#i havent been able to find any photos of him wearing them before/after this either so for all i know they might not have belonged to him | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

el-im · 3 years

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im putting all the things ive been meaning to write posts about into one single item because i am feeling Very Observed lately and i figure with it being as early as it is that hopefully this wont show up on some peoples dashes by the time they get around to pulling up tumblr today.

first of all heres a photo dump and some captions

from when i texted charlie my images of the sisko card, which i was really hoping he’d like

a smiley face on my coffee

i was gonna make a gender joke here bc the longer i looked at these before n after pinning back my hair pictures the more i was like ‘oh we just flipped gender presentation like a lightswitch huh’ but that was not funny and i am not funny and I wish i were but im not and its kind of a >:( fact thats been bugging me lately.

from mom, yesterday, who dropped off one for me, one for nick, one for mia, and one for abe. i was expecting this to be the only thing i got/heads up/message on valentines day but i woke up this morning to find that aub had sent me a playlist that i looked at but havent listened to yet (because im trying to order my responses to things in increasing complexity and time--i responded to the tik toks elanor sent me first, them had a look at the star trek document that joe sent me and commented on the questions he asked without giving away spoilers, and am now making this post, which ive been meaning to make, and will then maybe try to listen to the playlist and then respond to michelle’s email)

these are joes thoughts from some ds9 episodes. initially, i’d sent him a list of ‘best’ episodes (my favorites AND the eps i thought were most emblematic of ds9′s issues--bajor’s relationship with cardassia, trill relationships, etc) hoping that he’d be able to see the merit of the show, but he insisted on re-watching the first episode before he started working on the list because he’d only seen it once a long time ago, and then, after watching ep 1 and captive pursuit (with tosk) decided that he’d try to watch the full first season, especially after i expressed my dismay at realizing he wouldn’t get the chronological introduction to garak bc ep 3 wasnt on my list of best episodes. anyway. he showed me this list of written reactions after watching ep 1 and captive pursuit and it made me so happy he decided he’d keep doing it, which i insisted wasn’t necessary because it seems to me like a lot of work (and which i still feel guilty about) but he was like told me that he’d only seldom seen me as happy as i was upon reading that and it was something little he could do to foster that joy which.. makes my heart crack in two).

anyway. the real reason i started this post was because ive been up in arms for the past few days about mia and covid.

speaking of which.

baby ‘passed’ first covid test. that arrow on the side is the minimized player where im watching nemesis. hah.

anyway.

to make a longer story short, my (pregnant!!!) sister decided, stupidly, to go with her boyfriend abe, a sound engineer, to a broadcast stage he was setting up in california, because she has a liver condition that appeared during her pregnancy which makes giving birth difficult (which is emotionally challenging for her because she had always wanted to do an at-home birth without drugs) and in fact, is a condition which typically leads to the birth having to be induced early, which means, at this point in development, that she could potentially need to have the child at any time. she went with him because she didn’t want to be without him if the baby needed to come. she was there for a week, with the both of them feeling sick all the while, and then came home early without abe because she felt bad and wasnt having fun, eventually getting a ride from my mother (who lives with my grandmother and great aunt, 93 and 86 respectively) back home from the airport (she took a PLANE!?). anyway. at our insistence, she was tested the same day she got home. she was reluctant to do it because she ‘didn’t think she had it’ and figured that it was ‘just the flu, honestly’ as if she had any way of knowing that???? in the day she was waiting for her test results, she came out of her room multiple times without a mask on, walking around the kitchen or playing with the dogs, even though we told her to stay in her room (and had brought her food/hot tea/whatever else she needed). she had no reason to come out when she was 1. sick and 2. not quite sure if she had covid or not

anyway. her test came back positive so she was trying to ‘stay in her room’, which lasted for.. not even a day. nick and i, who hadn’t seen either of them in a week, but had been around each other, got tests. we (as pictured) both got negative results, so mia must have gotten it in california rather than from someone we’d all seen (like nick and mia’s dad or stepmother earlier in the month)

abe came home soon after and had taken two rapid tests when he landed, but then, when coming home, immediately was sitting in the same room as my sister, without a mask on. he slept outside in our ‘arizona room’--a screened in patio with a futon in it for the first night. when his results came back (as negative), he decided that he was fine to be in the house, so wouldn’t wear a mask in the kitchen or in the living room, (something nick and i both did) AND would also be in the same room as my sister for long periods of time. i’d like to think he was wearing a mask in there, but i can’t be sure. he was playing video games in their shared room where mia was watching tv, as long as he (AND I QUOTE) ‘stayed in his corner’. it’s a ten by ten room at most. there’s no way that staying in there, even with a mask on, for as long as he did was a smart option. so... to reiterate. abe was in a room with my sister, who has covid, for a long period of time, and then wouldn’t wear a mask when in the common areas that everyone uses. which is... great right

and the thing thats been annoying me for these last couple of days in particular, ASIDE from all the dumb shit they’ve done up to this point, is that mia says abe needs to bring her food (valid) and YET mia is always in the kitchen (which doesn’t make sense). i was in the kitchen preparing a meal the other day and she came out to refill her water. which, if abe was functioning SOLELY to bring her things, as she was insisting, would not have warranted her coming out of her room. it was the middle of the day. she could have said she needed water and left her cup by the door and i could have refilled it and brought it back.... but she didn’t. i was wearing two masks (a cloth one over a medial grade one) but was still wary about her being there--because I was making food. i told her to get out of the kitchen because she’d finished getting her water, but she said ‘just a minute!!’ and continued, not three feet away from me, trying to pick up one of the dogs and playing with her. i kept telling her to go back to her room but she was acting as though i was being rude and being completely unreasonable??? she takes every request we make for her to stay away from us as a personal attack, like we don’t want to see her or be around her, instead of us trying to protect ourselves from covid??

THEN the fun part is after all this, abe sets up an inflatable mattress in the office (which is :) right :) next :) to my room) because he decides he doesn’t want to sleep in the same room as mia (reasonable) despite having been occupying the same room as mia for hours (STUPID). so now abe is using the hall bathroom, which nick and i use/shower in/brush our teeth in. before, abe had been using mia’s bathroom off the bedroom, and, again, had been sleeping in there. so now, if abe DID catch it from mia, which is likely, at this point, he’d going to give it to nick and i.

nick and i were upset about this, and told mia last night that she needed to stay in her room. that was how people quarantined. that is how you quarantine. you do not leave your room for ANY reason, especially if you have 1. MULTIPLE PEOPLE CAPABLE AND WILLING TO BRING YOU FOOD AT ANY TIME OF DAY and 2. A BATHROOM THAT CONNECTS TO YOUR ROOM. she came out and started yelling at us about abe, though neither of us wanted to fight with her (and there was no reason to fight about something we were CLEARLY right about). she said ‘YOU CANT HAVE IT BOTH WAYS’ which meant that abe can’t not use the livingroom and the hall bathroom (which we were saying he shouldnt do) and that he can’t be in quarantine with mia (stay with her in her room) but the thing is.... BECAUSE he has spent so much time with her, and because they weren't wearing masks when they were outside and BECAUSE he spent hours playing video games in the room that my sister has been quarantined in for a whopping two days--he now shouldnt ALSO be using our bathroom, because now we can get sick. (and probably fucking will!!!!) she is having him now stay in the office and use our bathroom (GREAT) instead of just biting the bullet and staying with her because he ALREADY HAD BEEN staying with her

and now they are both in the kitchen :)! i can hear them from my room. great.

