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pumpkins-s · 6 years

Note

12 and 20 for each McClain sister (including Mavis and Slaos Lance cuz I'm thirsty)

OC Ask Meme: Describe Your OC

You are thirsty damn.

I got into some weird speculative-canon territory with some of these so just bear with me tbh.

Marcie:

12: their romantic life

Marcie is probably the only sister who had an extensive/well-rounded love life at any point in her history, to be honest. She’s a romantic at heart, and very people-oriented, so on some level she definitely values at least the concept of a partner (though in reality she’s probably not prioritized the finding of one extensively, she’s a very passive “if it happens it happens” person).

Especially when she was figuring out her sexuality, Marcie probs had several girlfriends during/after high school. Nothing too serious or long term. Eventually, as she got older and felt she had more responsibilities in life both to her work and her family, she dated less. It’s definitely still a fantasy for her, but Marcie would need someone who’s capable of respecting the duties she sees herself having to her family, and someone who can ingratiate themself too and integrate well with her siblings/cousins. Otherwise it’s a no go.

20: their reaction to a mystery love letter

Oh she’d be over the moon. Marcie is the exact kind of romantic who’d see this as the height of affection, especially if it was lengthy in prose and done on fancy paper or something. Handwritten would appeal to her over a typed letter.

Marcie was definitely an (accidental) heart breaker in high school, so she probably got a few to be honest. Karen probably helped her suss out which ones were men so that they could go in the trash so that she could offer them a polite refusal (while Karen made a murder face at them over her shoulder).

Karen:

12: their romantic life

If I remember correctly, Karen is the only McClain sister I didn’t expressly label as queer on some level or another (mostly because I never put significant thought into her sexuality tbh), but in truth...? She’s such a goal-focused person she doesn’t really have the time to date. Her first love is her sport of choice and doing things. She’s such an active and energetic person that unless she found someone willing to balance their schedule with hers in that regard, it probably wouldn’t work out.

She probably went on a few dates here and there in high school and college before eventually just...forgetting dating was a thing she was “supposed” to do. She’d rather be bettering herself than wasting time making small talk at coffee shops.

20: their reaction to a mystery love letter

She’d be somewhat touched, but if she found it too florid/poetic it’d probably make her uncomfortable, and if the letter-writer never approached her she’d probably throw it away. She believes if you want something you need to go and get it, and that extends to people. She wouldn’t have much admiration for someone who pines at a distance.

Igraine:

12: their romantic life

I actually straight up had an outline for Igraine to have a love interest in SLAOS -- a translator she met in the military -- and ended up pulling it for time due to a whole host of other shit I needed to cover in Lance’s early teenage years. So there you go I guess.

20: their reaction to a mystery love letter

Extreme disbelief, a period of conviction that this must be for one of her sisters and got left for her by mistake, followed by an extensive manhunt for the letter-writer with a reluctant Lucas roped in to assist.

If she couldn’t find the letter-writer, she’d probably be disappointed to be honest. What good is an admirer if you can’t chase after them?

Evie:

12: their romantic life

You mean Evie? The aro/ace queen lol? I don’t think she’s ever had much of one. She probably went on one date to a school dance or something, recognized how distinctly uncomfortable it made her, did some research, and came to her “ah. am aro” conclusion pretty quickly.

I doubt she experienced much disappointment in that conclusion, honestly. Their mother hardly put pressure on them to find romantic partners, and between the fact that (most of) her sisters didn’t date much, and she mostly hung around Mavis in her early high school years, who considered sexuality and relationships one part a joke and one part a manipulation tactic, she was hardly in a situation where she was the Odd One Out.

20: their reaction to a mystery love letter

She’d be flattered, even if she clearly didn’t/couldn’t reciprocate. She’d probably seek the person out or write them a note in return expressing her appreciation of their compliments, but that she wasn’t interested in a romantic partner, period.

Loraine:

12: their romantic life

Loraine has elements of Marcie’s romantic personality, but given she’s demiromantic and mostly hung around Lance & Hunk, Mavis, or her sisters, she didn’t really have extensive opportunities to meet anyone she might develop an attraction to. I don’t think she ever sought the opportunity out, either. She appreciated the idea but she ultimately was significantly career/goal focused, as well as family-oriented. Romantic partners just weren’t a priority.

20: their reaction to a mystery love letter

A weird mix of flattery and discomfort. Someone saying nice things about her is always Good, but she’d feel awkward and bad about turning them down, while also more uncomfortable about the idea of trying to reciprocate. She’d have probably panicked in the face of one until Mavis contacted the person in question and told them to fuck off.

Lance:

12: their romantic life

Uhhh I can straight up answer this in terms of canon, tbh -- 1. a fleeting affection that couldn’t work out. 2. a relationship with the capability to be incredibly healthy but complicated by the situation surrounding it (namely...Lance’s dealing w/a lot of external shit). And 3. the thing I’ve committed to endgame the story with, for better or for worse.

20: their reaction to a mystery love letter

Much like Loraine, he’d probably be both flattered and slightly uncomfortable, most especially because of his weird situation. As “a boy” he’d probably feel much more obligated to return the sentiment, even if he didn’t necessarily feel the same way and just told himself he should. Lance likes people, he likes the idea of a relationship, and he wouldn’t want to hurt someone else’s feelings if he can help it. Which can make something...awkward, for him.

