Latest Posts by renywrites - Page 9

Unconditional

Keith scowls down at the stick in his hands. The damn little stick that read negative. The third damn little stick he had taken that day. He stares at it a moment longer, then drops the test into the bin and gets up from his perch on the side of the bathtub to wash his hands.

It wasn’t common for Keith to be as infertile as he was. Omegas were supposed to practically oozing fertility and vitality! His alpha would argue that he wasn’t infertile, his uterus was just annoying, but Keith would definitely beg to differ.

The omega brushes his palms against his pants and decides to throw himself into baking something while he waited for Lance to get home. They’d been trying for the past three months. He’d gone through painful procedures, medicines that made him weepy or irritable, different positions, inducing heat. None of it had worked.

So his go-to was baking. That made him more of an omega, right? Maybe if he acted more like his secondary gender, he would get pregnant. His instincts were all screwed up anyways. He wasn’t like the other omegas. Lance always liked to tease that he was an alpha hiding in an omega’s body.

Maybe being an alpha would be easier, he thinks to himself as he aggressively rolls out the cookie dough. It would certainly save Lance a lot of trouble. Then they could get a surrogate and he wouldn’t have all of those weepy, jealous emotions that came with his instincts.

By the time Keith’s alpha does come home, the kitchen smells amazing and they have about six dozen different types of cookies. Keith is washing dishes, covered in flour and muttering to himself, his brow pinched.

“I’m home,” Lance calls, undoing his tie and slipping off his shoes. “Wow. You made a lot of stuff today.”

At his mate’s silence, Lance suspects that the tests had been negative again. Uh oh. Moody Keith and peanut butter cookies were on the menu tonight. He sets all his things down before going into the kitchen.

“Baby.” He hums, wrapping his arms around the omega’s waist. He buries his face in his neck, scenting him. He could almost taste the cloying anxiety and self hatred. Lance frowns, rubbing his cheek there to try and soothe his mate’s scent with his own. “What’s up?”

“The sky.” Keith replies tersely, still tense in his grip. He reached forward, grabbing the soap and pouring it over a dirty bowl.

“No,” the alpha snorts, kissing his cheek. He reaches over, turning off the water and ignoring Keith’s annoyed grunt. “I mean what’s up with you.”

“Nothing. I’m just baking.” He mumbles, reaching over to turn the water back on. Lance catches his hands, walking backward with him and turning his mate around to face him. “And I was trying to wash dishes.” He grumps, looking up at his mate.

“You never ‘just bake’ six dozen cookies.” He tilts Keith’s chin up, brushing his thumb over his cheek. Keith avoids his gaze.

“Baby…” The alpha pleads, leaning down and brushing his nose over his mate’s cheek, gently scenting him. “Please talk to me.”

Keith’s eyes flicker shut. He takes a breath, his throat suddenly tightening with emotion. He takes a moment, melting into his mate’s attention and closing his eyes. What had he done to deserve such a patient, loving alpha?

“The test was negative again.” He whispers, opening his eyes after a moment and looking up at him. He expected disappointment or guilt or… something. But instead, he was met with a smile and a kiss to the forehead.

“I know.” Lance murmurs against his skin, wrapping his arms just a bit tighter around his waist.

“You- what? You do?”

“Yeah,” the alpha laughs, peppering kisses along his face. “Yeah. You don’t bake unless you need to make yourself feel better. I’m not complaining!” He adds quickly at Keith’s guilty expression. “The guys at work love your cookies. They’ll be happy.”

The omega lays against him, thinking this through. He presses his cheek to Lance’s shoulder, brushing his fingers over his collarbone and staring off into space. “Are you happy?” He asks after a moment, his voice rough.

Lance blinks, pulling back slightly to look down at him. “What? Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because,” he takes a sharp breath, rubbing his stinging eyes. “Because you want a family. You want… kids and a home and… I’m not giving that to you. I just have- cookies! And negative pregnancy tests and fucked up hormones…”

“I have a family.” Lance hums, brushing a thumb under Keith’s eye. “My family is right here.”

“But I’m just… I’m just me.” Keith’s voice cracks.

“Just you is all I want. That’s all I could ask for.”

The omega sucks in a breath, looking away as a tear leaks down his cheek. How Lance - perfect, beautiful Lance - had chosen him, of all people, was beyond Keith. He was just a roughed up, foster kid, short tempered omega from the middle of nowhere Korea. It had taken two years for Lance to get him to say yes to going out with him, another year to break down the walls and figure Keith out, and six months after that to convince him that yes, the alpha wanted him as his mate.

They’d only mated a year ago. But Keith had known that Lance came from a big family and wanted at least three kids. So when they mated, he immediately went off his suppressants and had been trying to give Lance what he wanted ever since.

Twelve months of trying. You’d think by now that they would have at least had one pregnancy scare. But nothing. He could give Lance nothing. Nothing but cookies and emotions.

“Oh, baby, hey,” Lance pulls him back against him, burying his face in the omega’s hair. “Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying.” Keith protests with a sob.

“Okay, not crying.” Lance agrees, brushing his hand up and down his mate’s back. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

“I just want to give you a family.” He weeps, clinging to Lance’s shirt.

“I know. I know. We’ll just keep trying.” He soothes, kissing the scent glands on his neck, trying to calm him down.

“Okay.” Keith sniffs.

They sit there for a moment before Lance picks him up, hefting him over his shoulder.

“Lance!” He squeals, patting his back. “Lance, what’re you doing?”

“Trying again!” He laughs. “Gonna get you pregnant.”

“It’s less effective when I’m not in heat,” Keith flushes, kicking his feet.

“Okay, then I’m making you feel good.” He pats his ass happily.

The house echoes with Keith’s giggling as they head down the hall. Finally, the upset omega smell was fading, leaving the house peaceful and full of life once again. Cookies sat on the counter. The sun went down outside. Things were going to be okay.

Hello again! Back with another one-shot! Sorry for the dry spell- Writers block is a bitch.

Ohohoh!!! I love your writing so much I look up to you a lot 💜 can you write some klance?? I'm super into a god/goddess au right now and I'm not even sure if I can do it justice.

I’ve got inspiration but idk what to write aaaaaaaaa hELP

how to be a Disaster Gay™

The worse the explanation, the better.

The Rhythm of Love

Keith always known that Lance had the most angelic singing voice known to man. But they were dating, so he supposed he was a little biased. He could sit and listen to his boyfriend sing for hours - while they were cleaning, in the car, on the quad at their college campus. Even if he was goofing off, Lance still blew Keith away with his range and the sweetness of his singing voice.

He liked it best when Lance sang in Spanish. It was so natural, the way it flowed, and he looked so happy when a song in his mother tongue. More often than not, Keith found himself whisked into some form of dancing with his significant other. Lance would take him by the hand, twirl him around.

The most common thing Lance liked to do was make silly faces at him while he sang. Sometimes he would sneak kisses, but he always made Keith laugh. The Korean had noticed that this was a habit his boyfriend had formed whenever it was a particularly rough day.

Those singing and dancing sessions usually ended with Keith pressed against Lance as the Cuban sang into his hair along with the music, swaying from side to side. They didn’t have these very often, but Keith appreciated them nonetheless. It was comfortable.

