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wildfaeworld · 6 years

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Bad Things Happen Bingo: Unwilling Suspension

Word Count: 3k

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Characters: Lance, Hunk, Ezor

Full prompt under the cut, or on AO3.

This jumps off from season 7 episode 3, where I snatched up that interrogation premise and ran cackling stage left.

“Hunk, buddy, please.”

Lance is upset. Why? …oh, maybe because Hunk’s head feels like a watermelon with too many rubber bands around it. Had they been daring each other to raid Coran’s nunvil stash again? He thought they swore never again last time, but hey. You never know what Lance might get bored enough to try. Again.

“Hunk,” Lance’s voice cracks, fear leaking through. Hm, maybe not nunvil then. What had they been doing?

The avalanche of memory crashes over him, and Hunk jerks, flailing desperately to the rushing flood of get away get away and fight flee run fly and oh, god, Lance-

“Hunk, buddy, please.”

“Hunk,” Lance’s voice cracks, fear leaking through. Hm, maybe not nunvil then. What had they been doing?

The avalanche of memory crashes over him, and Hunk jerks, flailing desperately to the rushing flood of get away get away and fight flee run fly and oh, god, Lance-

“Hunk- Hun- ng-stop – asere, calm dow-nng – you gotta hold – haaa – still, buddy, basta, por favor, just -mmng-”

He’s not sure how, but he wrestles his adrenaline under control, breathe in-hold-breathe out and stills his body. His mind may still be whirring in circles like Rover after Pidge fed him some whacked-out code, but Lance stops making those awful, awful gagging noises.

Okay, take inventory.

First off, he can’t see. There’s something tight and sticky stretched across his eyes. The galran equivalent of duct-tape, maybe?

Second: he can’t move much; probably some sort of restraints, given the fragmented violence of his last waking moments. His arms are hoisted up above his head, not so much that he’s hanging by them, but definitely held up against some sort of pole. He’s standing, his back pressed to the same pole and secured by a band across his chest, and his earlier flailing established that his feet are locked down by some sort of fetters around his ankles, most likely attached to the pole also.

Third: he hurts. Mostly in his head, which is reasonable. The galra guard who knocked him out after he and Lance jumped to Pidge’s defense was way too enthusiastic.

Fourth: Lance is here – oh god, Lance. Okay, time to get to the bottom of their situation right-freaking-now, because he doesn’t want to hear Lance make those noises ever again, and he has a sneaking, horrible suspicion that if he moves he will cause exactly that.

“You with me, asere?” Lance asks softly, a gentle rasp to his voice that has Hunk’s chest twisting guilt and fear up into his throat.

He wrestles it down. “I’m with you, man. What’s going on? Are you okay? Where are we?”

“We’re still on Zethrid and Ezor’s battlecruiser,” Lance says. “En una - in a different cell. They’ve- we’re kind of… atado? Um. Tied up.”

Hunk listens to the way Lance can’t quite keep his voice steady, hears the stress in the way his English is slipping.

“Okay, okay, we’re okay,” Hunk nods a little to himself. “We are okay, right Lance? Are you hurt?” He didn’t miss the way Lance avoided the question the first time he asked.

“All good over here, buddy,” Lance says tightly. “Just hanging out in a galra cell, no biggie.”

“Lance.” But Hunk doesn’t get the chance to pry further because the door bangs open and both he and Lance yelp a little into the cacophony of metal and booted footsteps entering their cell.

“Hi, paladins!” says someone much too pleased with themselves. “I’m so glad you both finally woke up! How do you like your new cell?”

“Oh, it’s peachy, Ezor,” Lance snarks. “But I’m disappointed with the level of service; I mean, who doesn’t leave a mint on the torture device? I give it two stars, max.”

They need to get out of here, like, yesterday. He wiggles a little bit, confirming that yes, their armor has been removed and he’s just in the undersuit. So much for accessing his bayard. But Coran’s still out there somewhere (hopefully). He’ll get the others free, and then they can all come charging to the rescue. He and Lance just have to hold out until then. Right? Right. Oh, god.

“Let’s play a game,” Ezor chirps, oblivious to Hunk’s inner monologue. “I’ll ask you questions, and if you answer nicely, I’ll loosen your restraints. If you don’t answer, or if you’re rude, I’ll tighten them. Ready?”

Hunk can’t see if Lance answers without words, but his best friend has gone suspiciously silent. Unsure if this is a cue to pick up the slack but figuring it’s probably best to have Lance’s back by following along, he holds his tongue too.

Fortunately, Ezor doesn’t seem to take their silence as breaking the rules of the game yet, because Hunk doesn’t feel any movement from his restraints, and Lance’s breathing hasn’t changed pitch or pace.

“Alright,” Ezor says after a moment. “Question one for you, Red Paladin. Where is Lotor?”

Usually this would be where Lance snarks something at their captor, but he has been suspiciously silent since Ezor explained the rules of whatever twisted game this is, and he continues to keep silent now, ratcheting Hunk’s anxiety up another notch or two. What does he see, that is succeeding in keeping his usual bravado at bay?

After a long moment, Ezor sighs. “I thought you were the annoying one,” she says disappointedly. “I was looking forward to some proper banter for once. Your concern for your friend is so boring, and so useless.”

Something clanks, then clanks again, and Lance grunts softly. Is Hunk imagining it, or is his breathing a little strained? He holds very still, feeling fear crawl sick and clinging up his spine.

“Your turn, Yellow Paladin!” Ezor announces right next to his ear, and Hunk jumps a little, flinching away from the too-bright voice. Ezor snickers.

“How did you get out of the quintessence field, hm?”

Hunk shakes his head mutely, following Lance’s lead for now.

“Aww,” Ezor pouts. “No fun either.”

Another, slightly different clank, and the floor drops about an inch or so under Hunk’s feet. He lurches down the pole, which yanks his arms a little higher over his head.

Lance gags, and Hunk knows.

“You bitch,” Hunk hisses, turning his head blindly towards the last place he heard Ezor. “You psychopath, cut him down!”

“Ooh, he’s clever!” Ezor squeals. “Just for that, I’ll give you a reward.”

The sticky strip is ripped abruptly off of his face, taking with it several eyelashes and a good portion of one eyebrow. Hunk squints past the reflexive tears, desperate to see, confirm that it’s not as bad as he thinks-

It is. It’s worse.