anyway here r some sketches that i never uploaded before cause theyre hideous but im putting here because i hope to fuck no one actually reads this/scrolls down this far

#captain's log #it does not compute to me #that you can just be this fucking stupid #i hate her #i am SO fucking mad at her about this i dont want to live here :)

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fruitsbasketlesbian · 6 years

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made of stone extra!

an alternate version of a scene from my fic made of stone, which is about the aftermath of lance being kidnapped + tortured + not being able to feel emotions/pain. so obvs read that first if u havent. otherwise, the initial returning home scene, written before i’d decided what the quintessence + brain cut stuff was rly responsible for, uhhhh, i hadnt planned out chapters, i didnt have the arcs sorted, uhh. so there r a lot of things different in this and if this scene was used it would be quite a bit later than it is in the actual fic. so there’s a bunch of stuff going on that isn’t happening in the fic lol. but uh enjoy!

When Lance comes home, it is raining. Big droplets too heavy for the clouds to contain, God’s tear falling on them to wash away their sin. Lance isn’t sure how he remembers this, but they exit Pidge’s invisible pod onto a square of grass that constitutes the Hernandez backgarden before the beach, and it is raining. Facing the beach, Lance can only take off his helmet to feel it on his skin, tilt his head back and let his hair get soaked, his skin drip with it. Something inside of him knows this is home; recognises this rain, the white sand before him, the endless waves of the horizon, and knows he is back where he belongs.

This ache, is stretches out in his chest, feels out all the emptiness within him and fills it up like sand in an hourglass. It is hard to breathe. This place is so full of remembering, of his entire life that he is no longer familiar with, memories parade before him, and it hurts, in a way nothing else has hurt since he was taken by the galra. It’s the smell of it, sea salt and spices from within the house, the soaking wet sand, the grass beneath them. Music emanating from somewhere within the town, rain hitting the road behind them, one of the paladins shifting from foot to foot. Everything is so real here. This is home. This is Cuba. This is where Lance grew up.

“Lance,” says Hunk, standing by his side. His helmet is off, too. “Do you want to go inside?”

“Right,” Lance murmurs, and turns away from this beach. It is- astronomically difficult. His heart tugs in his chest, tries to pull him back to the ocean, but Lance ignores it. There is a door to the house from the garden, painted cheery yellow. Lance goes up to it and knocks, but nothing happens. When he tries again, it is still silent, so he opens the door - they never lock this one - and goes inside.

Home. Louder and more vibrant than any of his dull memories could anticipate him for. He feels almost sick with it, dazzled and a little nauseous that he could forget all this, this big bright kitchen with stacks of herbs and spices on the wall, pots and pans and utensils, the half-tiled wall, the seats at the counter. A little further in, the huge round table with seats surrounding it, a bouquet of flowers in the centre. Further in, and there is a calendar pinned to a corkboard.

Two calendars. One opens on the month July, and every day up until the twenty-eighth is crossed out in a red pen. Scanning back, all the other months have red crosses through them. The second calendar, hanging closed, is scored through every day after March fifteenth.

“We’ve been gone a year and three months,” Hunk says, voice ghostly. “Lance, it’s your birthday. You’re nineteen.”

“Nineteen?” Lance repeats. “I thought I was older.”

“It’s a Sunday,” Hunk adds, pointing.

“They’ll be at Mass,” Lance deduces, running a hand over all the red crosses. “They counted how long I was gone.”

“They missed you,” Hunk says, and Lance glances at him, the hunch of his shoulders, the shine in his eyes.

So he looks round at all the others. Allura is examining everything with obvious wonder, wide-eyes and a hand stretched out as if to touch all she finds unfamiliar; Coran is in a similar position, although he keeps a close eye on Lance, and nods slightly when their eyes make contact; Shiro has his hands on the counter, a modern-day Atlas with slumped shoulders, eyes closed; Pidge’s lower lip trembles as they take in the room, come up to his and Hunk’s side to see the calendars; and Keith is frowning at everything, inspecting the hangings on the walls, the colour of the granite countertop, the small painting of the Virgin Mary by their dining table.

“We’ll have to wait until they get back,” Lance says, and spots a sunburst clock hanging near the door they came through. “A couple hours more. What should we do?”

“Let’s go see your room,” Hunk says. “Maybe someone should stay back in case they come home early.”

“We’ll stay,” Allura says instantly, looking to Shiro and Coran. “You go…see what you’d like to see. We’ll just wait here.”

“Okay,” Lance says, voice quiet. It is so unsettling to be back. The rain still sounds against the windows, the wave of the ocean a constant back and forth. Lance, operating on muscle memory alone, leads his friends from the kitchen down the hall, to the open sitting room, where Pidge huffs out a laugh.

“When we visited,” they say, “we used to end up on that couch every night watching your shitty TV shows.”

“They weren’t shitty,” Lance says on reflex, frowning as he peers closer at the rugged leather. “Real Housewives is iconic.”

“Real Housewives got old,” Pidge says, but their voice wavers as much as their lip, so Lance turns away and up the wooden stairs. At the top, he goes to turn right, only to face a wall.

“You’re on the second floor, Lance,” Hunk says, so they walk along and up the next set of stairs, and this time when Lance turns right, he is faced with a thin corridor with rooms branching off it. His room, he knows, is the third along on the right; it has about five different sets of those stupid signs with his name on it you get from shitty touristy shops. One is done in shells, one in obscenely coloured plastic. One, and only one, has the name Leandro on it.

There is a thin layer of dust over the door. When Lance opens it, the slight breeze runs over and takes some of the dust with it.

Everything is blue. The door is wood painted white like all the others, and his floor is a sandy natural wood, but the walls, the blankets, the half-opened bags on the ground, the few clothes hanging in his open wardrobe… Blue.

His window has a beautiful view. It’s the first thing he goes to, his big wide window that opens right out. The window below his has an awning; if he wanted, he could go right out the window, sit there, and watch the waves before him, the families on the beach even in the rain, the surfers taking on the big waves. The very distant horizon is blue, even though the current sky above them is dull grey. He can make out the faint line of Pidge’s invisible pod on the grass below him. No doubt within the hour it’ll turn visible again.

The breeze is soft and warm, sweeps through the open window and lifts up a layer of dust from his room. He has posters of space and TV shows and the garrison tacked to his walls, a rosary hanging above his bed, star charts cluttering his table. There’s a stuffed shark toy tucked into his bed. And, as he looks again to his desk, a corkboard covered in photos.

Hunk is already looking at them; they’re all looking at them, and Lance joins them, examines these memories made physical. Lance as a kid, messed up but grinning next to a bike. Lance, maybe ten, surrounded by his whole family, all brothers, all sisters, all grandparents. Lance beaming with a surfboard the height of him, Lance with a certificate saying he won some swimming competition, Lance arm-wrestling his youngest older sister.

