#vld fic

His first quintant back at central command was coming to an end when Lotor caught himself halfway to his—his old—room. Because it’s not his anymore, is it? He’s no longer a prince, and it’s been ages since he was a child.

Part of him wished to keep going, desperate for the taste of something that was not necessarily good, but… familiar, safe—most of the time at least. He almost does, but it was already cramped when he was young and wouldn’t be nearly as cozy without Kova there.

He enters the emperor’s quarters, his quarters, and locks each set of doors behind him. They had been cleaned, he presumes, as the bedclothes sat neatly tucked, free of wrinkles. Either that or they never slept here, which wouldn’t be surprising.

Only after changing the lock codes again does he dare to begin taking off his armor. At some point, his hands begin to tremble, fingers struggling to undo the clasps, but he keeps going.

They are not here. This is not their space anymore, it is yours.

It is then, when he is standing in only his flight suit, he realizes he has none of his things with him. All of what he owns, besides what is on his person or in the pile beside him, is resting on his flagship in a hangar half varga’s walk away.

He could just sleep like this, he’d done it plenty of times before. But logic couldn’t stop him from sliding open the drawers under the bed. Some were empty, but others held clothing, neatly folded, untouched until he reaches to pull them out.

The shirt is meant to be loose fitting—it’s nightwear after all—but it practically swallows him as he puts it on: the wide collar threatens to slip off his shoulders and the hemline nearly falls to his knees. While definitely too short, at least the trousers he’d found on the other side of the bed fit better.

He folds his suit, and along with his armor, and sets it in one of the empty drawers.

He turns off the light and slips into bed, a pillow on either side of him. He tries not to think about it too much.

justheretobreakthings:

Written for @whump-nutritionist as something of a prequel to her WereGalra AU. Hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 4,646
Character: Keith
AO3 Link Coming Soon
My house, my rules, my ko-fi

Content warnings: gore, vomit, eye trauma

When Keith first woke up, he thought he was in the Castle of Lions.

Specifically, one of the cryopods in the Castle’s med bay. He felt that same sharp chill that he always got after waking from a stint of healing in the pod, when the cryofluid had drained and left his skin prickly with gooseflesh, right before the door hissed open and he would collapse into the arms of whichever teammate was waiting to catch him - usually Shiro. He certainly felt that weakness that accompanied cryopod stays, that odd mix of limbs feeling jelly-like and not feeling like anything at all.

For a moment he was relieved, believing that Voltron’s most recent mission - which had started going south the moment his comm stopped working after they had split up and just kept getting worse when he was spotted by those druids - hadn’t been a total failure after all. At least if he was in the med bay, it meant his team had come to his rescue and been able to extract him after he had lost consciousness.

But that relief quickly faded as he pried his eyes open and finally got a look at his surroundings.

The view in front of him was warped and colored, the way it always was when looking out of a cryopod, but rather than the icy blue of the med bay, the glow lighting the glass in front of his nose was instead a sickly green. He himself, rather than being held upright by the magnets in the pod and cryosuit, was splayed on the pod’s floor, sitting with his shoulder and cheek pressed against the glass.

And beyond that glass…

Was definitely not the Castle’s med bay.

Keep reading

Loving there writing right now