Just like he thought, his wrists are tethered to a rope that reaches up, through some tackle, and down again to the other side of the cell, ending around Lance’s neck. Every time the floor under Hunk’s feet drops, or Hunk pulls his arms down, Lance will be pulled a little higher by the noose around his neck. He’s already on his tiptoes.

But Lance – Hunk can’t hold back the groan of distress. His best friend has his back to a pole, just like Hunk, but his arms are spread to either side of him, attached at the wrists and elbows to slim boards rigged up to yet more tackle so that they can tilt down if Lance lowers his arms. From the end of the boards dangle two lead weights. The boards keep Lance’s arms straight, but he’s holding them up, and it takes Hunk a minute of following complicated ropes and weights and counterweights to figure it out, but when he does the sick churning in his gut intensifies even further. They are so screwed. Lance’s arms are connected to a frankly huge spear, and if he lowers them, it’ll stab Hunk right through the ribs.

“What do you think?” Ezor coos, rocking back and forth from her tiptoes to the backs of her heels. “Zethrid set this up just for you two! She’s so smart, isn’t she?”

Hunk runs his gaze across the setup one more time, and can’t help nodding miserably. “Yep. Yep, pretty smart,” he agrees morosely. This setup would have taken some seriously advanced spatial reasoning to even envision, and then engineering chops to rival his own to execute properly. If they weren’t, you know, evil and bent on torturing and killing all of them, he’d be tempted to ask Lotor’s former generals to join their team.

Ezor cackles. “You’re cute! Too bad we’re going to break you in itty bitty pieces.” She abruptly prances across the room to flit around behind Lance. “So, Red Paladin, ready to tell me how your team got out of the quintessence field? Or where Lotor is? I bet your arms are getting tired.”

“Nope, I could do this all day,” Lance shoots back immediately, despite the way his breath rasps against the noose around his neck. His gaze doesn’t leave the spear, even as Ezor dances in and out of his peripherals. If she keeps going with this, and Hunk ends up skewered, he can tell Lance will never forgive himself, even if blaming him would never, never cross Hunk’s mind.

Ezor giggles, leaning over on one foot to reach another pair of weights. “Me too, honey. Me too.” She slips the weights onto the ropes around Lance’s arms. The clank as they drop to the bottom of the setup mirrors the lead settling in Hunk’s gut. Lance sucks in a labored breath, his eyes finding Hunk’s in terrified, silent apology. Hunk can see his arms shaking from across the room.

“It’s okay, Lance,” he manages, and it’s taking everything he has not to look at the spear, to keep his focus on Lance, but he does it for his friend. His brother. “We’re gonna be okay, man. I promise.”

“You two are so sweet,” Ezor interrupts. She leans on the lever, sending Hunk ratcheting down another notch. “It makes me wanna barf. Where is Lotor?”

Hunk’s starting to feel the stretch in his shoulders, now. He’s up on tiptoes, almost dangling, and he’s watching Lance choke and struggle not to drop the weights on his arms, and Hunk is starting to get angry.

“We told you already!” he snarls at Ezor. “We don’t know how we got out! Lotor is stuck in the quintessence field. He’s probably dead! That’s all, that’s it, now cut him down!”

“That’s not good enough!” Ezor screeches, darting forward to grab him by the throat. Up close, Hunk can see the fear lurking in her eyes. She’s terrified, he realizes. Terrified that if they got out, Lotor will too. That he’ll come for her and Zethrid. “You have to know! Is there a hole? A portal? A door? How did you get out?”

Behind her, there’s a new clank, followed by a broken sound from Lance. Ezor whirls around. The spear lurches closer as Lance tries to yank his arms back up, but the setup is rigged so that once he lets his arms drop even a little, he can’t bring them back up again. Lance’s sob, dry and choked, and the clank of machinery are the only sounds in the cell for an interminable span of ticks until the spear slowly, finally, halts its forward journey. The tip brushes up against Hunk’s chest; he takes an experimental breath and feels cold metal poke through the fabric of his shirt.

“Ezor,” Lance whispers. “Ezor, we don’t know how we got out, please, let Hunk go,”

“You know! You do! You got out somehow, tell me how!” Ezor interrupts. Her cheerful, cutesy facade has crumbled, leaving something desperate and feral in its aftermath. She slams the lever by Hunk, and the floor drops out from under him. He plummets to the end of his restraints, snapping taut with a jerk that yanks his shoulder out of its socket. It hurts, and he screams, throwing his head back against the pole, but against the pain, against the fire in his ligaments and tendons, he wrenches his eyes open, needing to see, to know-

Lance dangles, suspended by the cruel noose digging into his neck. His feet twitch spasmodically, in terrible, disjointed counterpoint to his desperate, ineffective wheezing for air which will not come. The spear inches closer as his arms, starved of the oxygen necessary for their operation, drag downwards. Its trajectory is unchanged despite Hunk’s new position, and instead of his heart the tip digs into the space where his shoulder is dislocated, slow and cold but then hot, too hot. Hunk’s nerves scream - no, that’s his voice, he’s screaming again - and Lance is watching it all, helpless, unable to keep his arms aloft anymore even as he hangs. Somewhere, Ezor is yelling, still trying to wring information from them. Hunk wishes he could reassure his friend, tell Lance that none of this is his fault, but the pain and the screaming - oh, that’s why his throat is rough, he’s still screaming - kind of make speaking an impossibility.

There’s a sudden lurch, and the tip of the spear pierces the other side of his shoulder to lodge in the wood behind his back. He can feel the wide edges grating against the bone of his shoulder socket and the ball of the joint, sending screeling tines of fire up his arm and into his neck and down his spine. He blinks the tears away, looking for Lance - he’s gone still, dangling passively by his neck, a limp and boneless ornament upon Zethrid’s macabre device.

Stillness and quiet have never become Lance.

Beyond the torture, beyond the pain, it’s this, somehow, that drives Hunk over the edge. He grabs the pole behind his wrists, taking the pressure off the ropes binding him, and tears the thick strands apart. He yanks the spear out of his shoulder with his good arm as he drops to the floor, zeroing in on Ezor. She stumbles back, her jaw dropping even as she reaches for the daggers in her boots. Hunk doesn’t give her a chance to find her footing. He charges, bellowing wordlessly in rage and in pain, and bats aside her first attack. She flips around, dodging and ducking, but Hunk is relentless and fueled by an anger which is all the more potent for how rarely it takes him over. The heavy haft of the spear cracks across her forearm, numbing the limb and sending one of her daggers skating across the floor. Ezor kicks out at him, driving him back a step and gaining the space to run up the wall and flip over his head to land behind him. Hunk is already whirled around to face him by the time she lands, waiting with the spear braced firmly. Ezor twists midair and manages a graceless landing, clutching the deep gash in her side that almost disemboweled her. Hunk growls, readjusting his grip on the spear. So close. He’s never been taken over by anger, by bloodlust, like this, but it’s empowering. He could do anything, he thinks. Anything that he wants is within his grasp, and all he wants is Ezor’s death.

