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factual-fantasy · 4 years

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Answering 14 Asks. Ranging from advice, to my characters, to the rules for drawing fanart. (I’m allowing it now btw)

..You know? Since the last time this has ben mentioned I started thinking.

I would love to see fan art of my characters, and now I know you guys want to draw them. Originally I didn’t want anyone to draw my OCs for my own safety. This post goes into detail on that. But I’ve been thinking.. and I think I might’ve found a way to let people draw fan art of my ocs without exposing anything. With rules. If what you plan to draw “breaks the rules” that means that its one of those “exposing things” I talked about.

Man I am such a sissy. I just don’t want to be bashed for anything. But okay look, here are the “rules” for my fan art.

You absolutely are allowed to draw my characters in one of these categories.

Draw a character that you like posing or smiling to show them off.

Cool action scenes! Most of them are soldiers after all.

Interacting with some of the real team prime members is 100% okay. Especially Volvo and Ratchet because they're supposed to be friends.

Drawing Brown Suburban and Bash Buggy hanging out with the other Wreckers!

Drawing two or more established friends goofing around and having innocent fun.

Drawing a character with an established sad backstory being sad or crying it out. With or without someone that has been established as their friend.

Redrawing scenes that I have already drawn to see it in your style.

If I have mentioned a character likes something, you could draw them with it. An example would be Ranger looking out over a river because she loves water.

You’re allowed to draw me with the characters, although I am kiiiinda a fourth wall break? I’m not really supposed to exist in their world.. So, if you really wanna, you can draw me, but I wouldn't encourage it.

Ones I would not be okay with though..

Drawing my characters getting drunk/drinking. <:/ Not on board with that..

Drawing any of my characters, wearing, talking about or supporting anything political or controversial.. Whether it be over the top or subtle.

No uh.. no ships please, Red Van and Suburban are okay but nothing overly sexual please. :}

No fourth wall breaks please. I know I have had my slip ups but I would like to keep a wall up in between their world and ours. I.E no drawing yourself with them..

Well uh.. that’s about it I suppose. You can basically draw anything, Just no ships, nothing overly sexual or political and keep the fourth wall breaks to a minimum. I myself need to work on not breaking the fourth wall.

I guess that’s it. So if you want to draw fanart for me, and it “follows the rules”? I am bouncing off the walls excited to see what you make for me! Link to their character sheets is here, keep in mind it may be edited now and then.

I am officially giving my fans permission to draw my OCs as long as it “follows the rules”, Have fun drawing!!

Escort would be like,

When it comes to digital, I use a small Intuos pro Wacom tablet. The model is PHT-451. I’m just reading things off the back of it here. It looks like this.

When it comes to traditional drawing, I use nothing but the finest Walmart mechanical pencils and sketch books. I also usually have a standard pink school eraser on hand as well. :}

Hmm.. If they could use a bouncy castle.. Well,

Brown Suburban and Suburban wouldn’t use it for the same reasons. They’re both too big and it would just make them tired. However, if the the kiddos wanted him to, Suburban would just shrug and hop on.

Miata would be on it before its even fully blown up. She’d love bounce houses.

Escort wouldn’t use it because he’s old and weak. Trying to jump up and down like that would tire him out super fast and would just make him ache probably. Poor baby, he’d probably want to though.🥺

U.M.Dragster would be hopping on it before it was fully blown up along side Miata.

A.T.Dragster would like it but would pretend not to.

Green Truck and Vega wouldn’t do it because they’re old and that would really tire them out. But Vega would want to even though he really shouldn’t.

Red Van would like to jump with the kids, but she cant. After what those cons did to her knees.. she can barley walk, let alone jump. repeatedly.

White Truck would love to jump on a bounce house and would have a ton of fun with it. Although due to his size and strength he would probably get tired faster than Miata and U.M. would.

Beluga and Jeepy would love to, and they would. But just like White Truck, they’re big and would get tired pretty quickly I feel.

With enough coaxing, Honda would like to jump on the bounce house too. And she would have a decent amount of energy left over.

Ranger would say she doesn’t want to and wouldn’t go on it. But she lowkey actually wants to join, she just doesn’t want to seem silly.

Volvo: No.

Bash Buggy would probably want to, but would shy away. He cant see people all that well and parts tend to fall off of him. He imagines he’s not all that clean either so he wouldn’t want to get the bounce house dirty and covered in bolts and screws.

A Decepticon.. that one ugly one.? And I know which one??

I actually don’t know which one. I know its not one of mine, because I’ve never drawn them before.

I know its not Knock Out, because he was designed to look attractive. Its not Break Down because he’s not ugly and he’s..... uh, dead..... Its not Soundwave because you cant see his face. Its not Shockwave because.. well, I don't think he’s ugly. Is it Megatron? Starscream?

Who are you talking about???

Its weird how Bash is the idiot when Bulkhead was the one who asked, “Were you killed??” and ALL FOUR OF THEM were relieved when he said he lived.

Isaac sounds so cool! I really like how you structured his character, he sounds like a really fun guy, and yeah, I bet they would really get along swell XD

Well here’s the thing, I can only really tell you the age of the real cars and how old I imagined them being in Transformer years. The reason why is because I don't know how long Cybertronians live and cant use any of the other characters as a reference.

Bumblebee is seen as the youngest, and Ratchet I think is seen as the oldest. Like Teenager vs elder kind'a thing. If I knew how old they were, I could compare them to my OCs and give you a proper age.. but I cant find any info, so this’ll just have to do for now. <:{

Now, normally I have a rule of thumb that I follow. The characters Cybertronian age should at least match up a little with their car age. 40 years is really old for a car, so the character should be really old in robot years. 40 years would translate to like 50 or 60 in Cybertronian years if you get what I’m saying. So, Here’s the age of the real life cars and how old I imagined them to be in Cybertronian years. From oldest to youngest.

Green Truck was made in 1972, he is 48 years old. I pictured him being in his late 50s, coming on 60 years old in Cybertronian years.

Vega was made in 1974, he is 46 years old. I pictured him being in his mid 50s somewhere, in Cybertronian years of course.

