#SOOO REAL I LOVE ALLURA SM

[stressedsnake]

GIGGLING AND CAKLING LIKE A DAMN IDIOT RNNN

FAMILY FLUFF, MY BELOVED

Now,an homage to my favourite lines

Shiro glares at her, arms crossed and bottom lip jutted out petulantly, because he’s 25 going on 3, apparently. “I am not. I am completely justified in it — ghosts are real. They are.”

Isn't he like technically actually three??? Also I can just imagine him doing this. Just pure. No<3. We stan.

Keith slinks quietly into the room, sprawling half on top of Lance and turning his eyes to the arguing knuckleheads at the front of the room, because he has gotten way too comfortable in their time in space and thinks crushing Lance is funny.

THEM<33333

“Spend a lot of time looking at my gigantic butt, do you?” Keith says blithely, and Lance flushes even though he knows Keith is teasing.

WHEN I TELL YOU I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE DOWN TO SQUEAL FOR A SECOND

Pidge glares at Shiro one last time because she is a youngest child and therefore incapable of letting other people have the last word (Lance knows, he does the same)

Listen. Petulant teenager pidge is something that can be so personal. Like yes she is a genius, yes she's the youngest sibling, yes that makes her iconic.

before turning exasperatedly to her fellow arm of Voltron. (Shiro rolls his eyes at her like the drama queen he is. Lance loves this shit. He didn’t know what a dork Shiro was until he met him, and it is the greatest thing he has discovered, including Voltron. Sorry, Alfor.)

YES.

“Whatever, stupid-head.”

Lance my darling dumbass, why must you do this to me.

Pidge hisses. Like, actually. As if she is a particularly angry kitten, or perhaps one of those little chihuahuas with rage issues.

once again, YES.

To say Pidge is incensed is an understatement. Lance grins, flipping over on the couch to hang upside down because he thinks it will bring the most comedy to the situation when he is invariably asked for input.

Ah yes. The most bisexual move to ever bisexual.

Vaguely, Lance hears Shiro’s muttered ‘oh my God’ and Coran’s blatant laughter, but all he can really hear is the blood rushing through his ears because holy shit.

I love when the team clowns on him sm

Jesus fucking shitdicks, this will be how Lance dies.

Bro this is my new favourite insult bro.

And enjoy himself he does. When he notices that Shiro has his crazy-eyes again, Slav-style, he decides to hand him a couch pillow. Shiro, so caught up in his surety that he is Obviously Correct, barely even registers where the pillow comes from and immediately lobs it at Hunk’s face.

SHIRO. YOU ARE RHE OLDEST HERE. SHIRO NO.

Jk jk I love when shiro just. Y'know shiros

“Oh, but Lance! I want to hear about Keith’s luscious hair! Or his dazzling smile! Or —“ she batts her eyelashes — “his sexy, sexy voice —”

Stan allura for clear skin.

“But she falsely accused me of being on Keith’s team for gay reasons! Who says I’m even on Keith’s team?”

Literally everyone with eyes Lance.

How rude. Have they no faith in him? Lance is the youngest sibling of five. He is excellent at getting into shit he’s not supposed to be in. It’s, like, his superpower.

SEE THIS IS WHY I LOVE YOUR FICS, THEY CAPTURE THE VERY ESSENCE OF LANCE SOOO WELL

Lance carefully makes his way back to the ground — sticking his tongue out at Coran when he manages without dying, who raises and eyebrow and flicks Lance on the nose in retaliation — holding the bag triumphantly. He immediately starts rummaging around for a pan, some butter, and some salt.

Coran<3

“There is no way. You’re fucking with me right now.”

Shiro glares at her, arms crossed and bottom lip jutted out petulantly, because he’s 25 going on 3, apparently. “I am not. I am completely justified in it — ghosts are real. They are.”

Pidge throws her hands up, quickly scrambling on top of the couch cushions so she can look Shiro in the eye. She looks ready to kill. So does Shiro.

Lance is delighted.

”You are a man of science, Shirogane! You are a decorated astronaut! You have written papers —”

“Pidge fucking Holt our number one enemy is a zombie —”

“In what fucking way does a zombie prove the existence of ghosts —”

“In what way does it not —”

Keith slinks quietly into the room, sprawling half on top of Lance and turning his eyes to the arguing knuckleheads at the front of the room, because he has gotten way too comfortable in their time in space and thinks crushing Lance is funny.