Mavis:

12: their romantic life

Fucking terrible. Mavis’s natural reaction to romantic interest in her is suspicion/an expectation someone has ulterior motives, which makes things harder for her. It doesn’t help she also doesn’t have a good understanding of what’s healthy for her, or comfortably asserting her boundaries if she feels she owes/needs someone. Hence: Jeff.

20: their reaction to a mystery love letter

Laughter, and then unceremoniously throwing it away. She’d feel a little bit bad about it afterward, but she’d never admit to it.

#ask meme #SLAOS talk #Marcie McClain #Karen McClain #Igraine McClain #Evie McClain #Loraine McClain #slaos Lance #Mavis Paloma #Anonymous #asks #questions for Nik

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pumpkins-s · 7 years

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Imagine an au where alchemy is there on Voltron Earth and Lance did the Thing™ when he was young (maybe to bring Loraine back?? :3c). He got an automail, gave up on alchemy (tried to) and pursued being a space pilot and than next is what happened in the show.... Imagine him feeling like 7th wheel but also feeling reluctant to use alchemy cause it killed Loraine again but also geeking over new material and it's science cause he still an alchemist by heart

Lance tells people he lost his arm in an accident.

Climbing accident. Childhood accident.

(It’s only partial truth. But Lance rejected the concept of truth as a kindness or something to value a long time ago. Truth is not his friend– Truth is honest, and honesty is rarely a kind or merciful thing.)

It’s fine, really, he tells them. He barely remembers it, between the pain and his age and the meds afterward. And he got a cool automail arm out of it that’s twice as strong and sturdy. Not as neat as Shiro’s but… not bad.

(”I killed my sister.” The truth claws at his throat on sleepless nights, compelling him to discard his dollface and reveal the monster, the sinner, beneath. “And then I killed her again.”)

Lance comes from a family of alchemists– Not by profession or trade, but by natural ability and luck. His mother can fix holes in the roof with a piece of chalk and ten minutes grace. His grandfather can coax stones into little statues at the drop of a hat, for the amusement of the children of the house. His cousin can make sparks fly like fireworks every time she snaps her fingers together, thanks to the little stick-and-poke array tattoo on her palm she got in tenth grade, much to her parents’ woe.

Oh no, not him, he responds when they ask. Never him. Alchemy seemed boring as a child. He was much more interested in soccer and t.v. and mud.

(Loraine was the best of all of them. She drew clumsy arrays onto her wrists and arms with permanent marker, and then refined, delicate ones as she got older. She could change stone and wrap metal. Freeze water with a touch and then bring it to the boil seconds later. A genius. She taught him everything he could ever want to know, decorating him with arrays when he was a toddler until their mother screamed at her to go wash him before he hurt himself accidentally transmuting something.)

People always accepted–do accept– this as truth. It’s just Lance, after all. Clumsy, bumbling Lance, who can’t keep his head on straight for more than two minutes. The idea of him applying himself to the concentrated, methodical work of alchemy training as a young child is such a laughable idea, he almost tricks himself into thinking the same.

It’s a pretty lie, all tied up in ribbon and paper. Merciful to them, but mostly to himself.

(He was taught what sins of alchemy are unforgivable before he could even fully understand them, lectured to him and his sister in their Grandmother’s croaking voice on cold winter nights. Not a pretty lesson to hear, to have drilled into your head over and over, but a necessary one.

…He never was very good at listening, anyways.)

Pidge is the only one on the team who can perform any alchemy. Mostly small transmutations, to fix broken equipment or repair frayed wires. Whenever she huffs and complains about wishing she’d read more books on the subject, how useful it would be out here, in the war, Hunk looks to Lance, and then bites his tongue. He may disapprove, but he’ll keep Lance’s secret until the day he dies, and for that much Lance is thankful.

(It took him two years after she died to figure out how, to stash the materials in the back shed under a tarp and learn to draw the circle. The risk inherent was assumed, and he was willing. Lance was thirteen and reckless and world-weary. His mother needed her baby back, his sisters their littlest member, his cousin her best friend. And he needed Loraine’s smile, one last time. If it killed him, it was a gladly given price.)

Sometimes it’s more than tempting, when they get divvied up into groups for missions and no one knows quite what to do with Lance. Good sniper, fast talker. Slow on the upkeep, mediocre pilot, too noisy, too silly. Fucking terrible at close combat.

These are truths, he doesn’t deny them.

But occasionally he can’t help himself, and forces old Galran ship construction texts through the translator, memorizes the elements both familiar and foreign, and does what he was born to do. Equivalent exchange and transmutation circles, and all the possibilities, stored away in the mental vault of things he’ll never let loose.

They’ll call for him when he falls behind on missions, and he’ll tear his eyes away from ship walls and chase after. He knows he can tear the place apart from the inside out with only a few presses of his hands, but he won’t. He can never go back, and this is the closest thing he has to atonement for his crimes.

(It seems almost fitting, that Truth would take his left arm.

He’s no idiot, he knows it’s the hand that let go first, that let them fall and caused her death to begin with. The fact that it’s the price he paid to bring her back–to kill her all over again–is justified irony.

Lance was prepared to give both body and soul for her. Instead, he lost what ruined him to begin with, in exchange for a long-haired, dead eyed creature of sour breath and creaking limbs, with none of his sister’s warmth or life.

