@bluemantics / bluemantics.tumblr.com
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CURRENT PROJECTS: writing klance nonsense (and a post-canon fic)
my ao3 | my tumblr ficlets
here is a masterlist of my fics
fic rec masterlists here
sideblog for reposts/bts: @bluemanticism
#walk with me klance for current fic things!
PLEASE feel free to interact, leave asks (hcs, ideas, anything), etc. I love to meet people and talk writing & vld
Hmm I sure wonder what day it is- HA‼️ YOU’VE BEEN APRIL FOOLED 👆, IT’S BLUEMANTICS DAY !!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE AWESOME LEGEND @bluemanticism, Here’s a lil comic I made for their fic “A Keith by Any Other Name” I hope you have the cooliest of celebrations because you have the coolest of selves ❤️💙
OH MY GOD IM IN TEARSSSSSSSS ROBY YOU ABSOLUTE LEGEND YOU SWEETHEART I ACTUALLY CAN’T :”(((( ILY BRO THIS IS AMAZING AND YOU CAPTURED IT SO WELLLLLLLLLLL
thank you so much for 500 followers! y’all are absolutely insane and i am so grateful for your support and kindness!!
in honor of this milestone i’ll be hosting a klance ficlet giveaway to thank you guys!! YOU COULD GET TO CHOOSE WHAT I WRITE!
rules:
to enter, you must submit a prompt for a ficlet in my ask box! you can be anonymous or not, but the winner will have to dm me so i can @ them later on. the prompt can be as loose or as rigid as you want! for example— “volleyball au” OR “postcanon keith and lance go bowling with the gang, lots of fluff, lots of stupidity.” PLEASE PUT THE WORD GIVEAWAY SOMEWHERE IN YOUR ASK!
prompts must be submitted by 4/9 at midnight (eastern time)! i will announce the winner on 4/10 by posting their prompt. if they are anonymous, the winner should dm me so i can credit their idea when i post.
the winner will receive me writing & posting a ficlet based on whatever prompt they wanted (and they will be tagged in the post).
good luck!!
Lance McClain usually loved being Chat Noir. While he claimed he did it for the glory—thank you, press—many of the actual accolades were reserved for his partner, Ladybug.
He was the real reason Lance giddily transformed every night, jumping out of his university dorm window with bright blue eyes and adrenaline. Brooding, goal-oriented, wildly talented Ladybug seemed to have a permanent hold on his heart, even when the man in question was angry with Lance.
Case in point: today’s patrol. It was a dark, low-lit fall night in Paris, with crisp air masking the normal city smells. Overhead, a few stars could be seen beyond the haze of light pollution. They winked down over the chaotic scene Lance had unfortunately been blamed for.
“How did you miss the giant stuffed bear?” Ladybug yelled at Lance, slinging his yo-yo and flying across the rooftops. Lance, wearing his signature black cat outfit and mask, let out a huff as he chased after his partner.
“He must have been behind me, I swear. Parisian streets are super narrow, man; it’s insanely hard to patrol.” He sent a pleading look to Bug, complete with a pout stretching his lips.
Ladybug glared in return, but Lance took a second to admire his muscles flexing under his red spandex uniform as they hopped over buildings. “No more excuses. Let’s just fight this guy.” God, even when he was a complete dick, Ladybug was hot. Maybe it was the meanness that Lance was attracted to? He should probably talk to a therapist.
“On it, Bugaboo!”
“Don’t call me that!”
Lance didn’t listen, already extending his baton to a staff so he could launch directly into the fray. Surely it wouldn’t be too difficult to take down a massive teddy bear. They had this in the bag. With his sharp, catlike reflexes, Lance swept his staff toward the top of the bear’s fluffy head and cracked down. Instantly, the bear’s springy exterior cushioned the blow and whipped the force right back.
“Uh oh,” Lance muttered, recalling his physics classes on how every force has an equal opposite reac–
He went flying.
“Chat!” Ladybug’s cry rang out as he desperately landed in a roll on the roof of a grocer's, tumbling gracelessly to a stop. “Are you alright?” Lance stuck a thumbs up in the air.
“All good, but we probably can’t hit this guy,” Lance groaned, pulling himself into a crouch and rubbing his sore tailbone. Ladybug’s attention snapped back to their enemy, his gaze calculating. The sight stirred a little flutter in Lance’s chest. In his opinion, the most attractive thing about Ladybug wasn’t anything the news tended to debate over. Sure, his dark hair was thick and shiny. Yes, his rippling biceps were anything but ugly. However, the real thing that made Lance fall for him was this: how naturally he fit into battle, using his sharp instincts to act on the fly.