Brown Suburban was made in 1978, he is 42 years old. Despite him not being that old in real life, I thought of him being ancient in Cybertronian years. Like, he’s closing up on 90 or something and yet he’s still super strong and in fighting condition. The idea was that Bulkhead and Wheeljack were surprised to see him on Earth, they both kind’a though he had died of age by then.

Escort was made in 1986, he is 34 years old. Not too old, but I portray him as if he’s reaching his 50s in Cybertronian years.

Suburban was made in 1988, he is 32 years old. I always pictured him being somewhere in his mid forty's in Cybertronian years.

Bash Buggy was made in 1990, he is 30 years old. I kind’a pictured him being somewhere in his 30s actually, so that works out.

Red Van was made in 1993, she is 27 years old. I thought she could be in her very early 40s. Like 41 or maybe 42 years old.

Miata was made in 1994, she is 26 years old. I always pictured her being like in her early twenties. Think 22 to 23.

I haven’t talked about him yet, but Duck Truck was made in 1996, and is 24 years old. He’s one of the Decepticons, his year was written down so I figured I’d add him in too. I always pictured him as a younger Cybertronian, like in his 20s somewhere.

Jeepy was made in 1996, he is 24 years old. Which is actually how old I always pictured him being. Young and full of spirit, probably about 24 years old in Cybertronian years.

Ranger was also made in 1996, she is also 24 years old. But I pictured her being somewhere in her late 30s, closing in in 40.

White Truck was also made in 1996, he also is 24 years old. But I pictured him being rather young, maybe just getting to 20 or a tiny bit older. Not quite at 24 I feel.

Volvo was made in 1998, he is 22 years old. But I feel this old crank pot would fit being around 30 to 35 years old better.

Honda was made in 2000, she is 20 years old. That’s just about how old I imagined her being, maybe a little older though? Maybe 23 to 24 or something.

Beluga was made in 2004, she is 16 years old. I always pictured her being closer to her big sisters age though, so maybe about 20 to 22 years old.

Then... there’s the Dragsters.. and here’s the thing.. U.M.Dragster was made in 2006, so he is 14 years old.. he is our youngest car. Then there’s A.T.Dragster, she was made in 1969, which makes her a whopping 51 years old and our oldest car to date.

This is where I broke that age rule.. I wanted these two to be twins for a multitude of reasons. But how could they be? One is 14 and one is 51, how can they be twins? So I thought okay, they cant be twins, period. ...but they at least need to be siblings, their history demands it. But how would that work?

There are 37 years of age in between them. If they were siblings they couldn’t have grown up together because of the age difference, so there wouldn't be that sibling bond.. But that’s what I want for them at least, is for them to be siblings that grew up together.

So I figured I had two options. I could either follow the age rule that I had structured for everyone else, and just either make them related in some other way other than siblings, or make them not related at all..

Or.. I could completely break the rule so that these two could be siblings.

I’m sure you know which one I went with. I couldn't justify them being twins though because the age difference still bugged me, so they’re just siblings.

A.T is supposed to be in her late 20s, and her little brother U.M is in his early 20s.

When it comes to the real team prime?

I imagined Optimus was like.. in his 40s or something?

I imagined Ratchet is in his 50s somewhere, maybe closing in on 60?

Bulkhead might be somewhere in his 30s.

Wheeljack could be in his 30s too, but I always saw him being a little older than the others.. maybe closing in on 40?

Bumblebee always came off as like a teen, but realistically he might just be early 20s.

Arcee seems like she might be in her late 20s somewhere.

Smokescreen seems to be early 20s, not sure if he’s older or younger than Bumblebee though.

I felt like Ultra Magnus could be in his 40s, but he’d be younger than Optimus I’d guess.

Ohh! That’s a clever one! :DD Well lets see, let me go through the list. XD

Suburban would probably tell you about the war itself, not really about his past specifically. Like, he’d tell you how the war started and what his job was as a medic. But he wouldn't tell you any of the gruesome stuff or much else, for his own sake and yours.

As far as Miata’s story has developed, she hasn’t experienced anything particularly traumatic. So she’d probably fill you in on all that she can remember.

Escort would tell you some stuff, but he wouldn’t tell you anything about what happened after the war on Cybertron. If you asked him he’d get pretty fidgety and would probably get upset.

Brown Suburban would tell you all the wrecker stories in the book, but would try and avoid the stories he thought you couldn’t handle. When it comes to his story specifically though.. he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Both Dragsters wouldn’t want to share their pasts, but might talk about their childhoods if you were nice enough.

Green Truck would probably tell you his whole life story, but would sugar coat it and gloss over the gruesome and traumatic details.

Vega would tell you everything he remembers. He would tell you about his life story, his family and his friends.. but then the story would abruptly cut, and Vega would kind’a get this.. strange look on his face. You’d ask, “What happens next?” And he would just quietly go, “..I.. I don’t know. Everything just.. goes black there. It was dark for a long time.. and then I just.. woke up.. thousands of years older than I was when I went to sleep.”

Red Van and Beluga would tell you the happy parts of their pasts and gloss over or sugar coat the gruesome parts.

If you coaxed him enough, White Truck would tell you everything, good and bad. But he’d be nervous or uncomfortable through most of it and it would put him in a weird mood for the rest of the day.

Honda would tell you in great detail about everything she remembers. But she would clam up when she got to the part of the story that talks about her first mission.

Ranger would tell you everything, good and bad, but would lighten it up a little bit as to not freak you out too much.

It would take some convincing, but Volvo would probably share a few interesting stories here and there. His past is not a pretty one, and he feels no reason to share it with anyone, unless its for educational reasons.

Jeepy wouldn’t tell you much. He doesn’t like to think about his past. But he would boast all day to anyone about that one time he saved someone's life or that time he got away from a dangerous situation unscathed.

Bash Buggy doesn’t like to talk about it much, but he would give you a general timeline of sorts. Like, “This happened, and then this, and then this guy came and this happened, and then this big thing happened, and a couple thousand years later I’m here.” kind’a thing.