The point is, singing had becoming integrated into the Korean’s life. He’d learned to love it, love the way it changed the dynamic of their relationships and the routine of everyday life. A few years ago, Keith was left to his thoughts.

Lance had learned just how dangerous that had been when Shiro, Keith’s older brother, had called him by mistake instead of Matt and Pidge. Keith would never forget the look on Lance’s face when he woke up in a hospital, arms bandaged and pain thrumming through his temples.

After that, Keith’s boyfriend had taken it upon himself to immerse him into music. He couldn’t complain; he found he preferred the music tastes of his boyfriend over anyone else’s. Granted, they lived together, so it was about ninety percent of what he listened to anyways.

Sometimes, when all of their friends gathered together, Lance would bring his guitar out and they would drink beer and sing old camp songs. Other times, Keith would beg and plead and nag to get Lance to serenade him with old Cuban love songs.

At the moment, Keith and Lance were spending a day off together. Music was playing, of course, and they were baking a cake for Pidge’s birthday. Which is code for Keith was baking a cake - it had surprised him that he was the one who knew how to cook more than his boyfriend - and Lance was being in the way and trying to eat all the batter.

“Lance.” Keith snaps, swatting his hand away. “If you keep eating it, I’ll have to start all over.”

“Ouch,” Lance whines. He pouts for a moment, then reaches over to steal more. “I’m fine with that.”

“Well, I’m not!” Keith snatches the bowl away, just as the oven beeps to indicate that it was hot enough to start baking things. “Look, now you can’t anyways. I’m putting it in the oven.”

He pours the batter into three separate cake pans, sliding them into the oven and setting the timer.

“Now what will I eat?” Lance groans.

Keith rolls his eyes, sliding the oven mitts off and making a shooing motion. “Other food. I think we have chicken nuggets out in the freezer in the garage.”

The Cuban perks up, sliding off the counter and leaning over to kiss Keith’s flour-dusted cheek. “Hell yeah, chicken nuggets! I’ll be back.”

The Korean shakes his head fondly, looking over at him. He turns back to the task at hand, grabbing a cloth to wipe down the counters. He had never been a clean baker. Once, he’d baked a cake at Hunk’s house, and the poor guy nearly had an aneurysm. Now he stuck to his own kitchen. At least here, he could get flour all over the place and it was a team effort for cleaning, so long as he let his boyfriend ‘help’.

The music was playing softly beside him. Keith turns it up once he recognizes the song, humming to himself. He had never thought his voice was remarkable. Lance had been the one in choirs, with a couple voice lessons, with the garage band he’d been so devoted to in high school. Keith just liked to sing to himself on occasion.

He could harmonize, though. Pidge had told him once that his melodies were eerily good. He didn’t like to sing the low undertones that you usually found underneath the lead singers’ voice - he liked to find a pitch or a range that was new and fun to try.

The song that was playing already had a lead vocalist whose voice was strange. Not in a bad way, like some of the music Lance had tried to get him to listen to. This guy could do things with his voice that made Keith shiver and have to catch his breath. Lance liked to try and imitate him, just for the reaction he got out of his boyfriend.

Singing to this one artist was fun. Keith found new ways to sing along every time, by changing his pitch or adding slides or simply making his voice do incredibly odd things that made his ears happy. This was one of the times he experimented.

Personally, Keith was impressed just because he could hold the pitch. He sings to himself as he wipes the kitchen clean and stacks dishes in the sink. It isn’t until he realizes that Lance had been gone a long time looking for chicken nuggets that he stops what he’s doing, singing and all, and looks up.

Lance was leaning on the doorway, his arms crossed and a small smile on his lips. His blue gaze was incredibly soft, resting on Keith like he was the loveliest thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Keith blinks at him, then blushes and looks back down, busying himself with the dishes. “Oh, hey. Did you find the… stuff?”

“No,” He hums, pushing off the wall. Lance walks over, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend and kissing his shoulder. “How did you learn to sing like that?”

“Oh, I just,” he leans back into Lance, shrugging. “I dunno. I just… sing, I guess.”

“It’s beautiful.” The Cuban murmurs, nosing at his neck. “You’re beautiful.”

Keith smiles to himself, tipping his head back to look at him. “So are you.”

“Oh, hush.” Lance laughs, brushing his hands along his side. “Let me pamper you, babe. Let me praise your beautiful singing.”

“Lance...” He groans, a blush creeping up his neck.

His boyfriend laughs, peppering kissing up his neck and wrapping his arms snugly around his waist. “Okay, okay. Just promise me you won’t stop, okay? I wanna sing with you.”

Keith thinks about this for a moment, biting his lip. “Yeah,” he consents. “I guess so. Just don’t make me sing in front of people.”

“You’ve got a deal.”

They stay like that for a little while, Keith leaning back against Lance. Music filters softly through the kitchen. The timer counts down. Life slows down for a just a few moments.

“Did you find what you wanted?” Keith hums after a moment.

“No…” Lance grunts, dropping his chin onto Keith’s shoulder.

“Did you move things around, or did you just open the freezer?”

Lance stays quiet at that, huffing and tightening his grip. Keith rolls his eyes, pulling away and taking his hand. “Let’s go. I bet you it’s in the back.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He whines, following Keith out to the garage. The two bicker good-naturedly, caught up in each other’s company and love. Back in the kitchen, the music that had brought them together plays on.

Can someone just………………. explain French to me?

Your klance fics give me life

Thank you :)

The Unforgiving Sea

There was a storm due. Shiro had told him, but Keith could feel it in the tide and the undercurrents he liked to play in. The merfolk usually stayed away from the surface. There were too many horror stories about small sirens being swept away and left to die on the jagged rocks that tore ships apart in storms like these.

You’re insane. Pidge, Keith’s best friend, informed the young siren.

He just flashes her a toothy, excited grin. I’ve never seen the surface during a storm. I’ve heard it’s beautiful.

You’re gonna get yourself killed. She flicks her lithe, bioluminescent green tail to follow Keith as he darted through the coral reef so he wouldn’t be seen. Pidge apparently didn’t get the message; she was still floating conspicuously by the reef, arms folded against her small frame.

You’re gonna get me caught! Keith huffs, reaching over and dragging her into the reef. She lets out a surprised squawk, a bit of floppy seaweed smacking her in the face.

I don’t even see why you’re doing this, Pidge grunts, fixing her hair. Is it because of that human? The one that Shiro told you not to go near?

I have no idea what you’re talking about. Keith darts through another crevice, stopping to listen. The patrols were supposed to be on rounds on the opposite side of the reef, but Shiro had become unpredictable lately. He’d suspected his little brother wasn’t paying attention to the rules that he’d set, because Keith was far too… civil about them.

You’re going to get hurt. Pidge blows bubbles, glancing up at the distant, roiling surface. Even the undercurrents are strong enough to sweep you away. You’re tiny.

You’re one to talk, Keith grunts, peering around a rock. No sign of the patrol. From here, it was only clear water to the surface. There was nowhere to hide if he got caught. He hadn’t even come up with an excuse if he did happen to get caught, which was sort of stupid on his part.

