okay but also, a pairing+AU if you want it.. sheith + kingsmen au (for when i FINALLY watch the second movie :3)
an AU where Voltron is actually a commercial airline and all the flight attendants who work there are actually secret agents :P
words: 3482
“So, Mr. Kogane. I’m going to go ahead and assume that very little thought went into your decision to cause upwards of $4000 in property damages due to your careless joyriding, correct?”
Keith slumped down in his chair and glared across the interrogation table. “The car is mine and not stolen, so it’s not technically joyriding. Besides, I wouldn’t have crashed the fucking thing had you not cut me off at the intersection with your army of cop cars.”
The officer leaned forward. “You seem to be trivializing the amount of trouble you’re in, young man. Do you understand the charges you’re facing?”
“Not everyone you pull in here is some idiot who can’t tell the difference between condescension and an honest lesson to be learned. Luckily for you, you don’t need to waste your breath with me.”
“Then I’ll make this simple,” the officer continued. “According to your story, you were speeding and recklessly driving because a gang of young men were chasing you and threatening your life. If this is true, you can get yourself out of a lot of trouble and start naming names.”
Keith calmly folded his hands on the table and lifted his chin. “I’d like to exercise my right to a phone call.”
Realizing that speaking with Keith was useless, the officer got up from his seat and collected the police report laid out in front of him. “For your sake, I hope you’ll be calling your family. You won’t be seeing them for about eighteen months.”
Keith rolled his eyes and almost said something snarky about his parents being too dead to care about him being in jail, but he kept his mouth shut as the officer left in case he decided to pin disrespecting an officer onto his already growing record. He rested his forehead against the table and sighed. Those assholes that had been tailing him were definitely rich enough to bail themselves out in a pinch. If they ever found out that Keith turned them in, they’d definitely kill him once they were free to walk. Not that jail was preferable, but Keith wasn’t sure what he was supposed to be doing in this situation. His foster family didn’t give two fucks about him. He didn’t have any friends or contacts in the city that would be willing to help him. Keith literally had no options. About the only thing he did have was a single shot in the dark.
He yanked off the velcro of his gloves and stared at the lining on the inside, trying to find the date that was scribbled there ever since the day he received them. Deciding that he literally didn’t have anything else to lose at this point, Keith pulled out his cellphone and carefully dialed the number.
The line immediately picked up, and a woman’s voice with a British accent answered the phone. “Customer complaints, how may I help you?”
Keith cleared his throat. “Uh….hi, this is Keith. Keith Kogane? Um….I don’t know what else to say other than I’m in really big trouble. Really fucking big. And, my friend Shiro had given me this number a long time ago and told me to call if ever I was in trouble so – ”
“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman answered. “It seems like you might have the wrong number.”
Keith’s eyes widened. “Wait! Wait, wait. Uh…” He paused for a moment and tried to remember, word-for-word, what Shiro had told him to say. “’Safety and comfort served with a smile’?”
The other end of the line stayed silent for a long moment before the woman finally answered him. “Your complaint has been duly noted, and we hope we have not lost you as a loyal customer. Good day, sir.”
Keith opened his mouth to try and keep her on the line again, but she was too quick for him and hung up the phone before another noise could even leave Keith’s throat. He cursed at his phone before reluctantly pocketing it and covering his face with his hands. Well, so much for that. It always did seem too good to be true that Shiro would be only a phone call away whenever Keith needed him. He’d been gone for so many years, Keith wasn’t sure if it made any sense to keep believing in that anymore. If there was one thing that Keith was sure of in this moment, it was that the only person who cared enough to look after him was himself, and even then he was proving to be particularly shit at it. He pillowed his head in his arms and closed his eyes, figuring that he might as well get as much rest as he possibly could before the cops led him out of this room in handcuffs.
He couldn’t have been dozing for more than twenty minutes before the same cop that had interrogated him came back into the room. He threw Keith’s wallet and ID to him and pointed to the hallway. “Hurry up and get out of here.”
“What? I thought you just said I was – ”
“Well, someone was kind and stupid enough to bail you out,” the cop explained. “They’re waiting for you outside.”
Keith rubbed the lining of his gloves in confusion, but he didn’t want to spend anymore time in this police station than was necessary so he took this as a blessing in disguise. He pocketed the rest of his belongings and made his way out of the police station, looking up and down the sidewalk and remaining unsure of what he was supposed to be expecting. It wasn’t until someone cleared their throat behind him that Keith finally turned around and felt his heart sink into his stomach once he saw who it was leaning against the brick wall of the police station.
Shiro dipped his head low and hesitantly raised a hand. “Long time no see, huh Keith?”
He looked different. A scar across his nose. Some shocks of white in his dark hair probably caused by stress. A right hand that looked artificial, which made Keith wonder about what kind of injury he must have suffered to justify the need for a prosthetic. But it was definitely Shiro. Same eyes, same smile, same dimples, same warm demeanor that had been so central to keeping Keith’s head straight while he was still in active duty in the Garrison. It seemed so strange to suddenly see him standing in front of him after thinking he had disappeared for over a year, so Keith didn’t go up to him and didn’t greet him with any kind of warmth. Instead, he took a few steps backward. “You’re fucking with me,” he muttered. “You have to be fucking with me. What are you doing here?”
“Look,” Shiro explained. “I know this is really confusing. And I know I have a lot of explaining that I need to do.”
“Did you just bail me out?”
“Yes,” Shiro answered. “Although, that’s not to say I approve of what you’ve done to get yourself in this situation in the first place.”