It was redraw of that one meme from Ice age XD

But in all honesty, he probably has suffered enough damage at several points in his life that shut him down or at least should’ve, but he somehow got back up and kept moving.

The first thing he did when he woke up and really processed it, was he went to go wake up Suburban and show him.

I.. think you’re talking about this one? Haven’t seen the movie but it seems fun XD. My taste in movies is 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝓃𝑒𝓎.

You think what you’ve seen is cute? Boi you haven’t seen what he’s like when he’s trying to comfort someone. XD

First off, how dare you make me cry with your sickly sweet and heart felt words. Second off, thank you so much! And third, I can go over the process of how the 16 of them came to be if it’ll help. Don’t worry I’ll try and sum it up.

So, with other types of characters all this unique personality stuff would be pretty hard.. but with these real life cars turned into Transformers stuff? It was kind’a easy for me to do this.

For one, I based the cars personalities off of the vibe that the cars always gave off to me, and their drivers personalities. The best example being Honda. I always saw the car having this sweet and gentle vibe, and her driver is the same way. So as a character, I just gave her what felt most familiar when looking at that car.

Brown Suburban has always gave off the vibe that I designed him with. The strong and silent type, but with a big heart for kids and family. *cough cough* the wreckers *cough cough*.

With Volvo I didn’t really have either things to base him off of, so I just basically copied Ratchet and shifted his personality around a bit.

With Bash Buggy though, he’s a new edition to the family. We got him this year I believe. So I just designed a bot that could match how his car looks, and a personality came with it. He could have an adventurous personality, which is why he’d be in dangerous situations and always get hurt. And then I think, “Hey! He could be a Wrecker! A really tiny one!”. The personality stuff was just kind’a there already or was easy to imagine.

Now.. their bodies.. uh.. well, I started with the same thing every time If I remember right. I would take the front of the car, take it apart or split it and rearrange it on the chest of the transformer.

With Red Van, I took the face of the car, split it down the center and spread them apart to make the breast plates.

I basically did this with everyone else too. Just cut up the face of the car and rearranged them and put them on the chest of the transformers. Here’s Green Truck, Volvo and Vega as some more examples.

Well, I notice now my mistake now.. You see Optimus, Ratchet, Bumblebee and Arcee have windows on their bodies. The glass parts of their forms don't just shatter and disappear, the glass windows either rest on their chests or back wings. I should have put windows on some of their chests, and not put the tires or their back so much. But eh, you live and you learn. I’ll do better with the cons.

Now, when it comes to the arms and legs of the transformers, I just drew what felt right.. I don’t know what to tell you.. I can try to show you my thought process maybe?

Red Van is square, but round, not sharp like Suburban. She is more hollow than she is dense and she is not very complicated. In looks, and in functionality. I also wanted key features of hers to be present on her body to help identify her. Such as her silver trim, her hood ornament, etc.

So, with all these things in mind, I drew a character that matched the car and had all the mentioned features.

The face is more complicated.. but here’s what I remember thinking.

Its complicated.. uhg, I don’t even know if this is helping.

But basically, I based the characters off of the cars they are, the history they have, and the people who drive them. For personality and looks.

By taking the car, deconstructing some parts of it and rearranging them on the body of the character, it makes things a little easier. And if the character is modelled after someone that already exists, it makes constructing their personality a lot easier.

Overall, this is all I can really tell you. Most of their designing was just stuff I pulled out of my aft and slapped on the paper. I have no idea how I thought of these things but I did, and now they’re here.

I hope this was somewhat informative, I know I probably didn’t explain it well or even answer your question.. If I didn’t, please. ask me again so I can actually try to help you.

Anyway, thank you for the ask. I took it as a huge compliment and it got me all giddy, XD I hope I was at least a little help in your artistic adventures. :} ♡

#my response #transformer ocs #my advice #my tutorials #transformers #transformers prime

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pumpkins-s · 7 years

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Spilling Like An Overflowing Sink

Read on AO3 Here

Read the Other Chapters on Tumblr Here

Lance Alexander Rafael McClain is born in the middle of a summer storm, thunder cracking and rain slamming onto the roof of an old ramshackle house that had seen more than its fair share of children.

The miracle baby, that’s what the family had called Lance. The unexpected son to a mother of five daughters.

(In which family is always complicated, Lance’s life hasn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, and he and Keith are really emotionally constipated for each other.)

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender

Relationships: Keith/Lance, significant platonic Lance & Hunk

Characters: Lance, Lance’s family, Hunk, Keith, Shiro, Pidge, Allura, Coran

Chapter 6: Live

(( Author’s Note: Heyo, new year, new update!

This wasn't originally going to be its own full chapter, but after doing the math on length and having just suffered through writing a 15k update for another fic (I'm serious, I did that, kill me), I decided to split the planned chapter up. Hence this. Now, before anyone asks, a lot of you have been asking about Keith, so I'll just say this-- They meet when Lance is 15. He's 11 now. How fast we get to Keith depends on how much of the next 4, Very Important, I'll add, years of Lance's life I cover, so please be patient, k? You'll get Keith in a chapter or two.

And!! Before we begin!! This fic has its own first piece of fanart!! I've been told it's a WIP, but it's still amazing so I have to show it off-- So everyone go check out Peachlance's gorgeous art of young Hunk and Lance. It's beautiful. I yelled in the middle of an airport when I saw it. (BTW if anyone ever does fanart for this fic and I miss it because it's on another site or whatever, please tell me in a comment on this fic or an ask to my tumblr with the link, I'd hate to miss it!!)

Also!! I'm on Twitter now since there seems to be a significant portion of the Voltron fandom that prefers that to Tumblr. I don't post a ton on it, but I'll be putting out update notifications from now on, so if you want those and my all-caps tweets yelling at Aiden, my irl Keith friend, feel free to follow me, yeah?

Ok that's it you can ignore me now here's Lance have fun y'all.))

Come September, Lance and Hunk pack their bags and move into the dormitories at Greenwood, accompanied by their moving team of the entire McClain family, plus Hunk’s grandmother— The whole lot of them piling into the old family jeep and pickup truck and Hunk’s grandmother’s tiny, ancient Toyota with an assortment of random things they’re each separately convinced Lance and Hunk are going to need.