“What are they arguing about?” he whispers.

Lance scowls, trying to push Keith off of him, but unfortunately Lance’s arms are kind of noodle-y and Keith is a stubborn jerk. (Lance can’t see him, due to the smothering, but he just knows Keith is smirking, like the butthead jerk he is.)

“I can’t tell you because your gigantic butt suffocating me,” Lance gripes.

“Spend a lot of time looking at my gigantic butt, do you?” Keith says blithely, and Lance flushes even though he knows Keith is teasing.

“Whatever, stupid-head.”

“Oh, ouch, McClain. Stupid-head? My inner four-year-old is smarting.”

“…I’m not telling you now. You don’t deserve to know.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find out —”

“Someone back me up! Keith!”

Keith startles at Pidge’s snap, which gives Lance just enough leeway to squirm out from under Keith and also kick him for good measure. Keith winces, because Lance is pointy, but otherwise continues to look handsomely smug, which is very annoying.

“Uh, what?”

Pidge glares at Shiro one last time because she is a youngest child and therefore incapable of letting other people have the last word (Lance knows, he does the same) before turning exasperatedly to her fellow arm of Voltron. (Shiro rolls his eyes at her like the drama queen he is. Lance loves this shit. He didn’t know what a dork Shiro was until he met him, and it is the greatest thing he has discovered, including Voltron. Sorry, Alfor.)

“Tell Shiro that he’s a dumbass and ghosts are not real in any way, shape, or form, because he won’t listen to me!”

Keith blinks. Then his eyes narrow, smile going sharp and cocky — his game face. Lance looks away quickly so he doesn’t explode.

Stupid sexy motherfucker. With his stupid sexy hair and face and smile and — whatever. He’s hot, is the point, and Lance hates it.

“As much as I love disagreeing with Shiro —”

“HEY —”

“— I’m on his side this time, dude. Ghosts are real as shit. I’ve heard ‘em.”

To say Pidge is incensed is an understatement. Lance grins, flipping over on the couch to hang upside down because he thinks it will bring the most comedy to the situation when he is invariably asked for input.

“So you’re both blatant ignorers of science, then!”

“Um, no way, pint-sized Dana Scully. The evidence is everywhere.”

Pidge hisses. Like, actually. As if she is a particularly angry kitten, or perhaps one of those little chihuahuas with rage issues.

God, Lance’s life is so good.

“Call me pint-sized again, Kogane, and I’ll deliver a pint-sized kick so far up your ass you’ll —”

Lance tunes them out for the time being, letting them continue to vaguely insult each other and not actually go anywhere in their argument. He instead busies himself with finding tiny little washers under the couch (left there from the time Pidge, extremely sleep deprived at one in the morning, mistook the common room for her workshop while carrying a box of loose parts and tripped over the couch, spilling parts everywhere) and throwing them at Hunk. The man ignores the first couple dozen hits — and they are hits, because Lance doesn’t miss — but after washer #46, he visibly snaps, setting his tools down in a very carful way that tells Lance that Hunk wants to kill him a little.

“Lance, I’m fucking busy.”

“Oooooh, are they any good?”

It takes a moment for Lance’s horrible joke to sink in. Hunk closes his eyes and sighs deeply, but the corner of his mouth is twitching and Lance smirks to himself.

Hehe. Point to Lance.

“What is so important that you must interrupt my very important —” he puts heavy emphasis on the words and stares at Lance pointedly, but Lance has lots of practice pretending to not understand things to piss people off, so it does nothing — “work by repeatedly assaulting me with I-don’t-know-what?”

“Washers that Pidge dropped,” Lance supplies, and then points at the three stooges. “They’re arguing about ghosts. Team Ghosts Aren’t Real is losing. Thought you might want to weigh in.”

Hunk looks incredulous. Lance doesn’t even pretend to hide his grin. “How is the correct team losing?”

Lance shrugs. “Dunno. Guess Pidge needs your arguing expertise and your patented look of disdain. You should join her.”

Look, Lance has never claimed to be subtle.

