Part 31

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Keith watched with a slackened mouth as Lance darted head first into a veritable army of foot soldiers all alone. The way he moved was completely different from the first time they watched him in the simulator.

Lance has always been agile, and he's always been someone to depend on in battle. Quick witted, clever, focused. He was good already, but this?

This was inhuman.

The moment Lance started fighting, was the moment the enemy was finally pushed out of the victory lane.

First Lance decimated the ground forces, as if he had some clairvoyant sight that allowed him to see the future. As amazing as Galra and Altean technology is, Keith would be hard pressed to believe they could make something to see the future. But then again, the druids had magic, so that's a thing now.

Keith watched as Lance practically mowed over the enemy foot soldiers. The way his body moved was incredible. Twists and turns and jumps and bends and throwing the enemy around like they were nothing but a sack of potatoes.

Impossible.

Incredible.

After most of the ground forces had been torn apart, the fighters jets began to focus on Lance. Keith would have been worried had he not watched Lance lift a damaged fighter jet wing and throw it.

Literally threw it like a three hundred pound frisbee.

This must have been the work of Lance's eye. How? Keith had no clue, but it was the only explanation on the sudden strength and agility to Lance's movements.

He wanted one.

Maybe not as permanently as Lance has, but every once in awhile, playing around with that kind of ability would be fun. And he would finally out bench Shiro.

The battle slowed as the ground forces began retreating, whatever was left of them at least. Lance didn't call out on the radio anymore, which was silent now as half of the fighters retreated while the other half was taken down by the Lions.

Lance began hollering into the comms, followed closely by Pidge and Hunk. "Now that's what I'm talking about!"

Keith heard Shiro sigh, the one usually specially reserved for Keith and his recklessness. He didn't know how to feel about no longer being the only one who drove Shiro crazy all the time. If only he could get Lance to drop the whole rivalry thing, the two of them could work in tandem.

It's always fun making Shiro exasperated.

The worst reaction Keith had gotten out of Shiro was when he punched Iverson in the face and damaged his eye. Shiro had nearly blown a gasket when Keith told him about it shortly after they became the paladins of Voltron.

His face had gone purple, his eyes had twitched and a nice, long vein popped out of Shiro's neck. Shiro didn't speak to him for an hour, and seeing as he's naturally kind of a pacifist, that's pretty intense.

And yes, it is ironic, because Shiro was chosen to pilot Black.

So yeah, Keith, being an asshole little brother figure in Shiro’s life, was exited to see how far he and Lance could push Shiro's buttons.

"Alright everyone. Back to the ship and meet in the lounge for debriefing." Shiro said. "And Lance, if you ever do something so stupid again, I will disown you."

Keith snorted. He's made that same threat to Keith for years. His response was always something along the lines of-

"But we aren't even related." Lance said.

He could practically see Shiro's flared nostrils from all the way across the field. And Shiro would always respond to Keith-

"Disowned."

The similarities were hilarious, and he could hold back his laughter no longer. Shiro appeared on his dash in a private link, flipped Keith off with both hands- which was scandalous for Shiro- and then disappeared without a word.

Keith made sure his laughter was extra obnoxious just for Shiro. Then Keith made his way back to the lion hangars to regroup with the others.

******

Part 34

(First)(Previous)(Next) (AO3)

It was a long few minutes after the doors shut behind their friends before either of them spoke. Lance spent the time staring at his hands, trying to swallow the fact that he had attacked Allura.

He didn't actually remember doing it. But the first thing Hunk told him was that he had attacked her mid- demonstration. To Lance, it was all just a black, empty space in his memory. Last thing he remembered was the flash of light against Allura’s nails when she stumbled, and then all of a sudden he was staring into Hunk’s eyes as they crouched on the floor.

He attacked Allura.

"We can all tell that things have been hard on you since your return." Hunk started. Lance shifted his eyes to look at Hunk, but the man wouldn't look him in the eye. Hunk opted to stare at the far wall instead.

"You need to talk to someone Lance. About what's happened. Otherwise it'll keep eating you up from the inside out, and days like today will only get worse." Hunk said, his voice filled with a sorrow so deeply set, one would think he was talking about himself.

It's not like Lance was blind. He knew that something happened on the ship to change him, to make Hunk act different. It was subtle of course, little things that changed. However, when the only people you really are around only take up seven fingers on the daily, you're bound to learn things about one another.

