought of having to throw them off, to feel the sting of cold air. He curled up a little tighter. Something warm was pressed up against his back and he figured it was a folded piece of blanket, rolled up or something to feel so compact and sturdy.

And then he blinked his eyes open and remembered. He tried looking over his shoulder, but all he saw was what looked like another shoulder. From what he could make out, his back was pressed up against Lance's, which...

Okay, he wasn't going to lie, not to himself. That was stupid. It felt nice. A level of comfort that went further than just the warm sleepiness of early mornings.

And of course, the moment he decided to close his eyes again and get as much out of that feeling as he could, Lance stretched out. Keith heard the fabric of the pillow rustle as he lifted his head to look around. Then he must have leaned forward because Keith's back was hit with a shock of cold so sudden, he yanked at the blankets.

"Oh, sorry," Lance said, leaning back. "Wanted to look at the time."

The sun was peeking between all the slats and cracks in the wooden blinds, giving the room a fuzzy dark light. He could see most everything, but not the details.

"And? What time is it?" he asked, suddenly conscious of how his voice sounded -- kind of croaky. But so did Lance's, so maybe it didn't matter.

"Almost nine-thirty," he replied through a yawn. "If I wasn't smelling bacon right now, I could honestly keep sleeping."

He was right -- his mom was probably making breakfast, which was something she always did when he was visiting. It was also Christmas Eve, so maybe the reason was somewhere in there, too.

Lance said he'd be down in a bit, so Keith trudged down the stairs alone, still thinking about his warm bed. He'd gotten to the bottom of the staircase when the front door opened, letting in a gust of frosty air.

"Hey there, look who's up," his dad said, pulling in a pine tree bundled up in netting. "When you and Lance are done with breakfast, we're going to decorate this like we've never decorated anything in our entire lives."

"So...really, really badly?" Keith said.

His dad laughed and closed the door.

When Lance had said 'a bit,' he really should have said, 'about a half hour.' Keith was already working through his second plate of pancakes when the guy in question walked down, looking very much not like how he'd woken up. He strolled over with a smile and pressed a kiss to Keith's temple like he did it every morning.

"If you don't like the syrup here, there's more in the fridge," his mom said, scooping another batch out of the pan and onto a plate.

Lance opted for blueberry, Keith noticed, without much surprise.

After their dishes were cleaned up and the dishwasher was humming away, Keith's mom ushered them into the family room, where his dad had put up the tree. He'd already strung up the lights, which was always the very first thing to do when decorating a tree, as he'd once explained to Keith a long time ago.

"I brought up the boxes with decorations while you two were still sleeping," she explained. "So let's have at it. Everyone grab a box."

Keith opened the one closest to him and found bulbs in all their original packaging staring up at him. If his mom played video games, she'd be a queen at Tetris. He genuinely hoped he wasn't going to be the one to have to put them away.

"So Lance, how is Christmas like at your place?" his dad asked, looping a bulb on a golden hook. There was a bag full of them on the table.

"Um, well, it's usually very loud," Lance replied. There was something about his voice that felt off, like he was nervous or uncertain. It made Keith look up. "Growing up, there was always a lot of people around and we never had a real tree, like this. The real thing looks much nicer, by the way."

His dad chuckled. "The plastic ones are too thin," he said. "You can see right through 'em. I've always preferred the real ones myself."

Lance smiled in return. "These ornaments are really pretty!" he said and Keith had the feeling it was maybe a deliberate change in topic. "And there are so many of them! Are we going to fit them all on the tree?"

"We sure as hell are going to try," Keith replied. Stuff the tree with ornaments -- weigh the branches down with seemingly weightless glass bulbs. Yes.

The end result was a tree so full of so many different styles and colored bulbs that, when the lights were turned on, it sparkled and twinkled like the way stars reflect off a lake. It filled Keith with a feeling he couldn't really name: just warm, peaceful, with a tinge of excitement. Kind of like eating those chocolate covered gingerbread cookies that had a layer of jelly hidden somewhere inside.

"I want to go take some pictures," his mom announced.

"I'm not dressed," Keith protested.

"Not of you," she replied. "The tree!"

Lance let out a short, loud laugh.

Keith glared.

"You can still get dressed, though," his dad said. "We need to pick up a few things at the supermarket."

"On Christmas Eve?" Keith asked, still giving Lance the lingering remains of his glare.