“Damn right,” Hunk says, determined, and Lance grins.

He loves having his own personal sitcom.

“Now what are you fools arguing about?”

The speed at which everyone’s head whips toward Hunk is comical. What is also comical is all three dorks make an identical face of relief, each one individually thinking that, of course, good ol’ Hunk is on their side.

God, this is literally getting better by the second.

“Hunk,” Shiro says, weariness leaving his face by the second.

Oh, Lance cannot wait to see it come back full force.

“Pidge seems to fully believe that ghosts aren’t real, even though that’s a ridiculous stance to take given our current circumstances.”

Hunk scoffs. All the blood is starting to rush to Lance’s head to the point where it’s hard to pay full attention, now, so he scrambles back upright and leans as close as he can. He will not miss even a second of this.

“Of course ghosts aren’t real.”

Silence. A pin could drop on the rug-covered floors and sound like a nuke going off.

They erupt at once.

“Hunk, how could you?” Shiro sounds heartbroken. He looks it, too, deep black eyes all big and sad like a hurt puppy’s.

“Hunk, you fucking traitor.” Keith is all hot and glare-y, but his stance is loose, playful.

God, Lance is so attracted to that man. It’s fucking ridiculous.

“That’s my man!” Pidge’s yell is louder than anyone’s, and she holds her hand up for a high-five. Hunk slaps it without looking, and the sound cracks through the room.

“Unrehearsed,” they say in unison, like the dorky nerds they are. There’s a second of unbelievably tense (and still a little betrayed, if Shiro’s expression is any indication — Keith has been absentmindedly patting him on the shoulder for the past few minutes) silence before everyone speaks at once.

“We fly magical robot lions —”

“Magic does not equate ghosts —”

“Yes it fucking does —”

“That’s so fucking stupid, just because one thing exists doesn’t mean another thing exists. If humans evolved the ability to breathe underwater it would not give them the sudden ability to fly —”

“In what way is that argument even remotely the same —”

“In every way, what are you even —”

Their argument is getting circular, so Lance starts to get bored. And snacky. Hm. He’s pretty sure Hunk is hiding that Beruvian wild rice grain in the top-most counter in the kitchen (the one only he can reach), and that shit pops deliciously, almost as good as movie theatre popcorn. And Lance is good at climbing shit, and also at stealing from Hunk.

He quietly makes his way out of the common room, taking his time as he walks to the kitchen. He won’t be missing any vital parts of the argument, he can feel it. He can afford to stroll. Mm, and think of all the salt and butter he’s going to put on the popped rice. Hell, maybe he’ll grab that weird spicy Altean soda that only he and Allura like, too.

Seriously. Murderous alien Nazis and crushing homesickness aside, Lance is living the goddamned life.

Allura and Coran are both in the kitchen when Lance walks in, and greet him brightly. Lance grins back and waves, but continues making a beeline for the counter farthest to the left and hefting himself up.

“What are you up to, dear?” Coran asks, sounding amused. Lance turns to wink at him.

“Shenanigans,” he says evasively.

Allura hums. “And would those shenanigans involve the destruction of my castle?” she asks, as Lance starts opening cupboard doors to use them as footholds.

“See, that’s the best part about being a stick, ‘Lura. I’m basically as heavy as a sad little puff of wind in the middle of the Arizona desert.”

“Neither of us have any frame of reference for that,” Allura points out.

Lance waves a dismissive hand. “Eh. I’m not going to break stuff, is the point.” He steps gingerly on the door of a particularly small cabinet, and pretends he doesn’t notice Coran blatantly standing under him with a hand out to spot him because he thinks Lance will fall and die.

How rude. Have they no faith in him? Lance is the youngest sibling of five. He is excellent at getting into shit he’s not supposed to be in. It’s, like, his superpower.

“Aha!” He finally sees it — a rough pink bag, pulled taut with the sweet sweet elixir of snacky promises. Hunk has made a valiant effort to hide it behind a couple pots.

He should know better, really. Lance has been stealing his shit since they were toddlers.

Lance carefully makes his way back to the ground — sticking his tongue out at Coran when he manages without dying, who raises and eyebrow and flicks Lance on the nose in retaliation — holding the bag triumphantly. He immediately starts rummaging around for a pan, some butter, and some salt.