Like Pidge. Believe it or not, but she sings to herself when others aren't around. And her voice goes from that sort of boyish deepness she talks in, into a sweet, lilting, high pitched voice.

Very beautiful.

Allura, she likes to tuck herself away in a small space, tight and seemingly uncomfortable, just to take naps. Lance suspects she likes the small places, and sometimes she'll use her shifting ability to become about the size of the mice.

Keith is artistic. Lance once found one of his little sketches of a planet they saved, and had hunted down the artist in question. Keith had clammed up when confronted, so Lance just made him promise to leave some more pieces out on accident so Lance could see.

Now, every once in a while, Lance wakes up to find a new sketch slipped onto his nightstand. How Keith gets in and out without Lance hearing is still an unsolved mystery.

Neither of them speak of the drawings though.

And Shiro, he loves to talk to himself in the mirror. Lance once caught him in the shower room, which was communal and separated only by curtains. Shiro tackled him when Lance tried to run and tell Pidge.

So yeah, they all know things about each other like a real family does. They threaten each other not to tell the rest of the castle, they barter and negotiate as well. A real familiar type of interaction.

Which means, Lance noticed when Hunk leaves the room when he enters. And when Hunk refuses to make eye contact. And when Hunk borderline flinches when Lance tries to talk to him.

"You should take your own advice." Lance said after a moment of thinking. Hunk jumped again, which was his version of flinching. Lance cut him off when Hunk opened his mouth, his face creased in protestation.

"We've noticed how off you've been acting too you know." Lance started. He was unable to drain the hurt from his voice. "You can't look me in the eye, run out of the room when I enter, you flinch at me." Each action was punctuated by Lance's counting fingers, each making Hunk shy away a little more.

That hurt a lot.

"What happened on that ship?" Lance whispered loudly. Unbidden, a slew of horrific images began filtering through his mind. Memories, except instead of Lance, it was Hunk. Chains, pain, the glint of blue liquid spreading and spreading. Hunk’s headband bloody, his eyes crying.

Fear and anger began rising up into his chest and throat, and probably his voice too. "What did they do to you?" He said. Something must have leaked into his voice enough, because the two of them finally locked eyes, dark blue against dark brown.

"Did he hurt you? Did they touch you?" Lance's voice slowly raised in pitch in volume, a slight growl rumbling in his throat behind his words.

Hunk shook his head quickly. "No, they didn't lay a finger on me. They did nothing to me, I swear Lance." Pure honesty was in Hunk’s expression. And pain filled the void the retreating anger left behind.

"Then why are you acting like this towards me?" Lance said. Hunk looked away, and a terrible thought came to mind. "Are you ashamed of me?"

Lance had tried to sound accusing and angry, but all that came out was broken and meek.

Hunk shook his head no again, harsh and sharp.

"I'm ashamed of myself Lance." Hunk said, moments before Lance could speak again. He didn't answer, just letting Hunk get what he needs to say off his chest.

Hunk took a moment to steady himself, a deep breath shaky even to Lance's ears. "I heard," was all he said. It took a minute or two for Lance to get the hint that he was supposed to know what that meant. Problem was, he had no clue what that meant.

"Heard what?" Lance said. He desperately wanted to reach out and touch Hunk, just a hand on the shoulder would be fine. He's been so starved of touch before he met Voltron, not trusting those he shared a ship with enough to allow it. Hunk was always hugging Lance though, so he became dependent.

He needed a gentle touch every now and then.

"Heard what?" Lance asked again instead, his fingers twitching in his lap. Hunk took another shuddering breath.

"I heard everything Lance." Hunk said, turning to look Lance in the eyes again. Pain and anger in his eyes, as well as unshed tears. "Everything they did to you, I heard it." Lance let that sink in, wondering why it would cause such problems with Hunk.

Yeah, Lance was tortured. Yeah, he was vocal at points. But why would that cause such reactions in Hunk?

Unless-

"How much did you hear?" Lance asked slowly.

Hunk shook his head again, curling himself to make a giant Hunk ball. Despite the guy's size, he seemed pretty small in that moment. When he spoke again, it wasn't to answer the question.

"The others, Pidge and Keith and the rest of them. They only heard Keith's side of the story. Not mine. Not yours." Hunk said. Lance hesitated, but slowly lifted a hand to Hunk’s shoulder. The contact practically made Hunk melt out of the ball he had formed himself into.