“Don’t you start spinning this on me,” Keith said. “How did you….that was thousands of dollars worth of bail, where did you get the money for that?”
Shiro pointed to Keith’s gloves. “I gave those to you and told you to call me whenever you needed help. I meant that.”
Keith laughed in disbelief. “So I call a spooky number and give a spooky password and suddenly you’re coming to my rescue and dropping thousands of dollars like it’s nothing? Shiro, what the fuck is going on? How are you here?”
Shiro sighed, but didn’t answer any of his questions. Instead, he grabbed Keith’s shoulder and started to walk him down the block. “Do you want to grab a drink?”
They walked until they found a quiet pub on the corner that was entirely empty and had quiet booths tucked away in the corner that gave them plenty of privacy. Shiro had slid all the way into the booth and left room next to him for Keith to sit, but Keith swallowed and decided to sit directly across from him, which Shiro wordlessly accepted despite the small look of disappointment on his face. They didn’t say anything to each other until their drinks had been placed in front of them, and at that point Shiro looked like he was waiting for Keith to start. It was probably easier to work through Keith’s questions instead of just starting from the beginning, so Keith decided to play along. “What do you do now?”
Shiro pointed to the golden name tag that was pinned to his button down. “Voltron Airlines. A flight attendant. Took a while to get certified for it and everything, but it’s done.”
Keith raised a brow. “Flight attendant. You expect me to believe that you left the service because you went to go become a flight attendant?”
“It’s a little more complicated than that, Keith,” Shiro explained. “There are some things that I’m not allowed to tell you. At least not yet.”
“Why not?” Keith asked. “When we were in the Garrison together we promised we’d tell each other everything. I thought that wouldn’t change for as long as we were alive. You don’t get to leave for over a year, lie about where you’re going, and then come back out of nowhere all while saying that you can’t answer any of my questions.”
“It’s not because I don’t want to, Keith,” Shiro said pitifully. “Things…changed right before I left and there were things that I needed to do. I wasn’t allowed to tell you where I was going, but I tried to make it so that you could call me whenever you needed me. I wasn’t trying to cut ties.”
Keith scoffed. “Yeah, sure.”
Shiro frowned. “Do you want to explain to me why you were arrested for destruction of property?”
“You’re not my father, Shiro,” Keith smirked. “You never were.”
“No, but I have every right to be disappointed in you when you decide to get involved in petty crime.”
“How do you know about – ?”
“Just in the past month: battery, theft, destruction of property, assaulting an officer – “
“That is none of your business, Shiro. Besides, how do you even know all that?”
“You dropped out of the Garrison right after I left. They were going to pay for your college tuition, they could’ve helped you find something had you stayed with it, and instead you were dishonorably discharged because of a discipline issue. Did you think about what that would do to your future?”
Keith glared into his drink. “That didn’t matter at the time. Besides, you were the only person in that piece of shit place that thought I could make anything of myself. After you left, there was no point.”
“A nationally ranked MMA champion and you completely stopped.”
“Again. There was no point.”
“No job?” Shiro asked. “Not ever? Did that not have a point?”
“You try and find a job when your parents are dead, your foster parents don’t give a shit, and everyone in the street who drives past you assumes you’re some lowlife that won’t ever amount to anything,” Keith snapped back. “I looked up to you, Shiro, you were the only person who made me want to try and actually do something with myself. You helped me survive for as long as I did in the Garrison and you promised you’d be there with me until I finished. But no. You wanted to lie to me and go follow your dreams to become a fucking flight attendant at some bullshit commercial airline. You expect me to believe that?”
Shiro shook his head. “No,” he said honestly. “I don’t. I never expected you to believe that. But I couldn’t come back until the time was right.”
“And why is now different?”
“Because now I’m in a better position to help you make something of yourself,” Shiro said. “You have so much potential, Keith, I saw it from a mile away. That’s why I vouched for you so much at the Garrison. That’s why I told off everyone who dared to underestimate you. I know you can be something great. All of this garbage you’ve been getting caught up in isn’t you and you know that. I want to help you again if you’ll let me.”
“And how do you expect to do that?” Keith asked. “What’s changed in the past year that you’re suddenly in such a position? Flight attendants don’t make much, you know. There’s no way you pulled that bail money out of your savings.”
Shiro reached across the table and took Keith’s hand in his. “It’s…a little bit more complex than that. But the good news is that soon I’ll be able to tell you everything.”
The sincerity in Shiro’s gaze was almost enough to make Keith believe him despite how much his absence still hurt. He wanted to believe that his disappearance was necessary and that it made sense, but Keith didn’t understand how all the pieces fit together or what Shiro possibly needed to do that needed to remain a secret from Keith. But he didn’t have time to clarify things before the door to the pub slammed open and five young men immediately filtered inside.
“You slimey piece of shit!” one of them screamed, pointing directly at Keith. “You didn’t think to get the fuck out of here before I found you again? You’re begging me to fuck you up, aren’t you?”
Shiro raised a brow at Keith. “Friends of yours?”
Keith felt his shoulders sagging. “Sort of.”
The young man who looked to be the loudest of the bunch kicked the side of Shiro’s shoe. “Whoever you are, you need to get the hell out. I got a few words for Keith here. Some business we’ve got to take care of.”
“Look, while I’m sure there’s probably some incredibly important reason for you to be barging into a place of business and threatening a customer who’s so far shown no aggression towards you, we’re in the middle of a conversation. I’d really appreciate it if you all would let us get back to it.”
“You hear this fucker?” the young man said to the rest of his group. “I don’t give a shit if you’re proposing to him. Get the fuck out.”