Ezor sees it. Without another word she flees, trailing blood and fear. The door slams behind her, just in time to block the spear Hunk hurls after her. It clatters to the floor, leaving silence in its wake.

Hunk shudders as he stumbles, caught in the receding tide of adrenaline. He follows it, uses it to get across the room to Lance. With half the device no longer functional, it’s the work of moments to get Lance down, but that’s just the beginning. The noose has dug into his neck, still strangling him even after the pressure of Lance’s weight is removed. Hunk grabs Ezor’s abandoned dagger and cuts it loose, wincing in sympathy as he peels the coarse fibers out of the bleeding grooves they’ve cut into Lance’s flesh.

“Lance,” he croaks. “Lance, my man, wake up. C’mon, open your eyes for me.” He leans over Lance’s head in his lap, listening for any hint of breathing. For a long moment, stretched thin by despair and hope in equal measure, Lance is utterly unmoving.

“Lance,” Hunk’s voice cracks. “Lance, please, man, you gotta wake up!”

He rubs Lance’s sternum vigorously with the knuckles of his good hand, wishing he could manage CPR. But his shoulder is still out of its socket, hanging limp and leaking blood sluggishly from the hole the spear left in him, and he has never felt more useless.

Lance breathes.

And chokes, coughing and gagging against his damaged throat. Hunk sobs and eases him onto his side, shifting to rub Lance’s back.

“Oh, man, Lance,” he cries. “Oh, man, you had me really scared there for a minute. Never do that again, okay? No more dying on me!”

Lance shudders. “Hnnk…” His hand creeps upward, fingers scrabbling toward Hunk’s shoulder. “Yr… rrm…”

“I’m okay,” Hunk says. He’s really not, but that’s not what Lance needs to hear. “We’ve got the pod in Black. We’re both gonna be okay, man.”

“’m srry,” Lance whispers.

“Stop it,” Hunk squashes that right away. “Stop it, Lance, it wasn’t your fault. It was Ezor and Zethrid.” He tangles Lance’s seeking hand in his own, bringing them down to rest on Lance’s chest. “Just breathe, man. We’re gonna be fine.”

“Kay,” Lance rasps.

After a few minutes, he shifts, gathering his legs under him, and Hunk eases him up. Lance squinches his eyes shut against what’s probably a fierce headache, but stands up, leaning on the wall. Hunk pushes himself to his feet and cracks a smile for Lance.

“Ready to get out of here?” he asks.

Lance nods, then winces.

There’s a clatter in the corridor, and the rest of the paladins spill into the room in a rush of sound and frenzy. The rest of their escape is a blur, but Hunk remembers the bright, soundless flares of the explosions across Zethrid and Ezor’s ship as they flee, and he remembers the hot satisfaction that comes with the sight. It warms him through his cold stint in the cryopod, and through the wait as Lance takes his turn. And later, when he sleeps and the dreams come to torment him with what if, it's enough to bolster his waking, until he can open a channel to Lance's lion and drive out the memories and the dreams with the steady, even rhythm of Lance, alive.

#bad things happen bingo #prompt: unwilling suspension #hunk #lance #voltron #cuivienenwrites

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wildfaeworld · 6 years

Note

Okay how about "Take me Instead" with Keith! and with platonic Klance or Kidge. :3

Administrative stuff: this is for the @badthingshappenbingo, in the Voltron: Legendary Defender fandom.

For reference, red X has been done, blue circles requested. not that y’all couldn’t figure that out, sheesh

Alright, here goes!! “Take Me Instead”, with platonic Kidge (good one, I live for Kidge friendship) :D This monstrosity is about 1800 words, beware. It was just too much fun.

*PSST*: you can also read this on AO3

——————

“I don’t understand.” Keithscowled over Pidge’s shoulder at the device on the counter before them. “Whatdoes it do?”

Pidge, unwilling to let suchmundane things as purpose dim the stars in her eyes, dug out her pouch of GAC.“It’s a robot, Keith, it doesn’t needto do anything now, I’m gonna upgradeit! How much?”

“Three thousand GAC.” The way thealien shopkeeper’s assessing gaze roamed over Pidge gave Keith theheebie-jeebies. He stepped closer, looming behind her.

“Pidge. You don’t need this robot.”

“Keith.” Pidge did not look upfrom her wallet. “I need this robot.” Now she did look up at him, and somehowher eyes were bigger, wider, and her face was doing something that made it hardto remember why he had thought the robot was a stupid idea. Oh.

“Are you… using puppy-dog eyes onme?”

Her eyes got bigger (was thatpossible? Apparently so), and now he felt guilty for accusing her.

“Is it working? I’m short a couplehundred GAC.”

And just like that, whatever magicwas in the puppy eyes was gone. “We’re supposed to be looking for supplies forthe castle.”

“With your money! I brought myown. I just need a couple hundred, you know Coran gave you way more than we’llneed. Please, Keith, I need this robot. Look at it! It’s socute! How can you say no to such a cute-” “Pile of metal?” “Keeeiiiith,” she whined, whacking him inthe arm. “Pleeeeeeeaaase, Keith?”

Matt probably would have beenable to say no. Shiro too, maybe even Lance. They all had experience withyounger siblings. But no, they sent Keith, who had no idea how to handle hugeeyes and a face full of desperate need for something frankly trivial. He wasnot prepared for this at all.

Sometimes surrender was the onlyoption. Keith yanked out his wallet and began flipping out GAC. “I’m nothelping you fix it.”

“But Keith, you’re my best labassistant! C’mon, it’ll be fun!” Pidge tucked the robot lovingly under her armand turned a blindingly bright smile up at Keith.

Keith sighed and shook his head.He had a feeling that he was going to end up helping fix the robot. “C’mon, weneed to look for that component-thingy.”

“Flux modulator,” Pidge correctedabsently, engrossed in fiddling with the robot. Keith dropped a hand onto hershoulder to steer her through the teeming masses, scowling out from under hisbangs at the scurrying aliens who hurried this way, that, and always across thepath he was trying to steer Pidge through. Crowds had always been hard for him,but since bonding with Red his instincts tended to go haywire whenever he feltsurrounded or not in control.