“What’s the occasion?” Allura asks, poking at the bag.

“Drama in the common room.”

“Ooooh.” Allura perks up immediately, heaving herself up to sit on the counter to watch Lance as he works. Coran heads over to the fridge to grab himself a water and the two of them their fancy sodas, which he gives to them with a teasing grimace and a paternal hair ruffle (something they both pretend to hate but secretly feel all smushy about).

“What kind of drama?”

“They’re arguing about whether or not ghosts are real.”

“…Ghosts?” Coran says the word carefully, like he does when something doesn’t translate. Allura looks confused, too. Lance hurriedly wracks his brain for an Altean equivalent. He can’t think of one, so he goes with a description.

“Spiorad beoite,” he says after a moment of thinking. Animated spirit.

He’s proven correct when, at the same time, Coran lights up and Allura goes scowly. “Taibhse,” they both say, in exact opposite tones.

The first rice grain pops.

Lance grins.

“I think you guys should come back to the common room with me,” he says, after his rice is popped and seasoned and Allura and Coran have started a small argument of their own.

They do decide to come with him.

The three of them make their way down the hallways, Coran needling Lance for information the whole time.

“Who is arguing what?” he asks.

“Pidge and Shiro started it — team ghost and anti-ghost respectively. Hunk is on Pidge’s side, and Keith,” Lance, admittedly, smiles when he says the name, “is shockingly teaming up with Shiro.”

Lance sees the smirk spread over Allura’s face and realises a second too late what she’s going to say, and as such is not fast enough to run away before she slings an arm around his shoulder and holds him captive with her superstrength.

“I bet I can guess which team you’re on, Loverboy,” she teases. Lance glares at her, but it does very little because unfortunately his face is very red.

“Get off of me, you —” Lance tries very hard to think of an appropriate name to call her. Preferably something scathing and witty. “—jerky jerk face.”

God, he wishes the universe would smite him where he is standing. Why can he only think of good plans and insults when he is in mortal peril? What a fucking design flaw. Lance should take it up with a manager.

Allura bursts out laughing and gives him a noogie, because she is horrible and spends way too much time with Shiro and Shiro is a horrible, horrible influence.

“Oh, but Lance! I want to hear about Keith’s luscious hair! Or his dazzling smile! Or —“ she batts her eyelashes — “his sexy, sexy voice —”

Since Lance has about as much physical power over Allura as a butterfly does a mountain, he decides his best course of action is to screech at the top of his lungs and go limp. It works like a charm.

Lance decides to celebrate his newfound freedom by crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out at Allura, which in hindsight was possibly a poor plan.

“Oh, it’s on, you little runt —”

This time Lance’s screech is one of fear. The last time he’d seen that expression on someone — one of bruised honour — was the time he’d been caught using Veronica’s very expensive custom lip gloss in a ‘potion’. He’d barely escaped with his life.

Lance barely dodges Allura’s sharp jab to the ribs, and is ready to start sprinting away from her and her pointy fingers before a calloused hand grips the back of his hoodie and lifts him limply in the air.

“Children,” Coran says drily, holding them away from each other (and also somehow holding on to the popped rice and drinks?) and up in the air like particularly naughty kittens. “Save the bloodshed for common room. Don’t waste it here.”

“But she falsely accused me of being on Keith’s team for gay reasons! Who says I’m even on Keith’s team?”

“Because it’s true, you whipped loser —”

Coran shakes them both, and they shut up. “Are you going to behave for the two minutes it will take us to meet the others?” he asks. His eyes twinkle mischievously.

“Yes, Coran,” they chorus, and are finally freed.

They make it the rest of the way to the common room without incident, except for the four (4) occasions wherein Allura looked suspiciously like she wanted to Say Something, because she is horrible and has no respect for Lance’s already tattered dignity.

“All of you are ridiculous! The existence of the Blue Lion on Earth does not imply the reanimation of the human spirit!”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Allura agrees as she strolls elegantly in the room. She nods at Pidge. “That would be ridiculous.”

Hunk looks close to tears in relief. “Finally, someone with sense!” he cries.