Lance didn't try to look even a little bit guilty -- he poked a bit of his tongue out at him.

"It's Wal-Mart -- they're open forever," his dad replied. "Well, most of the time, anyways. Poor guys. Anyways, get your butt moving. The sooner we get there, the sooner we get back, the sooner I can make my eggnog."

And that's how, half an hour later, the three of them were tucked into his dad's truck. He didn't know if it was because he was the shortest or what, but he was the sucker who got to sit in the middle seat, between driver and passenger. He also would have been done earlier if Lance hadn't insisted on blow-drying Keith's hair.

"I'm not letting you freeze off your hair," he'd said. "It's gonna make it look like shit later on. And you could probably catch a cold and die, I dunno, I'm not a doctor. But definitely the thing with it looking like shit!"

Soon they were wandering the aisles of Wal-Mart, chucking bags of chips into the cart and trying to stay out of the way from those last-minute shoppers, the ones with pinched, tense expressions who huffed a lot.

"Do you like eggnog, Lance?" his dad asked as he set a bag of marshmallows in, next to a pack of minty candy canes. Keith suspected they were going to be used with hot chocolate.

"I've only ever had the store-bought kind," Lance replied.

"And?"

"It was pretty good."

"Watch out, he's going to tell you you've never had eggnog until you've had his," Keith said.

His dad gave him a look. "It's true, though," he said. "Mine is the best. Even your grandma said it and she's impossible to please."

Keith wanted to point out that his grandma loved anything with booze in it, but his dad was proud of his eggnog and it was good.

They continued winding their way down the aisles, talking about school and work and friends. The way his dad talked to Lance, like he was already part of the family -- it gave him a sour feeling in his gut. It was guilt, he knew it was guilt. His dad was being so nice and he'd always been understanding. It felt so wrong to trick him like that, to lie. Would he be mad if Keith told him why he'd done it, if he confessed?

Another feeling, lurking under all that sour guilt, was something a little softer. Having Lance shoot him smiles, the way he'd hit Keith's shoulder in a joke, or even the goofy eyebrow waggling he'd do even when what he was talking about wasn't suggestive -- all that combined with spending time with one of the most important people in Keith's life. It was nice. It felt real and knowing it wasn't made him want to kick something.

~*~

The eggnog was finished before dinner started, but Keith's mom swore they would all wake up in the snow if they so much as dared look at it before sitting down to eat the meal she'd spent so long preparing. It was chicken, covered in something that tasted like rosemary, but was definitely more than just rosemary. Homemade brown gravy had mushrooms and onions poking through the surface. Buttery mashed potatoes were exactly how Keith always remembered them -- small chunks of potato left un-mashed, but so, so soft. Then there were the green beans, because no meal could go without vegetables, but they were swimming in their own creamy white sauce and Keith knew he would never figure out how they were made without asking.

Even when he was finished with college, Keith didn't think he could ever cook like his mom. He wasn't sure he should even try.

"So what's Keith like when he's at school?" his dad asked. He happened to ask at the exact moment Keith was shoveling a piece of chicken in his mouth. Coincidence? He thought not.

Did Lance even know? Could he have picked anything up from their brief time together?

But Keith didn't have anything to worry about, because Lance just said, "Not too much different from how he always is."

What an easy save. Had anybody asked Keith, he'd have froze.

His dad laughed. "He's always been a quiet kid," he said.

His mom scoffed. "When nobody bothers him," she said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Keith asked, having finally finished chewing the chicken.

"See?" his mom replied, giving a grin he'd most certainly inherited. "So long as nobody bothers him, he's quiet and he does his own work. But the moment you mention his name or get in his way, he erupts."

"Like a volcano," his dad added with a little half smirk, half smile.

One time. One time had he said he wanted to live in a volcano and his parents still hadn't gotten over it. It had been high school and he'd gotten his wisdom teeth removed. The anesthesia had been strong. It was time to let it go.

"Do you know how many times I had to go down to the school because he'd gotten in a fight?" she asked.

Lance shook his head.

"Me neither," she replied. "I lost count."

Lance looked over at Keith with raised eyebrows.

Keith shrugged.

"How was school for you?" his dad asked. "I hope it wasn't full of fighting."

"Oh no," Lance replied. "I liked school and got along with mostly everyone. It was fun. Of course, that doesn't mean I was a model student or anything."