They didn’t even bury it. Lance had stood in his oversized shirt, empty sleeve flapping in the wind, as Mavis burned the monster he had made of the person they both loved the most. Her lips were tight and she wouldn’t look at him, and he knew truth in shame.)

“What are you?” They ask him now and again, on those far away, newly liberated alien planets, and he shrugs.

Something the Truth swallowed whole, chewed up, and spat out again, half-dead and very much broken. Even that didn’t want to keep me.

“Just a leftover.” He says, and that is not quite a lie, either.

(No Truth is not a kind master. It rules from high above, and breaks the backs of anyone who dares to claim it as their own.

Lance has seen Truth, and he knows what it is– The Truth is, he should have died when he was eleven, and he let his sister die in his place.)

The real lie is saying he survived. There was never anything left, after that.

#HI SORRY THIS WAS SO GOOD I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING FOR IT #the SLAOS AUs #SLAOS talk #Fullmetal Alchemist #Voltron #slaos Lance #Anonymous #Alchemist Lance AU #asks #questions for Nik

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pumpkins-s · 7 years

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Loraine/Mavis single mom Loraine AU - (adding Lance is optional) - "Your smile is not as bright as it used to be."

Guess who finally has wifi to do this lmao. All aboard the Suffering Train.

“Your smile isn’t as bright as it used to be.”

It’s a whispered confession, a plea for correction, falling somewhere between desperate sadness and pitied adoration.

The response it gets is a snort, derisive and to the point without words.

“I don’t smile, brightly or not— Never have.”

“Yes, you do.” Loraine says slowly, patient fondness soaked in every word, and next to her on the well-worn park bench, Mavis glares down at her half-finished cup of coffee with childlike annoyance. “You smile all the time.” She laughs softly. “I remember when Lance was born, the first time you held him. You smiled so widely I thought it’d just fall off your face. I took pictures.”

“Yeah, I know.” Mavis murmurs, a confession to what she cannot deny, and sighs. “They’re still stuck up on the fridge, somewhere underneath Lance’s drawings and shit.”

“Don’t throw them out.”

“I wouldn’t.” Mavis says with a choked laugh, wide-eyed and suddenly so, so desperate and small-feeling inside. “Couldn’t.”

“Good.” Loraine sighs out, seemingly at peace with the world again, and around them the wind cycles by, overgrown leaves caught on the autumn breeze and dancing along crowded city sidewalks and street ways.

Downing the last of her coffee in one fell swoop, Mavis aims automatically and pitches her empty cup towards the trash bin a few feet away, grinning shyly for a moment at Loraine’s put-upon gasp of impressment and the sounds of her clapping quietly, before her face shutters and closes off. She ducks her head on instinct, face hiding behind a thick curtain of short, dark hair, and clasps her hands together to still their shaking, hunching her shoulders.

There’s a screech from the playground, and Mavis startles instantly, looking up with concealed panic as her eyes search the area, the hidden tension in her tall, whip-thin, and currently uncharacteristically frail, frame relaxing as she spots Lance in his position at the top of the jungle gym, legs crossed and back turned to her, head tilted to the sky. The other children running around him, some larger, some smaller, cut him a wide berth seemingly on instinct alone, and she doesn’t know whether that’s a relief or if it breaks her heart.

Maybe both.

“He’s so quiet now.” Loraine says, and Mavis leans back in her seat, elbows notching above the back of the bench and breath filtering out slowly as she tilts her head back in a sorry imitation of Lance’s own position, wondering if at some other time she might be sitting next to him, pointing out dumb shapes in the clouds to make him laugh.

“Give him time.” She says, and it’s an aching, hollow statement that burns in her throat, bitter and acidic in both form and taste.

Time. Time.

When will it ever be enough time? She feels like she’s desperately running out of it.

Her fingers are trembling again, Mavis notes idly, body alight with shaking and one part exhaustion one part anxiety as the caffeine drains out of her system, leaving her bleary-eyed and rundown. Idly, she digs into her jacket pocket, fishing out her cigarette packet and lighting one up automatically, bringing it to her lips for a long drag and ignoring the filthy looks the parents milling around nearby watching their kids give her.

They don’t like her, obviously. Probably think she’s irresponsible, a bad role model.

It’s hard to find the energy to care, anymore. What does it matter what they think? They know nothing about her.

“Those are so bad for you.” Loraine says tiredly, the slightest hint of judgment crawling into her voice. “I thought you quit.”

“Old habits.” Mavis says, tilting her head and chuckling without humor as she watches the end of the cigarette burn between her fingers. A few feet away, an older woman coughs surreptitiously, eyeing Mavis as if she’s tempted to snap her photo and send it to the precinct, like she’s some loitering petty criminal or vagrant just waiting to be shuffled along back into the shadows.

…Prick.

“Your mother called again!” She says instead, looking away from the woman and forcing fake cheer into her words. “She’s worried I’m not cut out for this.” She adds the necessary finger quotes with her free hand, twitching at the sad smile hugging Loraine’s lips. “She keeps asking if I’m sure I don’t want to give her custody.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Not like it’s your fault. She’s just doing what she thinks is best. Can’t blame her really, she might even be right.”

“I don’t think that.” Loraine offers, a barely voiced confession, yet still firm and resolute, and Mavis closes her eyes.

“I know.”

Around the corner, the faint sounds of the ice cream truck float into notice, and the cheers of the children in the playground pick up as they all scramble down and race to their parents, grabbing their hands and tugging them along as they beg for a treat.