“Now, now, lad,” Coran says, shaking his head. “While indeed, our wonderful Blue Lion does not prove the existence of ghosts, it is not for your reasoning — ghosts simply outdate Blue. There are hundreds of other proofs of the spirits of the universe.”

Keith holds out a fist for Coran to bump, looking smug. Coran shakes it — because Lance may, admittedly, amuse himself by wrongly teaching Coran Earth culture —but Keith looks unbothered. “Take that, Hunk. We have a wise Altean advisor on our side, which means we basically win by default.”

“We have a fucking princess!”

Lance grins as he tosses some popped rice into his mouth. Now that Allura has turned her evil older sister teasing and arguments on someone that isn’t Lance, he can enjoy himself again.

And enjoy himself he does. When he notices that Shiro has his crazy-eyes again, Slav-style, he decides to hand him a couch pillow. Shiro, so caught up in his surety that he is Obviously Correct, barely even registers where the pillow comes from and immediately lobs it at Hunk’s face.

There’s silence. A shocked, incredulous silence. Then Keith’s face lights up with unbridled glee — and holy shit, he has the most beautiful smile of anyone Lance has ever met and ever will meet — and he grabs his own pillow and smacks Pidge with it. The room ascends into wonderful, wonderful chaos.

Lance hurriedly sets his bowl and soda somewhere else and busies himself with handing ammo out to any empty hand — Coran in particular is going absolutely ham — shouting encouragement whenever someone lands a hit (regardless of the side), and —admittedly — simping a little over Keith’s rippling muscles.

(Look, he’s wearing that black sleeveless hoodie, okay? The one that fits his chest real well and shows off his biceps. And, well.

Lance has eyes.)

“Ugh,” Hunk finally mumbles, half-smushed under a pile of pillowed-out paladins and co. “Who won?”

Shiro and Pidge — who started it all — answer at the same time.

“We did.”

There’s a loud, in-unison groan from the pile.

Lance giggles. “Dorks,” he says.

At the sound of his voice, Keith shoots up so quickly that Shiro is thrown off him with a yelp.

“Lance!” He shouts it. Lance startles, staring back with wide eyes — dark brown meeting dusky purple. “Lance, you’re the answer!”

Alright, look. Look.

Lance is a human guy, okay? He’s just a guy. He’s challenge any other being in the giant fucking universe to look the love in their life in the eyes as they called them the answer and not, like, collapse. Lance is surprised his heart is still beating, Christ above.

“I am?” he squeaks.

“Of course you are!” Keith says it so earnestly. As if it’s obvious.

Lance’s heart honest-to-God skips a fucking beat.

“Our vote’s divided, shatz.” The closest Earth language to the Galran Keith’s speaking is German, and Lance’s German is rusty at best, so he has no clue what Keith’s saying. The word could be different, anyway. Lance tries desperately to convince himself it doesn’t matter.

“You could solve everything!” Keith continues.

Oh, dear God. Is he doing this on purpose? Lance is gonna fuckin’ die.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Pidge says from her position on top of Allura. “Tie-breaker, to say it in a less gay way.”

Allura snorts.

“Shut up, Pidge,” Lance and Keith snap at the same time. They look at each other, and then away quickly.

Keith’s face is as red as Lance’s.

Jesus fucking shitdicks, this will be how Lance dies.

“C’mon, Lance,” Hunk complains. “I want to be off this pile. Choose! Are ghosts real or not?”

Keith is looking at him so hopefully. It’s so cute. Pidge rolls her eyes, like she already knows what the answer is going to be.

And, well. Lance hates proving Pidge right, but he’s doomed! He’s doomed, when Keith is looking at him like that.

“Ghosts are very definitely real,” he rushes out.

Keith smiles so hard his eyes crinkle shut. Lance’s very favourite Keith expression. “I knew I could count on you, liebe.”

Vaguely, Lance hears Shiro’s muttered ‘oh my God’ and Coran’s blatant laughter, but all he can really hear is the blood rushing through his ears because holy shit.

“This proves nothing,” Hunk whines as everyone lethargically makes their way off the floor and to the popped rice. “Lance would be on our side if he wasn’t so disgustingly in love with —”

“OKAY THANK YOU HUNK,” Lance says loudly, and his entire horrible team snickers at him.