“Woah,” Pidge muttered, peeringup over her glasses as Keith yanked her to a stop just before a horde of tinyorange aliens screeched across the end of the aisle. “Keith, you okay, man?”

“I’m fine,” Keith said tightly.Something was wrong; his instincts were screaming – he needed to fight, run,fly – anything to calm the fire burning down his spine. “Let’s just get the frackmandala” “Flux modulator-” “-and get back to the lions.”

“You got it.” Perhaps picking upon whatever had Keith’s senses firing, Pidge put the robot into her satchel andpeered around at the stalls. “Ooh, maybe over there.” She wriggled out from underhis hand and darted over to the corner stall.

Something was coming – he couldn’ttake it anymore. Keith drew his bayard, glad he had ignored Allura when she orderedthem to leave all paladin-identifying gear behind. Screw the flip-flop macerator,he was getting Pidge out of here. They could find it somewhere else.

“Pidge, let’s- PIDGE!” Keithpelted for the alley, heart in his throat. A large green arm had snaked out ofthe shadows and latched onto the littlest paladin, yanking her out of sightbefore she could so much as startle at the unexpected contact.

Keith activated his bayard, arrivingin a whirl of violence. Five huge aliens blocked his way, while a sixth hauleda struggling Pidge down the alley, heading for a pod parked at the other end. Ithad her tucked under its arm like a ragdoll, one three-clawed hand wrappedentirely around her head, and though Pidge was one of the fiercest people heknew, without her bayard the size disparity was simply too great for her to domore than annoy the hulking alien with her struggles.

Keith charged, cutting down oneof the aliens with a swift slash across its throat before the rest swarmed him.He raised his blade to block an overhead strike, letting the angle of his sworddeflect his opponent’s blade down and off to one side, before whirling hissword about to parry the next attack. Shoving the blade off of his own, Keithyanked his knife out of its sheath at his back and stabbed blindly to his left,where he could feel a third alien approaching from behind. The alien gurgledand screamed, but kept coming, and the other two were swiftly recovering aswell. And all the while Pidge was being hauled toward the pod. Keithglanced about the narrow alley frantically. He needed some sort ofadvantage; between their size and their numbers, there was no way he was goingto take all three down on his own.

A pile of crates stackedhaphazardly against the wall protruded from a mounded pile of discarded trash.Keith yelled and ducked under the rightmost alien’s scythe-like weapon andjumped up the mound. His footing was precarious at best, but his back wasagainst a wall now and he was nearly at eye level with his opponents. One swungat him with a heavy-handed overhead strike – really, again? Clearly these guyswere not used to actual opposition – and Keith blocked it easily, twisting theblade aside and lunging in to take out the alien’s eyes. Three down, two to go.

The one he had just blindedstaggered into one of his remaining opponents, keening loudly, and Keith tookthe opportunity to leap atop the other one, wrapping his thighs around its’ neckand stabbing downwards through the alien’s skull. He rode the enormous body tothe ground, cleaving the last alien from neck to navel on the way down. Thatleft only the blind one, staggering across the alley in futile search of itscomrades. Keith took a running start and leapt up its back, using his momentumto bring the disoriented alien crashing to the ground. Stunned, the alien frozeas it felt Keith’s blade against its’ neck, cold metal warring with hot bloodagainst its scaly flesh.

“Let her go!” Keith shouted, proudthat his voice projected only his anger and not the crippling fear underneath. Not Pidge, please not Pidge. “Let hergo, or you lose the last of your team!”

The alien halted, its reptilianeyes skittering over the carnage Keith had wrought. Over its clawed hand, Pidge’senormous brown eyes locked onto Keith’s.

“You have brought blood-debt uponyourself, stranger,” the alien snarled.

“Let her go, and I’ll give you achance to collect,” Keith retorted. Beneath him, the blinded alien shifted, andhe ground his heel harder into its spine until it stilled.

“This small one is a lawful prize,taken fairly. She will bring good price to me.” The alien shook Pidge slightly,and Keith’s gut twisted at the strangled whimper that emerged past the thickscaly claws wrapped around her head. “What have you to offer, stranger? Your blood-debtis already greater than you can pay.”

Everything was speeding up,unlike in battle when time seemed to slow; this was too fast, too much, and allKeith could think was not Pidge, notPidge in endless, frantic loop.

“Me,” he said, ignoring Pidge’ssudden muffled cy. “Take me.”

The alien snarled. “I havealready said your debt is greater than you can pay. I tire of this. Flee, whileyou still can, before the debt-hunters are given your scent.”

“I’m a paladin!” Keith blurted. “I’ma paladin of Voltron, heard of them?”

The alien’s sudden stillness wasanswer enough.

“Take me, and I’ll pay yourblood-debt. But you have to let her go.”

The alien watched him, reptilianeyes unblinking and hard as stone. Keith stepped off the blinded alien,shifting his sword back into bayard form and sheathing his knife. “Take me,” herepeated. “But let her go.”

“What is she to you?”

“No one,” Keith said quickly –too quickly, damnit. “A messenger,” he tried again, locking eyes with Pidge’s furioushoney-gold orbs and hoping that just this once he could communicate what he wanted.“She’s just a messenger. I hired her to carry my stuff while I shopped. She’s aninnocent.”

The alien lifted Pidge, eyeingher satchel dubiously. With a single claw, it ripped the satchel down thecenter, sending the robot and various other wires and connectors they had alreadypurchased clattering to the ground. It glanced back at Keith, gaze lingering onhis bayard. Keith thanked whatever gods held sway out here for its distinctivered-and-white coloring. Thanks to Coran’s Voltron shows, most of the galaxy nowrecognized the paladin colors and bayards. Beside him, the blinded alien rolledover, scrambling to its feet, and Keith stiffened, but kept his bayarddisarmed. “Take me,” he repeated. “But let her go.”

Slowly, the alien lowered Pidgeto the ground. “Go, child,” it said harshly. “Offer thanks at your hearth thisnight for the foolish ideals of this paladin.”

“Keith,” Pidge whisperedhoarsely. Bruising was already darkening her pale skin, crossing her face inmottled hues that didn’t belong.

“Go on,” Keith said, his mindstill circling madly, stuck in its loop ofnot Pidge, not Pidge. “You’ve got a job to get back to.”

“No, I-”

The alien shoved her towards theentrance to the alley when she stayed rooted to the spot. “Run, child. Deliveryour messages.”