Keith sighed. “Shiro, just get out of here, I’ll deal with them first and then we can talk.”
Shiro didn’t look like he was too pleased with the situation, but he shrugged his shoulder and finished his drink before sliding a few bills onto the table. He took his time putting on his jacket and checking his pockets for all of his belongings before he slowly made his way over to the door. Apparently it wasn’t quick enough because one of the thugs that were crowding around Keith’s table snarled at Shiro’s back. “Hurry the fuck up and get out of here before I shove my first up your ass!”
It didn’t seem like the intelligent thing to say in the moment because Shiro froze in the middle of the pub and sighed out deeply. Once he collected himself, he reached the door but did not leave. Instead, he reached for the dead bolt towards the top of the door. He slid it into its lock and spoke over his shoulder. “Patience….”
He locked the dead bolt right underneath the first one. “Yields….”
And then the thumb lock next to the knob. “Focus….”
Shiro’s calmness was clear from his voice, but Keith knew Shiro well enough to know that his stiff shoulders and his clenched hands meant that he was incredibly annoyed. He carefully turned around and Keith saw just how tightly clenched his jaw was. He slumped down in his seat and had a feeling that things were going to get ugly if Shiro was planning to involve himself. “Do you know what that means?” he asked the group of men.
One of them snorted. “No.”
“Well, that’s okay,” Shiro said. “Let me show you.”
Keith cursed at himself for blinking in that moment, because one moment Shiro was fingering the golden nameplate on his chest and the next it was flying through the air and sinking right into the middle of one of the thugs’ hands as if it were made of some sort of razor sharp metal. The precision and distance of the throw seemed almost inhuman, and Keith barely had time to react to the crazy form of retaliation before all of the people around his table immediately rushed for Shiro. Shiro seemed completely unfazed as he swiftly pulled out his tie and wrapped it around the neck of the guy who’d grabbed him first. Keith cursed and backed up against the wall as he saw the necktie light up with static as the guy convulsed and went limp in Shiro’s grasp. He fell to the floor with burns around his neck, looking like he had been electrocuted.
It felt like he was watching something out a spy movie because Shiro’s fighting and reflexes looked nothing like they had when they were in the service together. He was much more comfortable with his hand to hand, he seemed to have developed an agility and flexibility that Keith used to always be able to hold over Shiro’s head years and years ago, and he was supplementing his fighting with the use of seemingly inane objects he was pulling from his coat and from his pockets that were souped up with features that didn’t make any sort of logical sense. It was scary how gracefully and effortlessly Shiro had reduced all of the men into unconscious heaps on the floor in just under sixty seconds. The bartender behind the counter looked downright terrified as he grappled behind him for the phone on the wall, presumably trying to call the cops. But Shiro lifted his wrist, twisted a few dials on his watch, and released what looked to be a dart that had imbedded itself in the bartender’s neck and knocked him unconscious almost immediately.
Shiro’s hair wasn’t out of place, there wasn’t a single bead of sweat broken out on his forehead, and he looked almost bored as he dug around in his wallet for something and returned to Keith’s table. Keith didn’t like the fact that he flinched away from Shiro when he came closer, but there was something about him that seemed too lethal for comfort. Suddenly, Shiro’s whereabouts for the past year seemed more and more like some sinister secret that Keith was suddenly glad to not have any knowledge of.
Shiro winced. “Sorry you had to see that. I didn’t like how they were speaking to you.”
Keith pointed a shaky finger to the scene that Shiro had just left. “W-W-What….what the….fuck, Shiro, what the fuck!?!”
“Look, Keith, this isn’t exactly how I wanted to tell you, but you have to hear me out first.”
“You just took out all those guys like they were fucking nothing!” Keith shouted. “What the fuck with your nametag? And your tie? And your fucking watch? And holy shit, Shiro, what the hell is going on?”
Shiro didn’t sit down and instead slid a business card across the table until it was in front of Keith. “I can’t tell you here, it isn’t exactly safe. There’s also something I have to take care of soon and I can’t afford to put it off. But I want to tell you everything. And I might possibly have a job for you to take advantage of if you’re interested in. I’m going to be in town until further notice. So just stop by the airport when you get a chance and come see me.”
Keith swallowed. “You’re not a flight attendant, are you?”
Shiro winked and held a finger up to his lips. “I know you, Keith. I don’t think I have to worry about you telling anyone about this, right?”
Keith shook his head. “No one would believe me even if I did.”
Shiro chuckled and buttoned up his coat before making his way to the door. “Come by first thing in the morning, alright?”
He walked out the pub and left Keith sitting alone in silence. He blinked a couple of times and smacked himself in the face to make sure that he wasn’t dreaming – that Shiro walking back into his life was real, that the unconscious bodies around him were real, that Shiro’s new job was real and not something that came from watching too many action movies before passing out last night. Keith flipped over the business card that Shiro had handed him and read the company logo that was printed on the front.
Voltron Commercial Airlines“Safety and comfort served with a smile.”
omg lia I just started watching b99 and I kept thinking Gina was your personality doppelgänger 😂😂😂
omg justine i’ve literally never been so proud i AM gina... gina is me.... somebody make a flag for when you’re kin with gina linetti because i want it tattooed on my ASS....
“You started sitting by me at lunch because I’m alone at my table but we never talk to each other” AU (Sheith or plance whatever inspires you!)
combined this with another college AU I saw floating around somewhere that said: “You’re the RA and you’re trying to bust me for having hermit crabs.” I’m sorry but I’m also not. here ya go, Justine ;)
[Ao3 link] in case you want to read there bc it got a little long
“Hey, mind if I sit?”