Parents…

Mavis supposes she is one of those, now, in a way.

Lance doesn’t move though, does not come to her, and she is somewhat grateful that is the case. She isn’t sure if she’s ready yet, to be that.

“He’s my son.” Loraine whispers into the cold air, entire body turned towards Lance like a magnet, trained on him like he’s the center of her world, and Mavis flinches.

Coming from anyone else, it would be an accusation, a suggestion that Mavis is stealing away something that is not hers to have— And she has heard it enough to know. From the teachers at Lance’s school, the neighbors in their whispered doorways, from her own family, coating their words in sounds of concern for her and her career, her life, as if she hadn’t already made this decision nine years ago.

But this is Loraine, and from her this is a reassurance.

“I know.” Mavis says, soft and devoted and all the things she’ll never let the world have. “But you left, Lori. And I’m all that’s here anymore.”

Loraine doesn’t answer, and Mavis stands carefully, dropping her cigarette and crushing it under the heel of her boot, dark calf-length leather on four-inch wedges and all the things a parent should not wear, and crosses the playground to her boy.

…Nothing good ever came from talking to ghosts, anyways.

#the SLAOS AUs #Mom Loraine AU #my writing #writing prompts #ask meme #Loraine McClain #Mavis Paloma #my ocs #markedpatches #asks #questions for Nik

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pumpkins-s · 7 years

Text

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 7: Lifelines

((Author’s Note:

Yoooo.

So this wasn't originally where I was going to place a chapter break, but in honor of season 2, I figured I'd put out one last chapter before the new season drops. (Ironically this chapter ended up pretty lighthearted so consider it your break before shit goes south again.)

I have it on good word that there'll be some Lance backstory in season 2 (a friend of a friend works for the Voltron team), so chances are after season 2 this fic will no longer be canon compliant. I love this story, so I fully intend on continuing writing it, but I'll have to wait and see what content is in season 2 before I decide how much of it SLAOS will adhere to. If I don't agree with certain things, I may just go with my original plans for the "voltron canon" part of this story, but if I find the season workable with the versions of these characters I've written, I'll try to keep as canon compliant as possible, minus what's already been established in this fic.

Anyways, enjoy. I'll see y'all over on the other side of the new season, yeah? <3))

“Hey Mavis? Question.”

“Yeah, sure …Hold on lemme just get my waffles out of the toaster… Okay, shoot.”

“Why are you making waffles at midnight? Wait, never mind, that wasn’t the question. What’s the point of flirting?”

From the other end of the line, Mavis splutters, and there comes a loud hacking noise, followed by a bout of coughing. Wincing, Lance holds the phone away from his ear and waits for the noise to subside.

“Why are you asking me that?” Rings out loudly, even without the phone near his face.

Lance frowns, bringing the phone back closer. “The waffles? Well you mentioned them first…”

“Not that!” Mavis screeches. “The other question! And don’t question my eating habits I am an adult I’ll eat waffles when I damn well please to. Why are you asking me about flirting at midnight, huh? Wait— You’re eleven why are you even awake?”

“It’s a private magnet school, and we have a test on Friday.” Lance deadpans, stretching out on his bed and poking a socked foot gently into Ritzie’s side where she’s asleep at the foot of the bed, face planted on top of her open biology textbook. She snorts in her sleep at the movement, rolling over slightly, and Lance stifles a giggle. “Sleep is for the weak.”

And his friends, apparently, he thinks, noting Hunk and Yuu’s sleeping forms on the other side of the room, Hunk on his bed, Yuu leaning against the base of it on the floor, notes scattered around them.

Over the phone, Lance hears Mavis grumble, and he grins. “So you never answered my question?”

“Oh dear lord.” Mavis sighs. “Ok hold on I’m gonna need some fucking… maple syrup to get through this shit. And maybe vodka.” There’s the sound of clinking on Mavis’s end as she presumable fetches something, and then her voice returns. “So why are you asking me about flirting?”

“Dunno.” Lance says. “Just noticed some classmates are apparently into that now.”

Lance was aware that he was among the younger students in many of his classes, and that meant there would be some things the older children… er, teenagers, would do that he might not get, but this one appeared to be a new habit with the students a year or two above him. He’d consulted his resident teenager first, but Ritzie had launched into a rant about the stupidity of hormonal teens and the patriarchy, which hadn’t been very helpful, and Lance had figured asking Yuu was going to be even more unenlightening, which meant he was fresh out of primary sources to consult.

Well, he supposes Hunk is technically nearly a teenager now, too, but that is… too weird to think too hard about. Hunk probably hadn’t noticed anyways. He was at his most perceptive when suspicious or feeling like snooping, but otherwise out of the two of them Lance generally did the people-reading, and left Hunk to handle the machines and general common sense.

“I don’t know, Lance.” Mavis says, sounding somewhat disgruntled, but just slightly amused, as well. “Apparently some people just do that when they get older. When they like someone, I guess.”

Lance huffs. “Boring.”

Mavis snorts loudly. “I don’t know what to tell you, buddy. People are boring.”

“I mean what’s it for. There’s got to be a purpose? Something it’s useful for?”