Lance, the last time his family met for dinner before he went to the garrison. How old was he- fifteen, sixteen? His hair was a little long and curly, and his freckles much more obvious than they are now, and he’s in the centre of a booth his entire family are crushing into, what must be his parents on either side of him. Everyone is grinning, and happy; one brother has his arm round his papa’s shoulder to tug on Lance’s hair, and the smile on his face is one of indignant delight. He looks so happy he could cry.

Lance moves past the others to take the photo, unpinning it and holding it in his hands. On the desk, there is a small mirror which he picks up, examines himself in. The photo version of him is unharmed, with his ridiculous hair and his lean body. Lance is- looking in the mirror, he is so different. The undercut, the scars, the body, but- but that isn’t even the worst of it. It’s something else, something that cannot be reversed, the age in his face, the line of his lips, a hollowness cut deep into his eyes. Lance in the photo feels everything, and shows it. This Lance - the only Lance - doesn’t. His quintessence is gone, his brain cut into, he can’t feel anything, nothing touches him.

He is not he same as he once was. He is never, ever going to be that person again.

Hunk is crying over a different picture. One of him and Lance, arms wrapped around each other, in swim shorts and surfboards. Hunk has a necklace on and his orange ribbon tying his fringe out his face. Directly underneath that photo is an except replica, although Pidge is there, wearing baggy shorts and a t-shirt, in huge sunglasses and shiny with sun lotion, holding a paddling board and scowling.

“God,” Hunk says through tears. “I thought people were joking when they talked about getting sunburnt before I met you.”

Pidge snorts, leaning against Hunk once more as they point out a different photo. “Look, that’s the selfie you took of us the first time our team was announced. God, we look like idiots. How did you get it here? Did you print it out over the holidays?”

Lance only shrugs. “I don’t know,” he says, and Pidge’s tiny smile slips off their face.

“Right,” they mumble. “Keith, you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Keith says, but his voice is quiet, an echo of what it is usually. When Lance looks at him, he realises Keith must’ve been watching him the whole time. The emotions in his eyes combined into something too intense for Lance to figure out, but he looks sad, the way he worries his hands together, the slight tilt of his brow, how he doesn’t even look away. “Are you?”

Lance shrugs. “That’s someone else,” he says, looking one last time at the photo of him and his family before pinning it back in its place. “Not me.”

A pause, then Hunk stiffens. “I’m going downstairs,” he says.

“Me too,” Pidge says immediately, and they take off out the room, leaving Keith and Lance, lost, before his wall of memories.

“You look so different,” Keith murmurs, and Lance nods, turns away. His room is- too much him, too shrouded in what he used to be. He will choke on it if he doesn’t leave; he also doesn’t want to go downstairs.

He returns to the window, and sits on the awning outside. When he calls, Keith joins him, carefully, but Lance wraps his arm round his waist and tugs him close, and he stills, sighs, rests his head on Lance’s shoulder.

How strange things have gotten between them. It had taken effort to keep his hands off Keith for the past half-hour. More effort than usual; he didn’t want Keith because he wanted Keith, he needed his touch because he needed some form of assurance, some way of grounding himself in this world he once inhabited. Keith is mostly unaffected by their return to Earth; Lance feels desperately off-tilt.

He doesn’t like feeling this way. Keith’s eyes dance with the waves in the distance, but Lance takes his chin in his free hand and kisses him, and keeps kissing until Keith melts properly against him. Like this, the world condenses into a tiny sphere around all the places Keith and Lance are touching. Lips, face, hands, waists. Keith rests a hand on Lance’s shoulder and the other on his knee, braces himself and balances on the awning.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Keith asks, and Lance rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he says, and keeps kissing him, tugs him as close as their armour will allow.

“Lance, I’m serious,” Keith says, pulling away, eyes steel. “Being back here, it must be difficult- Lance- don’t change the- Lance-”

The undersuit is tight round Keith’s neck, but his jaw is unprotected, the softness just beneath it, the lobes of his ears, so Lance distracts him in every way he knows how, sucks and bites until Keith is red-faced and sighing, voice catching, whispering Lance’s name. Lance pulls him into slow, messy kisses till his lip shines red and glossy, and even when they hear chatter approaching the front door, the spike in voices as the others are discovered, they do not move.

“Lance-” Keith says, but Lance shakes his head.

“Let’s wait,” he murmurs, wait until someone explains everything, until the voices have calmed down, until someone tells his family that Lance can’t really remember them. “Keep me calm,” he asks, keeps his eyes serious and open on Keith’s, so that he nods, so that he agrees.

“Okay,” he says, and no longer protests any of the kisses.

And Keith does keep him calm. Their world is so small and easy to manoeuvre, and Keith looks the same and smells the same and tastes the same as always, makes it easier to block out the sea wind and the rain still falling steadily upon them. Lance isn’t sure he wants to face these people he once called family. He’s not sure they’ll want to face him. Not like this.

But they have to eventually. Hunk finds them, maybe an hour after his family had initially returned home, and makes a strange noise when he sees them out on the awning, still making out. Lance still has an arm on Keith’s waist, the other hand now on his thigh, and Keith’s hands are both tight on Lance’s shoulders, though they loosen instantly when Hunk says, “You guys serious?”

“Hunk!” Keith says, scrabbling away. Lance frowns, and lets go, Keith twisting and sliding through the window back to his room, and Lance pausing till there’s room for him to do the same. “We were just, uh, we were- we were-”

“You’ve got a hickey,” Hunk says, pointing to the underside of Keith’s jaw, “right there.”

Keith flushes red; Lance smirks.

“Seriously, Lance,” Hunk says, turning a stern gaze on him. “Your family are waiting for you. I told them- I told them everything. I’m not sure they’ll believe me, but I asked them to give you space. That you’re not the same as you were.”

“You should’ve been honest,” Lance mutters, tugging on Keith’s hand so he’ll follow along with them. “Told them I’d forgotten them.”

“You haven’t,” Hunk says, trying so hard not to sound devastated. “You just need a bit of prompting to remember.”

“I stared at a wall full of photos of me and didn’t remember anything. How will this be any different?”

“Because they’re living, breathing people,” Hunk says, sighs as they turn down the final staircase. “Just- please be sensitive.”

“Sensitive,” Lance mutters derisively. “Yeah, I’ll sensitively tell them I’m not their son anymore.”

“Lance,” Hunk says, and shakes his head. Lance pauses, his heart thundering more and more furiously as they make their way along to the kitchen. He doesn’t want to be nervous, he doesn’t like being scared, and despite what he insists to Hunk, he does care. He can’t help but bristle about remembering things, because what if he doesn’t? It’s stupid to entertain the thought.

“For luck?” he says to Keith, squeezing tightly to his hand. Maybe Keith can see the nerves in him; maybe he feels the pulsing of Lance’s heart in his fingers; he nods, leans his head back to receive Lance’s kiss, swift and intense and bruising, before Lance has to pull back, breathing deeply.