Keith looks up from his Econ 1 reading to find Shiro hovering by the seat in front of him, a plate in either hand. A well-balanced meal, Keith notes—one plate has been dedicated specifically to fruits and vegetables, the other piled with careful portions of today’s chicken stir-fry, eggplant, and brown rice.
Shrugging, he says, “It’s a free country,” mostly because he knows that Shiro will sit down anyways. It must be an RA thing: the ability to, at any time, locate one of your residents and administer whatever aid is needed. In this case, Shiro has noticed Keith’s empty table, swooping in to save his freshman from being That One Kid Sitting By Himself in the Corner.
What Shiro has overlooked, however, is that Keith is eating alone by choice. He has twenty minutes to scarf down his food and assemble an understanding of the income elasticity of demand before he heads to section. More like twelve minutes, once you factor in how long it takes to put up his dishes and dash across campus. So yeah, not much time for small talk.
Unfazed, Shiro sits down, swiping some napkins from the table dispenser.
“I’ll leave you to your work,” he says knowingly, eyes twinkling with good humor as he raises a fork and knife and busies himself with cutting up his lunch. Keith blinks, a little, at that, before shoveling the rest of his cornbread in his mouth and relocating his paragraph on the page.
He reminds himself that Shiro gets paid for this. It makes him feel less guilty.
*
The thing is, Keith has a secret.
While other people choose to stock their dorm rooms with succulents, coffee machines, or decked out desktops, Keith came to college certain of one thing: he was taking his hermit crabs with him. Rescued from a booth on the boardwalk during the senior year field trip, Pearl and Raf have remained safely in his care for a year now. There wasn’t anyone back home he trusted leaving their tank with, so they had to come here.
Rolo has been an accommodating roommate, for the most part. Largely, Keith suspects, because Rolo just doesn’t give a shit. Their relationship revolves around the age-old motto of “you do your thing and I do mine.” Each boy’s junk stays on his respective side of the room. The trash gets taken out on time. The system works.
And if Rolo ever does decide to throw Keith under the bus of the “no pets” policy, well. Keith knows where Rolo hides his weed.
Still, these reassurances don’t protect Keith from the miniature heart attack he suffers when someone knocks on their door. Hurriedly, Keith scoops Pearl and Raf off his desk and back into their tank, throwing a tarp over it.
When he eases the door open, Shiro is standing in the hall, one hand braced against the doorframe. The pose pulls his shirt tightly across his chest, accentuating his pecs, and Keith is reminded that his RA is a junior on the swimming team. Those arms could probably heave Keith over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and it would be no problem for Shiro to muscle his way into the room.
Shit. The realization smacks Keith in the face. Shiro knows about the crabs. He’s here to confiscate them.
Keith is not going down without a fight.
“Keith!” Shiro smiles, which is already suspicious. “How are you?”
“Fine,” Keith answers. Wary.
Shiro nods. “Good. Because we’d love to have you join us for the hall meeting…” He trails off, raising an eyebrow.
Keith glances behind him to the clock on his table. 10 PM. Wednesday. Hall meeting. That was…definitely an email that was sent, which he might have deleted without reading.
“Right,” Keith says, squeezing through the small opening he left between the door and the frame. Shiro steps back to give him space; Keith tries to hide his relief when the door clicks shut behind him. Pearl and Raf will remain safe for another day.
“Well?” he asks, starting ahead. Behind him, Shiro is watching him strangely, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Let’s go.”
*
It is 3 AM in the goddamn morning. Keith shifts from foot to foot for warmth, blowing air into his hands. The fire alarm continues to screech, whistling through the wintry air as the rest of the dorm residents stagger outside. Lance, who lives down the hall from him, walks over, some sort of white paste caked to his face.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
“No,” grunts Keith.
“Don’t know why I thought you would,” Lance mutters, leaving to find someone more helpful.
“Smart, grabbing your jacket,” someone else says; Keith turns to find Shiro grinning at him, clad in nothing but fraying red pajama pants and a black muscle tee. The cold doesn’t seem to faze him. Makes sense, since Keith is pretty sure Shiro was meant to be a bronze statue somewhere and just got lost in transit.
“Yeah,” Keith says, not wanting to betray the fact that currently, there’s a hermit crab shoved in each pocket of said jacket. He hadn’t been sure if the fire was real or not—better safe than sorry. It’s not going to be good for Pearl and Raf, though, if they stay out in this temperature any longer.
Shiro places a hand on his shoulder. Keith nearly jumps under the touch. “I’m going to go make sure everyone else is okay. Stay warm, all right?”
“All right,” Keith says, finding his voice, but Shiro has already disappeared into the crowd.
*
Saturday night, the common room smells like blueberry pancakes. People poke their heads in, shuffling away when Shiro gives an apologetic look and says, “Sorry, guys, I’m out.” It’s almost 2 AM and his on call is winding down; on the couch, Keith settles in, closing his eyes and readying himself for some blessed peace.
“Keith?”
Slowly—and not without a hint of annoyance—Keith opens his eyes. Shiro frowns at him over the top of the sofa, a streak of flour dashed across the bridge of his nose, somehow.
“Wouldn’t you rather sleep in your own bed?”
“Can’t,” Keith grumbles. “There’s a sock on my door.” He’d known it was only a matter of time—Rolo and Nyma had been orbiting each other all of this past month—but the sexiling is a bit of an annoyance.