The giant claws descended on him,then, wrapping around Keith’s torso and pinning his arms painfully to hissides. His bayard clattered on the ground, but the alien’s sinuous tail snakeddown to seize it as well.

“Get out of here!” Keith snarledas it began to drag him away. He couldn’t try to escape until Pidge was safelyaway. She couldn’t start tracking him until she was back at her lion, she wasn’tsafe until she was back with Green.

Finally, Pidge fled, dashingtears out of her eyes, and finally, Keith’s panic over her began to subside,even as his own spiked. But Pidge was safe. He could handle whatever came next,as long as it was him and not her.

#voltron: legendary defender #bad things happen bingo #keith kogane #bamf!keith #pidge gunderson #vld #cuivienenwrites

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wildfaeworld · 6 years

Note

Hey, are you still doing the Bad Things Bingo card? I'd like to request Hand Stomp with Keith if so! And maybe klance! Ty!!

Got a couple requests for this one! Sorry though anons, Keith gets neither Lance nor happiness in this one. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Fandom: Voltron Legendary Defender

Character(s): Keith, Zarkon

Length: 1607 words

Warnings: Blood, broken bones, explicit injury. Oh and uh, not a happy ending.

*PSST*: you can also read this on AO3.

Thank you @badthingshappenbingo for the card!

Keith knew loss. Its’ touchpreceded even his lucid memories, slipping through the door left ajar by hismother’s departure. It crept closer in the wake of the fire which took hisfather, and solidified its presence with every return to the social serviceoffices because another family hadn’t quite been able to make him fit.

It had wrapped cold, intimatefingers around his heart when Shiro had boarded the Kerberos craft, and it hadsqueezed, shredding and ripping into him, when the mission was declared afailure. Then it had settled, coiling deep into his bones and chilling himthrough the hot, dusty days in the desert.

He had driven it away when Shiroreturned, beating it back into a gentle, incessant what if by stickingto Shiro like a limpet, training long hours and throwing himself into bondingexercises with Red or formation practice with Voltron in single-mindedintensity that left no room for what if. But loss had been his bedfellowfor too long to ignore the abundant fodder of war.

So he shouldn’t have beensurprised, when Red’s touch stilled and faded to darkness as Zarkon blasted heracross the hull of his central command. He shouldn’t have ached, watching Blackbeing pushed through the wormhole by the other lions while Shiro’s screams torethrough his comms. But he was, and he did. Beyond the burn of his ribs and thescouring fire in his bones from augmenting Red’s reserves with his own spirit,Keith ached as the wormhole blinkedclosed.

And there, pinned under thewreckage of Red’s console, Keith met loss in corporeal form as Zarkon peeledRed’s hull apart. In the deeps of their bond, Red’s unconscious agony resoundedin thin and terrible counterpoint to his own at the deathly cacophony createdby Zarkon’s invasion of his lion.

“Did you see them go, RedPaladin?” The Galran emperor stalked into the cockpit, head tilted to clear theceiling. “Your team has abandoned you, little ember.”

Keith ignored him, strainingagainst the warped metal and melted glass trapping him. If he could just reachhis bayard-

Zarkon plucked the red and whiteweapon from its slot in the console and tucked it away into his armor. He rancoldly evaluating eyes over Keith, watching him struggle.

“The red lion has ever beenVoltron’s right hand,” he mused aloud. “It is the place of any leader tomeasure his subordinates. I measured Alfor, and I found him wanting. And now,little ember, I have measured you.” Abruptly, he was close too close, leaning over Keith’s pinned form to grasp his head inone gargantuan hand. Keith’s helmet cracked, shattering against his head andraining glass across his face as Zarkon squeezed. He shut his eyes against theprojectile rain, feeling the tips of Zarkon’s claws adorn his brow in a macabrediadem of blood.

“Little ember, you have beenweighed, and measured,” Zarkon crooned. “And you are not enough.” His handshifted to Keith’s chestplate, while the other wrapped around the twisted metalpinning Keith in place, and peeled it back. Keith groaned as metal slid out ofthe seat beneath him and up through the meat of his thighs. Blood, held incheck by the pressure that had immobilized him, now sheeted down his legs withmortal abandon.

“You are no right hand ofVoltron,” Zarkon finished, lifting Keith out of the pilot’s chair and dragginghim across the cockpit. “You usurp the title of Red Paladin, and will face myjudgment.”

“The black lion picked Shiro,”Keith wheezed, clawing instinctively, ineffectually, at the thick arm wrappedacross his chest. “It rejected you – Voltron measured you, and you’re the onefound wanting.”

Zarkon’s claws pierced his chestand back as the Galran emperor squeezed Keith in his grip. They stepped out ofthe mangled lion and into the central ship before the emperor replied.

“Little one,” he said finally,his tone a somber cadence to his measured tread through the halls of his ship.“Voltron was mine once and will be again. I was ancient before Voltron. I havewatched the birth of stars, and I have witnessed those same stars die. You andthe rest of your ragtag group, like those paltry few systems which still opposeme, are nothing more than children throwing a tantrum, thinking thathistrionics and drama will get them their way.”

Tall double doors slid openbefore them, and Keith flinched from the wall of noise. Galra generals of allshapes and sizes clustered in the great hall, clearing a path for Zarkon’sentrance as they cheered for him and screamed at Keith in equal measure.

Zarkon stalked up the length ofthe hall, pausing at the foot of the dais to turn and face the assembly. Thegathered generals silenced swiftly, their anticipation hanging thick andcloying in the recycled air. Blood dripped, swift and steady, to puddle atZarkon’s feet. Keith took the moment to breath through the pain of the gapingwounds in his legs, the holes in his torso, his head. This was just thebeginning, and he was determined that whatever Zarkon claimed, he would endthis as befitted a Paladin of Voltron.

Zarkon’s gaze drifted across thecrowd, gathering every scrap of their attention.

“My loyal subjects,” he began,“today we have witnessed Voltron’s latest act of chaos and defiance. They havedared attack me in my home, and though it suited my purposes to allow them toflee in cowardly defeat, I will no longer allow their posturing without a tokenof my disfavor.”

Amid the cheers that erupted, twodrones clanked forward to take Keith from Zarkon’s grip and hoist him high byeach arm, until he hung suspended for all to see.

“Behold!” Zarkon announced. “TheRed Paladin, Voltron’s right hand. The red lion even now lies imprisoned in myvaults. But for its pilot, my justice will be more immediate.”