“You’ll be fine,” Keith says, and Lance only shakes his head, and lets go.

And he will be. It’s just hard to believe that as Hunk leads them through to the kitchen, pausing again to drag Keith in front of Lance, and then the three of them are standing before Lance’s family.

His whole family. They’re all here. His parents, sitting at the table, with his grandparents, all his siblings, even his niece and nephew in the laps of a brother and sister. Lance finds himself staring with wide eyes at these people who all look just a bit like him. That stick figure drawing he did of them all in his head so long ago is now so ripped up, burnt to ash and never repaired, that Lance can’t even match names to faces anymore. The elders with white hair are obviously his grandparents; the next ones along, with lines in their faces and tears in his eyes, are his parents; everyone between that and the two children in laps must be his siblings.

“Leandro,” his mama gasps out, and makes to stand, but Hunk shakes his head.

“This is Keith,” Hunk says, grabbing Keith and pushing him towards the table. “I mentioned him. He’s the Red Paladin. He was keeping Lance…company as we waited.”

Hunk’s eyes flick to him as he says company, but he makes no mention to what they were doing, and Keith says a nervous hello and shakes some hands and, glancing at Lance, hurries over to Shiro’s side.

“So, Lance was the Blue Paladin when we found Voltron,” Hunk says, presumably a sister murmuring a translation. “His was the first lion we found. And then…like I said, things got crazy. And Lance was…taken. And this is- this is- Lance-”

Lance nods. “I’m Lance,” he says, and something in his voice makes one of his sisters recoil, a brother frown. The youngest-looking sister is tracing a finger over her lips, eyes stuck on Lance’s scar. “I don’t know what Hunk told you, but I don’t remember you much. Your names, or…anything.”

The oldest sister starts crying. His parents have been in tears this whole time, but his admission makes it worse.

“I was…electrocuted a lot,” Lance says, frowning. “I- it’s not like I had a choice.”

His grandparents are frowning.

“They don’t all know English, dude,” Hunk murmurs beside him. “Not like you do.”

“Oh,” Lance says, and resets his track; repeats all he just said, but in Spanish, and his grandmother makes an awful noise at electrocuted, his grandfather’s hands turn into white fists. In Spanish, he continues, “Maybe if you just…introduced yourselves, or…”

Most of the family nod, evidently shaken, but one of the kids - his niece asks, “Why?”

Eyes widening, Lance looks at her, her young, innocent eyes, untouched by the horrors of all that Lance has seen; and it hits him, suddenly, that he was a child like that too, that he once was as pure as her, and now he stands before them, tainted beyond belief- how could he have done this to them? He should’ve stayed in space; he should’ve let them think he was dead, instead of this.

He turns to Hunk and says, “I can’t do this.”

“Lance-”

“No, I won’t do it. They’re kids- they won’t understand- they don’t know- everything that’s happened-”

“Lance,” but this time it’s Keith, stepping forward till he’s beside Hunk. “You’re already here. You have to.”

“And say what? How do I tell a kid I don’t know who they are because I was fucking shocked a dozen times? That I don’t even know how many times it happened? That twice it came from my god damn legs- did you mention my legs?”

“I… Yeah. Briefly,” Hunk mumbles. “They didn’t take it well. I told them you could still swim, but…”

“Maybe we should get Pidge’s set up down here,” Lance says, and scoffs. “How many vids did you guys find? Hundreds? That’ll make the point better than I could.”

“We’re not showing your family videos of you getting tortured!” Hunk hisses, but loud enough that one of his sisters still hears it, and gasps.

“There are videos?” she asks, her voice heavy with accent. “How are there videos?”

In Spanish, Lance says, “Yeah, there are fucking videos. I don’t know why they took them. Fucking embarrassing, though.”

“Don’t fucking swear,” she replies, but lacking violence, eyes still wide.

“Lance, please,” Hunk says.

“No,” he replies. “I don’t deserve to- they- how could they possibly understand? Why would they still want anything to do with me?”

“Lance, they’re your family,” Keith says, pressing a hand to his shoulder. Behind them, someone - Shiro, Allura? - takes a sudden, shocked breath. “And they’ve been missing you for over a year. Just…sit down, explain to them. They’ll decide when it’s too much for the kids. But they deserve to hear from you what the hell happened.”

“I don’t even know what the hell happened, Keith!” Lance replies, digging his nails into the palms of his hands to prevent himself from grabbing onto Keith’s in front of everyone.

“Then tell them that!”

But what if it’s difficult? What if he can’t find the words for it? Lance searches Keith’s face, but all he sees is: we came all the way down here for you. We’re putting everyone here in unnecessary danger for you.

He has to do it.

“Okay,” Lance says, “okay.” Steely grey eyes and a set mouth, still a little bruised from making out, and Lance can even make out a couple bruises he made earlier, and he almost smiles as he nods, rests his hand over Keith’s for a half-second, then moves toward his family.

There is one seat left empty. Lance takes it and glances round one last time at the others; waiting in the kitchen, hopped up on the counter or leaning against it. Shiro is whispering something in Keith’s ear, Allura’s brows raised as she stares imploringly at him.

His family are still waiting for answers. His niece and nephew look confused, but Lance trusts these…strangers to know when it is enough for them.

He takes a deep breath, sets his gaze on his fists upon the table, and in Spanish, starts explaining: “I’m not your son,” he says, “I’m not your brother.” One of his brothers, the lankier one, nods his head, eyes fiery as if he hadn’t believed Lance could be his brother from the start. “Seven months ago he was taken by the galra and died there. I had to kill whoever I used to be in order to survive. Nothing else mattered but survival, and fighting. Whoever you knew was pathetic, incapable of that. But I’m not. I don’t remember you, I don’t know the others. I don’t know what happened to me other than what I’ve been told. I don’t feel anything. Not physically, not mentally.” Lance shrugs. Every time he begins to feel fear or exhaustion or hope it is a fire doused so quickly by the druids’ whispers in his head that it barely becomes a flame. How does he explain that? “And I have to fight. If I don’t fight I lose my temper. And when I fight solo I forget where I am. Nothing else is very important. I still go on missions with the others. I snipe sometimes, but usually I’m where the fighting is thickest. Nothing actually hurts now except pure ethanol on open wounds. My quintessence has been fucked up, and we’ve found a planet that might fix it, but we don’t know what that’ll do…and they also want to heal the incision in my brain, but they don’t know if it’s possible. The only reason I’m here is because I got shocked by the druids again and my memory’s even worse. They think seeing you in the flesh might help, but I…disagree.”

He leans back and shrugs. The faces around him all reflect differing amounts of the same things: horror, disbelief, anger, sadness. Fear.

“You should be afraid of me,” he says to the most terrified one there; the youngest of the sisters, can’t be much older than him. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.”

“…Solana,” says his mother eventually. “Put the children to bed.”

“It’s midday, mamá,” the oldest sister says, arms wrapped protectively round one of her own children.

“Take them outside! Take them to their friends! They cannot hear this… This…” She shakes her head, can’t meet Lance’s eyes. Nor can Solana; she stands, and the bulkier brother also, and take the children outside, across the street. “Leandro…”

“Don’t call me that,” Lance snaps, and she turns large, frightened eyes onto him. “I don’t want to be called that. Not like this.”