Shiro bites his lip, but his amusement at Keith’s predicament shows in the upward tick of his eyebrows, the slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes.
“You can crash in my room, if you want.”
“It’s okay,” Keith says quickly.
“Seriously, Keith. I’ve got an extra mattress and you’ll be undisturbed. Plus that way you’ll be safe from anyone drawing on your face or taking a picture for the dorm slideshow.” This last part, said teasingly.
Keith thinks about it a little longer.
“All right, fine,” he decides, sitting up. He just barely manages to catch the keys Shiro tosses at him.
“I need to finish cleaning up here. Leave the door unlocked—you know where my room is, right?”
“How could I not,” Keith says, shuffling out of the lounge.
He pushes open Shiro’s door carefully. He’s caught glimpses inside it once or twice while passing by, but he’s never set foot in it before, despite numerous invitations. It’s small but well-kept: a spare mattress underneath the lofted bed, a couch pushed up against the other wall, a nice monitor and various posters—Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, and one that probably makes sense to history majors but which Keith is too tired to try and figure out right now.
He toes off his shoes and sets them aside so Shiro won’t trip over them, then goes to the mattress, curling up on his side. There’s even a blanket, which he draws to his chin; that sends its smell wafting toward his nose, and suddenly he’s no longer tired.
The door handle turns. Keith snaps his eyes closed, feigning sleep. Shiro’s feet tread quietly across the carpet as he putters about the room; a few minutes later, the bedsprings above Keith’s head squeak, the sound of a body rolling into place.
Turning over onto his back, Keith stares up above him, eyes straining in the dark. Shiro’s breaths come in soft, quiet puffs—a sound that should be soothing, but one that, instead, sets Keith’s heart beating faster. Weird. It’s never done that before.
It takes him a long time to fall asleep.
*
The rest of the year passes by uneventfully. Keith decides that he most definitely is not going to be an Econ major and, at the same time, discovers a hidden passion for pottery. Summer comes and goes, and soon enough he’s back on campus, trying to decide if he really has the stomach to eat today’s green bean special.
“Keith?”
It’s been a long time since he’s heard that voice. Even more shocking: the realization that he missed it.
He turns and Shiro is there, two plates like always, white-dyed tuft of hair swooping over his forehead.
“Hey,” says Keith, strangely self-conscious.
Shiro smiles. “Are you sitting with anyone?”
“No.”
“Great. Let’s catch up, then,” he says, tilting his head, and there’s something new in the air between them now, their old lines and roles fallen away.
Keith follows. He’s ready to talk.
*
Somewhere after the fifth time Keith makes Shiro laugh and the second time Shiro asks him on a date, they end up back at Keith’s place.
Thank god I drew into a single this year, Keith thinks as the door clicks shut behind him, Shiro a long line of muscle against his front, shifting under his hands. Shiro’s shirt comes off and Keith kicks out of his shoes, stumbling forward in the dark—fingers grip his waist tightly, yanking him closer, and there’s a heady power to this, the knowledge that he can just keep guiding Shiro backwards with nothing but a press to his chest, backwards and backwards until they both fall onto his bed—
A teasing bite against his collarbone; his heart stutters for a beat, hands fumbling at Shiro’s belt, and then he trips over something and hits the corner of his desk.
“Fuck,” Keith swears, partly because of the throbbing pain in his hip and partly because Shiro has just licked a stripe up the column of his neck. Squinting through the blend of pain and desire, he turns on his desk lamp, just to make sure they haven’t knocked anything over.
To his relief, his haphazardly stacked column of books remains intact. And the tank is fine, too—
Shiro, who up until this point has been doing an admirable job of working Keith free of his pants, stops. His hair is mussed, his lips bitten red, a throaty disbelief in his voice as he turns toward the light and says:
Plance: Hunk makes flower crowns for everyone and when lance sees it on Pidge, he wonders why his heart is pounding so fast
A direct continuation from this post! This is Part 2 of 3. :)
One day, in a rare moment of downtime, Coran gives the paladins permission to have a day off to explore the forest planet where they are conducting intense training sessions in an attempt to prepare for the next inevitable attack by Lotor's army. Lance smiles as he watches Hunk create flower crowns out of the sweet-smelling wildflowers growing at the edge of the woods. Somehow, he's managed to find flowers that are the same colors as their lions, and while the crowns look amusingly out of place on top of both Shiro and Keith's heads, when he turns to look at Pidge, his heart catches for a moment. Though she'd probably kill him for thinking about her that way, the first words that spring to his mind are "fairy princess." She looks beautiful. It's a pity, Lance thinks, that he can't tell her this in a way that will make her feel like he's being sincere. He really wants to, but given how she reacts every time he flirts with a cute alien, he's not sure it's worth the risk. To be fair, he's sort of done that to himself. And he recognizes that. But he still wishes he could, if only so he would no longer have to hide the fact that his heart has started racing whenever he's around Pidge. Sometimes, in idle moments, Lance wonders about secrets. He’s never considered himself a particularly secretive person— if something’s bothering him, he lets everyone within earshot know about it. What’s the point in holding anything back? Mostly, it’s an attitude that’s worked for him, though his older sister told him to work on keeping his mouth shut before coming to the Garrison, warning him that being mouthy was most likely going to get him in trouble. Of course, she was right.Being mouthy and talkative has gotten Lance into more trouble as a paladin than he would ever admit out loud; he knows he would do well to take some lessons on how to keep things closer to his chest from some of the other paladins, like Pidge. The funny thing is, even then, back before he knew the truth about her identity, he’d noticed how secretive Pidge was. He remembers wondering how many things she had to be hiding to be so closed off; and what it would take for him to get her to open up. He knows some of them now; hiding the fact that she was a girl, hiding the fact that she was searching for her father and brother, hiding the fact that her mother was complicit in helping her