They scooted closer, only an inch, but enough to allow their legs to touch. And Lance waited. Eventually Hunk got the hint and kept talking.

"My cell was right down the hall from where they kept you. I heard everything they did to you. I heard your screams, and taunts and sobs. I heard the men and the whip and the laughter." Hunk gasped in a breath. "And I heard when they changed tactics against you. It was when whatever they drugged you with broke you. Because I know you were drugged, or you wouldn't have said the things you did."

"Hunk-" Lance said, a small swell of panic rising. He didn't want to talk any more, but Hunk wasn't listening.

"I sort of blacked out. Went on a rampage, but watched myself do it all. Ripping my cuffs to shreds. Taking down the guards when they investigated all the noise. Stealing a large set of armor to fit over my own. Finding Keith's cell and body slamming his guard. Breaking him free." Hunk said in a rush. His words were getting faster and more blurred together. So much so that Lance had make that click to change to enhanced vision and hearing.

"It's like watching a screen engulfed in water. Blurred, and wobbly. Hard to understand. And my chest- Oh my god- my chest. It was burning, like I was melting inside out." Hunk pressed a hand to his chest and Lance knew what he meant. Almost instinctively.

"I couldn't breath, and I couldn't think. I had never felt such things in my life. And it didn't leave until we had you in the pod. It was awful." Hunk finished, his voice dropping to a whisper.

Lance took pity on both of them and leaned into Hunk’s side. "It's called anger. That's what pure anger feels like. When it's so bad that your chest burns and it's like someone is yanking the air out of your chest." Hunk shuddered.

"I never want to feel like that again." Hunk said. Lance hummed his reply, and they sat in quiet some more. As if breaking the silence was forbidden.

Hunk broke it anyways. "I'm ashamed of myself for not getting you back sooner, for just abandoning you to fend for yourself against Shemale."

Lance stopped short. Shemale? "Who the hell is Shemale?" Lance asked, shocked at the name. He knows no one on that awful ship who called themselves Shemale. Hunk barked out a short, hoarse laugh.

"That's what Keith and I called the Commander. We couldn't decide if they were male or female. Keith is adamant they were female, but I'm partial to male. We've been meaning to ask you, even have a bet on it."

Lance snorted as he shook his head slowly. He could see it, honestly. Pagg was not the handsomest of aliens.

"Male." Lance said. "Definitely male." He heard Hunk mutter under his breath that Keith owed him a thousand Gak. Which was funny, since literally no one but Coran and Allura actually have any Gak. Lance had some, but he hasn't needed to use his stash yet.

Of course when Pidge and him went Gak fishing in the fountain at the mall, that was just for fun. And Pidge wouldn't take his money anyways. They let the mood sink back into a serious air.

"You don't have to talk to me about it. There are plenty of people on this ship if I'm not the one you want to talk to." Hunk said, his voice soft. Lance went to interrupt but Hunk just kept talking.

"Talk to Shiro, he's been in similar situations. Or Pidge, she'll throw logic at you until you understand that whatever is bothering you is not true or your fault or whatever it is." Hunk said, a small smile curling on his lips. Lance snorted in response.

"She would wouldn't she?" Lance said fondly.

"Or Allura. Despite being," Hunk paused to find the right words, before saying slowly. "Rough around the edges, she's really kind and empathetic. It's how she saved the Balmera."

Lance pouted. "You guys still haven't told me what you did. I mean come on. I've seen the details of it's condition, saving it should have been impossible with a thousand years to do it let alone one day." Hunk only laughed, his large body trembling under the force, shaking Lance a little where he leaned.

"Maybe later." Hunk said. Like he always did. They all found it funny how pretty much all of the Galra believe it was Lance to save a Balmera. Given Lance still had a price on his head for it, he didn't find it funny. To be fair, without the tracker in his eye, they have been able to lay low and try to fix the ship.

"You could talk to Keith. Believe it or not, he understands emotions quite well." Hunk said. Lance scoffed and sat up to look at Hunk with a deadpan expression.

"Keith." Lance said, obviously disbelieving.

Hunk only smirked, seeming much more like himself, even if he still wouldn't look him in the eyes. "Think about it." That was all Hunk said. And Lance did think about it.