Tears gather in her eyes, his father takes her hand in both of his, but she takes a breath and says, “Lance…I don’t think I understand. You were kidnapped by these- these aliens. The galra?”

“Yup.”

“For…five months, Hunk said.”

“Mmhm.”

“And they t-tortured you. Experimented on you.”

“Electrocuted me, burnt me, whipped me, put me in a gladiator arena, cut my legs off, the list really does go on. They took videos, sometimes. Pidge has them all stored on their set-up in the castle. I’m sure we could bring it down if you want to see.”

Her eyes grow impossibly rounder. “Videos?”

“It was a sick joke. I wasn’t allowed to see them.” Even though they can’t understand a word he’s saying, he can’t help a dirty look at his friends, who all seem worried, lips bitten, hands steepled, feet tapping.

“I…I want to see them,” says his mother, and Lance raises his brows. His father tries to speak, but she says, “No. I want to see with my own eyes…what happened to my baby boy. My Leandro.” Lance shakes his head, and she closes her eyes, shakes her head. “Tell your friends, Lance. As fast as possible.”

So Lance turns to Pidge and, in English, says, “She wants the videos.”

“She- you told them about them?!”

“Why not.”

“Oh, for-” Pidge shakes their head. “Yeah, fucking fine, Lance. I’ll go back to the castle and get my fucking set-up just to watch your family sob over you getting tortured?”

“She asked, dude.”

“Because you mentioned it!”

“I want to see,” his mother says in hesitant English, and Pidge stops. “I want to see my son. What happened.”

And Pidge can’t refuse that, so they and Coran disappear out to the garden and disappear as they enter the pod.

Then there is silence. Solana and his brother return and sit, quietly inform the family that the children are with friends, and then, slowly, Solana starts weeping. All sisters, in fact. His mother, his father. His biggest brother.

Only one brother doesn’t grieve, sits with his face set in a cold grimace, eyes narrowed at Lance.

Lance doesn’t care for it. He hates this…awkward, uncertain energy in the room, and he hates waiting. In the pod, it’ll take Pidge and Coran a good half-hour to return to the ship, let alone unplug the set up, carry it to the pod, and come back down. Standing, Lance turns to Keith and says, “Let’s fight.”

“Lance,” Keith says, arms crossed. “This is not the time.”

“I don’t care. I have to fight.”

Lowering his voice, Keith hisses, “We fought last night.”

“Well, I’m not having a great fucking day right now. I need to //fight//.”

Keith bites his lips, stares long and hard at Lance, then raises a brow at Shiro. “He wants to fight,” he says, and Shiro sighs.

“In front of his family?” he asks, looks at Lance only for a second before turning away. “Allura, why don’t us three take on Lance in the backgarden… Hunk, if you could stay with his family-”

“Of course,” says Hunk, goes now to take the seat Lance had vacated and immediately filling them in, the same sister as before translating under him.

“Let’s go,” Keith mutters, and goes to the backdoor. “Hand-to-hand only.”

Lance nods, and the four of them leave the house into the spacious Hernandez backgarden. Enough room for a good fight, Lance thinks, looking around and taking in the space. Some shrubbery round the edges, a grill, a table and chairs. He tries to make a note to himself not to use them as weapons, but he can’t trust himself. The him that begins a fight with Keith and the him he turns into do not care for the same things, don’t hold the same goals. If the Lance he becomes thinks he’ll need to whack a chair over his opponent to survive, then god knows he’ll probably end up doing that.

“No promises, though,” Lance says, and Keith just nods. One last look shows faces at the window; Allura and Shiro stand outside the doors, watching, but his family gaze at him from their round table, no doubt judging him, the way he takes up his stance against Keith, how readily Keith does the same.

It starts as it always does; easily. A joke, almost. In their time fighting, Keith has certainly learnt a lot, but he’s still not good enough. Lance handles him, Lance plays with him, he blocks and hits and he traps Keith, grinning, and sometimes Keith will laugh before rolling out the way of a hit, sometimes too slow, sometimes going exactly where Lance wants him to go. It starts as it always does; as fun.

But there’s always a trigger point. Keith manages to get him, good, high-kicks his chest and hones in as Lance takes a startled, rattling breath, and it’s all Lance needs. There is no Keith, no friend, no paladin, just another opponent in the ring to kill for victory. The skies may be open in Cuba, but in a galra ship the roof is sealed shut, the area, no matter how expansive, feels claustrophobic with all the black and dark purple. The heat in the air from a thousands-strong crowd causes sweat to trickle down his neck, the weight of their gaze so heavy on his back.

Lance fights back. No room for jokes or silliness now; battle is vicious, battle is horror. How long must Lance do this? Fight for his life day in, day out? Sometimes he loves it, the thrill of the kill, of thousands cheering for his glory. Sometimes he loathes it. Sometimes he is sick of it.

And sometimes, with an opponent like this, he is bored. The opponent isn’t bad, just…nothing special.

Lance closes a hand round their neck, and suddenly, they surge forward till a pair of lips are against his.

Soft, warm… Lance’s eyes close against his will; his free hand wraps round the waist to tug them closer to him, till their chest armour bash against each other, and Lance pulls away and sees Keith.

“Keith,” he says quietly, and Keith nods, eyes wide and silvery beneath messy strands of hair down his forehead.

Lance’s hand is still round his neck. He drops it instantly, wonders if there’ll be bruises. The undersuit covers whatever mark Lance might’ve already made.

“That was good,” Keith says. “Maybe twenty minutes till you forgot?”

“Huh,” Lance says, and leans in again, forgetting the rest of the world around him. Keith reciprocates for a moment, ever-yielding, but he pulls away.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Keith says. “Your family are watching.”

So they are. Faces at the window, open-mouthed, wide-eyed. Shiro has taken a few steps forward, hand out, but as they make eye contact he moves back to Allura, whose hands are clenched together as she stares. Lance can’t care for it. His hunger is unsated. “Let’s go again.”

They go again. Three more bouts till Allura calls them away from the garden so Pidge and Coran can land, three times Lance forgets Keith, three times Lance kisses him, then tries to kiss him again. He wonders, absently, what his family must think.

For a moment, then doesn’t care.

As Pidge and Coran land, Lance returns back inside, grabs a couple of glasses from the cupboards and pours himself and Keith some water. It may be raining, but it’s still hot; Keith accepts it gladly, gulping at least half of it down in one go, and Lance smiles, stares at the elongation of Keith’s neck.

“What was that,” asks the youngest older sister, and Lance tears his eyes from Keith to look at her. Her fists are clenched, her mouth tight. Her eyes betray her fear.

“I told you I have to fight,” Lance says, sipping more water. “So Keith and I fight. Whenever I fight someone else, unless it’s a large group, I think I’m back in the arena again, and that whoever I’m fighting is an opponent I have to kill, otherwise I’ll be punished. Keith figured out that kissing me brings me back from…whatever it is.”