create a fake identity as Pidge Gunderson— the kind of secrets that are buried deep, the kind that can’t just be revealed over a couple shots during a drinking game. And he respects that. But Lance gets the feeling that there’s still a lot of things Pidge has kept bottled up, and while he would never want to push her to share things she’s not ready to talk about, something tells him she does. It’s only reaffirmed when she asks him that odd little question on their way back from their solo mission on Axus-12: “How do you know when it’s the right time to tell someone something really important?” The way she says it gives him pause. He can’t possibly think of what Pidge is hiding now, unless it’s the one thing he would expect from any other girl but her. Maybe she’s hiding a crush on someone. Then again, he could be totally wrong. So he asks her to clarify. Is she talking about a secret? Or a confession?Of course, Pidge being Pidge, doesn’t clarify at all. Leaving him very little to work with. So Lance stops overthinking it and gives her the best advice he would give anyone else— he tells her to trust her feelings, and to not worry about the timing, because it matters far less than how she feels. It’s what he would tell anyone he cares about; Hunk, if he was feeling anxious, or his little brothers, if they felt unsure about sharing something they've been afraid to talk about. And yet the way Pidge looks at him when he tells her this makes him feel like it’s different with her. Everything is different with her. When Lance thinks about it, Pidge has been acting a little stranger than normal lately. But then again; perhaps all of this has more to do with how his feelings for her have been changing than they have to do with anything else. He’s not sure when he started noticing every little thing about her, but now that he thinks about it, he realizes that Pidge has somehow become the first person in his thoughts every morning. For someone used to chasing flowing hair, curvy legs, and feminine wiles, it's definitely an unexpected surprise for Lance when he realizes he's developed feelings for Pidge. But he's always been someone who goes with the flow, and he just runs with it. He figures his brain will figure everything out eventually, and he's not interested in making things awkward between them, especially when Pidge has shown more romantic interest in robots than she has in anyone on the ship. Whether he's recalling a joke she made or a funny face she made at yet another one of Coran's long winded anecdotes, Pidge winds her way into Lance's mind in a way that feels as natural as his urge to make his bed as soon as he wakes up in the morning so he doesn't disappoint his mother for having a messy room, even though she's unlikely to ever see this place inside the Castle of Lions. It's a little bit like breathing; something he doesn't notice until he starts paying attention; and once he does, it's overwhelming to think that such a simple action is such a huge part of his life. "I don't think the timing matters," he tells her, leaving out a certain caveat that probably doesn't apply to this scenario: sometimes, it's best to keep secrets for the sake of protecting the dynamic in a relationship that's best kept the way it already is. Sort of like how he's hiding the fact that he's keeping his feelings for her to himself. The only reason he doesn't add this caveat to his advice when he gives it to Pidge is because it's obvious that she does want to talk about her secret to someone.Considering that she is the smartest person on the entire ship and generally knows what the hell she's doing and what she's talking about, Lance has no reason to think that she wants to hide her secret, whatever it is. Secrets. They're annoying things. But now he has one too.
Hi, question off the prepa talk. So if Mari is interested in fashion, would she try to take prepa classes for that? (And maybe Adrien would do physics?)
If Mari is interested in fashion, she’s more likely to take the artistic track in high school.
For the record, French schools have 3 highschool years. At the end of your 1st highschool year (known as Seconde or 2nde), you have to pick a track that will define the rest of your highschool classes and baccalaureate depending on what you do the best (or what you want to do later).
There are 3 general tracks (Scientific, Economic and Literary) but there are also a lot of other more specific tracks that not all highschools offer but that still exist.
Most people who want to work in graphic arts will therefore pick the STD2A track (Sciences et Technologies Du Design et des Arts Appliqués translated to Sciences and Technologies of Design and Applied Arts) and study for 2 years arts. They’ll also spend that time creating a book that will allow them to join art schools later on.
Now what you need to know about higher education in France is that there are countless and thousand of possibilities depending on what you want to do.
Shortly speaking, preparatory classes (or more commonly known as prépa) have always been the prestigious road that only the best go to after their baccalaureate. It’s 2 years of intensive work, there’s a lot of pressure, a lot of depression cases. People don’t sleep much, they have many subjects to study, they’re required to have top notch grades and if not, they’re simply kicked out of the prépa.
It’s not easy. Not at all. To put it simply, you can take college rush times and multiply them by 5 and spread this during an entire year that stretches from September to July.
Not only that but those 2 years only prepare for an entrance test that you can take to join more prestigious schools, but do not form you at all to work or what you’re going to study in the school. They’re mostly about theory teachings and exams, as well as weekly tests. They’re like a military sort of school, they teach you to stand high levels of stress and workload. A funny anecdotes is that prépas are so hard that grades are actually in negative. You can have a -5 out of 20 at a test.
While prestigious colleges used to require a prépa before you join them, gradually more and more are starting to open their doors to however wants to take the entrance test they’re affiliated to after 2 years of studying wherever they want, not specifically the prépa.
But the prépa keeps having a very prestigious connotation, and students still need to suffer for their ambition.
People from Adrien’s social classes all would go to prépa. However, I can’t really advise you to send Adrien there if he’s to continue modeling.
It is also important to note that there are a lot of prépas depending on what you want to do. There are art prépas, scientific prépas, literary prépas, economic prépas, etc… And within the prépas, you have specialisations.