Did he skip? He looked like the kind of guy who would skip class with his friends.

"And you saw...what exactly in Keith?" his dad asked.

"Hey!"

Lance laughed and it lit up his face -- one of his more natural smiles. "He's cute! And his looks aren't too bad either," he teased.

"Anyways," Keith said, though he didn't really have anything to say. He just wanted to change the topic. He could feel the tips of his ears beginning to burn.

Thankfully, Lance took the hint. "I was always pretty loud, disrupting class," he continued. "You know how they say you should think before you act? Yeah, that wasn't me."

Keith could see it -- Lance being the one who always had something to say, something to make the class laugh and maybe also the teacher. Or just make them mad. He would be the one to stay after school to get his phone back or get told that he should be focusing on the lesson and not on building an army out of pencils and erasers. It kind of still showed, now that he was older. In the class they'd shared, Lance did always have something to say. Unfortunately, the teacher had a hard time figuring out how to guide the conversation back to the intended topic.

With dinner coming to an end, Lance asked if there would be more board games.

"Now we watch movies and drink ourselves silly with eggnog," Keith explained.

"And stuff ourselves with cookies," his dad said.

"That I made," his mom pointed out, staring at Keith with one of those disappointed looks where he couldn't ever figure out if his mom was teasing or not. Maybe both.

"But first, you come with me," Keith said and pulled Lance out of his chair.

"Uh," Lance said and pulled himself out of Keith's grip. "Thanks for cooking! It was amazing!"

Of course he had to say something like that. Of course.

His mom's eyebrows rose like she'd been just been verbally assaulted, but she ended up saying, "Holy hell, someone in this house has manners."

Of course. Now anything he said would sound cheap, but if he didn't, it would be like he wasn't also thankful for his mother's cooking. "Thanks for the meal," Keith replied, feeling lame.

"Yeah, yeah," his mom said, though a little smile of hers made him think she hadn't taken it quite as seriously as Keith.

After Keith had successfully dragged Lance upstairs, he made him stand around while he dug into one of his bags.

"What's happening right now?" Lance asked.

"I need you to sign something," Keith replied. He found the card and held it up for Lance to take. "And then you can help me bring presents downstairs."

"Isn't that tomorrow?" Lance asked, opening the card. Inside he'd find a hastily scribbled paragraph on how much Keith appreciated his mom. "Being Christmas day and all."

"Yeah, but we're putting the presents under the tree tonight," Keith replied and then handed him another card to sign, this time for his dad. "We bought the presents for my parents together. Same with the cards. Okay?"

"Sure," Lance said, reading the other card. "You've got crappy handwriting."

"And?" Keith said. "You can still read it, right?"

Lance made a face and tilted his head. "Eh."

Keith threw a pillow at him.

Once Keith had everything pulled out on the floor, he looked at it and then at Lance. There were only a couple presents -- a small collection of things for both his parents, so it would only take them one trip -- but Lance was still sitting on the carpeted floor, staring at them like they were a bundle of snakes and his one job was to touch them without getting bit.

"Hey, what's up?" Keith asked. Had they been in an actual relationship, maybe it would have been okay to put his hand on his arm or something. He swatted that thought away.

"I didn't bring presents."

Keith relaxed. "I told you, we got them together. That's the story," he replied.

"Yeah, but I mean for you. That'll look weird, right? Us not giving each other presents on a holiday meant for just that?" Lance said.

"Okay, first off, I think this holiday technically started off with a baby called Jesus and-or greedy corporate hands," Keith pointed out. "And we'll just tell them we gave each other presents before we came here."

Lance stared at the presents a little longer, but he nodded.

They journeyed back downstairs, unloaded the wrapped packages under the tree, and started setting up for the Christmas movie (or movies, plural, if they lasted that long). A red tin full of cookies went on the coffee table and everyone spooned their own eggnog into glass mugs. Keith's mom brought out blankets, which Lance looked a little too eager to receive. The movie was popped in and they got comfortable.

Comfortable for Keith and Lance meant sharing a blanket on the loveseat, Lance's arm around Keith's shoulders, bringing him in so they could lean against each other. Keith looked up at Lance, unable to help noticing how Lance still smelled great, even after their long day. Lance smiled at him, all soft and tender and entirely unfair, because Keith had to take a deep breath to try and calm his heart a little.