“Mmm…” Mavis hums, voice lilting. “Well, if you want to look at it like that…” She trails off, the sound of fingers tapping against a table echoing across the line, and Lance knows he has her hooked. “I guess, not that I have any personal experience or anything,” She coughs awkwardly, “it’s good for reading people? How a person reacts to advances like that gives you a big clue into how their personalities work. And if they’re receptive, you could use that for manipulation, or to get something you want from them. Or if they’re not… It’s a way to annoy them and throw them off their game. Plus, it’s something to do, right? Gives you an excuse to talk when you’re bored and want to get a read on stuff and some attention, without it seeming obvious that you’re trying to be a snoop.”

“…And this is all just theoretical musings on your part?” Lance deadpans.

“Yes! Definitely.”

“Y’know, if you weren’t my cousin I’d be very afraid of you becoming a criminal mastermind.” Lance says solemnly, and fails to stifle his grin when Mavis laughs loudly.

“You’re the one that asked me for useful reasons for it!”

“Hey, I mean you did give me what I was looking for.” Lance answers, sitting up and pushing his bangs out of his eyes. “I like knowing how I can use something to my advantage. Lot more useful than the ‘birds and the bees’ talk Marcie tried to give me when I asked her.”

“And you say you��re not half as manipulative as me.” Mavis chides, and Lance giggles. Idly, he swings his legs off the edge of the bed and stands, careful to move quietly as not to wake his sleeping companions as he slips into the adjoined bathroom and flicks on the light.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lance says innocently, tucking his phone between his shoulder and his ear so he can reach for his face wash on the bench, extracting it from the neatly arranged stacks of colorful bottles. He’d originally started out the year with one face wash on the bench, but between Marcie sneaking this and that into his bags, and stuff he’d semi-accidentally pilfered from Ritzie’s bathroom, Lance now had a wide assortment of face cleansers, washes, and moisturizers. All things considered, he figured it was a harmless enough habit to indulge in. People were hardly regularly coming through his and Hunk’s bathroom aside from themselves and occasionally Ritzie or Yuu, and if anyone ever asked about it, Lance imagined that, with several older sisters, saying they’d instilled a mentality of proper skin care on him at a young age, which was true anyways, wouldn’t be too hard to believe. Regardless, it was a small and relatively secret habit that helped him feel… more like himself. He couldn’t have his clothing or his hair or the box of shiny lip gloss and glittery nail polish back, but this was safe.

“Mhmm. Sure.” Mavis’s voice is lilting, poorly hiding her amusement, before she pauses. “…Is that it? You usually don’t call this late.”

Lance winces. “It was on my mind?” He tries, rubbing the face wash into his skin carefully.

“Lance.” Mavis chides firmly. “What’s really going on? If it was just about flirting you would have texted me instead.”

“I don’t know, okay?” Lance snaps slightly. Mavis is silent on the other end, and Lance sighs, closing his eyes. “…Sorry. I just felt… jittery. Couldn’t sleep.”

“…Is it about summer break?”

Lance blinks, not sure whether to curse or thank Mavis’s ever-present ability to read into what’s going on, even hundreds of miles away. “I guess?”

“You worried about going home?” Mavis says, and Lance frowns, contemplating.

“I don’t think so?” He hesitates, trying to sort out his jumbled thoughts into words. “I’m excited to see everyone, spend time with them without having to worry about going back to Greenwood a day or two later, and I like summer, but…”

“But it’s three months.” Mavis finishes, picking up smoothly. “Three uninterrupted months in Veradera, with no breaks from everyone.”

“…And no Loraine.” Lance says quietly, acknowledging the elephant in the room. “They all think I’ve gotten so much better, that I’m handling everything so well— What if I can’t keep it together that long? I don’t want to ruin everyone’s summer with them worrying over me again. It’s not fair to them.”

Mavis hums. “It’s not selfish to need help, Lance.”

“But it’s not fair either. They feel guilty, I feel smothered, and everyone just ends up miserable. I’m…” He thinks of the gentle hands of his sisters picking him up and soothing him when he has a panic episode, of Hunk’s bone-weariness, yet determined patience, as he hides the sharp things and wraps up Lance’s arms when he hits the breaking point each time. It’s not as bad as it was when Loraine first… died, but Lance knows he isn’t coping, really. Oh, yes, he’s gotten good enough at hiding it from his family on the short weekend visits, to soothe their worries, but now that just leaves the onus on Hunk to deal with Lance when, inevitably, the cracks begin to show. “I’m tired of being everyone’s burden.”

Mavis pauses, and while Lance can’t see her, he can imagine her on the other end of the line, perched on some chair with her feet on a table as she twists her hair around a finger and glares contemplatively at some random object. Between what he saw of Mavis before she left home, and of the occasional video chats they’ve had, he’s gotten relatively adept at picking up Mavis’s body language, helped in part by the fact many of her idle habits are much like his own, if only slightly more aggressive at any given moment. He thinks maybe it might have something to do with the fact that he picked up most of his habits from Loraine, who in turn might have adopted some from Mavis— They were two of the closer in age after all, Mavis herself only a year older than Evie, making her five older than Loraine. It’s not hard to picture his sister at eight or nine trying to imitate her cool thirteen-year-old cousin.

Though, by that reasoning, Lance supposes it’s fair to draw the conclusion that all his siblings and cousins had picked up some behaviors from one another.

“Why don’t you come stay with me for a bit then?”

“What?” Lance jolts, snapping out of his idle thought derailment.

“You don’t want to do three continuous months in Veradera, right? Take a break. Come up to stay with me for a couple weeks during the summer in July or August or something.”