There are also prépa rankings, Cachan being the most selective one. Sometimes studying in a “prépa” isn’t enough. You need to get into a really good one.
And lastly, prépas also exist in boarding school format, or are literally imbedded to the prestigious school that requires it.
As I said, a prépa prepares you for an entrance national test that will allow you to join one of the prestigious schools that open their door to whoever passes it.
The arts and design prépa only exists in 5 schools. As such, there are only 100 students who can be taken. You have to apply to each of the schools individually and have a top-notch book, grades, cover letter and interview. It’s much harder for people who haven’t taken an STD2A baccalaureate and completely impossible if they haven’t taken an art option during highschool.
However, this prépa is the only one in France offering for the student to go on a 3-weeks internship at the end of their first year, cementing what they have learnt throughout the year and breaking the only-theory prépa tradition.
At the end of your prépa, you are allowed to take the entrance test known as ENS Paris-Saclay. This one only lets 7 students pass.
In short, on a population of 67 millions, only 7 pass the ENS Paris-Saclay entrance test and join an art school after their prépa.
But art schools can’t do anything with only 7 students!
That’s right! And that’s why there are so many alternate tracks in France. Writing an extensive summary of all the diplomas that exist there would take literal days and even I don’t know all of them. However, I can give you a few alternatives for art studies.
Brevet de Technicien Supérieur (BTS)
This diploma generally lasts 2 years and exists for 200 specialisations.
Generally because depending on your highschool track, it sometimes needs an upgrading for certain specialisations (like art, or hotel business) and sometimes it only takes 1 year.
The concept is that it looks almost exactly like highschool as you’re in a class and a defined schedule. The only difference is that BTS is more into concrete projects and operational teaching. Literally, it teaches you to be capable by the end of your teachings and be able to work as soon as you get your diploma.
You’re a technician by the end of your BTS studies.
It is that aspect that generally interests art students for it focuses on manual teachings that are required for any art studies. Drawing, sculpting, taking pictures, sewing, etc…
There are 7 design specialisations for BTS. But in Mari’s case, it would be logical to go for a “BTS design de mode, textile et environnement, option mode” translated to BTS fashion, textile and environment design, fashion option.
This specific diploma is usually given in fashion schools. So instead of going through prépa, you just go to a fashion school and get a BTS and you can work already.
Might be interesting to note, however, that a BTS isn’t very prestigious and that if you so wish, you can continue by studying a master or a license for more international recognition. But talent and contacts can perfectly do the trick.
Université
This is the literal translation of university. It’s your regular university with majors, minors, amphis and all that jazz.
Needless to say that it’s a jungle though.
What you need to know about universities in France is that they’re very very very cheap.
Most schools for higher education in France are cheap. Except for private schools like HEC or emlyon. I’m giving business school examples, but the idea goes for a lot of other sectors like communication.
That being said, the fact that they’re cheap and that not all of them are selective (so we’re not counting La Sorbonne, Nanterre or Dauphine even though they’ve very cheap too. I’m talking about selectivity here) is such that all kinds of people can get into them. But not everyone is determined, or hardworking and the teachers aren’t necessarily amazing. So it’s very common for people to drop out because they can’t work on their own or muster enough motivation to keep going to boring classes, because most classes are optional and schedules can be changed anytime. I’m not going to write a post about social problematics but what you need to know is that it is common for amphis at the beginning of the year to have about 1000 students and end up with 200 by the end of the year, the number only dropping with the years.
Don’t overlook them though. For example, you can only study law in universities as there are no private schools for that. So some of the universities are very very good.
Universities can be an alternative to prépa as you can study for 2 years and have a license that will allow you to either work or keep going with your studies, or take the same entrance exams as prépa students. It counts for BTS students as well btw, they can take the exams.
But as I said the ENS Paris-Saclay is very difficult.
So either you get a license 2 in university and change school for a private entity or keep going for your 4 years. There are prestigious universities so it’s actually not bad at all (cf. to the selective universities mentioned previously).
Now you have most of the informations you need to know. I tried to stay very general so that no one gets lost, and sadly didn’t really tackle the Adrien topic in details.
But just in case you’re curious, if he ever wants to study physics, he can either go to a university or take a prépa in physics (PS) or physics and engineering (PSI) and eventually go for an engineering school.
It is however important to note that while prépa mostly only has a certain prestige in other studies, it is highly recommended for scientific studies!!!
Finally, I do hope this was clear enough, and if not, feel free to re-ask.
Good luck with your work and thank you for the question!
Your hunk blog needs more love so I'm gonna send a prompt request here. Real life instance: guy I used to like in the past used to send me morning texts everyday. One night I showed him a website full of (sorta love) poems and he copy/pasted some out to me without any comments. I wake up in the morning to see, "I've already said everything I needed to say last night. Consider that your morning text."
Bless you! Thanks for sending a prompt in! Honestly, this sounds really cute, and I struggled a bit with the ship for this, but I thought I’d try my hand at some Heith!
The soft press of lips to his temple woke him up slowly, just like it did every morning. Keith grumbled and turned into the heat behind him.
“What time is it?” he murmured into Hunk’s chest.
“Time for breakfast,” Hunk answered, exactly the same way he did every morning.
Keith sighed. “Breakfast is too early.”
“No,” Hunk gently pried Keith off and helped him sit up. “You stay up too late.”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Hunk shook his head, fishing the small tablet out from beneath Keith’s pillow. “What were you reading now?”