Lance imagines they make quite the sight, pulling up to the pristine parking spaces outside the Greenwood buildings and piling out of the cars in a haphazard mess of long limbs and a loud mix of Spanish and English that blends together into a background noise that is comforting in its familiarity against the apprehensive mystery that is Greenwood. They certainly do get their fair share of stares as they cram into the entry building for student check-in, confirming that, yes, they are indeed all relatives, and are here to help Lance and Hunk move in.

Honestly, Lance has to admit they’re all pretty restrained, all things considered. Everyone knows how important this is to him, and to Hunk, in his own way, and his family is hardly inclined to mess this up for them, so there’s a fair degree of… what Lance might dare call caution in their behavior. They’re loud, and talkative, and move around a lot, because they’re McClains and that’s what they do when they move as a pack, but Karen doesn’t try to play soccer in the dorm hall, Igraine doesn’t punch anyone, even Marcie restrains herself from commenting loudly on the hairstyle choices of the people around them.

…Ok, yeah, she whispers a few comments under her breath to Lance, but that was still a marked effort on her part, and she was right that one guy’s undercut had been so sloppily done it was painful to look at, even Lance could agree on that.

Karen hadn’t seen anything wrong with it but, then again, that was Karen, who’s thought processes concerning her hair began and ended at where the nearest scrunchie was to pull it up into its perpetual bushy ponytail, much to Marcie and Lance’s horror.

If anything though, Lance thinks they just get odd looks because they’re… them. A large, loud, Cuban family who clearly don’t have the money to be here, let alone the pedigree.

“Fuck em.” Igraine mutters firmly under her breath the first time a mother helping her son with his bags scoffs at them when they pass by in the dormitory hall. “You’ve earned your right to be here. At least you didn’t buy your way in.”

“Igraine.” Aunt Rosa snaps, slapping her on the arm, and Lance snorts loudly, earning a victorious smirk from his sister even as she whines and cradles her arm as if it’s now broken. The burst of noise only earns them more side-eyes from the people in the hall, and Lance ducks his head sheepishly, scratching at the back of it nervously. He’s still not used to his short hair, really, and when he’s anxious he tends to find it feels quite itchy. At least the bangs that frame his face are just long enough to play with and twirl with his fingers. He thinks he’d lose his mind otherwise, far too used to having long curls to twirl and braid and tie into loose knots when he gets fidgety— Honestly, he has no idea what he’s gonna do in class now to keep his hands busy.

Eventually, they get all the boxes into his and Hunk’s room (and thank God for that little blessing, Lance doesn’t know how he’d function if they hadn’t been allowed to pre-choose their roommates), stacked up along the walls and all over the floor. Frankly, it seems like far more than the two of them will need to Lance, especially given they barely live an hour or so away, but a good portion of the boxes are things he can identify as not having packed himself, snuck in amongst all their other belongings, no doubt random pieces of junk his family has decided they require. Lance wouldn’t be surprised if he found something as random as a paper towel dispenser or half-empty bottles of shampoo, honestly. Knowing his family, it’s far too likely. He still remembers with a kind of abject horror the mess that was Carlos and Rachel moving into their new house.

It’s… different, bringing all his things in here and trying to make it a living space. Lance has only had one room his entire life, and if he ever slept in another room in the house, it had always been with Loraine. But… Loraine isn’t here anymore, and this is not his house.

Luckily, the adults largely take over once they get everything in, rearranging the school-provided furniture, getting the beds made with sheets and quilts and extra pillows, and unpacking the heaviest books. It only takes about ten minutes before Uncle Jesús, Lucas, Igraine, and Lance’s grandfather are kicked out of the room under orders to go get food for everyone, once it quickly becomes clear Lance and Hunk’s dorm room is not large enough to have all of them milling around in it. As it is, they still barely fit, shuffling past each other and ducking out into the hall as they work to make room. It’s a mess, but… nice. Lance is going to miss not being around his family every day, and so the squished hustle of it all is something he chooses to savor rather than be frustrated with.

When it comes time for families to leave, the extended visiting hours for the move-in day coming to an end once night falls, it’s a long, drawn-out procession of goodbyes. Lance has to patiently remind his mother and sisters that he’ll see them all again come the weekend, but even while reassuring them, he himself can’t help but cling to them tightly when they embrace him, memorizing his mother’s warmth, Marcie’s fruity smell, Karen’s chapped lips when she kisses the side of his head, the sharp dig of Igraine’s multiple ear piercings against his cheek when she hugs him tight. Each of them distinct in the little things that mark them as who they are— Marcie and her guiding softness, Karen’s grounding reassurance, Igraine’s fire, Evie’s quick wit.

His sisters.

…And Lance, the shadow to the all-encompassing, insurmountable ocean.

“Are these… Christmas lights. Yep, they’re Christmas lights.” Lance glances up at Hunk’s bewildered words, and snorts loudly, shaking his head in slight disbelief. Even with their families’ help, there’d still been plenty left to unpack once they left, and apparently they were hitting the boxes of weird stuff now.

“Just throw them on one of the desks for now.” Lance says dismissively, turning back to his own box, while Hunk bemusedly gathers up the lights in his arms and stares at them.

“…We could string them up along the ceiling? Like college students do in the movies?”

“Wouldn’t that be a safety code violation?” Lance asks, unfolding the flaps on the box in front of him and blinking in surprise. “…Why.”

“What?” Hunk says, frowning, and Lance sighs, straightening up and pulling out the large Cuban flag he’d found stuffed in the top of the box.

“I bet my abuelita put it in— She does realize I was born in the U.S., right?”

“Maybe she just wants you to be proud of your heritage. It’s a good thing.” Hunk says mildly, and Lance rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, okay, come talk to me when you find your giant New Zealand flag then.”

“Actually…” Reaching into the new box he’s just opened, Hunk pulls out a miniature New Zealand flag on a stick and waves it back and forth. “It seems my grandmother had a similar thought pattern.” Idly, he peers into the box. “…Oh look there’s an All Blacks flag there too.”