It made sense. Keith was always putting himself as a punching bag for Lance's frustration, and keeping Pidge company at night sometimes. When Lance didn't get her in bed at least. Which wasn't often but still.

Ever since Lance found out about her insomniac ways, he's gotten pretty good at convincing her to go to sleep. Usually she only went when Lance sung to her. It was their little thing, the singing. It was the only way her thoughts could quiet enough to sleep.

The first time Shiro saw him carrying her to bed, he had called Lance a witch. That was an entertaining night. Usually she'll go happily to bed when Lance offered to sing, but when she didn't, he sung to her anyways. Bit by bit she would fall slowly to sleep. It was only after the third time when Lance learned the moment she would drop her head on her keyboard, so that he could move it out of the way.

But Keith was always there when he or Hunk weren't. Shiro's pacing the halls, countered with Keith's offer to spar. Allura’s snapping, countered with Keith's steady voice when they were in tense situations.

"Oh my god." Lance breathed. Hunk nodded in smugness. "You're absolutely right." The thought blew his mind. Hot head Keith was actually good with emotions, or other people's anyways. He wasn't good with human interaction and his own emotions, but other people's he was great.

"And if not Keith, go to Coran. He's older and wiser, and will probably be a great listener for you." Hunk paused and scoffed. "Besides, we all know he has the hugest soft spot for you."

Lance chuckled, not denying it. They were pretty close for knowing each other only a short time. But still, Lance couldn't talk about it, it hurt too much. He told Hunk as much.

"I can't relive the memory Hunk. It's too painful." Then Lance said something that was bothering him quite a bit. "Shiro's lucky not to remember what the Galra put him through. He has time to accept it before he knows, I see it all in my dreams. Every time I close my eyes, or see my own body, or even breath. It haunts me." He felt guilty saying Shiro was lucky, because he really wasn't, but that didn't mean Lance felt any different.

"I think that's something you should talk to him about, but if you don't talk to anyone it will kill you slowly." Hunk said, deadly serious.

He wanted to say something awful, like Good riddance, but that was just his trauma talking. He shook his head, leaning against Hunk again. He felt so tired, felt like he was sinking to the bottom of Earth's oceans and unable to swim to freedom.

"I can't." He said again. Hunk sort of blew up at him after that, raising his voice into a yell.

"You have to talk to someone! The team, a recorder, Blue. Hell just talk to a wall if you must! You can't keep bottling things up in your chest. Because they will explode when packed too tightly." Hunk finished, standing up and pacing away from Lance. He turned back to Lance before he stormed out of the room.

"And when it happens, the ones affected will be your friends. I can't promise the damage to be repairable either." Hunk locked eyes with Lance. They stared at each other a moment before Hunk sighed and went to open the door.

He didn't look back when he spoke next, his voice nearly a whisper. "I'm going to get changed. Meet you at dinner. If you decide to show up at least." Lance watched how his shoulders hunched inwards, his view cut off by the closing of the training room door. When the silence settled over him, he just curled into himself and closed his eyes.

He couldn't talk about it. Not yet.

*****

Summary:

Lance goes to space long before the landing of the Kerberos mission, and after a gruelling time as a fighter in the arena he joins the resistance. Shortly after team Voltron launches to space, Lance stumbles upon the team and suddenly things get dicey for them all.

----

When Lance McClain, a proud field agent and officer of the Resistance against Zarkon's tyranny, stumbles upon the Altean ship, his entire world is flipped upside down. Suddenly, he's the Empire's Most Wanted, he's unable to rely on the Resistance for help, and now he pilots the giant, magical, robot lion spaceship, appropriately named the Blue Lion. His new team is a handful of humans just like him, and two of the most human looking aliens Lance has encountered so far.

Trying to survive, figure out who the spy or traitor in the Resistance is, and solidifying their new bond all at the same time make things hard on the team, and especially on Lance. Things gets worse when enemies of the past come back to haunt Lance and remind him; he's not as strong as he would have people believe he is.

Part 1

(Next)(AO3)

Lance was once a normal child.

He had dreams of going to space. Travelling among the stars and planets and the infinite universe. He had planned to join the Galaxy Garrison, a prestigious and sought after school for aspiring space cadets. He wanted to be top of his class, a fighter pilot, adored and loved by all. He wanted to meet his hero, Takashi Shirogane, or Shiro as most people refer to him, and be just like him.