With several refills and half the cookies eaten, they made it to a second movie. Lance was always the one offering to get everyone a second or third or seventh glass of eggnog and his mom eventually shushed him, saying they'd get one when they needed it or ask him when he stood up. Keith found himself relaxing more and more into Lance's side, to where he was tucked right up next to him in a way Keith never thought would ever happen in real life.

The heat from the blanket and from Lance made him forget about his mom's disbelief about his sexuality, about the general looming thought of maybe never finding anyone, not like how they do in the movies with hetero pairings. Eventually the movie they were watching stopped making sense and he just closed his eyes for a moment. Only a moment. To rest them. Just rest.

And then he was opening them again and everything was colder than it had been. Lance was still there, but the blanket?

"What," Keith started, but he didn't remember to finish because he was looking around. The movie wasn't playing -- they weren't even in the family room.

"Hold on a little longer," Lance said.

They were going up the stairs. "Why are you," he started again.

"You fell asleep," Lance said and his tone was low, quiet. Where were his parents? "I'm just bringing you to bed."

"Why?" Keith's voice felt too loud. He still felt disoriented even so he knew where they were and he did know why, kind of. Lance was carrying him, that's why they were where they were.

"Hey now, I treat all my relationships like this," Lance said. They'd reached the top and were heading towards their room. "Even the fake ones." He gave a smile even so he was a little out of breath and it made Keith frown. Frown because he didn't want Lance to be so nice, so sweet, so...

His brain made the connection with feelings and images rather than words.

And it hurt.

~*~

When Keith opened his eyes, it wasn't because he wanted to. In fact, his eyes burned the moment they did, and he turned away from Lance's stupid face and the window to seek comfort in his pillow. It was so warm. The blankets were tucked in around him and there was a weight on his legs that was probably his horrible fake boyfriend.

"Go away," he croaked.

"It's Christmas! Aren't you excited?"

"No." Keith tugged at the blanket, pulling it up towards his face.

"But I smell spices like cinnamon. And there's Christmas music playing."

Keith had no idea what he was talking about, but he wasn't all that interested.

The weight on his legs disappeared along with the blanket.

"Hey!" Keith shot up as the cold hit him.

Lance was standing on the other side of the room, blankets bundles in his arms. He'd already taken a shower and was wearing a navy colored sweater.

"Are you getting up or what?"

Keith rubbed at his eyes -- he'd been staring. "Yeah, yeah, hold on. Let me at least go to the bathroom," he mumbled. His feet were cold but his face was burning.

Downstairs, his mom had breakfast in the oven and "All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth" was playing on the radio. His dad was setting the table and his mom was perched on the sofa, angled in such a way that she would most definitely see whoever, in her words, "finally decided to drag their butts out of bed."

"I'm not the one in pajamas," Lance said, eyeing Keith like he just didn't know what he was to do with him.

"It's Christmas," Keith protested. "How about we put off dragging me until at least after breakfast."

There were a lot more shiny, wrapped presents under the tree than there had been the night before. Lance even commented on it, eyes wide, but Keith told him it was normal. His mom always liked waiting until everyone was asleep before stuffing the tree with more gifts -- even after he stopped believing in Santa.

"Here you go, Lance," his dad said, handing him a medium-sized box.

Keith had never seen Lance's face go so blank, so fast. "For...me?" he asked. He took the present, but it was with uncertain hands.

"We weren't going to let you get away empty handed now," his dad replied. "We both picked out a couple things together, but, well, we didn't know much about you."

His mom had a very pinched expression that made Keith wonder how involved she'd been in the actual gift-buying, but he wasn't going to ruin it by saying anything. Not on Christmas.

It ended up being two sweaters, a scarf, a set of pajamas, and a Christmas-themed mug stuffed with chocolate. All the clothes were either gray or black and came with gift receipts.

"But we figured, if you're dating our boy, you might have similar tastes," his dad continued. "Which is, well, a bit lacking in color, but at least it'll probably go with most things? And of course, if the size don't fit, you can exchange or return them."

Lance's thumb was stroking the fabric from the pajamas and he didn't say anything for a good long while. When he did, he smiled in a way that made Keith want to rub it away, to make it stop, to fix it. "Thank you," he said. "I honestly can't believe-- I mean, thank you."

"Of course," his dad said with one of his warmest smiles.

The guilt gnawed on his insides a little more.