“…Really?” Lance gapes, and across the line Mavis snorts.

“Yes, really. It’ll be fun. I’ll take you to the theater I’ll be doing some tech work in this summer, walk you around the tourist parts of the city. Can’t afford to shop there, but we can make fun of tourists or something.”

“But I thought…” Lance frowns, unconsciously staring down at his moisturizer bottle like it holds the answers to the universe. “You liked your space? You don’t really come home much. Or… at all, really.”

“Because everyone always begs me to stay.” Mavis says. “You don’t. You’re a good kid, Lance. I like coddling you a bit, and I’m not a coddling person.”

“I know you aren’t.” Lance says quietly.

“Just think about it, yeah? You can bring Hunk if you want, or something.”

“No!” Lance yelps, before he can stop himself, slapping a hand over his mouth.

“No?” She pauses. “…You two aren’t fighting, are you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two have a fight. Or even a spat, for that matter.”

“No, of course not.” Lance mumbles. “It’s just… I had an episode the other day, and when Hunk was bullying me into eating and sleeping after, it made me realize that… I’ve kinda forced him to be stuck dealing with my problems? He deserves a break.”

Mavis sighs. “You know he probably doesn’t look at it like that, right? That boy loves you to death, Lance, es evidente, plain as day. Whether you two choose to define that as familial or something else is up to you, but my point is, he’s probably more worried about you than he is annoyed with any perceived inconveniences.”

“That’s it, though. He’s stuck worrying about me all the time. He’s scared to leave me alone on a bad day in case I hurt myself again. He’d run himself into the ground trying to help because he’s a good person like that, and I’m the kind of cabrón who’d let him.”

Mavis clucks her tongue. “Language. And I think you’re overthinking things, you should just talk to him.”

“Maybe.” Lance admits, padding out of the bathroom, flicking the light off behind him, and over to his bed, wiggling in and grabbing azul from where he keeps it hidden under the pillow and hugging it to his chest, tucking its soft blue fur under his chin. “I don’t know. Thank you anyways Mavis. I’ll… think about New York.”

“Alright.” Mavis says with an air of resignation, obviously sensing an end to the conversation. “Goodnight Lance.”

“Goodnight Mavis.” He whispers.

Two weeks later, Lance finishes the last of his finals, exchanging amused glances across the room with Ritzie as they scrawl down answers on paper, and then goes home to Veradera.

Despite all his worries, he finds the comfort of being back outweighs any lingering anxiety he feels. He moves back into his old room— The room that was once his, Loraine’s, and Karen’s, and now only belongs to him, and, more unofficially, Hunk, Karen still living in the other room his sisters share, and Igraine having moved into Lucas’s room and taking Carlos’s old space there to make more space.

“I know it was weird for you, having Karen back in your room when she was gone most of the time, especially right after… Loraine.” Evie tells him quietly the one and only time he asks her about sleeping arrangements, guilt at having driven his older sister out of her room last summer still hugging his chest. “She’s not mad about it, promise. It worked out, anyways. Gave Igraine an excuse to move into Lucas’s room so the two of them can stay up all night gossiping. It’s good, I think Lucas was getting lonely with both Mavis and Carlos out of the house.”

Loraine’s bed still stays in its corner, the walls above it littered with pictures of their family, of Lance at varying ages, of constellations. It’s… more or less Lance’s now, he supposes. He’d slept in it so many nights over the previous summer, blindly seeking comfort in the remnants of the smell of Loraine’s shampoo on her pillows, that he’d kept up the habit on his weekends back home during the school year more out of instinct than anything else.

And now, it’s summer again, a whole cycle passed, and if he hasn’t managed to rid himself of this coping mechanism before, Lance doubts he’ll suddenly start doing so soon.

So Loraine’s bed becomes his, and his bed is relegated to Hunk, on the nights the two of them don’t just share. Hunk’s actual bed back at his own house goes more or less unused, but that isn’t anything new, Hunk has practically lived here for years— His grandmother, too, honestly, spending her days on the porch or in the lounge with Lance’s own grandparents.

So, yes, in that fashion things really haven’t changed.

He makes Loraine’s… his bed a mess of blankets and pillows, azul tucked up in the middle of it, pins a couple photos of himself, Hunk, Ritzie, and Yuu from school to empty spaces in the wall above the headboard, and tries to forget the jarringly empty space next to him.

It’s not that hard to find distractions, at least. Lance had forgotten just how… alive his family is. It doesn’t really hit him how much he’s missed out on until he’s being introduced to Carlos and Rachel’s new baby, Josie’s long-awaited sibling, and he realizes in the couple weeks he chose not to come home to study for finals, he somehow missed the baby’s birth. When it slowly dawns on him just how much change and growth in their lives he has missed in his self-pity, Lance pushes himself into trying to be there for all of them.

He decides to take it as a marking point of change. Nicky, his newest cousin, is all the fragile smallness and tiny features Lance remembers Josie being, with the brown hair and slight curls that are predominant in their family, and the dark eyes that everyone but Lance has, his own blue eyes now an anomaly without the matching pair that used to look at him with joy and love.

Lance can’t change the past, but he can, at least, hold himself to this. Even if he cannot fix his broken pieces, this new, youngest member of their family will never see the jagged edges that make up Lance’s heart.

With luck, perhaps Josie will never remember that Lance either. She’s not even four, after all. Children forget so easily.