He could remember a time when his biggest worry was passing the entrance exams and getting a crew that he actually liked. In retrospect, it all seemed frivolous now.

Lance never got that chance, the chance to be a fighter pilot with a great crew and meet his hero. Lance never even got to say his last goodbyes. His Familia back home in Cuba must think he dropped off the face of the Earth, abandoning them. Or perhaps they thought him dead. He might as well have been, for as long as he has been gone.

Lance couldn't even really tell you how long that was himself. He could have been gone for a month, or he could have been gone for a year. Space was weird like that. Especially where he is right now. Time doesn’t exist here. His hands were cuffed in front of him with tech far more advanced than his home planet, the metal cool to the touch, and tight around his wrists.

His ankles were chained in much the same fashion, a strip of what he imagined was purple electricity the only connection between his cuffs. Logically, he should be able to snap the electric band by moving the cuffs beyond its reach, snapping the connection, but they stopped as if the purple electricity was metal chain links. Lance was shoved forward a little by one of the guards behind him. Another logical thing, was that the creatures leading him through dark hall lit by purple light, were just really tall humans. Because there was no such thing as aliens.

Logically. Or at least he himself never believed in the idea. He hoped but he wasn’t one of those fanatics about aliens. But these monsters were no human.

They were seven foot to eight foot tall, covered in either purple skin or purple fur, with eyes that were pupilless and yellow, where the whites should be and all. Most of the creatures had fangs as well, not quite as long as a canine’s, but sharp enough to scare him shitless nonetheless. Some of them had prosthetic limbs, ones that were so advanced it made him cringe.

The reason is, is because they used the limbs as weapons, and some could even detach themselves from the body and still be fully functional. It was dark magic in those limbs, and this was real, because he had been one of the unlucky few equipped with one of these “upgrades” as the witch called them.

Lance wasn't dumb. 

He knew what the creatures were called, he knew what fuelled the ships to cause such dark purple glow, and he knew what powered these upgrades. Prisoners tend to gossip, especially if they wish to distract themselves desperately. These “creatures” were an evil alien race called the Galra, which ruled over nearly all of the known universe.

The empire was ruled by Zarkon, a nasty and terrifying Galra who has become essentially immortal, having lived as emperor for over ten thousand years. Or deca-phoebs as most of the aliens he encountered called it. Lance prayed he was never caught face to face with the beast Emperor. And that purple glow was from a corrupt form of quintessence, which was basically the life force of the universe.

The closest he could relate the name ‘quintessence’ was to spirit, soul, or nature. Such as person’s ‘nature’. In its natural state, the quintessence was bright, colored a pure yellow and when in close proximity the quintessence practically throbbed with life energy. As if it were a sentient being in and of itself. Lance has only come in close proximity of natural quintessence once in his stay with the horrible Galra, and the stuff- a sort of plasma like state- drew him forwards.

His body had ached to get closer to the stuff, and perhaps that was odd; the looks other prisoners threw at him when he tried to describe the feeling said as much, even if some of them had not the slightest humanoid resemblance.

Another shove forward nearly sent him sprawling to the floor, but he had learned early on never to show weakness. Falling to the floor would have prompted the guards to get angry and ‘discipline’ him. He wished he could show these giant purple space cats just how disciplined he was, preferably with one of those high tech blasters strapped to most of their hips or held in their hands.

Lance grit his teeth as he stepped wrong and a short sharp pain exploded up his ankle, from when he had twisted it but a few days ago. Or quintants, as was the Common measurement of a day was in space. Guess Earth never got the memo. He was surrounded by four guards, three more guards than usually used when transporting normal prisoners to and fro.

But, once again, Lance wasn’t normal, not anymore.

Unlike most prisoners, he had never known of the terrifying might of the Galra his entire life, never even knowing of aliens for sure for that matter. And it’s because of this lack of force, Lance fought the guards every moment he could. He was known empire wide for his unruliness. Also unlike most prisoners, he wasn’t forced into manual labor. He was one of those that fights in the gladiator cages. And as a gladiator, the rule of thumb was such: the longer you live, the more popular you become, and eventually you are given a name, a title that the Galra use to identify you.