Sometimes it was reckless. Most times, it was beautiful. Tonight was no different, as Ladybug quickly deduced a hidden detail on the bear’s paw and got to work. He sent Lance to sneak under its foot while it lifted to take a step, using himself as a distraction while Lance broke the sound box at its seam with Cataclysm. That process alone took a solid five minutes as the bear kept nearly crushing Lance with its thudding footsteps, Ladybug taunting it from above.
Finally, as he broke the box, a blackened butterfly zipped out and zipped into the air. Ladybug was right in place, waiting for his opportunity to catch it securely in his yo-yo. Lance clambered up next to his partner and watched him complete their post-battle ritual.
“Bye-bye, butterfly.” Lance grinned and waved as the newly purified butterfly floated off on a gentle breeze.
As Ladybug’s magic reset the city, Lance tried to ignore his miraculous beeping. “So, are you ever going to reveal your identity? I purr-omise to keep it a secret, hot stuff.” Satisfaction filled him as Ladybug’s pale cheeks dusted red below his mask.
“No. That would obviously compromise our safety if we got caught,” Ladybug said (again).
“A shame,” Lance sighed, leaning on his staff and cocking his head. “We would make a meow-velous pair, Bugaboo. Don’t you trust me?”
“It’s not about that, Chat, and you know it,” Ladybug replied shortly. He prepped his yo-yo to leave, much to Lance’s disappointment, twirling it in his hands as he prepared for takeoff. “Also, your puns are shit.” With that, he zipped away, leaving Lance alone on the roof.
“Ugh,” Lance groaned at Ladybug’s retreating silhouette, his head rolling to the side. Suddenly, a bright sign caught his eye. “Eau de Kogane– oh hell no!”
Looming above him was a billboard for famous model Keith Kogane’s new signature fragrance. Keith’s flawless face was tossed back in a neutral expression while his hands were positioned elegantly around his neck. Soft white light haloed his curved pose, making Lance stick out his tongue.
In addition to being an internationally famous model, Keith also happened to be Lance’s classmate, whom he hated. Despite consistently missing classes in their program, he managed to eke out incredible grades and end up at the top of their year without even trying. The guy had a magic touch.
He was Lance’s sworn rival.
Lance’s brow wrinkled as he stared up at the advertisement. He’d much rather it be Ladybug’s handsome face saying farewell as he closed out his night of heroism, not Keith Kogane’s ugly mug. “Bye, bitch-ass.”
With a sudden leap and a run, Chat Noir returned to the shadows of the night.
8k+, klance, postcanon
Lance McClain is content at home-- really, he is-- but when Keith shows up at his door, begging for help, he can't say no.
"They want to turn a property of mine into a museum, for some reason," Keith said.
“Which property?” Lance asked. He held his hand to shield against the bright sky as he looked up to Keith.
“The desert shack."
Now, Lance is on the universe's most exclusive weekend trip, forced to help Keith go through a musty pile of memories. Fabulous.
Here are the facts: 1. Keith is still the most smart-yet-stupid motherfucker Lance has ever met 2. Shiro and Curtis are disgustingly adorable 3. A twin bed is far too small for a grown man, and 4. He should have fallen out of love with Keith when he had the chance.
it’s been a week so i am boosting one final time!!
currently at 3K of chapter 2 and the boys are driving me insane
I respect and hear and love people who say Lance’s love language is touch. However, I raise you quality time:
All he ever wants is to exist in the presence of those he loves. Being invited just makes it that much sweeter, makes him feel that much more wanted.
Lance knows his sand is different than Keith’s sand. He looks across dunes and catches glimpses of a huddled teenager, a young man. All those years Lance had spent desperate to hate Keith, to be him, to love him. With a shaking voice he’d begged to inhabit the same space as his unreachable rival. Beyond the dunes, by his side, feet gliding in his desert.
Now, he isn’t sure. He looks down at the stirring beach underneath his toes, the little shells that dot the coastline and collect around him, pulled and left by gentle waves. There are footprints around Lance, pieces of driftwood and rounded pebbles of sea glass. Lance is surrounded by color and memories tucked within each detail.
Each time he’d gotten close to Keith, he’d seen a difference in their roots. Keith’s sand was coarser, barren and infinite. It held a distinct lack of footprints. There were no pieces of wood or glass to break the dryness, to conceal the vast empty. Wind swept the desert into misshapen piles, chaotic and uncontrolled, pushing Keith along with it.
With no landmarks, Keith wandered.
Every realization about their different worlds only broke and rewrote Lance’s perceptions. How desperately had he wanted to be Keith, when this was what it meant? How tired must Keith be? How foolish was Lance, to think Keith would ever slow his wandering, find peace in the shore when he could find reward in the hidden tunnels of desert tombs?