He hesitates, his tail fins drooping a bit as he looked around. Cover for me? He asks, without turning to look at Pidge.

The tiny siren rolls her eyes, smoothing down her electric green scales. Don’t I always?

You’re the best. Keith looks back at her. I’ll bring you back something cool.

Yeah, yeah. Go on, before your brother finds you swimming in open water and locks you in a cavern for the rest of your life.

He makes a soft, appreciative noise, before he races toward the surface, leaving bubbles and a dubious mermaid in his wake.

In retrospect, going out on a boat right before a storm was a terrible idea. As his boat rocked and swayed and creaked wildly - it reminded him of the bull-riding matches he saw on television - Lance was starting to deeply regret his judgement.

The storm had only been a few dark, menacing clouds across a blue sky when the fisherman had gone out in his boat. The news had warned of a major change in weather, which was what had prompted him to take his little rickety boat out onto the water.

He had been sure he was going to be back in enough time. But when Lance had gotten to the rocks, he had lingered a little too long. Maybe he should have heeded the weatherman’s warnings to stay inside.

Okay, but, in his defense - those nets cost him hours of labor, and thick rope wasn’t exactly cheap! And… okay, maybe he was hoping to see a certain pretty scaled siren with purple eyes. That was the real reason he was out in this storm, if Lance were being honest.

Besides, he hadn’t meant to drift this far, but the angry sea had stolen away his only oar and nets weren’t the best tool to use as a way to get back to shore. Lance could see the shore from here, but it honestly could have been a world away. There was no way he could reach the shore now.

His suspicions were proved correct when the rain started coming down. His boat was filling with water faster than he could get it out, both from the thrashing waves and torrential downpour. Lance was throwing water as fast as he could with his cupped hands. He looks up to see a monster of a wave. And then his world goes dark.

When he wakes up again, it’s to somebody shaking him and calling his name. His eyes open, but before he can register anything, his body heaves and he starts coughing up water. He turns to the side, coughing and gasping for air.

There’s a hand on his back, rubbing small, slow circles. He doesn’t remember what had happened until he remembers his nets - what had happened to his nets? Lance sits up, jerking away from the hand and looking around frantically. There was nothing - nothing! No nets, no boat, no - anything.

He twists to see who was with him, to ask questions, and stops dead when he sees the siren looking up at him, wide-eyed.

Keith had put him on a rock, above the thrashing waves and with enough handles that he wouldn’t be tossed into the tempest. He was clinging for dear life, having retreated from off the rock when Lance had tried to throw him off.

Lance stares at him for a long moment. For a split second, relief washes over him to see that Keith was here and safe. Or, well, as safe as anyone could be during a massive storm. But that fades as quickly as it comes and Lance finds himself looking out at the waves. What had happened? Where was he? He... didn’t recognize this side of the coast.

“Where… what?” He rasps, dragging a hand over his face, the salt of the water stinging his eyes and making his throat feel like sandpaper.

I saved you. Keith ducks his head, pressing himself against the rock as another wave crashed over him. His arms were shaking, his body sagged with exhaustion against the rock. I saved you. You were dying and I saved you.

“I’m not- my boat! Where is my boat?” Lance scrambles higher on the rock, trying to look for it.

There was no boat- there was only you and the waves and the water and… no boat.

The Cuban sits back hard, his eyes wide as he stares at the raging sea. “That was my dad’s boat.” He says faintly, dragging a hand through his hair. There were too many emotions swirling in his chest.

His dad had built that boat with his bare hands when Lance was just a kid - it was all he had left of him! His brother’s and sister’s and father’s initials had been carved into it before it’d been sealed. It was his favorite possession, the only piece of his dad he had left.

Grief washes over him, thick and heavy, piercing through the clouded, grey veil of shock. But it only lasts a moment. Lance turns his gaze to Keith, the shock giving way to anger merely seconds later. It was horrible, he knew, but the circumstances were ridiculous and he needed somebody to be upset at. Keith just so happened to be the closest one at the moment.

“You have to find my boat!” Even as he says it, the part of him that had fallen in love with the ideation of sirens, the color of Keith’s scales, the musical sound of his voice in his head - it screams at him to stop. This wasn’t Keith’s fault. He was supposed to be happy that they were alive.

But how was the little siren supposed to know this? Keith winces, his fingers tightening on the crevices of his life line. There was no boat. There won’t be anymore boat, the sea will have torn it apart.

“You have to bring me my boat!” Lance shouts. “What- what good are you if you can’t give me something to get back to shore in?”

Keith’s eyes widen, fear making them a dark indigo color. It almost blended with the waves. I can take you to shore… he tries to offer, but Lance shakes his head, cutting him off.

“No, don’t even- don’t even bother.” Lance rakes a hand through his hair, rage flaring hot in his veins. His relief from before is drowned out by a sudden, terrible anger.  His boat was gone. He was far from home. His fishing nets were probably somewhere along the bottom of the ocean - another thing he had inherited from his father.

Even as the little voice in his head was begging him to be reasonable, pleading with him to see that Keith was just as scared as he was, he was fighting a losing battle. Lance’s logic had been poisoned by anger, his shock bleeding into something more manageable. Something easier to cope with.

As far as his brain was concerned, this had nothing to do with his recklessness. His mind was convinced that if he hadn’t met Keith, he wouldn’t be in this mess! At the moment, it seemed logical enough. It was easier than taking the blame.

“This is your fault.” He snaps after a moment, all his panic and shock rushing into this one feeling - and the only thing he could do was lash out, because if he didn’t, he was going to cry.

M-My..?

“If you had minded your own business and stayed out of my nets, I would have been inside for this storm!” He hisses. “And I wouldn’t be lost in who-knows-where Cuba with a stupid fish who can’t even be bothered to rescue boats!”

I didn’t… I didn’t mean to-

“Shut up. Just- go away. Get out of here.”

But I’ll-

“I said get out of here!” Lance picks up a clump of seaweed and possibly some gravel, hurling it at the siren. It bounces off his wrist, surprising the siren enough for him to let go of his perch on the rock. It isn’t long before the waves crash over him, dragging him back into the deep with their icy claws.

His heart twists painfully, words leaving his mouth before he even has the chance to take them back and apologize. “And don’t come back looking for me, because I won’t rescue you from anymore nets!”

That’s the last thing Keith can hear before he’s swimming away as fast as he can. He had only tried to help. He had saved the human - he had torn a gash in the thin membrane of his tail, which was causing him to swim funny, and now he had to find his way home, too.

The little siren swims as far as he can before fear and exhaustion takes over. He finds a hollowed out little divot in the bottom of a coral reef, curling up there. Keith trembles, wrapping his arms around himself and staring into the water. Shiro had been right, to some extent.

He sits there until he’s dozing off, until he hears something familiar in the water far off. He blinks his eyes open, peering out incoherently.

...eith!

The siren shifts, edging out to peer over the little section of the reef he was hiding in.

Keith!

Shiro. Shiro had found him. He makes a noise that’s a cross between relieved and scared, pushing himself out from behind the reef. His adoptive brother was scanning the reef, Pidge trailing behind him as they searched for him.