“Did he,” she says, turning scrutinising eyes on Keith, who’s gone still during this conversation, frowning with confusion, taking small, hesitant sips of his water. “And what would prompt him to do that?”

“He’s in love with me,” he says, “or the old me, at least.”

Her eyes are wide. “So why- why would you go along with it, knowing that?”

“Cute, isn’t he?” he asks. “And fun.”

“…You’re right,” she says quietly, horrified. “I don’t know you. I don’t know you. You’re not my brother. You’re not Leandro Hernandez.”

“I know that,” Lance says, drinks his water. “I told you that. He is dead. And look - Pidge’s bringing in their set-up now. You’ll get to see him dying, one fun-filled video at a time.”

Her facade breaks, eyes fill with tears, and she flees back to the family, who have gathered once more around the table, where Pidge is setting up their computer.

“What did you say to her?” Keith asks quietly, glancing over.

“Nothing I hadn’t already said,” Lance says. “Do you want to watch this, or do you want to change?”

“Change,” Keith says, and now that Lance is looking, he realises Keith’s cheeks are red, his skin dotted with sweat. “Do you know where to go?”

Lance shrugs. “We’re gonna change,” he says to the paladins, repeats himself in Spanish, and no one stops them as they climb the two flights of stairs and Lance shows Keith to the bathroom there, gives him a towel and points out the shampoo and shower gel, and returns to his room.

It’s dusty, cardboard boxes sitting in the middle of the room, and Lance kicks them over to the sides and takes off his armour, piece by piece, laying it out to dry by his open window. Then he removes his undersuit, hangs it over his half-open door, and starts going through the boxes. Clothes in one pile, anything else in another. He holds up endless shirts, vests, t-shirts to himself, but nothing fits, and he wanders a few rooms till he finds his biggest brother’s, and grabs a black vest from him and a pair of dark jeans, and drops them onto his bed to put on when Keith’s done.

Every so often, sounds of shock and horror from downstairs burst up to Lance’s room; gasps, shrieks, dios mio, cries for god. Sobbing, so much sobbing. Soothing voices, rational voices. Sad voices.

When Keith returns, his hair is wet, a towel wrapped round his waist. He looks so good, all tan skin stretched over a solid, compact body, marked only by a few bruises, the biggest of all a variety of mottled handprints round his neck.

Lance can only wince. “Clothes are all there,” he says, pointing to the wardrobe and then the clothes on the bed. “That’s all mine. I won’t be long.”

And he isn’t. Scrubs through his hair, washes the sweat and rain from his body, dries himself off and wanders into his room, where Keith is wearing his clothes and staring at a wall of old photos. He looks good, Lance thinks offhandedly, wearing a soft grey shirt that swoops just beneath his collar bones and high-waisted navy jeans, both items just a bit too big, too soft.

Lance refuses to look at the photos, waits for Keith to turn and get his gaze stuck on Lance’s body, as always. Lance grins as Keith’s eyes drop to his shoulders, his abs, lower, still.

“Something to say, Keith?” Lance teases, and Keith goes red and turns back to the photos.

“Shut up, Lance,” he says, and doesn’t look around again as Lance changes into tight jeans and dark vest.

“Come on, babe,” Lance says, grinning still as Keith rolls his eyes, wrapping his arm round Keith’s waist and pulling him in close. “Why stare at a photo when you’ve got the real thing right here?”

He manages a single peck before Keith pulls away, trying to bite down a smile. “Your family are downstairs, Lance. Watching you get tortured!”

“Perfect,” he says. “There are a lot of videos. They probably won’t check on us for hours…”

He gets a little farther this time, Keith tangled a hand round Lance’s neck and letting out a sigh when Lance’s lips brush his throat, then he pulls away again.

“This is beyond inappropriate. Also, I’m hungry. Downstairs, they have food, unlike up here with you.”

“I dunno,” Lance drawls, slipping his other hand low on Keith’s hip. “I’ve got a pretty good sausage right here.”

“Oh, shut up,” Keith says, throwing his head back laughing, and Lance can only watch, caught by the soft lines of his throat, hidden only by a light, growing purple in the shape of Lance’s hand four times on his neck. Still, Keith smiles. He laughs. Lets Lance be so close to him, kisses him, again and again. Still, Keith is in love with him.

And Lance thinks he might have some form of attachment to Keith, too.

So he kisses him, hard and fast to forget his worries, doesn’t stop till both Keith’s arms are coiled round his neck and Keith’s back is against a wall, till Lance can reach down and hitch a leg up round his waist, Keith’s gasping, pulling him in tighter. Lance kisses the handprints, relays his apologies with every press of his lips and hope Keith’s understands. He cannot say the words. They’re stuck somewhere in his ribs, where every feeling lives, every lurch of love trying to escape for his family, the deep well of shame for how he treats Keith.

And this something else, this attachment. Lance knows not what to call it.

They’re interrupted within five minutes; one of the brothers, the younger one, passing by the open door and stopping short, hissing, “My god,” out and startling Keith so hard he hits his head against the wall.

“Oh, baby,” Lance crows as Keith flushes and rubs at the back of his head, yanking his leg against Lance’s hand till he drops it.

“Sup, brother,” Lance says. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t call me brother, stranger,” the brother says. “I’m Alberto. I loved Lance. I don’t know who you are now. Or this- boy,” he says, eyes catching briefly on the bruises on Keith’s throat before he gestures dismissively at him, who pulls his arms from Lance’s neck and crosses them tight over his chest.

“Don’t fucking speak about him like that,” Lance says, his cheer dropping, and Alberto recoils, genuine fear flashing in his eyes. “How are the videos, Berty? Is it fun, watching the galra torture every bit of humanity out of me? Do you understand now, who I am?”

“I don’t,” he bites out. “We haven’t finished. We’re having a nice lunch break, so you should probably go downstairs and do something useful.”

“I can’t wait,” Lance says slowly, “for you to finish watching those videos in a few hours and realise exactly why I am like this. For you to see how many ways they hurt me until I could no longer feel pain. Every cut into me, every burn. Perhaps you will regret your words then.” Alberto takes another step back, and Lance presses closer, turns so his left arm is on display. “You see this? It’s the galra language, I don’t know what it says. And this, they sliced down my arm for fun. This, too.” He points to the circular scar round his neck. “I live with this forever. You will watch those videos, and eventually, you will forget. I have forgotten too, but I still live with everything they did to me.”

Wide eyes and an open mouth, fear fluttering in every breath Alberto takes.

“And you will learn,” Lance says finally, “that I am only useful when I am killing, and I am very fucking good at that, Berty.”

“You’re fucking insane,” says Alberto, and he scurries off towards the bathroom.

This sets Lance’s veins aflame. “Am I?” he demands, striding after him. “Am I fucking insane?! Don’t you fucking think I should be?! Don’t I get that fucking right to be fucking insane after five fucking months of fucking torture?!”

The door slams in his face, and Lance goes to kick it in, but Keith’s there, grabbing his arm, yanking him away. “Lance,” he says sharply, and Lance hisses out a breath but falls in line, relaxing as Keith reaches a hand up to Lance’s hair and brushes through it, passing the door and taking them downstairs. “Shh, Lance. He doesn’t understand.”