But Lance could not follow him there, in that empty. The promise of reward was so little, the price too heavy, the desert too infinite. He had tried. And tried. And tried. Lance’s calves ached. Sand lined his throat. After all his attempts, he was weak, unable to abandon the shore and look for the impossible. So he drew back, retreated to the ocean. He dug his toes in the coastline right where the water met the sea.
If Keith wanted to, he would follow Lance to fresh, salty air. He’d dig his feet in right beside Lance’s and admire the horizon: equally infinite, promising the sunrise.
Instead, he wanders, and he doesn’t look back.
Lance knows his sand is different than Keith’s sand. He looks across dunes and catches glimpses of a huddled teenager, a young man. All those years Lance had spent desperate to hate Keith, to be him, to love him. With a shaking voice he’d begged to inhabit the same space as his unreachable rival. Beyond the dunes, by his side, feet gliding in his desert.
Now, he isn’t sure. He looks down at the stirring beach underneath his toes, the little shells that dot the coastline and collect around him, pulled and left by gentle waves. There are footprints around Lance, pieces of driftwood and rounded pebbles of sea glass. Lance is surrounded by color and memories tucked within each detail.
Each time he’d gotten close to Keith, he’d seen a difference in their roots. Keith’s sand was coarser, barren and infinite. It held a distinct lack of footprints. There were no pieces of wood or glass to break the dryness, to conceal the vast empty. Wind swept the desert into misshapen piles, chaotic and uncontrolled, pushing Keith along with it.
With no landmarks, Keith wandered.
Every realization about their different worlds only broke and rewrote Lance’s perceptions. How desperately had he wanted to be Keith, when this was what it meant? How tired must Keith be? How foolish was Lance, to think Keith would ever slow his wandering, find peace in the shore when he could find reward in the hidden tunnels of desert tombs?
But Lance could not follow him there, in that empty. The promise of reward was so little, the price too heavy, the desert too infinite. He had tried. And tried. And tried. Lance’s calves ached. Sand lined his throat. After all his attempts, he was weak, unable to abandon the shore and look for the impossible. So he drew back, retreated to the ocean. He dug his toes in the coastline right where the water met the sea.
If Keith wanted to, he would follow Lance to fresh, salty air. He’d dig his feet in right beside Lance’s and admire the horizon: equally infinite, promising the sunrise.
Instead, he wanders, and he doesn’t look back.
Flashing lights. Dark, endless sky. A gentle hum from the motor. Lance adjusted his grip on the wheel, getting comfortable in the seat of his car.
Outside his blue Corvette (fondly nicknamed Baby Blue), the air was crisp, cool, and charged. Everything hung in a pause as racers lined up their vehicles at the starting line, slowly rolling up one by one. Tonight was the night they’d all been waiting for: the Altea City Underground Cup, the biggest prize of the year. With money from placing, Lance could quit his horrible day job.
Most of the racers were sponsored by rich Alteans desperate for adrenaline but too scared of scraping a knee. Lance’s sponsor, Rollo, was a young guy who’d inherited millions after the untimely death of his father. However, the guy didn’t seem too concerned with mourning. High off his ass, Rollo promised him 10% of his bet winnings after each race as well as lending him a car. In return, Lance delivered top placements and helped him feel the thrill of winning without the danger of racing.
His work with Rollo was a solid arrangement. Especially since, unlike the rich assholes, Lance lived for what he called the Thrum. It was the feeling he got when hurtling down the track, heart lifting to his throat, tension and power coiling all around him as he danced between the lines of death and life.
Was it legal? Not exactly. But it paid. And tonight, it would pay well. Lance had raced his competitors tens of times before.
He knew the green, zippy car belonged to Pigeon, who often pulled out sneaky tricks on her ride. The sleek, grey one was Lotor’s, one of the few wealthy people who actually stuck out his neck alongside his car. His tactics were dirty and brutal, but they weren’t impossible to deal with, and Lance had beaten him before. Furthest from Lance was an orange, low-to-the-ground car, containing Griffin, a piece of shit that rarely won.
Overall, Lance’s odds were good. He could win this. Trying to prepare himself for the starting whistle, he pulled on his helmet and let his fingers tighten around the wheel once more.
Suddenly, a movement to his left drew his attention. Shit. Pulling up alongside Lance was one, final car, a cherry red Ferrari. It was gorgeous under the pale track lights, reflecting Lance’s car so clearly in its doors, sleek and built for speed. Through the sound of Baby Blue, Lance could hear its engine emitting a gentle purr. Lance licked his lips. He didn’t know this car.
Lance rolled down his window and leaned an arm out, gesturing for the helmeted man to do the same. The stranger, surprisingly, did roll down his window.
“What do you want?” Lance shivered at his voice. It was a blend of gravelly and low, matching his edgy black and red leather image. His face was obscured by his helmet, but Lance could see wisps of black hair curling out from the bottom.
“Who’s your sponsor?” Lance called back.