Few ever manage to survive for that long though, so when Lance- arguably one of the smaller types of alien races in the known universe- made it through, it was inevitable that this day would come. He was being led to another match, one attended by the beast himself, Emperor Zarkon. As he came closer to the dreaded arena, threading through the maze of dark, purple lit hallways, the sounds of cheers grew louder and louder.

Until the time came where they stood in front of the cage that would bring him up to the arena, and the noise was like the roaring waves on Varadero beach when a storm was raging overhead. It was thunderous, vibrating the metal beneath his feet and making his cuffs quiver in motion. Lance grit his teeth harder, resigning himself to the dreaded fight looming ahead of him. He never liked what he resorted to in the arena. Sometimes his opponents would be seasoned fighters such as himself, other's were sacrificial lambs to the slaughter for the cruelty of the Galra’s entertainment.

He made the mistake of letting his opponent live only once. A kid more humanoid than most he had seen throughout his months- or phoebs- and that poor alien child was made to suffer for it. They tortured that poor thing until all the screams in Lance’s throat were dried out, and his tears stopped flowing, and all Lance could do was stare brokenly ahead and whimper.

And then they left the child to die, Lance still chained tightly to the metal wall and unable to even comfort the child as he went through his last moments. After that, Lance never let another being survive the ring unless he was the one to die. And boy did that fact damage him. Lance sucked in a hissing breath as the noise reached a crescendo, the words ‘Fin-ish him! Fin-ish him!’ echoed in his ears.

Lance braced himself one last time, shutting his horror and pain and sorrow away into the deepest part of him and locked it away with a set of keys. He didn’t open his eyes as the guards pushed him into the cage. As they surrounded him and were lifted up to the arena a few floors upwards. The cage stuttered to a stop, the distinct hum of the tech hidden beneath sleek metal panels drowned out with the roar of the crowds.

He didn’t open his eyes as the doors opened and his senses were bombarded with a wall of screams and cheers. He was moved forward a few steps, only two bodies surrounding him now. And suddenly a hush settled upon the crowd, leaving a ringing in Lance’s ears. After only a few seconds- or closest to a tick in common time- a slow thumping resounded around him. The people in the stands have seen the new fighter, and recognized him, stomping their feet in tandem louder and louder. And then he heard it.

His title.

Hun-ter. Hun-ter. Hun-ter.

Lance was known as the Hunter, because he never let his ‘prey’ escape. Lance listened as his opponent was brought to the field. Even with Lance’s eyes closed, he knew two things. One, this opponent was popular, but untitled. And two, nobody seemed to think Lance was going to survive this one, according to the rush of frantic whispers. He pushed that thought away. Let his ears take the brunt of the sensations around. He heard the chatter of the arena, the slight buzz of his cuffs, the shifting of the Galra beside him.

With a conscience thought, a click sounded in his head. He didn’t care what the Galra believed would be the outcome of the fights. Things were going to happen in one of two fashions.

A plan, his plan, the one he had worked on, and with, outside forces for weeks- movements- would come to fruition, and Lance would see the outside of these metal walls for the first time. Lance would be free. Or he would be dead. If the plan flunked, the Galra would kill him for his attempt at freedom, or he would succumb to the gladiator fight and die in captivity as the Hunter.

Either way, Lance is never returning to a cell. Not if he had anything to do with it anyways. Another sort of hush fell on the crowd. One filled with excitement, and nervous energy. The two Galra moved behind him, the shifting of their not-quite-perfectly-fitted armor giving them away as clear as day. Lance breathed in, felt the shackles on his ankles be removed.

He stayed still.

Held out his wrists, as if he would willingly go into this fight. The shackles came off and Lance opened his eyes. His vision was no longer in normal color. Everything was doused in the slightest of purple glow. Numbers and calculations, a circular target moving in and out of focus like a camera lense; they seemed as if they floated in mid air, but Lance knew better.

This was his modification, the one Zarkon’s witch did to him.

He called them computer eyes, because essentially, that was what they were. Although it wasn’t eyes, the change was only done to his right eye, and in this mode, his left eye was pretty much closed while still wide open. His handcuffs fluttered to the ground. The moment the sound of his cuffs hitting dirt filtered through his ears, Lance moved.

Lance smiled ferally, like an animal.

And the arena was filled with screams.

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Hey guys! So this is the first of a voltron fic I’m writing. It ties in a whole lot of theories and alternate universe, and I hope to make posting new chapters a regular thing! I hope you guys like it! C’est la vie!

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