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Aug 9, 2025

silly self-insert isekai ficlet based on this post:

—

Waking up in the cockpit of an alien warcat spaceship was certainly the most unusual place Red had ever woken up in, bar none.

For a few moments, he frowned at the dashboard, the equipment, and closed his eyes.

“Cool dream,” he murmured.

Although, it was strange. One could not feel pain in dreams, but Red's entire body felt stiff and ached like a whole-body charlie horse. His extremities were tingling, and there was an odd taste of blood in his mouth.

It all felt a little too real.

“Am I hallucinating?” he murmured.

He didn't think so.

He tensed at the sound of rushing footsteps on alien metal and flinched when several persons filled the cockpit around his chair. His eyes widened when he saw it was none other than Team Voltron in live-action high definition.

Oh, no, he thought, and then his eyes fell upon a very beautiful, curly-haired man. Oh, yes, he thought.

“Are you alright?” came a familiar voice, and Red looked away from those startled blue eyes to see none other than Takashi Shirogane.

“I'm great,” Red said cheerfully.

He was by all appearances, in the Red Lion, Lance No Last Name was in the room, and Red had yet to see his Magic K8th Ball. Things were grand.

“I think he hit his head,” Lance said, squinting. “No way he's that cheerful without a concussion.”

Delight rushed through Red.

“All it takes is one look at your face to be this cheerful,” Red replied with a grin, and Lance made a frankly hilarious expression of disconcerted offense.

“Hey!” Lance protested, jabbing a finger in his direction with squinted eyes. “I'm not entirely sure what you mean, but I understand an insult when I hear one!”

“Wrong, baby doll,” Red said, and Lance made another hilarious expression of red-faced fluster and affront.

“Okay, if you're well enough to bicker with Lance, you're well enough to join the after-battle meeting,” said Shiro. “Up you get.” And he bent to get Red's arm around his neck, the other going round his back and lifting.

But Red was apparently not as well as Shiro thought, because once he was up, his entire body seized and his eyesight darkened, white stars springing into being as nausea swept through him.

“Throwing up,” he said, the only warning he could give before he spewed across the console and promptly passed out.

Waking up a second time in an equally unlikely place was slightly worrying.

“Shit, they took me to a second location,” he muttered.

Red hoped it did not become a pattern.

He glanced around the claustrophobic little pod he was standing in and realized he felt much better than before, if exhausted and covered in a gross film of who knew what. God was that sweat? Gross. He shuddered and wiped at his eyes before stepping out of what he presumed to be a healing pod.

Glancing about the empty room, Red hummed to himself.

What now?

Then the doors at the far side of the room hissed open, and Red's body tensed on instinct. He whipped around, fists up like a reflex, and quickly dropped his arms when he saw it was none other than Lance.

Ah. Lance. He began to smile.

“Keith!” Lance exclaimed upon sighting him. His expression lit up and he rushed over.

Red began to turn around to search, when he froze.

Hold up, he thought. I'm the Magic K8th Ball? He looked down at his hands to see they were very pale, nails bitten down to nubs.

Ew, he thought. Use a fucking nail clipper, you heathen.

“You're awake!” Lance said as he joined him before the pod. “How're you feeling?”

“Discombobulated,” Red said before looking up at Lance. A thrill of delight rushed through him. It was really Lance! “Uh, what happened?”

Lance frowned a little, concerned.

“You don't remember?”

“Why else would I ask?” Red said with a raised eyebrow.

Lance pursed his lips, and Red inwardly grimaced.

Yikes. He had forgotten the tenuous relationship these two had. Must have been still pretty early in the story, then. If he was in the plot at all. How weird would it be if he were in a Voltron universe someone tapped for entertainment purposes and the plot of Voltron Legendary Defender was just the writers' own take?

Could happen. Who knew. Certainly not Red.

“The fight with Zarkon?” Lance said, searching his eyes for recognition. “Zarkon … did something. Tried to kill us. Well, he tried to grab the head of Voltron, but you got the arm in the way, and he unleashed his attack. But you were unresponsive afterwards.”

But which fight with Zarkon, Babygirl? Red wondered. Be more specific!

“I don't remember that,” Red said. “Must be trauma-induced amnesia.”

Perfect excuse, Red, he congratulated himself with a mental pat on the back.

“That's not good,” Lance murmured. “Come on, I'll fill you in once you've got some food in you. It'll help.” He turned away, and Red gladly went, soft as a tub of ice cream left out on the counter.

Aw, he's gonna eat with me? Red thought. Does it count as a date if it's just us? Maybe he'll feed me?

But Red's hopes were dashed when he arrived at the kitchen and was handed a bowl of green goo along with a spoon.

“Oh, gross,” Red mumbled. “Looks like neon green silly putty.”