Keith reeled under the wall ofsound, straining to pull air into lungs pulled tight by his suspended position.Dimly, he watched two more drones approach, bearing thick metal cuffs. Theyattached one to each wrist, and then to Keith’s brief confusion, the first twoset him on the ground. He staggered, his shredded legs unwilling to bear hisweight, and then the cuffs activated, magnets dragging his hands topredetermined points on the floor at the foot of the dais. Keith slammedface-first into the cold metal floor, his arms stretched out spread-eagled.Zarkon’s heavy tread echoed against the shell of his ear, stopping with dread finalitynext to his right hand.

“Voltron’s right hand is aposition of honor, of trust,” he said softly. “You, little ember, are notworthy.” Raising his voice, he addressed the assembly once more. “As withVoltron, so to paladin. Voltron has lost its right hand.” He raised his boot,bringing down to thunderous acclaim upon Keith’s right hand. Keith strangledhis scream, allowing only a hoarse groan to escape as he felt bones snap andtwist, sharp ends digging into his flesh as the Galran emperor ground his heelinto the back of Keith’s hand.

“As with Voltron, so to paladin,”Zarkon repeated, removing his boot and mounting the dais to take his throne.“My loyal generals, I invite you to partake of my justice.”

The Galra needed no moreinvitation. In eager brutality, the first general stalked forward, leering downat Keith. “Death to the enemies of the Galra,” he spat, bringing his bootedheel down upon Keith’s hand. Keith sucked in a sharp gasp, feeling two fingerssnap. The general spun on his heel, leaving a parting gift of spittle onKeith’s face before rejoining his place in the ranks.

The next general leapt in the airwith a shrill battle-cry to land two-footed on Keith’s hand. Keith breathedthrough the pain, feeling his last intact fingers snap.

The next stomp broke open theskin, tearing a gash across the back of his hand from the spikes embedded inthe third general’s boot.

After the fifth stomp, his handstarted to lose shape.

After the ninth, Keith couldn’tmove his fingers. His other limbs twitched spasmodically with each stomp,garnering jeering laughter from the Galra generals, but his hand had stoppedresponding beyond a constant, white-hot scream roaring up his nerve endings andbegging his mouth for release. He clamped his lips shut, refusing to give themthe final satisfaction of hearing him beg.

Keith fixed his gaze on his hand,watching skin break and bleed, feeling bones grind and shatter as general aftergeneral brought one or both feet down upon the mangled lump of flesh that usedto be his sword hand. Blood collected in the hollows of his skin, even as moreseeped from his legs and torso.

By the fifteenth stomp, Keith’sblood had pooled underneath the entirety of his body. The generals had to stepin it to get at his hand, now, and their departing footsteps left spiralingrecord of their visitations.

By the twenty-sixth stomp, Keith’shearing and vision were greying out. The world buzzed distantly under clear andpresent pain.

By the thirty-ninth stomp, Keithcouldn’t feel anything anymore. He watched, dimly surprised that he was stillawake, as feet descended on something that had once meant something to him.

Sometime between the forty-thirdand forty-seventh stomp, Keith started to slip.

It might have been after thefifty-second stomp that he lost count, but at that point he wasn’t sure.

It might have beensixty-eight stomps when his eyes slid closed, but no one was counting anymore.

#bad things happen bingo #voltron #keith kogane #prompt: hand stomp #cuivienenwrites

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wildfaeworld · 6 years

Note

Pidge with someone tampering with her food? Like on a planet and Hunk Allura and pidge are invited, they offer them food but Pidge and Hunk eat some (Hunk is quickly pulled away so he doesn't eat enough for the poison to affect him) and they try and take Pidge because she's passing out from the "poison") thank you so so much!!!

Administrative stuff: This is for the @badthingshappenbingo, in the Voltron: Legendary Defender Fandom.

Red has been done, blue requested.

*PSST*: You can also read this on AO3.

Yikes. This is about 3100 words.

“Pidge, you gotta try this,” Hunk gushes.

“No.”

“C’mon, just a bite,” he wheedles.“It tastes just like hazelnuts.”

“No, Hunk.”

“Fine, fine,” Hunkrelents, and returns to his own plate. But Pidge can feel him watching her outof the corner of his eye.

“What?” she finallysnaps - quietly, she can be diplomatic too.

“Nothing!” he sayshastily. “I just-” here we go“-are you sure you’re ok? I know this was a pretty big let-down.”

And suddenly, eating is lookinglike a better option than talking to Hunk. Pidge grabs a spoonful of whateverthis newest alien gunk is on her plate and shoveled it into her mouth, barelytasting the weird flavor. Hazelnuts, her ass. This stuff is nothing likeanything on Earth.

Damnit, Hunk is still watchingher.

“I’m fine,” she saysshortly. “It’s just a setback. Stop pussyfooting around for once and leaveme alone.”

“We’ll find them, Pidge,”Hunk says steadily, and he’s so warm,so fucking comforting that she nearlyloses her shit right there and the only alternative is to shove more terriblealien food into her mouth, chew, swallow, and repeat the process until he getsthe message and leaves her alone.

And he does, he’s damnperceptive, that’s what clued him in in the first place, but now she thinks shemight have screwed up because he’s not gushing about the food anymore, andLance is shooting her a chastising look before turning to devote his entireattention to Hunk and before long the two of them have excused themselves fromthis latest banquet with one of their hosts, going to seek out yet anotheralien sunset, and Pidge can’t find the motivation to get up and find them toapologize so she stays, letting the joyful atmosphere batter at her rockysolitude. It’s great, really. Another planet liberated, another victorysnatched from the Galra’s grasping claws, but the air is bitter, like theaftertaste of what Hunk swore was hazelnuts, tainted by Pidge’s own personalmetric for success or failure. Still no leads on her father and brother. She’sbeen through every scrap of data the Galra on this planet had, every scrap ofdata from every mission they’ve been on, and she’s no closer to finding herfamily than when she hunched on the roof of the Garrison, seeking fruitlesslyfor confirmation of what she knew in her heart, data to back up her bone-deepconviction that her family was alive, somewhere.It’s been over a year since she left that lost, lonely little girl behind onthe roof, and she’s got jack-shit to show for it.

Suddenly it’s all too much andnot enough, too much input and not enough distance and she shoves her chairback to desert the banquet abruptly, ignoring Allura’s disapproval. Thecoalition can go fuck themselves, because if they can’t help her find herfamily then what good are they? Besides, these aliens seem a little too interested in the paladins and theirbond with the lions. She’s had to fend off one too many questions that probejust a little too deep, are a little too personal to her connection with Green.