Shiro, Keith whimpers, propelling himself with tired fins toward his brother and best friend. Shiro!

Pidge looks up, freezing when she catches sight of him. She races over, jostling into his older brother and gesturing frantically when his body language changed from searching to annoyed.

When he catches sight of Keith, however, he stops dead. There’s one silent, heavy moment. Keith struggles to keep swimming, straining his tail fins, his body trembling with effort. Shiro edges forward, then takes off like a shot, hurtling toward his little brother.

His older brother scoops the little siren up, gripping onto him and burying his face into his hair. I’ve got you, he coos, I’ve got you.

You were right. He sobs, burying his face in Takashi’s shoulder. I should have stayed, I shouldn’t have met the human.

You’re okay. Shiro coos, scooping him up and carrying him back to Pidge.

Pidge darts around them, frantic. I know I promised not to tell, but you didn’t come back and I got worried and- I’m so sorry, Keith!

Keith doesn’t answer, his eyes closing. He wanted to go home. Shiro holds him tighter. I’ve got you, his older brother says again. You’re okay.

But all Keith could see, all he could hear, was the anger in Lance’s eyes and voice.

Part 3 of The Children of the Sea

Part 1 | Part 2

and she looks at me in a way that says ‘oh,’ in the slightest of moon-whispers, and flutters starlight-studded eyelashes shut. they’re short, curled up as i was to her warmth this morning; reaching toward the sunlight. or, as she is fond of saying, to me. our fingers tangle, grasp sheets or cheeks rosy with first-kiss smiles. eyelids crinkle, besotted in the way they help clear space for the love i hold gently under my tongue. this is a single moment, a precious one, and all i could ever say to her is ‘oh,’ in peachy tones, ones that underestimate the ocean’s current, ones that do not notice i cannot swim until she has pulled me under. i never thought of drowning as something to smile about – still don’t, of course, but there is something simply devastating in the way she looks at me that cannot (i repeat, cannot) be described in terms other than those of natural disasters. she’s a work of art, and i’ve told her many times – but i barely believed myself on more than one occasion. an artwork is not what she is, or could be. she is an unstoppable force yet gentle in nature, because i know that one glance at her, tousled in the wind, would have me at her mercy. she is not art, she is something of a different breed entirely – one that speaks in undercurrents, in stardust and possibilities. it is eyes like hers that surely see into the future. she is not art, because she is the ocean, the stars, the sky embodied and i am not one to fear what is beautiful. and she is beautiful. i catch myself on her lips, let myself hang there for a moment, because ‘oh,’ she is beautiful, and oh, in the name of all that is good, ‘you have my heart.’

Fic authors deserve more credit.

Story time: I started a book about 23 hours ago and just finished it. Also in that time I slept for 10 hours, spent time with family, was at work, etc. Anyway, I enjoyed the book (Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda). But it felt like it flew by, so after I finished I looked up the word count because what are pages? Pages are meaningless. I only function in word counts anymore.

The estimate I found was 58,580. My immediate reaction was “oh, that’s why. That’s nothing!” But what a shitty response. Because no. That’s not nothing. That’s a whole. Damn. Book. An entire novel! And Fic authors regularly bust out 30k, 50k, 100k, 150k words. AND THEY DO IT FOR FREE. WHILE WORKING AND LIVING THEIR LIVES.

So anyway, thank your favorite fic author today because they deserve it. Because they’re amazing. They’re the MVPs.

Thank you guys so much for reblogging/following/liking my stuff!!! I'm on ao3 as Renegade_Reaper as well, so those of you who see that or reblog things from there, thank you too ❤️

The Surface and Other Incredible Things

Where have you been?

Dammit. So much for being sneaky. Keith winces, turning around to face his adoptive older brother. His tail flicks nervously, glittering in the dim light of their cave. Nowhere, he replies, giving the shark-like siren an innocent smile.

Shiro watches his younger brother, his piercing silver gaze staring right through his lies. Then why are you late to bed? He asks.

The smaller siren laces his hands behind his back, studying his elder brother. Shiro was worried; he could tell in the way his gills flared. It was funny to think that Shiro - the Shiro who had taken on a shoal of wicked looking fish to save Keith when he was just a tiny hatchling, the Shiro who was scarred and had lost an arm fighting to save their home - was scared. And for him, of all people.

Am I late? Keith decides to play dumb. I hadn’t noticed.

Sharp silver eyes narrow. Shiro swims closer to his brother, circling him and brushing his rough, webbed fingers over Keith’s scales. You’re missing one, he observes. He pulls his fingers away, sniffing his hand. His nostrils flare and he hisses, making Keith duck away from the noise. Uh oh.

Humans! Shiro seethes. What were you doing with humans? I thought I made myself very clear that you were to stay away from the surface.

Keith snatches his tail away, scowling. I got caught in a trap. It was an accident! I was chasing a shoal near the tides and I got swept into a trap.

Scales don’t come off easily, Keith. His older brother takes his wrist, pulling him toward the deep cavern they lived in. Where did that go, pray tell?

Shiro! He whines, dragging his tail along the walls to try and slow them down. Stop dragging me, I’m not a guppy. And it’s none of your business where I went, I’m almost fully grown.

You still have two winters until you are considered an adult, Keith. Bubbles float up to the water as Shiro sighs, turning to face his little brother. I am your guardian. You live in my cave, you abide by my rules, do you understand?

Your rules are stupid. Keith tries to pull his arm away, but Shiro was too strong.

My rules are designed to keep you safe. The elder siren starts to pull him to his part of the cave. And when you disobey them and come home smelling of humans, you have to face your consequences.

I told you! Keith lets out an undignified, annoyed screech. His brother stops, giving him a look of exasperation. The younger siren huffs - he was only acting like a guppy because Shiro was treating him like one. It was an accident. The human saved me! I got trapped in a net and he saved me.

Shiro pushes him into his section of the cave, stiffening. The human touched you? Is that why your scale is missing? Did he steal it? He snarls, his shark-like teeth glinting dimly. Keith shrinks back, sitting on his bed and patting the woven kelp rug. He knew what those teeth could do, he had seen it firsthand.

No, he didn’t take it. I… I gave it to him.

Shiro roars, the sound bouncing off the walls of the cave. The younger siren whimpers, his ears pinning to his head and his tail coiling underneath him. The warrior doesn’t notice; he paces the cave angrily.

What does he look like? Shiro seethes, gnashing his teeth, his massive fins splayed wide in a show of aggression and dominance. I’ll kill him, I’ll rip his head from his body and feed the rest of him to the fish. How dare he? Who does he think he is?

Keith coos soothingly, picking at the kelp underneath him with his claws. He didn’t want the human to come to any harm - he would quite like to see him again, given the chance. Not that Shiro needed to know any of this.

I gave him the scale willingly, he says, as a thank you.

The bigger male turns on him, his mood switching from vengeful to alarmed. You did what? Oh, Keith, tell me you didn’t just do what I heard you say…

The siren shifts, brushing his tail off and looking up at his guardian, squaring his shoulders. I gave it to him.