“Jesus.”

“He’s over there.” Hunk says, pointing at the crucifix sitting on Lance’s bedside table, also a gift from his grandmother, Lance suspects.

Lance grabs the pillow off his bed closest to him and chucks it at Hunk’s head.

Hunk dodges easily, not even sparing Lance a look as he pulls a few books out of the box and sets them on his desk. Lance huffs in irritation and chucks the flag onto the edge of his bed to deal with later, emptying the rest of the box to find… yarn, lots and lots of yarn.

Wincing, he runs a hand over the closest ball, a light pink that’s soft to the touch. He’d learned to knit from Marcie, who’d in turn learned from their grandmother, as something to do with his hands when he was feeling overly fidgety. It had been nice, something he enjoyed, even if he’d mostly only made scarves and blankets, but since Loraine’s death he hadn’t touched his knitting needles, the whole activity too drenched in memories of being tucked up on Loraine’s bed with her watching a movie as he moves the yarn through his fingers.

He gives it a moment of hesitation, and then folds the box shut and pushes it under his bed.

Knitting’s probably not a normal boy’s thing anyways.

“Hey help me with this box.” Lance startles, standing up and going over to where Hunk is standing next to a large box, helping him push it into the spot they’d cleared for emptying and sorting boxes and cutting the tape on the top. Hunk opens the flaps and reaches in, pulling out a mess of fabric. “Clothes. Guess we missed a box earlier. Looks like these are all yours.” Lance takes the bundle of shirts from Hunk and opens a dresser drawer, dropping them in before moving onto the next handful. They’re all plain or with simple logos, old things he’d gotten from Lucas and Carlos, a few of Karen’s old things when she wore more masculine clothing for a while when she was younger. He’d purposely made sure to leave out all the old floral-patterned tops and frilly blouses along with the other clothing hidden in the back of his closet when he’d picked out what to pack— He hadn’t needed too many clothes, anyways, since the school had uniforms. This was mostly just for lounging around the dorm or days when casual wear was permitted.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Hunk reach for something in the box, pulling out an old grey shirt and staring at it, brows furrowed and a question clearly on the tip of his tongue. Before he can say anything, Lance quickly snatches the shirt out of his grasp, throwing it in the drawer with the rest of the clothing and shutting it firmly, ignoring Hunk’s questioning eyes even as they follow him as he folds up the now empty box and drops it into the pile with its brethren in the corner.

He knows Hunk has noticed the change in his clothing, his mannerisms, as distinct as his hair, but he’s not ready for the questions yet.

…He’s not yet come up with an answer.

“How many boxes do we have left?” He asks pointedly, kicking the pile of empty boxes into a more reasonable shape.

“Oh! Uh…” Hunk startles, and glancing back Lance watches him peer around the room. “Nine or ten? We’ve gotten all the big ones, we could always do the rest tomorrow after orientation.”

Lance frowns. “If you’re tired, you can sleep now. I want to finish tonight so we don’t have to worry.”

He’s too jittery to sleep, honestly. Nerves and fears and excitement about being away from Veradera, from home, but being here, colliding together in a mess of emotion and displaced energy. Hunk hesitates, shaking his head, and Lance can tell he feels much the same.

“Nah, let’s just… get it all done tonight.”

Lance nods, grabbing a box off the stack and passing it to Hunk before grabbing one himself, setting it on top of his bed and opening it up. Once he gets the flaps on the top open, though, he freezes, feeling ice trickle through his veins and under his skin as he stares down at the box. “…Dammit, Marcie.”

“What’s wrong?” Hunk asks behind him, and Lance jolts.

“Nothing. Just. Stuff I told her not to pack that she put in anyways.”

In the box sits the things Marcie and Lance had bonded over for years, the skills she had taught him— The child-size makeup case she’d given him, filled with bottles of tacky nail polish in bright, sparkly colors, the lip gloss set Mavis had sent him along with others his sisters had gifted him, a couple old, thick pen eyeliners Igraine had given him, a cheap set of cheerful eye-shadows Carlos had bought him from the dollar store as a present last year. Next to the makeup case is the little box of hair ribbons he used to use, and with a pang of hurt at the sight, Lance wonders why Marcie would even put those in. He cut his hair. It’s done, no changing it.

It’s done.

That Lance— Lancie, Loo-Loo, whatever, whatever he was, is nothing now. Just a pile of memories buried away with his old clothes in the shadowed places no one will think to look.

With only a second’s hesitation, fingers drifting over the top of the makeup case, Lance folds the box top shut, picking it up and shoving it under his bed, crawling under after it to make sure it is pushed to the furthest corner against the walls, and then shoves the other boxes being stored under his bed around it for good measure, until it’s hidden from sight.

There’s no room for that… person anymore.

“Hey, you alright?” Lance feels a foot prod the back of his leg as Hunk’s voice pipes up, and he yelps, shooting up and slamming his head against the underside of his bed, pain blossoming through his skull as his vision blurs.

“…Ow.”

“Lance?!”

“I’m fine, just…” He groans, wiggling back out from under the bed and staring up at Hunk tiredly. “You surprised me.”

Hunk grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I’m just… hungry. They said there’s snacks left out in the dorm lounge tonight, right? Since a lot of students skipped dinner to unpack.”

“Yeah.” Lance nods, wincing when that sends another spike of pain through his head. “You want to go get some?”

“Please.”

They barely make it five steps down the hall before the whispers, the sidelong glances start— There’s plenty of other students still out in the hall, curfew rules given some leeway due to the fact it’s move-in day, and out here Lance and Hunk stick out like sore thumbs. In uniforms Lance imagines they’ll look much like everyone else, but everyone’s milling about in casual clothing right now, and Lance and Hunk’s worn, clearly hand-me-down sweaters and jeans with their tears in the knees make a sharp contrast to the neat, new clothes the other kids sport. Glancing down uncomfortably, Lance tries not to stare too hard at his own bare feet in comparison to the clean-looking shoes many of the others he can spot are wearing.