Except for Keith. Keith is looking at him almost… shyly.

“I have to be somewhere that’s not here,” Lance announces transparently because he’s a little too frazzled for excuses.

“Loser,” Pidge heckles, because she’s particularly horrible.

“Goodbye,” Lance says again. As he’s about to finally walk out the door, there’s a soft call of his name that stops him in his tracks. Lance swallows roughly.

“Yeah, Keith?”

Keith looks hesitant again, for a second. Then his eyes narrow, and his smile gets sharp and cocky.

His game face.

“I’m glad you’ve got my back, Sharpshooter,” he says. And then he winks.

Lance can’t even help himself. He practically flees out of the room. He doesn’t allow himself to stop until he’s collapsed in his bed face-first, and has a good, lengthy scream into his pillow.

Once he’s calmed down and his heart no longer feels like it’s been injected with pure cocaine, he sits up, props up three of his favourite stuffed animals, and looks at them intently.

“I think Keith was flirting with me,” he tells them seriously. Mr. Shark says nothing, but Lance can feel a giddy smile spread over his face anyway. “I think — I think he likes me.” He can no sooner stop the giggle bubbling up his throat than fly to the moon.

“I think Keith Kogane likes me!” He holds a pillow to his chest and flops back onto his quilt. He sighs to himself, kicking his legs out a bit. Yeah, he suffered quite a bit of teasing from the whole ordeal, but — but. He thinks he was right, earlier.

He really is living the life.

[stressedsnake]

GIGGLING AND CAKLING LIKE A DAMN IDIOT RNNN

FAMILY FLUFF, MY BELOVED

Now,an homage to my favourite lines

Shiro glares at her, arms crossed and bottom lip jutted out petulantly, because he’s 25 going on 3, apparently. “I am not. I am completely justified in it — ghosts are real. They are.”

Isn't he like technically actually three??? Also I can just imagine him doing this. Just pure. No<3. We stan.

Keith slinks quietly into the room, sprawling half on top of Lance and turning his eyes to the arguing knuckleheads at the front of the room, because he has gotten way too comfortable in their time in space and thinks crushing Lance is funny.

THEM<33333

“Spend a lot of time looking at my gigantic butt, do you?” Keith says blithely, and Lance flushes even though he knows Keith is teasing.

WHEN I TELL YOU I HAD TO PUT MY PHONE DOWN TO SQUEAL FOR A SECOND

Pidge glares at Shiro one last time because she is a youngest child and therefore incapable of letting other people have the last word (Lance knows, he does the same)

Listen. Petulant teenager pidge is something that can be so personal. Like yes she is a genius, yes she's the youngest sibling, yes that makes her iconic.

before turning exasperatedly to her fellow arm of Voltron. (Shiro rolls his eyes at her like the drama queen he is. Lance loves this shit. He didn’t know what a dork Shiro was until he met him, and it is the greatest thing he has discovered, including Voltron. Sorry, Alfor.)

YES.

“Whatever, stupid-head.”

Lance my darling dumbass, why must you do this to me.

Pidge hisses. Like, actually. As if she is a particularly angry kitten, or perhaps one of those little chihuahuas with rage issues.

once again, YES.

To say Pidge is incensed is an understatement. Lance grins, flipping over on the couch to hang upside down because he thinks it will bring the most comedy to the situation when he is invariably asked for input.

Ah yes. The most bisexual move to ever bisexual.

Vaguely, Lance hears Shiro’s muttered ‘oh my God’ and Coran’s blatant laughter, but all he can really hear is the blood rushing through his ears because holy shit.

I love when the team clowns on him sm

Jesus fucking shitdicks, this will be how Lance dies.

Bro this is my new favourite insult bro.

And enjoy himself he does. When he notices that Shiro has his crazy-eyes again, Slav-style, he decides to hand him a couch pillow. Shiro, so caught up in his surety that he is Obviously Correct, barely even registers where the pillow comes from and immediately lobs it at Hunk’s face.

SHIRO. YOU ARE RHE OLDEST HERE. SHIRO NO.

Jk jk I love when shiro just. Y'know shiros

“Oh, but Lance! I want to hear about Keith’s luscious hair! Or his dazzling smile! Or —“ she batts her eyelashes — “his sexy, sexy voice —”

Stan allura for clear skin.