Shiro drags his hand down his face, letting out a low moan of exhausted worry. Do you understand what you’ve done? Humans are greedy, he will go back to his village and show it to them. He’ll lure you to the surface just to steal all of your scales - I wish you weren’t so handsome, I really do. Maybe then he would leave you alone.

Hey! Keith lets out a sharp, indignant cry. He wasn’t sure whether he should be annoyed because his brother wished he was unattractive, or flattered that Shiro thought he was.

I will deal with you tomorrow. Shiro huffs, giving him a firm look that meant go to sleep, Keith. The young siren was very familiar with that look. He watches as his brother settles in, shuffling with his own bed in annoyance. Now he would never be let out of sight.

*

Sure enough, Keith was not allowed to leave Shiro’s sight until the next full moon. Even when the time had passed, it was like pulling anemone from a coral reef to get him to agree. The patrols for the tribe was lacking one of their greatest warriors. The elders were becoming worried that perimeters might have to shrink if Shiro didn’t return.

It was this that pulled him away from watching Keith with an intent silver stare as the younger siren rolled around the cave, going mad with boredom.

I’m on night patrol tonight. Shiro informs him one afternoon, after they had returned from hunting.

Are you? Keith tries not to display the thrill of excitement that had run up his spine.

No bright ideas, Keith. His brother shakes his head. I’ll be back by moonrise. I expect you to be in your bed then, do you understand? No going to the surface, no chasing shoals, no humans.

Yes, Shiro. The siren groans, putting his hunting knife away. I know.

Shiro’s gaze softens. He swims over, ruffling Keith’s hair. I love you.

Yeah. I love you, too.

Keith has to wait until Shiro stops fussing over him and actually leaves before he can do anything. He waits for a few ticks, holding his breath. Once the sound of the patrol fades away to almost nothing, he darts out of the cave and rushes for the reef.

He hides there for a little while, peeking over it and watching. His brother casts worried looks over to the cave, but a few of the soldiers clap him on the back. One of them says something and Keith can see his brother laugh. Good.

The young siren waits a few more minutes before he races to the surface, over to where the tide pulled in. The human’s nets weren’t over by the rocks he had been caught at. With a curious noise, Keith turns tail and swims up to the other side of the coast.

No… his nets weren’t around the cliffs. There was no sign of anyone over by the sandbars… The reef was clear. Keith blows bubbles, scowling. What did humans have to even do? He was more important than any other trivial, frivolous thing that humans did.

Just as the siren was about to turn tail and go home, a shadow falls over him. He blinks, darting around before he looks up at… what looked like a flat, floaty surface. His ears perk, his gills and fins flaring in excitement. Could it be?

He watches as a net is cast into the water, letting out a happy trill. It was! He darts his way to the surface, peering up. Just in case it wasn’t… but it was! His human was sitting there in the floating contraption, his brow furrowed in concentration.

Keith breaks the surface, letting out an excited screech to get the human’s attention. It lets out a similar cry, but he seemed more surprised than excited. The siren wriggles with glee, hauling himself up the side of the boat and clicking excitedly.

“Oh, hello.” The human laughs, looking down at him with eyes that glittered like the sea. Keith sighs internally. Were all humans this pretty, or just his? “I’d hoped to see you again soon.”

The siren whirs and clicks, scrabbling at the side of the boat before managing to haul himself into it with a splash and an almighty flop. The poor contraption creaks wearily, bobbing about frantically.

Keith doesn’t seem to notice. He edges closer to Lance, his amethyst gaze bright with excitement. He reaches out, pressing his hands to the humans fragile cheeks. The siren screeches again, pleased.

“Okay, okay,” His human winces. “Take it easy on the ears, bonito.”

Hm. This one spoke the same strange words that the other ones on this coast did. He coos, leaning against the human’s side, brushing his hands down his neck. Keith stops when it gets caught on something, tugging.

“Oh, hold on.” The human bats his hand away gently, reaching into his outer layer of not-flesh and tugging out some sort of ropey thing. He never had understood why humans tied things to their bodies. “Recognize this?”

Keith makes an inquisitive noise, looking down at it. His eyes widen. That was his scale! The human was wearing his scale! His human was wearing his scale! The siren wriggles about, tugging at the twine before pulling his hand away and brushing down his scales self consciously. He had forgotten to groom today.

His human laughs, shaking his head. “I thought you’d like that. What brings you here, mm? Am I really that interesting?”

The young siren looks up at him, tilting his head this way and that. Yes. So much more interesting than my cave. Shiro was going to have a sea cow.

The human reaches toward the siren. Keith startles, sliding back into the water and peeking up at him, his eyes wide.

“Okay, so, no touching.” It pulls it’s hand away. “I can do that.”

Keith blows bubbles, then tips his head up and spits water at his human.

“Hey!” It laughs, lurching back and putting up a hand to shield itself. “I get it, no touching! You play nice, bonito.”

Keith is about to hop aboard the floaty thing again, but the moon catches his eye. Oh! It was almost fully risen - he had to get back before Shiro did! He squeaks, splashing frantically, but stops and looks up at the confused human.

He had to go. There was no time for goodbyes. With a mournful little squeak, Keith splashes him and ducks under the water, leaving the human with only bubbles and his own voice crying out in confusion.

By the time he makes it home, Keith just barely misses the patrol. He ducks into his bed, curling up and closing his eyes, holding his breath as Shiro comes in. Okay. Just breathe. Pretend to be asleep. Nothing had happened, he wasn’t guilty.

Shiro swims over, tucking the woven kelp over his brother with a soft noise of fondness. Keith tries not to smile. A hand brushes through his hair, gentle.

Goodnight, Keith. His brother ghosts a kiss over his cheek before he retires for the night. The younger siren waits until his brother is still and quiet before he rolls over, looking out at the moon’s reflection in the water.

He’d see his human again soon. Not even Shiro could keep him away.

Part 2 of The Children of the Sea

Part 1 | Part 3

Can’t put a Label on Love

“Are you labelling me?”

Lance rued the day that he had brought that stupid labelling device home. Now that they were moving into a house, Keith had made it his God-given duty to label everything. Everything. Lance could hardly put anything in a box before it had something stuck to it.

PUT IN THE KITCHEN was stuck to everything that belonged to the kitchen. It didn’t matter if it was a plate, or a pot, or a salt shaker, or a dishrag. Everything had a label. Keith had been cut off after he’d tried to do it to their clothes. Apparently, he had found the labeller.

“What?” He scoffs, backing away, holding something behind his back. “No. Nope. Not at all. I don’t have the labeller.”

Lance raises an eyebrow. When Keith looks away, his amethyst eyes unable to hold his husband’s gaze - that was a sure sign that Keith was lying; he couldn’t look anyone in the eyes - he twists to see what had been put on his shirt.

“Keith, seriously,” He whines. “I just bought this shirt. It hasn’t even been through the dryer!”

“Sorry, babe.” Keith hums, turning around. He didn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, the only thing Lance could hear was the telltale tapping that had come to haunt his nightmares. He wasn’t afraid of clowns, or of spiders, or anything that might lurk in the shadows. No, it was the damn clicking of that labeller. Apparently his poor subconscious was terrified of one of the most harmless things known to man.