Distantly, she’s aware that thisis just frustration and too little sleep on top of an extended adrenaline crashon top of more than a year of tension and doubt speaking, but in this moment itfeels much better to let anger course through her hot and swift, buoying herwith a feeling of power and force which that distant part of her knows willfade to cold ash all too quickly.

The corridors in this place areall curved, echoes of the buildings’ outer walls, and it’s all very lovely fromthe air but she can’t seem to find a straight line to her lion for the life ofher and right now all she needs is Green, her cool analytics and rationalprocesses which will bring Pidge back to the mindspace in which she’s at herbest. She’s not the most well-versed in dealing with emotions, others’ or herown, and so when everything crashes over her like it has tonight she’s often ata loss in how to break free of vicious emotional currents that can’t beexplained or sorted or put away.

She needs Green. She needs herfucking lion, like, yesterday. It’s getting harder to breathe, and these damncurvy corridors are fucking with her depth perception and that distant part ofher is piping up again, is this apanic attack? Physical symptoms are similar – elevated heartrate and shortnessof breath colliding to produce dizziness, her temperature perception is off,it’s hot and then cold, shit herecomes nausea. Not a panic attack, then, her analysis provides helpfully.Probably poison. Something about that banquet wasn’t safe for humanconsumption. Fucking hazelnuts.

“Green,” she whispers,curling over herself as she finds stability against the wall. She’s got anemetic in her first-aid kit, if she could just get to her lion. But she’s lost,now, she thinks she was headed the right direction when she left the banquethall but everything is spinning and she’s not even sure if she’s crouched onthe floor or lying on the wall. Maybe the gravity is switching up on her? No,she’s just falling, sliding down the wall to land on her ass and even that’snot good enough because her traitorous spine is curving, bending to deposit heraching head on the floor and maybe she should just sleep this off. That soundslike a great idea, actually, until her analytic side screams at her to get up,keep moving, find someone because ifshe goes to sleep she might die and that gives her enough of a push to rollover and try to get her legs underneath her once more.

She manages to get to her knees,but she keeps tipping forward when she tries to clamber to her feet so she optsto crawl. She leans against the wall as she creeps forwards, using it to remindher of what equilibrium should feel like because she sure as shit can’t keep itstraight for herself. Her vision is greying out, pulsing in time with thenausea in her gut, and her lungs keep squeezing tighter and tighter. Where iseveryone? Why hasn’t she come across anyone?Oh god, the last thing she said to Hunk was so shitty. She can’t remember whatshe said to any of the others, but it probably wasn’t anything more than civil,if that. If she can make it through this she’ll be nicer. And she’ll puttogether a food testing kit for each of the paladins. Really, it’s a miraclenone of them have accidentally ingested something fatal before now. Green,where’s Green? She needs Green.

A pair of feet enter herappallingly narrow field of vision, standing firm and upright with annoyingease. She sinks back to a hunched, seated lean against the wall, using itsstolid support to tip her pounding head up until she meets the gaze of one ofthe aliens hosting them. What are they called again?

“He…lp,” she manages to rasp out.

The alien watches her for aminute, while Pidge’s vision tunnels further, grey leaching inwards inexorablywhile her ribs squeeze tighter and tighter against her lungs. He’s not going todo anything, she realizes. He’s just going to stand there and watch her die.Maybe they think if Voltron loses a paladin while on their planet that one oftheir own will be chosen. Maybe they’re secretly still in league with theGalra. But that doesn’t make sense. She can’t think well without oxygen,apparently.

Pidge tips herself backwards,ready to worm-crawl away from the alien who’s still watching her if that’s what it will take, but the suddenshift in her center of gravity proves to be too much for her overstrainedsystem, and blackness crashes in to take her.

When she wakes, she’s strapped toa table, and the spike in the heart monitor they’ve put on her wipes out anychance she had of faking unconsciousness in order to evaluate the situation.

With subtlety off the menu, Pidgeopts for belligerence. “What the fuck are you idiots doing?” she demands,testing the straps they’ve put on her while they’re hopefully distracted by herrunning her mouth. “I’m a Paladin of Voltron. We literally just saved your entire planet from the Galra. Let me go,before this goes further than you can smooth over with an apology.”

The alien ignores her, insteadreaching across Pidge to pull a contraption that resembles a cross between adentist’s mobile x-ray machine and an optometrist’s phoropter over her torso.It’s getting harder to push her fear aside, and the adrenaline from her awakeninghas worn off, leaving her drained and empty. Pidge casts her mind out forGreen, pulling desperately on the tenuous thread of their connection. It’s hardto marshal the focus necessary to connect with her lion; she’s still feelingthe effects of whatever it was that she ate, nausea and dizziness and tightlungs all conspiring to muddy her thoughts and dull her mind.

The alien finishes hispreparations and peers around the edge of the machine at her. “We have askedyour princess to explain to us the bond between paladin and lion, and we havesought the same answers from each of you, but you will not share this knowledgewith us, and we are forced to take what should have been freely given. This isyour last chance to elucidate the bond to us.”

“Why do you want to know?” Pidgedemands. “Voltron saved your planet.” She pauses to fight the nausea and try tobreathe. It’s getting harder, and she feels a pale, petty satisfaction at thethought that they probably won’t get to study her as much as they want if shecontinues to deteriorate at this rate. “This is pretty shitty thanks,” shemanages, “to kidnap someone who just risked life and limb for your people.”

While she talks, she’s stillreaching for Green, pushing past everything that hurts to bridge the distancebetween and her and her lion. Dimly, she feels the connection snap into place evenas her vision greys out further, and the alien’s retort washes over her in ajumble of indecipherable sound. But even as her body is failing her, Green’spresence surges through her mind, lending clarity where she can’t marshal herown, analyzing the situation with her while sending a constant flow ofassurance that she’s on her way. Pidge tunes the alien out, cataloguing her symptomsfor Green, helping her lion assemble them into a file for the rest of her teamwhen they arrive. She’s pretty sure she won’t be up to explaining anythingherself.

Cause: high probability of ingestion of a substancetoxic to human biology, likely at the feast.

Symptoms: gradual onset of shortness of breath, leading toelevated heartrate, approximately fifteen doboshes after beginning ingestion ofthe suspected substance. Note to Hunk:that stuff did not taste like hazelnuts. A sample should be obtained foranalysis and synthesis of an antidote.