“Why do you care?” God, this questions game was getting old.
“I just want to know who I’m racing, man.” Lance tried to peer through the helmet and see the shadowed eyes lurking behind it.
“Call me Red,” was the stranger’s short reply. “Sponsored by Marmora.” Lance immediately sat up, indignantly bristling.
“You’re coming after my brand!” he accused. Red looked slowly at Lance’s car, then turned back to see Lance where he was still leaning out of the driver’s side.
“Let me guess… you’re called Blue.”
“I am!” Lance seethed. “Look, hotshot, I don’t care why you decided to only show up on the most important racing day, or how you qualified for it in the first place. All you need to know is I’m going to kick your ass, no matter how sexy your car is.”
“Sexy, huh?” Red sounded amused, now, which only furthered Lance’s annoyance.
“It’ll look even sexier in the rearview,” Lance snapped.
“We’ll see on the track.” Without so much as a pause, Red rolled up his window, causing Lance to sputter. He threw up a middle finger that Red pretended not to see and rolled up his own window.
“Racers!” A voice boomed over the speakers surrounding the start. “Ready at the start!”
Lance whipped his head forward and locked his gaze on the track. It was all laid out just for him, asphalt flat and begging to be driven on. In just a few laps, he’d be the winner of the Cup. He’d get to take home the winnings, change his life. He wouldn’t let some new guy ruin his chances.
“On your mark.”
Pulsing echoed in his eardrums, silence settling over the scene.
“Get set.”
He shuffled his shoulders, sucked in a breath. His foot pressed into the accelerator.
“Go!”
A violent roar thundered in his ears as he pumped down and shot off. Lance pressed back into his seat as he pulled away from the line, lightning crackling in his veins, heat crawling up his arms. For a second, he was weightless, flying above everything and looking down. Pigeon was long in his dust, locked in an early battle with Griffin. Lotor was crawling after his heels. Beautiful.
But then, the universe answered his glee.
A red Ferrari climbed up even with him. Lance, known to never break focus, found himself looking sideways into the window. He was furious. No one had ever beaten Lance off the start, even if he was passed later. The start was his domain.
Red cocked his head, as if taunting him, and threw Lance a two-fingered salute.
Then, he pulled ahead.
Fury consumed Lance entirely as he saw the bright car’s taillights shining in front of his eyes. This was meant to be his race, his chance to prove himself to the betters and take home enough cash for a safer life. Red was going to ruin things.
However, alongside the fury was an unusual thrill. No one had challenged him so blatantly, so openly. It made goosebumps rise on his skin as he pressed further on the pedal, hands alternating over one another as he skidded through a tight turn.
Maybe this will be fun.
Oh my goodness I am in love with your new fic!!!! Lance’s pining and both of their obliviousness is actually going to kill me! (In the absolute best way!) I can’t wait for the next chapter!!
thank you so so much! i love to mix in a little obliviousness for the comedy of it all, it's so funny to me when they both refuse to acknowledge the obvious and fail to notice random little pieces of evidence.
i will disclose JUST FOR YOU that I immediately dove into writing chapter 2 and lets just say it is equally ridiculous :D
thank you guys so much for all the love on walk with me!!! i see your comments and i adore them 😭🩷 i’ll reply later today!
yall are the sweetest 🥹
finally sitting down to reply to comments :-D genuinely so thankful for everyone who left kudos and encouragement! they are the food that sustains me
8k+, klance, postcanon
Lance McClain is content at home-- really, he is-- but when Keith shows up at his door, begging for help, he can't say no.
"They want to turn a property of mine into a museum, for some reason," Keith said.
“Which property?” Lance asked. He held his hand to shield against the bright sky as he looked up to Keith.
“The desert shack."
Now, Lance is on the universe's most exclusive weekend trip, forced to help Keith go through a musty pile of memories. Fabulous.
Here are the facts: 1. Keith is still the most smart-yet-stupid motherfucker Lance has ever met 2. Shiro and Curtis are disgustingly adorable 3. A twin bed is far too small for a grown man, and 4. He should have fallen out of love with Keith when he had the chance.
8k+, klance, postcanon
Lance McClain is content at home-- really, he is-- but when Keith shows up at his door, begging for help, he can't say no.
"They want to turn a property of mine into a museum, for some reason," Keith said.
“Which property?” Lance asked. He held his hand to shield against the bright sky as he looked up to Keith.
“The desert shack."
Now, Lance is on the universe's most exclusive weekend trip, forced to help Keith go through a musty pile of memories. Fabulous.
Here are the facts: 1. Keith is still the most smart-yet-stupid motherfucker Lance has ever met 2. Shiro and Curtis are disgustingly adorable 3. A twin bed is far too small for a grown man, and 4. He should have fallen out of love with Keith when he had the chance.