“What?” Lance said, and Keith looked up to see Lance staring at him with confusion.

“Nothing,” Red said. They proceeded into the dining room and sat. Red warmed when Lance sat beside him.

“Aren't you going to eat?” Lance asked, and Red looked at the bowl, grimacing.

“Hunk ain't made anything?” Red asked as he poked at the food. This looked moments from springing to life and crawling off the table. And while Red was no vegan, he drew the line at food that was still living. He stabbed it just to be sure, and the spoon sank into the goop.

It did not fight back.

It did not so much as twitch.

“Since when are you so picky?” Lance asked with a snort. “And what's up with the accent? Have you always had it?”

“Accent?” Red said, and spooned some of the goo up to examine it at eye level. “I, uh, always tried pretty hard to hide any accent.” Bite the bullet and all that, he supposed and stuffed it into his mouth.

He braced himself, fully expecting the taste of green slimy putty, but his tongue only encountered a vaguely pudding-like consistency and the flavor — hard to describe, really. It certainly tasted like a crushed up multi-vitamin, but there was something else. Something close to grapefruit. It was not sweet, though.

It was not that bad.

He ate some more, eyes squinted as he savored the goo.

“Man, you're acting weird,” Lance muttered.

Red swallowed his mouthful and pointed his spoon at Lance.

He was put off by the utensil. The spork was clearly the superior eating tool. And for that matter, he wondered at the fact that Alteans used forks, knives, and spoons like westerners on Earth and not some other tool. Hell, a wide straw and a cup would make more sense than finding Earth wares.

It again brought up the question of whether he was truly in another universe, thrown into the actual show, or if he was in a coma.

“Hey, I took an attack from Zarkon,” he defended himself. “It's a miracle I'm not straight up dead.”

He stuffed another bite into his mouth and froze, thoughts grinding to a halt.

Oh fuck, Keith is dead, Red thought, choking a little on his goo as he was hit with sudden clarity. Oh, my poor Magic K8th Ball. I should've been nicer to you.

A more horrific thought occurred to him.

What if they had switched places?

Good fucking luck, Red thought. Rest in fucking pieces.

He got a hard pat on the back from Lance and spat the glob back out onto his plate.

“Ew,” Lance said, making a disgusted face at his poor performance in food ingestion. “Do you need to be fed like a baby or something?”

Red slid his eyes over to Lance, very carefully calculating his next move, and held out the spoon.

“I dare you,” he said.

Lance stared, mouth agape.

“I'm not gonna feed you like a baby!” Lance sputtered.

“But I'm injured,” Red wheedled, attempting to appear as pathetic as possible. He was Keith, after all. It was second nature.

But Lance snorted at him.

“You just came out of the healing pod,” he said. “You're fine.”

Pouting a little, Red returned to his strange-tasting goo.

“Soylent green,” he muttered to himself. “Why is all futuristic food bright green? This is why The Matrix rules.”

“What are you talking about?” Lance said, baffled.

“Nothing,” Red said. “You said you were gonna fill me in.”

“Oh, right,” Lance said, straightening in his seat. “Well, here's the lowdown.”

And that was how Red found out he was at the start of season 3.

He was still coming to the realization when Shiro joined them in the room. Red's eyes snapped onto him, and he exclaimed, “You're alive?”

Shiro, who had raised a hand in greeting, frowned a little as he closed the distance. Upon reaching Red, he ruffled his hair brusquely.

“Don't be so surprised,” Shiro said with a huff.

Red was too numb to react. His arrival had somehow derailed the plot. Shiro was not dead. Keith was, but also not, because Red was here in his body after presumably perishing in his own universe.

Death by tripping over his own feet.

Yeah, that tracked.

It was kind of pathetic. At least Keith had perished in a firefight. But hey, seeing how Red was in his body, he might very well go out the same way.

I need to train, Red thought with dawning horror. Aw, man, it just had to be the melee character I was thrown into. But then he glanced at Lance and rolled back on that thought. Better melee than the ranged fighter.

He snorted a little at the thought of being trapped in the Voltron Universe with Keith, but no Lance.

“Bummer,” he muttered.

They would have killed each other, probably.

“Hey, that's hurtful,” Shiro said, and Red looked up to see both Lance and Shiro staring at him with confusion and hurt, respectively.

“Oh, I wasn't talking about you,” Red said quickly, recalling the conversation. “I was thinking about something else.”

“Maybe we need to put him back in the pod,” Lance said, eyeing Red warily.

“The only way you're getting me back in there is unconscious,” Red said, standing from the table and picking up his empty plate. He paused then, looking about the room.

“Where the fuck do the plates go?” he muttered aloud.

Leaving his own chair, Lance joined him at his side, giving him a dubious look as he pointedly took the plate.

“I got it,” he said.