Either way, it’s a promise Lance holds himself to.

He helps his mother and aunts around the house, visits Carlos and Rachel’s house to mooch some breakfast from them on the good mornings, takes Josie to the beach on the sunny days with Hunk, plays scrabble with his grandparents, occasionally letting them win, and tried to be happy… or at least look it.

Mavis is his saving grace, the patient voice on the other end of the phone when he talks to her at night, perched on the roof with a blanket around his shoulders as he watches the stars.

“Spend more time with your sisters.” Mavis chides him over the phone when he recounts his days. “They miss you.”

“It’s… different.” He tells her, spilling out the unsaid words and quiet secrets into the night air where he trust only she will hear him. “Everything’s different now. I don’t know how to be their Lance. What if they don’t—”

“Have a little faith in them.” Mavis’s voice is firm, allowing no argument. “Evie helped you get into your school, Igraine keeps that stupid hoverbike in working condition for when you’re old enough for it, Karen moved rooms to give you your space, and Marcie calls me constantly hoping to hear how you’ve been doing through me when you don’t pick up her calls. They love you, Lance. Loraine or no Loraine, that doesn’t change. They’re still your hermanas. Give the bonds you have with them another chance.”

And so, because Lance knows Mavis is rarely wrong about these things, if ever, he does.

He sits with Evie around the computer and asks her about the work she does, coaxing her away from the screen for a trip to the dairy on the beachfront for an ice cream when she overworks herself.

He goes to the park on cooler afternoons with Karen, hand in hers when they cross streets because she still thinks of him as little and in need of protection, asks her to teach him new skills he’s seen her do, and delights in the way her face lights up at the opportunity to talk to him about the sport she loves.

He helps Marcie brush and braid her hair at night, chatters with her about the gossip she’s heard from the housewives at the salon, and helps her fix the holes in her clothing with careful stitching, accepting her excited offers to teach him how to embroider little flowers along collars and let out and take up hems so a skirt can be worn longer.

He takes trips with Hunk to visit Igraine at the mechanic’s, helping her with the pet project motorbikes she keeps hidden in the back, suggesting outrageous paint colors for each restoration cheerfully from his seat while Hunk vehemently argues against them, and on the occasional weekend morning, walks with Igraine to the scattering of trees near their house where she has tied up old milk cartons and bottles from the branches to shoot at with her paintball gun.

Igraine’s always done this. She taught Lance to shoot as well at a young age, but it still surprises Lance to find how often she does it now, sometimes disappearing early in the mornings and spending hours sitting against a tree and painstakingly landing a hit on every target in view. Watching her grim face and sullen eyes on those days, when Lance sneaks after her and she doesn’t realize he’s there, he comes to the realization that perhaps he isn’t the only one that has developed some odd coping habits since Loraine’s death.

After that, he makes a point to spend more time with Igraine.

She catches him following her only once on one of her early morning sneak-and-shoot sessions, but instead of getting angry she just glances at him and pats the empty spot on the ground next to her, already loading up another shot.

“I taught Loraine to shoot, too.” She tells him after a long moment of silence, avoiding his eyes as she places her paintball gun in her lap and fiddles with the adjustments. “Like I taught you. A natural, she was. I had to work to learn to hit a target, but Loraine? She could hit a perfect shot easy by the time she was only ten or eleven. Much like you, the same innate talent.”

Lance frowns, studying Igraine’s face, and finally she glances down at him, smiling slightly. “I was so excited when she was born, but I remember throwing a fit when I heard her name. Having a sister who’s name ended with -raine as well? It’s not like Marcie or Karen had to share their names. “ She chuckles. “I remember for months I refused to call her by her name, so I came up with any other variant possible. Lori ended up sticking, even after I accepted her as Loraine as well.” Igraine ducks her head. “When I told her that’s how she got that nickname she laughed and laughed.” She pauses. “She was never like that with you. When you were born I thought she’d throw a temper tantrum like I did, over you both having names that started with L, but she was delighted. Kept hugging you and saying it meant you matched.”

“…Really?” Lance asks quietly, glancing down sheepishly when Igraine looks at him.

“Really, really.” She hums softly. “Y’know, I don’t think you ever cried when she held you, not even once. First time I picked you up, you screamed bloody murder, and Marcie got a foot in her face the first time she held you. You’d settle for Mamá, sometimes, but Loraine... You were always quiet for her. The two of you would spend hours, Loraine sitting on the couch with you in her arms, just… staring at each other.” Igraine chuckles quietly. “Course, guess I shouldn’t be surprised Loraine was so good about it all. She was so selfless, loving. Never behaved like a selfish brat like I did.”

“You’re not selfish, Igraine.” Lance says softly, leaning in and resting his head on his sister’s shoulder. “And no, I don’t think Loraine ever held a grudge against you trying to rename her as a baby.”

Igraine snorts. “Nah, you’re right, probably not.” She tips her head down, resting it on top of Lance’s, and sighs. “I wish… I wish I’d known about the Garrison, had convinced her to go, promised her we’d figure it out. She wanted more than Veradera, her whole life. I knew it, we all did, and she gave that up because, when she deserved most to be just a little bit selfish for once in her life, she still chose to give.”

“That’s who Loraine was.”