Shit they’re drawing blood – no, Green, keep the file going.

Symptoms, continued: Dizziness presented next, though whether aneffect of the substance or a result of previous symptoms undetermined. Nauseabegan soon after. Seems resistant to actual emesis, however. Suggestion: tryinducing emesis to evacuate whatever’s still in my stomach. Vision is greyingout, progressing steadily towards complete loss of sight. Symptoms combinedlead to pervasive muscle weakness, inability to stand. Oh, and balance is affectedas well.

What was that? Pidge snaps out of her compilation of the file forGreen at the trembling of the room around her. Oh. It’s Green. The room shakes harder, sending instrumentsrattling off of trays and sending her captors into a babbling frenzy. Pidgehears Lance’s blaster and Hunk’s shoulder cannon going off, and beyond that thecrashing that usually results when Keith and Shiro start throwing peoplearound.

It all erupts at once, Greenbreaking through the wall while the team charges through the door on the other sideand subdue the aliens that managed to keep their feet in the shower of rubble. Somethingglances off of Pidge’s ribs, and a smaller spray of sharp rocks skates acrossher face. She closes her eyes, since she can’t see anymore anyway.

“Pidge, oh my god, Pidge, wake up!”It’s Hunk. She hears his bayard dematerialize and then his hands are cuppingher face, fingers tapping gently while someone else fumbles at the strapsaround her wrists. Cold fingers – Lance. Someone else is taking the vein tapout of her arm – Keith?

“’M here,” she mumbles. Heroxygen shortage is starting to worry her. “Poi..s’n, Hunk,” she twitches her handto tap at his. “File. In Green.” She has to stop, take a minute to try tobreathe, while he lifts her, cradling her against his big warm chest like ababy and she can’t even find it in herself to be annoyed by the position. It’snice, this time.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he rushes. “It’sgonna be okay. We’ll get you a pod, just stay with me.”

Oh, pod. Probably not going towork. “Not… pod. Poison,” she manages. “File. In Green.” They’re heading up.Sounds like a ramp. Green? Oh, there she is.

“Yeah, we’re in Green. She’s lettingShiro fly her back to the castle. We’re almost there, hang on.”

“No… Hunk. File. In Green.” Howmany times does she have to say this? She’s wasting precious oxygen.

“What file?” Lance picks up on it.“There’s a file here in Green?”

Speaking is too much, now, so shetips her head forward against Hunk’s chest and it must be enough because shehears Lance tapping through Green’s logs. Pidge nudges at Green to bring Pidge’slog to the forefront of the system display.

“Poi…son,” she manages one moretime, and now she really needs to focus on breathing so they’re just going tohave to figure the rest out for themselves.

“Dios,” Lance breathes. “It was the food. That hazelnut stuff.”

Finally.

“Oh, god,” Hunk moans. “You and Iboth ate some too, Lance, why aren’t we sick?”

“You’re bigger than her,” Keithobserves. “And you both only ate a little. Pidge ate a bunch.”

Gee, thanks, Keith. Way to callout a girl on her eating habits.

“We can’t use the pods,” Shirorealizes. “They don’t work on illnesses, and this is too close to a disease.”

“She says we’ll need a sample foran antidote,” Lance continues.

“I’ll go get it,” Keith saysdarkly, and Pidge has a sudden vision of him stomping through the curved halls,fighting his way through their former allies (because she’ll be damned if theylet this particular planet join the coalition after this) in a quest forhazelnut gunk. The thought forces a huff of a laugh out past her laboringlungs, but that was a bad idea because now she’s choking, fighting to get backthe air she just lost. Hunk adjusts her position against him, his large hand rubbingcircles on her back, and it helps a little but she’s still panting for air, blindand achy and dizzy and nauseous and unable to throw up and she just reallyhates this so much.

Green touches down in the castle’shangar, and even though she can’t see she feels it when Hunk stands andeverything spins wretchedly.

“Keith, wait, Keith-” it’s Lance,chasing after the red paladin, judging by the sound of his rapid-fire footsteps.“Wait, Keith, Dios, idiota, I’ve got some of the hazelnut gunk!”

“What?” everyone choruses, andPidge would join in, too, if she could. How the hell did he pull that off?

“It really does taste likehazelnuts,” he says apologetically. “I only tasted a little bit, but we’ve gotthat space cocoa, and I was hoping we could make something like Nutella, butnow that’s seeming like a really bad idea-”

“I could kiss you right now,Lance,” Hunk half-sobs. “Bring it to the medbay, quick.”

Pidge loses track of things for alittle while after that. She focuses on trying to breathe, on the too-slow intakeof oxygen, trying to keep as much of it as she can when every exhale seems to addto the tightness squeezing her lungs further closed.

Something covers her nose andmouth, and she panics for a moment until oxygen rushes in, and she’s never feltso grateful for anything in her life. She gulps it greedily while Hunk andCoran discuss her over her head, using the file from Green and the sample Lancekept to synthesize an antidote.

She loses a bit more time, awashin dizzy nausea and unable to see beyond the field of grey that encompasseseverything when she bothers to open her eyes. The oxygen is helping, but it’sstill hard to breathe and harder to think, so she drifts until something pricksher arm and slowly, so slowly, she feels the relief creep through her body. Thenausea is the first to settle, then the dizziness, and then her lungs easewhile her sight fades back in.

Hunk is leaning over her, hissmile watery and wavery but still there, and Coran hovers at her other elbow, adjustingthe flow from the bag of antidote that’s hooked up to the needle in her arm.Everyone else is at the foot of the bed, Lance and Keith and even Shiro andAllura, and they’re not her family by blood or by name but damnit if they haven’tshoved their way into her heart anyway. Her space family is weird and most ofthe time she doesn’t appreciate them nearly enough, but they’re still here forher, even when she fucks up.

And speaking of which – “Hunk,”she says, rejoicing in the feel of breath flowing freely in and out of her lungs.“I was a major jerk at the banquet. I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t even worry about it,” Hunksniffs. “I already forgot. You were just upset, I get it.”

“Good,” Pidge breathes, feelingher eyes slip closed again. Being poisoned really takes it out of her, apparently.

“Rest, Number Five,” Coran says. “You’vegot some recovery to come, still. That substance was quite toxic to yoursystem.”

That sounds fun. But the firstpart was good. She’ll take a nap. And when she’s feeling better, she’ll makethose food-testing kits for everyone.

#bad things happen bingo #voltron #pidge #hunk garrett #writing #cuivienenwrites

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