He hadn’t even thought to put shoes on. His sneakers were for the mud of the park and the cracked gravel of the street, not for indoors. Lance is pretty sure his mother would kill him if he ever wore his grubby shoes on inside. Even Marcie’s pretty work pumps that she had saved for months for and looks after with religious zeal come off at the door at home.

He’s so preoccupied with his little thought derailment of the etiquette of shoes on versus shoes off, Lance doesn’t even notice the boys rounding the corner until he quite literally slams into one, their chin connecting with his forehead, sending him reeling back in surprised pain, Hunk catching him with a startled yelp.

“What the fuck?” Someone says in a surprised, vaguely annoyed voice, and Lance glances up cautiously as he straightens back up, wincing when he makes eye contact with an older-looking boy with pale skin and short red-blond hair who is currently glaring at him like he’s a particularly disgusting piece of gum under his shoe.

“S-Sorry.” He stutters on instinct, taking a step back and slamming into Hunk, who Lance had conveniently forgotten was right behind him.

“Sorry? You damn well should be!” The older boy says with a kind of miffed outrage, crossing his arms as the other boy next to him looms over Lance and Hunk. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you to watch where you’re going?”

“He said sorry.” Hunk says, taking a step forward, and Lance gratefully ducks behind Hunk. It’s hardly his proudest moment, but these boys are at least a head taller than him and could probably bench-press him easy— Lance is tiny even for an eleven-year-old, and Hunk, lucky bastard, sits rather tall and large for a twelve-year-old. Between the two of them, Lance likes Hunk’s chances of at least getting the other boys to back down, given they can’t really risk their scholarships by getting into a fistfight on their first day.

“What are you, his bodyguard? Back off, lumpy.” Big and scary scowls. “I’m talking to the twig.” He raises an eyebrow at Lance, and snorts. “How the hell did you get into this school? What are you, a Mexican?”

Lance flushes, pushing past Hunk with every intention of informing the boy that he is Cuban, thank you very much, and that he can, frankly, fuck right off, when a serenely cheerful voice beats him to the punch.

“Demonstrating a deep and layered understanding of the various nuances of the Hispanic identity as always, Travis.” A girl says from an open door on the left, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed. “Then again, you’d probably know quite a bit about Mexico, right? Given your daddy gets his cocaine stash from there.”

The boy turns red, spluttering. “Fuck off, Ritchie.”

“Oh, right.” The girl hums, lifting a hand to inspect her nails. “I suppose I could fuck off? Could fuck off right to the headmaster’s office. I’ve been meaning to look in on my granddad since I arrived.”

The boy pales, and his friend grabs his arm, pulling him away. “C’mon, man. Not worth it.” The two turn, disappearing around the corner, and the girl watches them go with a satisfied smirk.

“Bye!” She trills, and then turns back to Hunk and Lance with a raised eyebrow. “You two all good?”

“Uh.” Lance glances at Hunk, who shrugs, eyes wide in confusion. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problemo.” The girl says happily. “Travis and Jordan are mcfucking pricks. I like any excuse to tell them to fuck off.”

“…Okay?” Lance says awkwardly, unsure of what else to say. Subconsciously he brings a hand up to play with his hair, like he usually does when he’s nervous, only to meet air and flinch, pulling his hand down as he remembers there’s nothing there anymore.

“Ritzie!” An exasperated voice calls from inside the room behind the girl, and a boy with short black hair, dark eyes, and a scowl appears in the doorway. “Stop harassing new students.”

The girl gasps, placing a hand over her heart. “Me? Never. I’m only introducing myself.” Sticking a hand out to Lance, she grins. “Isabel Lamae, but everyone calls me Ritzie. At your service.”

“…Lance. Lance McClain.” Lance answers, carefully taking her hand and inspecting the girl before him. Ritzie is tall and willowy, probably two or three years older than him, if he had to guess, with thick blonde hair pulled up in two pony-buns on the sides of her head in a style Lance finds reminiscent of Sailor Moon, and wide, thick-rimmed purple glasses. She’s pretty, he guesses, in an eclectic kind of way, and her easy confidence reminds him a bit of Igraine. “That’s Hunk.” He says, pointing over his shoulder, and Hunk waves.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” Ritzie parrots back cheerfully. “The grumpy one who yelled at me is Yuu, my roommate.” Behind her, the boy’s eyes narrow, fixing a glare at the back of her head.

“I thought boys and girls couldn’t room together?” Hunk asks curiously, looking between Ritzie and Yuu.

“They can’t.” Ritzie says, sticking her hands in her pockets with a self-satisfactory smirk and pursing her lips, blowing a bright pink bubble out that explodes after a moment with a quiet little pop.

“Then…”

“Her grandfather’s the headmaster.” Yuu sighs, seemingly giving up and approaching them to stand next to Ritzie in the doorway. “Which means she does whatever she wants.”

Hunk pales, staring at Ritzie with wide eyes. “Oh my God your grandfather’s the headmaster.”

“Chill.” Ritzie says, idly waving a hand. “You two are new, right? Scholarship, I’m guessing? No offense but you can usually guess.” Lance winces, and Ritzie shoots him finger guns. “Don’t worry about it. I’m glad, you two look like you deserve it.” She nods to herself, looking pleased. “I have an eye for these things.”

“Well, she thinks she does.” Yuu says, rolling his eyes.

“…Great.” Hunk says faintly.

“Yep.” Ritzie nods, pausing for a moment, head tilting, and then pulls out a small packet from her pocket and offers it to them. “Bubblegum?”

Lance blinks, glancing at Hunk who subtly shakes his head, eyes wide.

“…Sure. Why not.” Lance says, already reaching out.

And that is how he and Hunk end up accidentally befriending Ritzie Lamae and Yuu Itami, the livewire princess of Greenwood and her sounding board slash handler.

Slowly, they fall into something like a settling at the Academy, or at least a semblance of it. It’s… undeniably odd, being even this far away from Veradera on a daily basis, but Lance finds it’s somewhat the change he needs. He misses home, of course. He misses it like hell, but he still gets to come back on the weekends, to revisit his sisters, his family, the worn staircases of his home, the faded glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling, the cracks in the concrete outside his driveway, the crab-grass riddled front yard of Hunk’s small house where his now aging dog sleeps in the afternoon sun, the white, bright sand of Veradera beach, the creaking pews of the church, the feel of Loraine’s gravestone against his back.