“Damn right he doesn’t understand,” Lance mutters, but Keith is soft, solid, and Lance turns and kisses him again as they continue down the stairs, smiles as Keith’s hand settles back on his neck. Lance wraps an arm round his waist, feels that blinding rage inside him still as it’s replaced with the firm comfort of Keith in his arms, at his side.

“It’s okay,” Keith soothes.

“He said I was fucking insane,” Lance mutters as they reach the ground floor, movement bursting beyond the door to the kitchen. “Like I didn’t have the right. He doesn’t- aren’t they watching the videos? Why doesn’t he understand?”

“His brother went missing almost two years, Lance,” Keith points out quietly, holting them before the half-open door. “And you know you’re a thousand times different from who you were. Even from before Voltron, from before the garrison. That’s the last version of you he met. He didn’t meet paladin Lance or sharpshooter Lance, he only knows the Lance who wanted to go the garrison and be a pilot. And now look at you.”

“Yeah,” Lance mutters, “look at me. I kill, and I fight, and I hurt people. What the fuck kind of person am I now.”

“That’s not all you do,” Keith says, using the hand on Lance’s neck to bring him down, going on his tiptoes to kiss Lance again. “You still make jokes,” he says. “Even when we’re fighting, when you know it’s me, you make jokes. And you kiss me. You like me.”

“I do,” Lance murmurs, kissing back. “And I am pretty funny, huh? I think the sausage joke was a good one-”

“Stop,” Keith groans, but he’s smiling, and Lance kisses his throat, a thank you, this time, pure gratitude.

“I got some sausage,” Lance says, grinning, “right here-”

“Stop,” Keith says, but it keeps him laughing, smiling and resplendent and the only god damn person Lance can rely on in this strange, familiar-unfamiliar world. Lance can only kiss him, thank you thank you thank you, feel that smile against him and take some shelter in the light it sheds upon him.

“Boys,” comes a voice, and when Lance disengages, his father stands in the doorway, stern and concerned at once. His eyes catch, once, twice, on the bruises on Keith’s neck; and when he look at Lance, it is with a strange, confused kind of horror. “We’re making lunch. Come in.”

He opens the door fully, and Keith looks questioningly at Lance, but Lance just brings him inside, into this wild, cluttered world Lance so easily used to inhabit. His mother, Hunk, and the other brother are all buzzing around the kitchen, grabbing ingredients, tossing them into the oven or in a pan as they see fit, and Allura and Coran are perched on the stools to the side, watching wide-eyed. The sister Lance spoke with is fetching glasses and pouring drinks; the sister who’d been translating for Hunk is setting the table, Shiro awkwardly trying to help. Pidge’s computer has been dumped on the ground near the back door, and Lance finds himself wandering over, opening up the screen to check the last video they were all watching.

He sticks a hand up and says, “Earphones?” and within seconds someone flings a pair into his waiting hand, so he plugs them in and gives a bud to Keith so they can listen without disturbing the others.

It’s bad. He’s back on the table again, with significantly fewer scars than before. They’re clearly still early on; Lance is shirtless and in tears, scars on his cheek, nothing round his neck.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands, but his voice is rough, like the inside of his throat has been scratched out. A druid stands beside him, a hand over his chest, pulling quintessence from him.

“Silence,” she says, and Lance’s mouth shuts instantly, another druid coming to his side with a jar to take his quintessence. It’s big, and after only a minute or so is it full, and the druid pulling stops. Lance’s skin is now grey, his eyes fluttering.

“What the hell,” he says again, but his voice is a ghost of itself.

“Try it now,” says a druid, and another one appears, stabs something into his neck. He screams, his body seizes up, his arms and legs jerk against their restraints but fail to come free. One druid laughs, another is taking notes. Lance’s eyes, when they open, have dilated down to nothing, wide and unseeing, mouth slack.

And then they cut into him. His arm, in fact, the right one. A slice down his shoulder, they pour something on it, ethanol probably, and Lance starts screaming again, won’t stop despite the druids whispering silence at him.

Another slice a little further down his arm, more ethanol. They go down and down and the Lance on screen gives up screaming, starts murmuring, mangled Spanish with mamá entwined between it, pleas for her love, pleas for his own death.

“Fucking hell,” Keith mutters as the video ends and they take out the earphones, dropping them on a kitchen counter. “Lance, that’s…” His eyes fall to those very scars on Lance’s right arm, traces the curving lines down and down. “That’s real,” he says. “That happened.”

“I don’t remember it now,” Lance says, trying to be assuring, but Keith’s eyes are conflicted when they meet Lance’s. “I mean…it’s done now. Who cares?”

“I care,” Keith says, tightening a hand over the scars. “Even if you can’t remember now, you were obviously in agony back then. You were calling for your mother.”

Lance glances at her, bustling in the kitchen. Every few seconds, she looks over at him, continues her job. “Yeah,” he says. “I know.”

“…I can’t believe they’re watching this.”

“She insisted.”

–

aaaaand i never finished it bc i realised the return home scene was actually going to be a lot earlier than i initially planned. so yeah. this is self-indulgent as hell as u might realise. and obvs there r things i wrote like 2 months ago that ended up in the actual chap. but yeah haha i think initially when i wrote this scene lance actually had already had his quintessence rebalanced, and they went to earth bc it seemed like nothing had changed, and then i edited it to fit the current storyline with the druids zapping his memory away, then i scrapped it altogether bc i wanted it to be keith’s pov. so even tho this is edited there r some bits that still reflect the alternate plot that lance had his quintessence back.

uh so thats the tea on that. peace. rb my chap posts and send me comments byeeeeee

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flowerconcept-blog · 7 years

Text

soulmate!wonwoo

in this au everyone has their soulmate’s name tattooed on their skin somewhere

as a little kid you always dreamed of meeting your soulmate jeon wonwoo and wondered what he was like, but slowly over the years u started thinking less and less about him and more and more about music

you really really loved music and wanted to be able to follow your passion and so you audition to train under *jyp whisper* jyp entertainment. and u get in!!!!good job!!!

and idols……. well they are sometimes allowed to date but agencies are very very careful about soulmate marks because in the earlier years of kpop there were a bunch of scandals where saesang fans would pretend to be idols’ soulmates and it was in general super creepy and bad

despite all that, you don’t really have much time to think about jeon wonwoo anymore between vocal training and dance training and school, but every once in awhile you touch the hangul of your tattoo on your collarbone and hope that maybe he can feel it

because as busy as you are you still dream about him

and sometimes you feel regret for choosing to be an idol over finding your soulmate, but you hope that he wouldn’t want you to sacrifice your dreams for him, because you know you would be upset if he sacrificed his dreams for you!!!!