He left the room, casting a final, concerned glance over his shoulder before he was out of sight.

“You feeling alright?” Shiro asked, and Red turned to him from where he had been watching Lance leave. He nodded.

“Yeah, sure, just discombobulated,” Red said, giving the same answer he gave Lance.

Shiro squinted at him, but ultimately nodded and patted him on the back.

“I'm glad you're okay,” Shiro said, expression soft. “Don't know what I would've done if something had happened to you.”

Red went stiff.

Aw, shit.

He had no reason to feel guilty. It was not like Red himself had killed Keith. It was not like Red himself chose to be thrown into this universe. But he felt it, a massive amount of guilt that formed a lump in his dry throat.

Keith was dead, and Shiro had lost a little brother. It was fucking sad.

He felt bad.

“Don't worry,” Red said, slapping him on the shoulder. “It'll take more than that big purple bastard Zarkon to get rid of me.”

Shiro looked cheered by that, and he gestured at the door.

“Wanna get some training in?” he asked.

Keith would have said yes.

Red was not Keith.

He debated it quickly while he feigned a lengthy stretch to stave off answering, arms above his head.

If he skipped and later proved he knew fuck-all about martial arts, then he would undoubtedly be found an imposter. But if he went now and then used the excuse of still feeling off, then it might be overlooked until he got up to scratch.

“Sure,” Red said.

He was definitely gonna have his ass handed to him.

Red tried his best to memorize the way there, but he had never been good at remembering directions and this place was like a fucking maze. He sighed quietly and tried to get used to the idea of being found out sooner rather than later.

However, once they arrived at the training deck, Shiro was hailed by Allura.

“Next time,” Shiro said apologetically.

Relieved to hell and back, Red nodded.

“No big,” he said. “Later, gator.”

Shiro had already turned away, but paused then and glanced back at him.

Red's palms began to sweat, but he tried to look as normal as possible. For Keith, anyway.

With a quirk of an eyebrow, Shiro nodded and took off.

Breathing out, Red headed into the training room and looked about the empty space.

“How the fuck does this work?” he muttered to himself, rubbing at his nape and frowning. He hummed and tried, “Computer?”

Overhead, there was an acknowledging ding, and Red brightened.

“Options?” he tried then. There were two buzzing sounds. An error alert, maybe. “Menu?” Red tried next, and received the same sound. He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Level one gladiator, then, god.”

An acknowledging sound came again and a gladiator dropped from above. Red tensed, arms raised warily as he tried to recall old boxing lessons. He jumped on the balls of his feet, attempting to loosen up. His heart began to race.

“Okay, no big deal,” Red said. “It's not gonna kill me. It's a training bot.” He grimaced. “Oh, man, is this gonna hurt.”

And just as he rushed the gladiator, it suddenly occurred to Red that he was wearing nothing but a body suit and had zero weapons on him.

“Oh, fuck!” He skidded to a stop and yelped as the gladiator rushed him. “Fuck!” He ducked as the gladiator swung at him, blinking in surprise as his leg automatically kicked out like a reflex and tripped the robot.

“Oh, thank god for muscle memory!”

But muscle memory could only get him so far.

Red had good instinct, it appeared, but his lack of actual knowledge cost him as the gladiator proceeded to get up and slam its knee into his gut. Winded, Red doubled over, suddenly nauseated, and barely had time to inhale when he was roundhouse kicked across the floor.

Everything went briefly white, and the blood pulsed in his head before pain surged through the side of his skull. Then Red was staring at the ceiling, stars in his vision once again and in throbbing pain.

The gladiator appeared above him, and instinct had him rolling, head spinning. He lurched onto his feet and promptly threw up.

“End training sequence,” he gasped, and heaved again.

Green goo covered the floor, and Red dropped sideways, only just missing the gross puddle as he closed his eyes and gathered his wits.

“Ow,” he groaned.

And once he was good, he stood up and took a deep breath. Then another. And he tried again.

“Computer, level one gladiator.”

A gladiator dropped, and Red took a third deep breath, wiping his mouth on his forearm.

“Here we go,” he grunted.

It kicked his ass in ten seconds flat.

Aching to the marrow of his bones, Red left the training deck and looked up and down the hall.

“Aw, man, where the fuck is my room?” he groaned and began walking in the general direction he thought he came from. His body was one giant bruise. He was sweaty, his head spinning, and there was a heavy taste of blood and vomit coating the inside of his mouth.

Training had been awful for sure, but he had more or less gotten a handle of the body he inhabited. He had even lasted a whole minute against the gladiator at the end there.

Some more practice and he might even survive for a bit before something inevitably killed him.

He only hoped for a chance to flirt with Lance before that happened.

#wrote this for shits and giggles #is red writing things #voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld #isekai #self-insert #not klance

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