Keith shrugged. “Allura sent me some Altean books. The translation finished last night.”
“So, naturally, you couldn’t wait until morning to read them?”
“It could have been something important.”
Hunk switched the screen on and scanned through what Keith was reading. “They’re love poems.”
“Yeah.” Keith stretched and finally stepped out of bed. “Nothing really useful.”
Hunk smiled as he flipped through. “They’re kind of sweet.”
“I guess, but it’s not going to give us an advantage against the Galra.”
“I wonder what it sounds like in Altean…” Hunk murmured, tapping the screen a few times to switch between the two translations. “I bet it’s even prettier. Like here where it talks about all the stars in the sky. In Altean, it’s-”
“Weren’t you the one who said it’s time for breakfast?” Keith raised a brow as he tugged on a clean shirt.
“Right.” Hunk slipped out of bed. “Mind if I borrow this?”
Keith shook his head. “Go ahead.”
Hunk spent all morning reading through the poems, line by line, muttering to himself between bites of food goo. While Keith trained, Hunk kept him company, brows furrowed as he scribbled notes to himself in a journal he’d picked up on their last supply run.
Keith didn’t think anything of it when Hunk vanished halfway through his training. After all, they were all busy, and Hunk sometimes left early to take care of something else. Besides, he was back by the time Keith finished up, even ready to give him a congratulatory kiss for beating the training bot yet again.
They went their separate ways when Coran called Hunk over to help with some unusual readings from his lion, and Keith headed to the showers to clean up.
That was when he found the first one. Hunk had slipped a small piece of paper into his change of clothes. The front was Altean, and Keith could only make out a few words. When he flipped it over, he saw Hunk had written out a translation, the words sweet enough to make Keith blush. Just a little.
The second was taped to his mirror. Again, the Altean was the first thing he saw, followed by Hunk’s translation on the other side. This time, Keith recognized it from one of the poems he’d read last night, although the wording was a little different than he remembered. He smiled and taped it back to his mirror before heading out to find Hunk.
Instead, he found more slips of paper, hidden in places that Hunk knew he’d check. Each one had another set of lines, some from the same poem and others from ones Keith hadn’t gotten to yet. By lunch time, Keith had at least twenty slips of paper and even more questions.
“When did you learn this much Altean?” Keith asked when he finally found Hunk.
Hunk grinned and handed Keith back his tablet. “Pidge found a program that’s uh… pretty effective. I’ve been using it when I get stuck on a problem. It helps me think.”
“Is that the program that tries to kill you?”
“Well, yeah, but it almost never does that.”
“I like your version better.” Keith smiled and tucked the tablet and papers into his pocket. “I think you’re missing a few lines from that one poem, though.”
“No, I’m not.” Hunk chuckled and bent down for a brief kiss. “What makes you think you found all of them?”
“You hid more?”
Hunk simply grinned and walked away.
The next morning, Hunk woke him up with a light kiss to his temple. “Morning.”
“You’re still missing a line,” Keith grumbled, shooting him a half-hearted glare.
“No, I’m not.”
Keith held up a fistful of pages. “I looked everywhere.”
“Is that why you were up late again?” Hunk shook his head. “I told you I didn’t miss any.”
Keith scowled and sat up. “Trust me. I checked everywhere after you went to bed.”
“Not everywhere.” Hunk pulled out a slip of paper from under Keith’s pillow. “You missed one.”
Keith snatched it from him and read it out loud. “I’ve already said everything I needed to yesterday. Consider this your morning message.” He frowned up at Hunk. “It doesn’t count if you hid it. This wasn’t here last night.”
“I know.” Hunk flopped back onto the bed. “I put it there before you woke up. It’s supposed to be a morning message.”
“Still doesn’t count.” Keith rolled his eyes and laid across Hunk’s stomach. “Now, I’m getting more sleep. Breakfast can wait.”
Hunk shook with quiet laughter. “Okay, okay.”
Feel free to send in things that happened to you in real life, and I’ll try to make a drabble out of it!
The night was too quiet for Keith’s liking. He’d known silence for so long, but ever since he’d met Shiro, each time he was forced to endure it alone caused a sense of panic to overwhelm him. It lipped at the edges of his mind, and he feared that he’d sink into it and be lost forever. Like Shiro was lost to him.
Laying back on the shingles atop his shack, Keith only stared at the sky and swallowed his fear. The moon hung low, an ominous, pale glow illuminating the rooftop, and he counted the stars that glittered like a halo around it. Shiro had taught him that, when the world seemed too much and the silence was too loud, to count the stars to lead him back to the ground. When he’d originally heard it, Keith had shook the advice off as a sappy piece of romance that Shiro had scrounged up from his mother’s poetry books, because why did he need the stars to anchor him when he had Shiro?
It was only after he’d lost him that Keith realized just how right Shiro had been.
After leaving the Garrison and settling down in the shack his dad had built with his own two hands, Keith found himself looking towards the stars even as he was caught in a free-fall. The little balls of light always grew brighter, and the world had a habit of fading away (just like his mom, just like his dad, just like Shiro). But in a way, it reminded him that he was still here, alive and whole, and even though Shiro was lost amongst the stars he stared at, at least he was still with him in a way.
A cool breeze whipped past, and Keith nestled deeper into the worn quilt Shiro’s mother had knit and tried to remember what it felt like when Shiro was here. The lingering touch of Shiro’s hands on his skin, warm lips on the nape of his neck, and the faint scent of oil and hair gel... It was all still there.
Staring at the stars somehow brought Shiro home, even if it was just for a little while.