“That’s how you are, too.” Igraine says patiently, humor lilting in her words. “I won’t deny that I’m proud of you for what you’re doing, Lance. I just hope you’re doing it for the right reasons. Don’t sacrifice yourself for something that wasn’t your fault.”

“Selfless would be staying here, in Veradera, with all of you.” Lance says, shaking his head just slightly against Igraine’s shoulder. “What I’m doing is beyond selfish.”

“No, it’s not.” Igraine says lightly. “You are just as unselfish as Loraine always was, Lance. Me? I wish I could be like that. Instead, when I think of Loraine, of what she wanted and never got, all I can think is that… “ She sighs, slumping forward. “I’m so afraid to die in Veradera.”

Lance blinks, mulling over Igraine’s words. “…Is this about the Marines?” Above him Igraine stiffens, and Lance sighs. “Loraine and I found the brochures you and Lucas had hidden years ago.”

Igraine laughs wetly. “Well. You two were always ahead of the game.”

“Igraine…” Lance pauses, closing his eyes. “Igraine, if that’s what you want, then do it. Wanting to be happy? That’s not selfish, that’s what you deserve…. Lucas too, if he’s still with you on that.”

His sister chuckles, turning her face into Lance’s hair, and when Lance feels the warm wetness of tears on his face from above, he reaches out and hugs Igraine’s arm in front of him.

“How am I going to tell Mamá…?”

“I’ll help you.” Lance says firmly, feeling the resolve settle in his bones. Distantly, another, separate conversation of hesitant decisions, whispered over a phone in the dead of night, comes to mind, and he sucks in a breath. “I’ll help you… if you help me with something, too.”

“Help you with what?” Igraine asks readily, even with her voice laced with confusion.

“Mavis offered to let me come stay with her for a bit during the summer. If you help me convince Mamá to let me go, I’ll help you convince her too.”

Igraine chuckles. “New York, huh?” She nods, hugging Lance tighter as they sit there on the ground. “Alright, mini-stalk. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

…In the end, they both get what they want.

Lance’s mother is less than happy with Igraine’s little announcement, and neither is Aunt Lupe, when she finds out Lucas is going along with it as well, but, much as they were with Lance, they are accepting of their children’s decision, even if they fret over the dangers of military service. Ultimately though, it’s Marcie who takes it the hardest, immediately bursting into tears when Igraine announces things much in the same manner Lance and Hunk did about Greenwood.

The thing about Marcie, Lance thinks, is that she sees her younger siblings heading down a path she cannot, will not follow. Evie stayed home because she feared the world, but inevitably lives in another world of numbers only she knows, Karen left early to chase her dream, and only came back once they needed her… and until not long ago, Lance, Loraine, and Igraine remained in Veradera.

Except now Igraine is leaving, Loraine is dead, and Lance is a shadow chasing a lost dream.

And Marcie? Marcie, who stepped into the head of the household when their mother first got sick, Marcie, who guards her younger siblings and cousins with her life, cannot bring herself to leave. Marcie, single, living with her family at just past thirty, sees her life, her duty here in Veradera, to hold down house and home in their mother’s place if she ever gets sick again.

It’s part of who Marcelia McClain is, and it’s part of why Lance loves and respects his oldest sister so much, but he also knows it’s why her heart aches every time their family stretches further apart.

Losing Loraine affected each of them, in their own way, and for Marcie, Lance knows, it made her only want to protect her baby siblings more.

Still, when Igraine announces her decision, Marcie cries, soothes their mother in her worried, and tells Igraine she is proud of her— Because Marcie, first and foremost, wants her family to be happy.

It’s painful to watch his sisters cry, but in a way, it feels like a balm of the jagged edges of Lance’s soul. No matter what, they are still a family.

Regardless, getting permission to go to New York is fairly easy, in comparison.

“Nurse Lance.” Mavis says with a laugh when he tells her. “Out to solve everyone’s problems but your own.”

Lance huffs, feigning insult, and thinks of selfishness, for what you want, what you need, and selflessness, for reparations to mistakes.

“It’s what I do best.”

New York is densely packed blocks of walk-ups and office buildings, cracked concrete on rushing swarms of feet, and a scorching blast of summer heat at least fifteen degrees warmer than Maryland is that Lance is distinctly aware of minute he steps off the plane. For all that Lance thought he’d gotten a handle on city traffic living at Greenwood in the middle of D.C., the capital has nothing on the simple busy-ness of New York.

It’s terrifying, but a little fascinating as well.

When he sees Mavis waiting for him in the airport, short hair tied back in a half-hearted ponytail, sunglasses pushed up onto her forehead to keep the stray locks that don’t stay pulled back with the rest of her hair off her face, and slurping loudly from a mostly-empty bubble tea cup as she stands there in her jeans and dark red flannel she’s owned since he was a toddler, Lance can kind of see how this city has ensnared his cousin. She just somehow kind of… looks right here.

“Lance.” She says when he walks up to her, seemingly aloof until he pulls his suitcase to a stop, and then she pounces on him, hugging him tightly and resting her nose in his hair. “Good to see you, kiddo.”

He laughs, feeling oddly relieved, and hugs her back in return. There’s no secrets to disguise here, not in such a big place where no one knows him, and not from Mavis, who just intuitively knows. “It’s good to see you, too.”

#sTILL NOT AN UPDATE #JUST ME CATCHING UP ON CROSSPOSTING YA FEEL #spilling like an overflowing sink (voltron)#my writing #Voltron

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