Keith received similar presents, but thankfully, they didn't match Lance's. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to wear them if he knew, somewhere out on campus, Lance owned the exact same thing.

Clean-up was a team effort, but it was mostly just shoveling the torn up wrapping paper in a big plastic bag. Breakfast entailed a lot of pumpkin bread, hot chocolate, and near-future plans. The only thing on Keith's mind was when they ought to leave so they could avoid traffic on the way home. But they all agreed to stay for lunch, so after they'd both packed their bags, Keith brought out his old PlayStation 2 and they set it up in the family room.

"Hey," Lance said, holding his arms out as Keith stood up from where he'd crouched, putting a disc in. "Come here."

Keith frowned, but did as he was told, carrying two controllers. He found himself being tugged down for a kiss and that was fine, but it turned into one of those kisses Lance had given him in the car. And that was fine, too, but it was a little too fine, too okay. Keith liked the way Lance's hand would curve around his jaw, his thumb pressing just ever so slightly. And the way his mouth was soft, at first, but with each little push it was a little firmer, a little more insistent. It made his shoulders tense but his insides melt and he found that his own arms were wrapping around Lance all by themselves.

Somebody coughed, but it didn't register as his mom until a moment later, when they pulled apart.

Lance leaned back and shared a devious sort of smile that only Keith could see.

#klance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron #vld #the super cliche story continues!#it is so very very late where i am #but i was determined to post this today #cause i am a nerd about holidays lining up #in story and out #hurr hurr #anyways #i hope you like this one too!#there is smooching #and lots of fluff #and general keith angsting to himself in his head #cause he is forever MOST dramatic #yes

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what-even-is-thiss · 7 years

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The Four Seasons

OMG you guys I finally have an excuse to smush together the Sanders Sides and Norse mythology. Don’t ask why I wanted to do that. I’m embarrassed enough that I actually wrote this. Like, really embarrassed. I couldn’t find a way to be satisfied with this. This is the version I wrote that I hate the least.

Anyways, @momfriendlogan had a cool idea for an au where the Sanders Sides are the four seasons and @ec-sanderssides added a cool thing to that post about how each of them would be affected by the other’s seasons, and I’ve been working on a story where I shoehorn some characters into mythology, and this idea went really well with it. And Sumarr and Vetr exist in traditional Norse mythology, but I cut the original seasons out. They don’t exist here. I’m bending the mythology A LOT, but if Marvel can butcher Norse mythology then so can I.

Tip Jar

Warnings: None I can think of. Let me know if it needs some. 2,181 words.

Abstract: The Sanders Sides as four brothers that represent the seasons. Kind of told as a myth or something like that I dunno.

Quick note before you read: I didn’t know what to call them at first, since we don’t have Anxiety’s name and their names aren’t Nordic, so I call them by the season they represent, so for reference;

Anxiety=Autumn/Fall

Logic=Winter

Prince=Summer

Morality=Spring

Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t feel comfortable calling them their normal names in this au. Ugh, I’m going to regret writing this tomorrow. Hope you enjoy.

Nobody quite knows when the brothers came, or who they came from. For all anyone knew they were primordial beings carved from the first ice and fire. Or perhaps they came with the creation of Midgard. Odin often pressed them for information, but they never gave any, and they always saw through his disguise.

One year, shortly after the creation of Midgard, the allfather took notice of the changing weather. In Asgard and Vanaheim it was always summer, and in the early days of Midgard it had been that way as well. Being the god of knowledge that he was, he had to find out why.

He came across on his travels a man sitting on top of a mountain. He wore all black and had several leaves stuck in his hair that he seemed to not notice in the slightest. Altogether, he looked incredibly disheveled and tired. He sat there, drinking a hot drink and watching the world below with a strange form of calm.

“You there!” the god cried out, “Do you know the reasons for the changes in the weather?”

The man leaned back against the tree that was growing at this altitude despite the odds and caught a leaf as it fell.

“I know who you are, old man. Why don’t you stop poking your nose in where it doesn’t belong?” he said.

Soon after that, the gods learned of the seasons. They were hard to find and hard to talk to, and nearly impossible to get information out of.

Soon the realms of the gods were affected by the seasons as well. In time, the Vanir grew sick and tired off all of their precious crops and flowers being killed on a yearly basis and Freja, the goddess of beauty, sent her strongest fallen warrior from her halls to find them and demand that they stop.