“No, you aren’t.” Lance mumbles, pulling his shirt off. This earns him a wolf whistle. “I get the feeling that you only wanted me to take this off.”

“Maybe.” Keith walks over, leaning down to give him a kiss. “I can’t help it, you have a fantastic body.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He can feel his face growing warm and his ego puffing itself up. My husband thinks I’m hot.

Husband. That was still such a new concept. They had been married for less than a month - the offer they’d made on the tiny house in the middle-of-nowhere-Arizona (exactly where Keith had wanted to be) had gone through on their wedding day. Now, instead of vacationing, they had spent the weeks since in their tiny apartment, packing up everything they owned. It was amazing how much stuff they had managed to pack into this place.

It had been ten years since they’d returned from space. Ten years since Keith had come home with Lance to Cuba, ten years since they had professed their love to one another, ten years since Lance had looked up at the stars and decided that he would give them all to Keith. In a way, he had. They’d saved the universe. Those were a tribute to that.

It had been two since he’d proposed to Keith. Two since he’d taken him aside at a reunion dinner for Voltron, taken him out underneath those same stars, given him a ring and a promise to stay with him for the rest of his life.

Of course, the whole team had been in on it. When they had come back in, both giddy and tearful with the amount of emotion that was flowing through their veins, the simple dinner had turned into so much more. There were sparklers, cake, a giant banner courtesy of Pidge, and enough alcohol to flood the desert they were moving to.

Living in Arizona was going to be a change from the bustling city of New York, but they both despised the cold. Plus Keith had gotten a grudging offer to be an instructor at the Garrison. Not that Lance minded - he loved how excited his husband was to move back to his element.

“Thank you.” Lance mumbles to his husband, looking up and taking in his beauty. He had truly married the best person in the world. Long hair constantly swept into a haphazard bun, scars that traced jagged lines over his body, a firecracker temper, soulful eyes that were often pinched with a frown.

“Yep.” Keith pads into the kitchen, the sound of a label printing off following him. Lance smiles and shakes his head. They were going to have to find some sort of sticker-remover-goo at the store before they left.

He glances down at his shirt, turning it around to read the label. BEST HUSBAND IN THE ENTIRE COSMOS, it read. KEEP CLOSE AT ALL TIMES.

The former Paladin of Voltron smiles, pulling his shirt back on and leaving the sticker. He was the luckiest guy in the world. But now to deal with the labeller situation…

“Babe, come back here with that! You’re on label probation!”

“No!”

There’s a pause, then a shriek of laughter as Lance speeds into the kitchen to wrestle the object from his husband. The snow falls gently outside. Lights were coming on in the City That Never Sleeps. Children were being tucked into bed, people were turning on the nightly news, dishes were being washed, routines were being followed.

But in this tiny, cramped little apartment, the former heroes of the universe were moving on to better things, one label at a time.

I Like You A Latte

Who doesn’t love a good coffee shop au? Here, have some fluff with my favorite boys.

Keith had never really considered himself to be the type of person to find someone immediately attractive. He didn’t find people attractive in general, just annoying. It was probably why his last few relationships had failed. To be fair, talking about golf tactics while you’re in your early twenties doesn’t exactly scream late night parties and fun dates. Even if the guy was incredibly sweet and a pretty good lay.

Regardless, Keith didn’t exactly believe in that whole love at first sight propaganda. His brother did; it was how he had found his girlfriend of three years. He told the story with doe eyes and a goopy smile that made Keith want to pull his insides out just to have an excuse to save himself from the story again. No, love at first sight was not a thing.

“Hey, buddy, what can I get’cha?”

Until now.

Keith can only stare wide eyed at the glorious Greek God of a man, who was watching him expectantly with a smile that probably was the reason the sun rose every morning. He was taller than Keith by just a bit, his muscular arms peeking out from his black uniform. There was the trace of a tattoo peeking out at his collarbone - not that Keith was looking, God - and another on his wrist.

His blue eyes sparkle with amusement at Keith’s apparent predicament. He leans on the counter, his muscles flexing - somebody in here had to know CPR, Keith hoped, because he was going to need it in a few minutes.

“You know what you want?” He asks, in a voice that lilts with the barest trace of an accent. Keith guesses it’s of Spanish or Latin descent. He doesn’t care, though, because he just wanted this guy to keep talking to him.

“I-I,” Keith splutters, choking on his tongue. “Yes. Yeah, I, uh.” He whips out his phone. Pidge was going to kill him if he got her order wrong for the third time in a row, which was why he’d had her text it to him.

“Um, so, uh… Bear with me here,” He chuckles nervously, scrolling up to the message. “My friend wants a triple venti half-sweet caramel macchiato, but like… not hot.”

The barista blinks, leaning back and running a hand through his hair before looking at the register and starting to punch it in. “Alright… You said venti, right?”

He glances up. Keith swallows his heart and nods.

“And what can I get you?” His fingers are ready for the next ridiculous order, but Keith was unfortunately one to disappoint.

“Um, just a black coffee. One cream, one sugar. Oh, and a coffee cake.” Pidge would kill him if he forgot her coffee cake.

He smiles faintly, tugging Keith’s heartstrings along with it. “Wow. Adventurous, aren’t we?” He takes a break, leaning over the register again. “Okay. Let’s do this. One triple venti half-sweet caramel macchiato, one coffee cake and one black coffee, one cream and one sugar.”

Keith wanted him to talk forever. That voice was doing things to him that should be illegal at this time of day, in this weather. It was freezing outside, he was supposed to be freezing his ass off, not melting from the inside out.

“Yeah. Sounds about right.” He says, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and flipping it open.

“You want your coffee cake hot?” The magnificent angel asks in his glorious voice. Keith was very glad he was a flaming homosexual.

“Um,” He glances over at the door, which had frosted over from the heat that contrasted from the biting cold outside. “No, I think it might freeze if I do that. Pidge would kill me…”

“So I’m guessing you want your hot drink stopped up?” The barista - Keith drops his gaze down to read the Hi, My Name Is Lance! tag - laughs. He could feel his heart fluttering like a bird in his chest. Lance was such a… perfect name. He had never loved a name more in his life.

“Yes, please,” He says helplessly, smiling. “I don’t feel like being castrated today.”

“That would be a shame,” Lance says almost suggestively with a playful wink. “Nineteen fifty-two is your total. Cash or card?”

Keith winces. Pidge owed him one for this. The things he put up with for a good grade in Calculus. He pulls out a twenty, handing it to Lance, and drops his change into the tip jar with an extra dollar.

“Hey, thanks,” The barista lights up. He picks up a couple cups, jotting stuff down on the back and pausing, flicking his electric blue gaze up. “Name?”

“Uh,” Keith was so good at English. “Keith.”

He would swear up and down that Lance smirked at him. It was either that or someone had shocked Keith’s spine to make him shiver. “Great. It should be ready in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Lance.”

The look of surprised happiness on the barista’s face was enough to make his entire week.

***

“You are obsessed.” Pidge remarks dryly, sipping her coffee and looking up at him with amused hazel eyes.