And this way, he’s still alleviated from the… pressures of his home. Lance will never say he feels unsafe or unwelcome in his house, because there would never be a bigger lie. His family would protect him with their lives. But… it’s also hard being there sometimes now. The gaping loss of Loraine, while scabbing over, is still achingly fresh in all their chests, and while Lance doesn’t have the heart to place any more undue burdens on his family in their grief, pretending to be okay all the time is, frankly, exhausting.

Because, ultimately, Lance is very aware he isn’t okay. He’s better than he was— He’s learned to function again, to survive, but a mediocre duct-taped job holding together solely on hope and a prayer doesn’t fix something firmly broken. Lance is never going to be whole again, not in his soul or his heart, he knows, in a way he can’t put into words. Even once the worst of the grief and the agony has been worked through, one day, this is something he will never move past. The connection between himself and Loraine was intimate and fathomless in a way he shares with no one else. He holds something similar with Hunk, he thinks, but it’s different. Hunk is someone he feels close to, like they hold a connection beyond their time together, but Loraine was like… the other half of his mind. Losing her fractured something deep inside his soul, well beyond the definitions of his short childhood or his yet unlived years.

Sometimes, he wonders if this is what the oceans might feel like, if someone came along and placed blocks between them, severing Pacific and Indian and Artic. That’s not the way things are meant to be, he thinks. Water is meant to intermingle and run together. You can’t take one piece of water and say it is different from another, when they are meant to be one.

Lance’s only other comfort in his thoughts, to rival that of knowing his family doesn’t have to see these broken pieces of himself, is that Hunk is here with him. Hunk, who picks him up and puts him back together when he falls. Hunk, who listens to his nonsensical ramblings about water and souls and Loraine with an understanding and patience beyond his years, and cleans up Lance’s messes afterwards, coaxing the blades from Lance’s skin before he can do more harm to himself, and forcing him to sleep and eat and keep up appearances in class.

Honestly, if it weren’t for Hunk, Lance really isn’t sure if he would have survived those first few months at Greenwood.

The other surprisingly consistent presences he finds at his side are Ritzie and Yuu, who seem to take an attachment to Lance and Hunk after that first encounter on move-in day. Or… at least Ritzie does. Lance suspects Yuu usually just goes along with whatever Ritzie fancies, either unable or unwilling to talk her out of her ideas, instead simply hanging around for something like quality control, and to make sure Ritzie doesn’t get herself killed.

Ritzie is easy to get along with, Lance finds. She’s beyond privileged, as pretty much almost everyone at the Academy is, but not arrogant or obnoxious about it. She has an ego, but only for the things she achieves herself— Not beyond showing off, largely the opposite honestly, but only for her own brilliance, never her family’s money or influence, unless she threatens it to protect an underprivileged or younger student who’s getting shit from the kids who do think their money entitles them to everything.

Lance has never been able to hold a friend beyond Hunk, too smart and too little and too different to give him much popularity before, but he… he likes Ritzie. She’s just as smart as him, as many others here are, and fun. She doesn’t care about his age or size, judging him by his kindness to others and his “interestingness”, as she puts it. He doesn’t tell her about… Himself, about the Lancie-Loo of Veradera beach, and Loraine, and promises to stars, but those are secrets reserved to Hunk and his heart, for a dead child who can no longer be to survive and do what he plans to. Still, he enjoys her company, embracing her loudness and her quirkiness and her spitfire energy. Hunk is slower to warm up to her, but even he can’t avoid her cheerful charisma.

Yuu is trickier, Lance finds. Despite his disgruntled complaints, he shows himself to be very attached to Ritzie, her right-hand man. He’s dismissive towards Lance and Hunk at first. Not in a mean way, but just as if he assumes they’ll soon get tired of Ritzie, or Ritzie will get bored and that will be the end of it, but with time, he seems to unfurl, accepting Lance and Hunk as occasional presences in his and Ritzie’s space. Yuu and Hunk get along well, once they both get over their personal cautions. Yuu is analytical design and portable game devices and formulas for circuitry and wires, and that clicks well with Hunk’s easy joy in technology, in science, in creation.

Ritzie is more… charm and exploratory whim. Bold words and the written truth in print and demand for answers to everything and anything. They’re traits Lance and her share, in part, and he figures that’s largely why they mesh so easily.

And so, while he and Hunk remain partners in crime, formed by unbreakable trust, Ritzie and Yuu also become on-and-off presences in their days, offering new company and idle chatter.

It’s… nice.

Adjusting to the academic side of Greenwood is its own bag of worms though, Lance discovers.

For once, Lance is no longer the youngest, smallest child in his grade. Instead, he finds his classes filled with a mix of different kids, sharing space with children several years younger than him, as well as those older, including Ritzie and Yuu occasionally, despite them being a year older than Hunk and two older than Lance. Class in general is less regular— They don’t take the same classes all the time, and aside from some basics, the curriculum is a lot less regimented.

Greenwood is, as Ritzie calls it, “a true magnet school”, dedicated to producing students who rake in accreditations and awards for the school. As such, Lance finds that pretty much every student is dedicated to one or two clubs or particular talents, be they academic, artistic, or athletic.

It only takes a few weeks before one of their science teachers pulls Hunk aside and recruits him to the competitive robotics and engineering clubs, his talent for schematics and building the impossible out of scraps, long honed from years hanging around Igraine and Lance’s uncle at the repair shop, quickly coming to light. As for the rest of Lance’s miniscule social circle, Ritzie is part of the school’s elite debate and mock trial teams, and Yuu the mathematics team, along with the same robotics team Hunk is dragged into.

Lance himself doesn’t really find an easy niche. His specialty, much as it can be called that, has always been being moderately decent at everything. It was what had allowed him to jump a grade, given there was no one subject he was significantly less proficient in than the rest. He has odd skills he’s picked up, but they’re all what he’s learned from his family— An intricate knowledge of makeup and hairstyling techniques thanks to Marcie, basic understanding of an engine via Igraine, some easy programming skills and how to hedge a wifi signal he’s locked out of courtesy of Evie, etcetera. Regardless, if he has any particular skills, they’re not any he can identify or that immediately stick out.