The young warrior knew that the seasons began in Midgard, and so they would probably live there. She searched for years in the mortal world, fighting monsters and giants, but found no gods.

One day, she was wandering through a forest in the northern part of the world. The snow was deep and she was cold. She began to fear dying all over again, when she spotted a hall.

It was a long hall, made of wood, and surrounded by lines of trees. She knew this was her only way out of frostbite, so she swallowed her pride and pounded on the door.

A man standing tall in the armor and rich clothes of a nobleman answered the door. He seemed to be radiating a small amount of light and as he opened the door, the young warrior felt the snow melt around her and her core be filled with the warmth and radiance of the summer sun.

“And who are you? Someone looking for another favor?” The radiant man asked.

“Oh, a person? A person? Let them in! Let them in!” a tired but excited voice called from inside.

The woman was welcomed into a warm hall with a fire blazing in the center. It was not made for guests. There were dead vines hanging from the ceiling and there were two other men almost identical in appearance to the regal summery stranger.

The first one she noticed was dressed in simple peasant clothes and had worn hands like a farmer. He was kneeling next to the fire in the center of the room stirring the coals and had tired bags under his eyes. Despite this, he was nearly as bright and radiant as the one that had answered the door.

The other man was dressed all in black and sleeping on a pile of furs in the corner. He seemed to be the opposite of the other two, and seemed to have an aura of darkness and doom about him, and eerily reminded her of creatures she had met from the realm of hel.

The warrior knelt beside the fire and warmed herself cautiously.

“Are you the seasons my lords? The ones that bring the changes in the weather?” she asked respectfully.

“Yes we are, and stop being so formal,” the regal one said. “This place is stuffy enough without a warrior making grand speeches,”

“Are you pretending that you never do that?” came a voice from the corner.

“Autumn, I thought you were asleep,” the man stirring the coals said.

“When do I ever sleep? Especially with nosy residents of Folkvang coming in,” the dark figure said sitting up.

This one was even more tired looking than Spring, for she had guessed by now which one they were. Winter was probably out in the worlds now, cursing the winds of the great eagle with bitter cold and crafting snowflakes to cover the land and freeze the plants.

“I am going to sleep,” Spring said, yawning. “You all should sleep too,”

He walked over to where Autumn had been sleeping and fell down, falling asleep almost immediately. It wasn’t long before he was clinging to the other man like a scared child.

Autumn obviously didn’t like this, but let him stay.

“Ugh. He gets like this every winter. When Winter gets back tonight I’m passing him over,” He looked over at summer. “Are you going demand payment or not?”

Summer sat down in a chair in the corner. “Why don’t you ask her?” he said in a huff.

Autumn sighed in a way that was somewhere beyond tired. “You always have to hold a grudge over that. It can’t be summer forever. And I know that’s why you’re here, girl. Trust me, he would like the same thing, but it’s not happening,”

“What did you mean by payment?” the warrior asked carefully.

“Tell us stories, young maiden,” said Summer. “We grow bored in here waiting for him to return, and only the dark one over there likes leaving this time of year. I can’t stand it, so cure our boredom!”

The fallen warrior stood and told the tale of how she died. She told of a great battle between her tribe and the Saxons and how she had killed twenty men before bleeding out and dying standing up. She told of her quest to find them. Every giant that had crossed her path, and every wolf that had tried to send her to Hel. Before she could finish however, the door flew open.

There was Winter. He shocked her. This was his time of year, so power radiated off of him. Ice snaked through the open door and over the close wall as he entered. He was dressed in surprisingly very little for the weather. He was dressed properly like a scholor or poet would during the summer.

His walk was so proper it annoyed her beyond belief.

“Ah, I suspected Freja would send someone,” he said, closing the door and allowing the fire to heat the place again. “You can tell her what we told all the others. We will not stop and threats do not work,”

“Oi! Winter!” Autumn called out. “Take this one off of me, will you? He is like a clingy dog,”

Winter sat next down to Spring and tapped him on the shoulder. Spring immediately made the switch over and clung to his other brother instead.

Freja was not happy when she heard the news, but the seasons kept to their word and made no such change.

Many centuries passed and the gods were forgotten, but still very much alive and just as baffled by the seasons as ever. They were hard to catch, but when you found one and got to talking with them, or even saw them work, you would have a story to tell for ages.

It was around the time that men began to shoot fire and bullets that the god of poets Bragi claimed that he saw Summer transition into fall.