“No!” Keith defends hotly, sipping a pumpkin spice latte that Lance had mentioned were his favorite one afternoon. Not that he cared. Not that he went there every morning looking for the barista with the stunning smile and lilting voice.

“Keith, you hate pumpkin.”

“It’s not so bad…” He mumbles, glancing down at his Calculus textbook, flipping it open. Never had he wanted to actually do his homework so badly.

“Keith,” His best friend reaches over, pulling the bag that held the recommended-by-Lance treat over to herself. She looks down, then back up at him. “You’re drinking pumpkin shit. You’re eating something that actually resembles food, and you literally go to this particular Starbucks every morning to see if you can catch the guy. What’s his name? Lance?”

He flushes hotly, yanking the bag away from her. “I just like that particular Starbucks!”

“Uh huh,” She pushes her glasses up the brim of her nose. “Whatever you say, Gaylord.”

Keith stews quietly for a moment, reading the pages in front of him without actually comprehending any of the symbols. His gaze catches on her cup. He scans the printed out sticker that read the abbreviated version of her drink.

An idea creeps into his head. Keith looks up at his friend a smile playing around the corners of his lips. Pidge looks up, midway through shoveling half her coffee cake in her face.

“What?” She swallows, scowling at her friend. “You’re looking at me funny.”

“I need a favor.”

***

“Hey, Keith!”

Keith can feel himself grow an inch taller at the sound of his name when he walks through the door. He stomps the snow from his boots, looking around the empty store and unwinding his windblown scarf from his neck.

“Hey, Lance.” He grins, looking over at the barista. Lance was leaning over the counter lazily, resting his chin on his arms. That tattoo on his collarbone was tucked away. Keith feels a twinge of remorse. What he would give to see the full picture.

“What can I get you today, Space Cadet?” He teases, straightening up. Keith had made the mistake of telling him he was going to school to become an Aerospace Engineer, so now every day he had a new nickname that was space related.

Keith grins. “I have a new order for you. You ready for this?”

Lance stands up straight, saluting to him with a dopey grin. “Aye, aye, captain!”

He pulls out his phone as he walks over to the counter, clearing his throat. “So Pidge wants a venti caramel macchiato, with skim milk instead of regular, extra shot, extra hot,” He snorts at the rhyme. Lance grins. “Oh, and extra whip.”

The barista punches this into the register, scoffing as he writes down the name and circles a few things on the cup before sticking the order sticker on the cup. “Oh, c’mon, supernova. That wasn’t even hard. I could write that in my sleep.”

“And a coffee cake,” Keith adds with a laugh, blushing at the nickname. That was his favorite so far. “But I think you already knew that.”

“So predictable,” Lance sighs mournfully, poking out his bottom lip in a pout. “Give me a real challenge!”

Keith pauses, opening up his texting app and scrolling to the specific text. He had been blessed with a best friend who used Google Search as both a tool and a weapon. He never wanted to be on her bad side.

“Are you sure? Last chance to back out.”

Lance grins, getting ready to type in everything. “Hit me.”

Keith takes a breath. “Double ristretto venti, half soy, nonfat, decaf, organic, chocolate brownie, iced, vanilla, double shot, gingerbread frap, extra hot, with foam whipped cream, upside down, double blended, with one sweet n low and one nutrasweet and ice.”

The whole store is silent. Even the music was holding its breath. Keith glances up from his phone, clicking it to sleep mode and looking up at the barista. Lance was staring at him with a stricken expression, as though Keith had reached out and smacked him.

“Damn, starshine!” He laughs, rubbing his neck. “I don’t even… I don’t even think that will taste good, buddy.”

Keith grins, pocketing his phone. “I know.”

“But…” Lance hesitates, his blue gaze flicking up to Keith’s, nervous and worried. “You… sure you want that?”

“Fuck no, I don’t want that!” Keith laughs, shaking his head.

“You ass!” Lance groans, rubbing his face. “You nearly made me die, I’m the only one on the floor right now and I don’t even… half of that sounds made up!”

“Yeah,” Keith agrees smugly. “Definitely.”

“You’re so mean.” Lance whines.

“Yeah.” He agrees with another laugh.

Lance studies him, the anxious relief fading from his eyes, replaced by something softer. Keith had to look away, his cheeks heating up. Why did this guy make him feel like goo?

“So what do you actually want?” The barista asks, his gaze surprisingly soft.

You, Keith thinks, but that wasn’t something you could just… say. He settles for another pumpkin spice latte and a bagel sandwich, paying and watching as Lance moves around to effortlessly craft the drinks.

When Keith is walking out, he glances down to see writing on the paper bag that his breakfast was in. He recognized the familiar scrawl, pausing on his route to look down.

You liar, the pretty scrawl reads. There’s a number, Lance’s name under it, with another message underneath it. Here’s what you really wanted.

The Seas Greatest Treasure

Gotta love siren Keith.

Growing up, Lance had always loved the beach. Every weekend, when he was growing up, his family would all pile into the old minivan and head to the beach. The weekend was spent camping on the beach, building sandcastles, throwing each other into the waves, and hunting for small crabs and seashells.

The ocean was a part of Lance. He’d lived in Mariel, Cuba all his life, with the ocean behind their house and the sea breeze constantly ruffling his hair. When he was away from home, he found comfort in the gentle breezes, in saltwater taffy, in homemade meals and in good company.

He’d gone to Spain as an exchange student in his first year of college, but his parents had run out of money and he’d had to come home. Now, Lance spent his days working at the local market. He fished for the small company he worked at, bringing in fish in exchange for a paycheck. Working nights wasn’t ideal, but it brought home money for his large family.

Lately the pickings had been slim where he cast his nets, so Lance had chosen a new spot to lay traps in the sandbars just off the coast. It was the last thing he did when he left, daybreak at his back as he goes to make his delivery and retire for the day.

Lance whistles a tune to himself as he makes his way down the bank and into the high tides. His rowboat was bobbing gently as the surf lapped at the sand. The moon was high and full in the sky, shining down on the water.

There was something the Cuban adored about the sea at night. Everything felt so much more magical. The stars were brighter, the area quieter, the waves more peaceful. He didn’t forget the dangers lurking below in the sea, however. He was no fool - he had seen what the waves could do when they had the mind to. He’d seen countless boats drift ashore in pieces, their passengers coughing up seawater or unlucky enough to have been dragged down to the depths for the currents to play with and the fish to nibble at.

All of this echoed in his head as he rowed his way to the nets. Lance was one of the men lucky enough to earn the sea’s favor, despite taking her creatures away to make a living. He utters a small prayer of thanks, unsure who he was praying to. His mother was a devout catholic, but he had always been in awe of the beauty of marine life.

His nets were decently full, he realizes, as he drops an anchor and sets the oars aside. He rubs the soreness from his forearms, leaning over to pull the nets into the boat. To his frustration, they wouldn’t budge.

“Come on…” He says under his breath, yanking harder. The net moves slightly, but doesn’t give way. Lance scowls at the trap, turning and reaching for his pocket knife. Maybe it was stuck on the rocks.

The sight that comes when he turns back around is enough to make him drop his knife back into the boat. It clicks, the blade snapping open and shining devilishly when it lands on the floor.