meanwhile, wonwoo is pretty much in the same place except while you are still a trainee he has already debuted!! wow!!!! and wonwoo is…….. well he’s wonwoo. he acts all moody a lot of the time but in reality he really wants to meet his soulmate and is a big mushy kid inside

you don’t actually pay a lot of attention to other idol groups beyond listening to their music and sometimes watching their stages, so u have no idea there is a jeon wonwoo in seventeen despite liking their songs

so you debut, and things are going well and people love ur group and ur members and you’re a new ~ ~~super rookie~ ~~ group

but one day you’re doing an outdoors concert and it starts to rain and the makeup covering your soulmark washes away

you don’t even realize it until you’re offstage and one of your members points it out, but your staff is just like. okay. it’s okay, we’ll up security but there haven’t been any saesang threats yet so things should be okay

but THEN one of ur stylists is like. wait. jeon wonwoo…… as in seventeen’s jeon wonwoo? and you’re like …. ? ? ? ? ? ????what????? ? /?

everyone freaks out

ur members are like “HOW did you not REALIZE ,, ,,, havent u ever GOOGLED your soulmate” and “how did WE not realize??????///???????????” and ur managers are like “how did we MISS this……”

and you’re just sitting in the middle of your dressing room shellshocked, with everyone around u freaking out

because in all of your dreams about your soulmate, you never ever ever ever imagined he would be an idol, and especially not one in a popular group like seventeen

needless to say, dispatch gets their hands on a picture of you and your soulmark and within two hours there is a headline that’s like: Y/N OF JYP SOULMATES WITH SEVENTEEN JEON WONWOO????? and knetizens flip out

jyp has never encountered a scandal like this before, and it’s your first scandal but even though it really isn’t your fault you’re getting a lot of hate and people are accusing you of faking the soulmark and even some threats. and you’re just holed up at the agency trying to distract yourself with music

the accusations of jyp faking your soulmark for publicity is especially upsetting because your whole life you’ve waited to meet your soulmate in a happy way, but instead you learned who he was like this and you can’t imagine what he must think of you and you’re worried he won’t want anything to do with you after all the scandal

of course wonwoo is told about the dispatch article pretty much as soon as it comes out and he’s absolutely floored. all of the members are like “? ?!!!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!!”

and wonwoo is like……… y/n……. is my soulmate…………?the cute rookie that jeonghan won’t stop talking about……? and then he’s like. but they’re so beautiful………….. and u have a stage name so for a moment he’s like no, that’s wrong

but jeonghan goes listen up, i Researched Them the Second This Article Came Out and Their Birth Name is the Same as Your Soulmark. So

and wonwoo is floored part 2

so anyways pledis is also trying to figure out what to do and seventeen’s managers get in touch with your managers and are like, ,, , hey. what should we do ……..?

and after a lil while they’re just like., okay let’s just let them meet and decide what they want to do because there doesn’t really seem to be a better option

and his members are all like “u should dress up!!!!!!!” and wonwoo is like, no mingyu get that DAMN hair product away from me don’t come CLOSE soonyoung…. im wearing this fricki

and u keep telling urself: this is NOT a date. but as much as u are thinking that u can’t help how fast your heart is beating and you’re like …. do not let him realize u have been watching fancams of him for the last 3 days straight…. do not tell him u have listened to his part in don’t wanna cry 27 times in a row…… …. just…… be cool………….

but then he walks into the room and u see him in person for the first time and your heart STOPS you swear and ur like….. how is he……… soooooo handsome…………. but what u don’t know is he is also like ;( wow they’re so cute ;(

and even though u never really remembered what your soulmate looked like in your dreams now that you’re in the same room it really feels like you’ve been together before, somewhere

that first meeting is a lil awkward because neither of you are particularly extroverted people(and ur managers are like. right there……) but you talk about each other’s music because that’s an easy subject and time passes so easily which is rare for both of you with strangers and you exchange numbers, and then at the end when you have to go you feel this tug in your heart

and you bow to him and ur like “i’m sorry we had to meet this way” and wonwoo looks u straight in the eyes and says “no matter how we met, i’m happy that we did”

once he’s in the car he’s like what the heck wonwoo that was so GROSS…… but you blush all the way to your dance practice

that night he texts u “can we see each other again?” and all your members SCREAM when they see his name on ur phone and ur like SHUSH!!!!!i’ve got to be COOL!!!!!!! but at the same time you’re not upset anymore because you met your soulmate and it feels right

you meet again one late night once the scandal has mostly gone away and go a little cafe near your dorm and talk about your favorite books and your childhood and it’s so easy and natural to be with him and at the end he walks you home and asks if he can kiss you

ur like,,,, ,, , fuck being cool PLEASE kiss me,,….. , .,….. i have waited my entire life for this

he only kisses ur cheek. what a g*ddamn tease. but also he’s like, your entire life???????

“u PUNK!!! u have too!!!!”

he does the nose crinkle thing. u know the one. the cutest nose crinkle in the world

and then he kisses u for real and it’s corny but you really think that u feel something align inside u

you talk to ur agencies and they let u date(in secret) and both of you are super busy but you understand that it comes with the territory of being an idol. there are lots of late night phone calls where one of you wakes the other but from the beginning you and wonwoo were both alright with making those compromises

sometimes those calls are just the two of you falling asleep listening to each others breathing when you’re both in seoul but can’t spend time together, or sometimes he’s halfway across the world and telling you about what the gag trio did at dinner as you get ready to go to practice

whenever one of you goes away for tour/promotions you agree on a book to read and you text each other about it so u can feel like u are close together and ur dating in secret so netizens do that thing where they’re like “COUPLE BRACELETS?????” but with u and wonwoo it’s couple books….. pure……….. ;(

u promote at the same time once and whenever you run into each other backstage booseoksoon do something ridiculous and yell “OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO” and people filming them are?????? “what” but you and wonwoo are literally just bowing to each other off camera

u try to teach wonwoo how to take a good selca but he literally just can’t be bothered so you’ll send him super cute pictures like “i miss you!!!!” and he’ll reply “cute” with a selca but it’s the worst picture ever and ur all wonwoo please how am i supposed to make u my phone background if u take such bad photos

svt LOVES you……. mingyu is always telling you embarrassing stories about predebut wonwoo and then he’ll pull out a video and show u middle school svt and wonwoo is like IM going to MURDER YOU

“hush wonu u look so cute here!!!!!! and anyways literally two hours ago you took a pic of me with my mouth full of food and laughed for 15 minutes straight”

most of your dates end with wonwoo falling asleep on u somehow and then you fall asleep too and half of the members are like… gross……but half of them are like *takes pics sends to groupchat cooing about how cute you two are*

he makes one of those pics his phone bg

whenever seventeen wins awards he texts u immediately as soon as possible and when they win a big one and you’re at the same awards ceremony and as soon as the svt members are done hugging he looks for you and of course you’re already looking at him and he’s teary eyed and honestly so are u

because you were right that you had a soulmate that supported your dreams and you’re so so so proud that he never gave up on his either

that night he tells u he loves you and you’re like “i’ve loved you my whole life”

and don’t TELL me wonwoo would not get emo as HELL hearing you tell him u love him………….

in the end you are just always there for each other and understand each other in a way that only soulmates can, and even when u go public with your relationship and there’s backlash you believe in each other and love each other and you never ever ever give up on each other

#seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #jeon wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo scenarios #seventeen #wonwoo #🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒 im nervous ...... but oh well .......#wonwoo has my heart......#💌

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