The thing is, Lance’d be fine with that, normally. So what if he’s not an expert in anything? He’s relatively good at most academics, speaks two languages perfectly, can keep up in P.E. just fine, and knows quite a bit about astronomy. But, the problem lies in the inherent purpose of Greenwood— To pull in as many accolades as possible. To not have a talent that can bring awards to the school is to be useless to it, and not a position he can afford to be in as a scholarship student.

Honestly, he stumbles across his saving grace completely on accident. It’s one of the lunch breaks when Hunk and Yuu are off with the robotics team for… something, it kind of goes over his head, and Ritzie is nowhere to be found, possibly off trying to break into somewhere she’s not supposed to be. Lance is left alone and bored, and accidentally finds some other students, a couple of which he gets along with well enough, playing chess in one of the common areas. On a whim, he asks to play, and one of the older students, who is known to be a bit of a cocky bastard, agrees with a smug smirk, probably assuming he can beat Lance easy as he explains the rules of each piece with a breezy air.

He isn’t smiling when Lance beats him five minutes later, his eyes wide as he stares at Lance’s equally shocked expression.

By the time Lance has thoroughly thrashed the next three others that challenge him, each of them waiting for Lance’s lucky streak to end almost as much as he himself is, one of the upper-grade math teachers finds them, and pulls Lance into her office for a… talk about his sudden new skill.

Within the next month and a half, he plays through three chess tournaments and ends up with two grandmasters coaching him that the school hires the minute he somehow wins his first competition.

Turns out he’s really fucking good at chess, not that Lance would guess that any more than most people would either.

“Of course you are.” Is what Mavis says to him when he tells her over the phone, ever as much the confidante to him she became over the end of summer. “You’re good at reading people and have a head for analysis, Loraine always talked about how smart you are. Try some language and statistics courses, that kind of thing. I think you’ll be fine.”

So Lance does.

The first Christmas home from Greenwood, and the first without Loraine is… odd. Christmas has always been a big deal with their family, and it’s his and Hunk’s first extended break home from the Academy, so while it’s nice to be back its also feels vaguely overwhelming. Lance really isn’t sure how being around his family, people he sees almost every weekend, can be exhausting, but it’s… difficult, to try and come back and get into the holiday cheer. Sleeping in his room in the house for more than a day or two feels odd, and Lance is grateful that by day two Hunk gives up the ghost and migrates over to the McClain house with his pillow for pretty much the rest of winter break.

It’s not bad. It’s nice being with his family and having a couple weeks to hang around Veradera, but there’s still an absence that sticks in Lance’s throat. He misses Loraine, achingly so, and being back home only emphasizes that.

It’s hard, knowing that this situation isn’t going to change, that she’s… never coming back.

Mavis avoids coming home completely for Christmas, a point Lance loudly berates her for over the phone, but she waxes poetic about not having the money and then mails him down a less-than-cheap looking dark blue sweater and a chessboard as Christmas presents.

“Don’t tell the others, but you’re my favorite.” She says, with put-on melodrama, when he calls her about the presents. “Besides if you have to dress like… that, it might as well be nice stuff.”

That’s another aspect that makes Lance’s skin itch uncomfortably about being home. He hasn’t allowed himself to touch the discarded clothing of his old life in the back of his wardrobe any time he comes home for the weekend, and he holds himself to that over the break as well. It’s not worth the risk, really, and part of him is afraid that, if he indulged, he might not have the heart to give it up and go back to living as this new image of himself at Greenwood only a couple weeks later.

Practice makes perfect. Surely, with time, he will come to accept this boyish, awkward version of himself he sees in the mirror.

So, he remains as he has taught himself to be, despite the worried glances his family still sometimes cast at him, and comforts himself with the familiarities of home. He spends time with his sisters, his mother, aunts, and uncle, he visits Carlos and Rachel two streets over, plays with Josie, no longer a small baby but an excitable toddler eagerly awaiting the promise of a sibling from her parents, walks the beaches with Hunk, chases the cracks in the gravel on the sidewalks on the way to the dairy shop, and sits in the garage under león’s shadow, the hoverbike preserved lovingly by Igraine and waiting, promised to Lance once he’s big enough, because of course it’s his, Loraine would have wanted him to have it.

Sometimes, in the early mornings, when the sun isn’t quite yet risen and the last of the stars are yet to sleep, Lance will sneak out to the churchyard, will dust the snow off Loraine’s gravestone and sit with his back to it, ignoring the chill of the wind and the nip of the snow against his fingers, because he always forgets gloves, always, and tells her about Greenwood, about his life.

Lance wonders, occasionally, if she would be proud of him, of what he’s doing to preserve their dream, her dream.

He hopes so. He really, really hopes so.

He wants more than anything to be the legacy Loraine deserves, to be worthy of the pride and the love and the confidence she had always held in him.

He feels closer to her, oddly enough, there with his back against the stone, or with his head pressed to it as he traces the words on the stone, and occasionally, on the ever slowly re-healing scars on his skin.

Loraine Ophelia Eliza, Loraine Ophelia Eliza, Loraine Ophelia Eliza.

Please forgive me, he asks in his silent mantra. Please protect me. Please let me get this right, for you, for me.

It’s not that bad, Lance tells himself, and that’s the important part, right?

And when he goes back to Greenwood with Hunk come the new year, and Ritzie and Yuu break into their room almost immediately, the former’s mouth running a mile a minute about all the boring socialite parties she had to attend, with the air of someone who has walked through a war zone, while Yuu patiently half-listens and shows Hunk and Lance his new video games behind Ritzie’s back, it’s not too bad either.

He’s surviving, rising on up on the way to the stars, and that’s all that matters.

#Hi i'm a piece of shit who never crossposts on time #no this isn't an update this is Old #spilling like an overflowing sink (voltron)#my writing #Voltron

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