“It was so confusing,” he said to a group of fallen warriors. “I saw Summer running through a city, and it was as if the mortals never saw him at all, and his brother was chasing him until he caught up to him and tackled him to the ground. It was all incredibly confusing,”

“Well what’d ya reckon is happening now?” asked a fallen soldier with a musket on his knees.

“I’d suspect Autumn is out there right now, tearing down all of his brother’s work. Putting the leaves and animals to sleep and cooling the air. You can’t outrun him any more than you could outrun the end of the world,”

Spring always visited Vanaheim first, though why nobody knew. It was easy to spot him there shortly after he began melting the snow. Sometimes when he was really excited, the gods and fallen warriors of the world could swear they could hear laughter coming from the air.

The warrior that had been sent to find the seasons all those centuries ago often ran away from the battlefield during the spring, trying to follow the laughter whenever she heard it. She had spent several days with them. Longer than anyone else had, and she longed to see what Spring was like when he was not so tired.

Centuries after, she fell asleep by a tree on a cold spring morning, waiting for something. When she woke up, she heard a delighted squee.

“Oh, you’re awake! You look so cute!” said an excited voice.

The cold battle hardened warrior jumped with fright when she saw the radiant face in front of her. Now he was wearing spectacles and a sweater vest. Small flowers were growing around where he sat on the grass in front of her.

“I never asked your name! What is it?” Spring asked excitedly.

“Uh, Brenna. Spring, I have been looking for you for almost a thousand years. What in the worlds are you doing and... Did you put a blanket on me?”

“Uh huh. It’s still to early to be sleeping outside, you know,” He said happily. “Well, I’m gonna go now. Bye!”

“Wait! I have so many...”

But he was gone. She kept the floral print quilt.

Odin decided to give it another try. Despite his centuries of inability to get any information out of the brothers, he thought he had the perfect disguise.

However, when he knocked on the door of the log cabin where the seasons lived, he was once again proven wrong.

The heat around the cottage was intense. Odin hoped they would let him in, but when the door was opened by a frazzled Winter, he immediately regretted coming.

Winter was red in the face and sweating. His normally clean button-up shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and wrinkled. He had a bottle of water in one hand, and his glasses kept slipping off his nose from the intense summer heat.

“We have told you before Odin,” He said angrily. “We can see through your disguises. Oh, how are you surviving in that coat? Oh my. Go away,”

He slammed the door shut. Odin decided to try and find summer. He was always in a good mood during his time of year. Maybe if he bought him a beer or something he would give him some information.

After a couple months of searching he found Summer on a beach watching a group of young people sit around a roaring fire. They didn’t notice him sitting there, laughing heartily at each stupid joke they made.

He looked over at the god observing him.

“What? Didn’t trust your ravens with this one?” he said smiling.

He looked so young. Even his eyes sparkled with youth. He wore a light golden jacket and white t-shirt and jeans and sunglasses were perched on his head. He smiled at the confused god that didn’t know how the other had seen him.

“You never just want to sit and talk, do you old man?” He asked laughing with the huge laugh of a Shakespearean actor. “You should have learned by now we are not here to make your nerd quests more fun,”

Odin gave in and sat there and talked. Invisible to the mortals, they talked about the changing times. At the end of the conversation an unexpected visitor popped up.

A pair of hands placed themselves over Summer’s eyes.

“Boo. Found you,” said a darkly amused Fall, his upturned hood making him look just slightly menacing in the firelight.

“Oh, curse it all! Is it that time already!?” the warmer season exclaimed.

“’Fraid so, buddy. I’ll take it from here. Hey, old man. Trying to press him for information?”

“We were just talking this time,” Summer said, pulling his brother’s hands off of his eyes. “I suppose I’ll be going now. Goodbye,”

And both of them seemed to disappear in a gust of wind.

The gods still don’t know exactly who they are, and they are beginning to come to terms with the idea that perhaps they never will. They are as fleeting and predictable and unpredictable as the seasons they personify, but perhaps it’s better if it stays that way.

#I'm seriously tempted to erase this #aurgh #It did not turn out as well as I hoped #but I have no more ideas #roman wrote a thing #sanders sides #roman sanders #prince sanders #anxiety sanders #morality sanders #patton sanders #logan sanders #logic sanders #sanders sides seasons au #norse mythology crossover #fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic

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