Wide amethyst eyes stare up at him, alien in the way they glow pale in the moonlight. Sharp teeth poke out from a pair of rosy lips and onyx hair swirls like an oil spill in the water, just inches away from Lance’s arm.

The creatures lashes out mere seconds after Lance yanks his hand away, scrambling to the farthest corner of the boat. Sharp claws break the surface of the water, swiping at the open air. Lance looks down at the creature, at the bubbles that escape from between rows of sharp teeth as the beast snarls.

The net strains as this magnificent being writhes, desperately trying to get away. He’s stuck, Lance thinks belatedly, watching in stupefied wonder. He sees a flash of red and gold scales before the creature gives up, going limp and looking up, a pitiable gleam in his eyes.

“Christ,” The Cuban mutters to himself, edging closer and picking up his knife, just in case. That thing had teeth that looked needle sharp. “Where did you come from?”

It just stares at him, eyes wide and body tense.

“Huh, right. I guess you don’t talk much.” Lance says, feeling foolish as he talks to this being. He doubted that it could understand him. “I guess I should get you out of here, huh?”

There was one problem: Lance’s whole catch would be dumped from their confines and left to escape if he helped this… he racks his brain for a word. Siren? That seemed appropriate. He didn’t think that the sea would take too kindly to one of her children being kidnapped, let alone sold to a fish market. With a great sigh, the Cuban comes to a decision.

“I’m going to cut you free, alright?” He waves the knife.

The siren bares his teeth at him, elongated ears pinned to the side of his head.

Right. Okay. So… waving a knife at a creature who ate people for a living probably wasn’t the best idea. Lance scratches his head sheepishly. “No, I mean…” He pantomimes cutting something. “You know?”

It didn’t know. It begins to writhe again. The fish in the net do their best to dart out of the way, some of them just barely missing the razor sharp nails that the siren was waving about in his panic. Lance could see where the siren had tried biting and clawing himself free. He didn’t imagine that it’s teeth were meant to do that.

“No, No!” He quickly sets the knife down, raising his hands placatingly. “I didn’t mean it like that, I swear! Oh, shoot. I’m going to- just hold still, alright?”

He picks up the knife, leaning over the side of the boat and yanking the net closer. The siren goes incredibly still, a stream of bubbles escaping his mouth right before the knife slices the net, tearing it open.

There’s a pregnant pause before all of the fish he’d captured rush out of the net and disappear into the black water, leaving the siren where he was. Lance hesitates, then reaches down and gently tugs it off the creature and back into his boat. He looks mournfully down at it. That was going to cost him a lot for repairs.

The siren breaks the surface after a moment. The Cuban looks up at the soft sound. He backs away slightly, reaching for the anchor rope just in case he needed to make a break for it. The siren drifts closer, then lets out an ear piercing screech.

“Woah!” Lance squawks, falling backwards, surprised at the noise. When he sits back up, he comes face to face with the beast.

The Cuban swallows hard, trying not to panic as the boat dips with the new weight. Bright, intelligent eyes stare into Lance’s, unblinking. From here, he can see the tiny scales patching the siren’s face, the needle-tip points of teeth poking out from under his upper lip.

He expects to be eviscerated. He expects to be sent home in his boat, a wreck of carnage and blood. That was if this being didn’t eat him and leave his bones to decorate the sea floor. Lance can feel each beat of his heart in his throat, can feel the blood turning to ice in his veins, can hear himself breathing.

To his surprise, the creature sinks back into the water with no fuss. It’s clawed, webbed fingers still grasp the side of the boat, keeping him close and watching the fisherman.

“U-Um,” Lance takes a deep breath, willing his hands to stop shaking. “Hey there. You, uh… you okay?”

The siren’s ears perk, it’s tail flicking and splashing water into the boat. It makes an inquisitive sound.

“Sorry for… you know, the whole net incident.” He rubs his neck. The being must’ve been hunting or chasing the shoal and gotten caught up in the trap. He winces. Maybe this wasn’t the best place to cast his nets.

The siren peers up at him. A moment later, Lance has a lapful of curious mer-being. He makes a soft sound - half fear, half surprise - and tries his best not to shove the creature off for fear of death or serious injury.

Lance gawks at the being, who simply makes himself comfortable and takes the Cuban’s face in his hands. He tilts his head this way and that, his amethyst gaze searching. One claw carefully brushes over his lips, over his nose, over his eyebrows. The siren makes a shrill sound of what he hoped was amusement when Lance quirks one of his eyebrows.

“So… am I forgiven?” He asks, wincing when the creature takes a handful of his hair and tugs.

The siren hums softly, then lets go of Lance’s face and stretches his tail out to his full length, looking up at Lance haughtily. I don’t know, his gaze seemed to say. Why should I forgive a petty mortal?

Lance hadn’t half a mind to be scared - he was too busy gazing at the siren’s tail in awe. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. The colors ranged from the deepest garnet, to spilled blood ruby, to daybreak gold, and to a pale red just where his skin met his tail. Scales littered the siren’s torso, but the thing the Cuban was most entranced with were its fins.

It wasn’t anything he would’ve imagined them to be - no amount of cartoon movies could compare. The fins were a delicate membrane, stretched gracefully across strong muscles. They were a pale reddish color, gleaming in the moonlight.

Lance looks back up to a smug half smile, the beautiful siren’s ego significantly boosted. He coos softly, tilting his head knowingly. He was aware of his beauty. It was almost as if he was aware of the songs written about him too, Lance noted.

“You… you’re magnificent.” The Cuban offers a shy smile.

The creature wriggles in glee, reaching down to pet at his scales fondly. It looks up at Lance mischievously, eyes gleaming from under a mop of inky hair. You like these, don’t you? It’s gaze practically screams as he scratches at his scales.

Lance’s face heats up, his eyes widening. Was this the siren version of flirting? Oh God, he hoped he wasn’t reading too much into this. “Yes, your scales are- they’re very lovely.”

The siren watches him a moment, then leans down and picks one of the bigger ones off the base of his tail. They grew back, it wasn’t a huge loss. It takes Lance’s hand, pressing it into his palm and closing his fingers around it.

The Cuban looks down at his palm, then back up at the siren. “Oh, I couldn’t, really… this belongs to you.” He tries to hand it back to the siren. It growls loudly, thrusting Lance’s hand back toward him. He decides to keep it. “Well, um. Thank you for… not eating me. And for your scale.”

The siren preens, brushing a claw over his jawline before slipping back into the water. It peers up at Lance, making a soft noise.

“Will I see you again?” Lance asks hopefully, leaning over the side to better see his new familiar.

We shall see, the siren’s smirk tells him. With one more playful splash of water, the magnificent being ducks under the water. He’s gone in an instant, Lance’s eyes unable to make him out in the black depths of the sea.

The fisherman sits there for a long while. He picks up the net, looking down at it, unable to help the smile that creeps up on him. He looks back out at the sea, at the moon’s reflection, at the mysterious world that he could only dream of understanding.

Never had he been more in love with the ocean.

Part 1 of The Children of the Sea Part 2 | Part 3