“But she falsely accused me of being on Keith’s team for gay reasons! Who says I’m even on Keith’s team?”

Literally everyone with eyes Lance.

How rude. Have they no faith in him? Lance is the youngest sibling of five. He is excellent at getting into shit he’s not supposed to be in. It’s, like, his superpower.

SEE THIS IS WHY I LOVE YOUR FICS, THEY CAPTURE THE VERY ESSENCE OF LANCE SOOO WELL

Lance carefully makes his way back to the ground — sticking his tongue out at Coran when he manages without dying, who raises and eyebrow and flicks Lance on the nose in retaliation — holding the bag triumphantly. He immediately starts rummaging around for a pan, some butter, and some salt.

Coran<3

“There is no way. You’re fucking with me right now.”

Shiro glares at her, arms crossed and bottom lip jutted out petulantly, because he’s 25 going on 3, apparently. “I am not. I am completely justified in it — ghosts are real. They are.”

Pidge throws her hands up, quickly scrambling on top of the couch cushions so she can look Shiro in the eye. She looks ready to kill. So does Shiro.

Lance is delighted.

”You are a man of science, Shirogane! You are a decorated astronaut! You have written papers —”

“Pidge fucking Holt our number one enemy is a zombie —”

“In what fucking way does a zombie prove the existence of ghosts —”

“In what way does it not —”

Keith slinks quietly into the room, sprawling half on top of Lance and turning his eyes to the arguing knuckleheads at the front of the room, because he has gotten way too comfortable in their time in space and thinks crushing Lance is funny.

“What are they arguing about?” he whispers.

Lance scowls, trying to push Keith off of him, but unfortunately Lance’s arms are kind of noodle-y and Keith is a stubborn jerk. (Lance can’t see him, due to the smothering, but he just knows Keith is smirking, like the butthead jerk he is.)

“I can’t tell you because your gigantic butt suffocating me,” Lance gripes.

“Spend a lot of time looking at my gigantic butt, do you?” Keith says blithely, and Lance flushes even though he knows Keith is teasing.

“Whatever, stupid-head.”

“Oh, ouch, McClain. Stupid-head? My inner four-year-old is smarting.”

“…I’m not telling you now. You don’t deserve to know.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll find out —”

“Someone back me up! Keith!”

Keith startles at Pidge’s snap, which gives Lance just enough leeway to squirm out from under Keith and also kick him for good measure. Keith winces, because Lance is pointy, but otherwise continues to look handsomely smug, which is very annoying.

“Uh, what?”

Pidge glares at Shiro one last time because she is a youngest child and therefore incapable of letting other people have the last word (Lance knows, he does the same) before turning exasperatedly to her fellow arm of Voltron. (Shiro rolls his eyes at her like the drama queen he is. Lance loves this shit. He didn’t know what a dork Shiro was until he met him, and it is the greatest thing he has discovered, including Voltron. Sorry, Alfor.)

“Tell Shiro that he’s a dumbass and ghosts are not real in any way, shape, or form, because he won’t listen to me!”

Keith blinks. Then his eyes narrow, smile going sharp and cocky — his game face. Lance looks away quickly so he doesn’t explode.

Stupid sexy motherfucker. With his stupid sexy hair and face and smile and — whatever. He’s hot, is the point, and Lance hates it.

“As much as I love disagreeing with Shiro —”

“HEY —”

“— I’m on his side this time, dude. Ghosts are real as shit. I’ve heard ‘em.”

To say Pidge is incensed is an understatement. Lance grins, flipping over on the couch to hang upside down because he thinks it will bring the most comedy to the situation when he is invariably asked for input.

“So you’re both blatant ignorers of science, then!”

“Um, no way, pint-sized Dana Scully. The evidence is everywhere.”

Pidge hisses. Like, actually. As if she is a particularly angry kitten, or perhaps one of those little chihuahuas with rage issues.

God, Lance’s life is so good.

“Call me pint-sized again, Kogane, and I’ll deliver a pint-sized kick so far up your ass you’ll —”

Lance tunes them out for the time being, letting them continue to vaguely insult each other and not actually go anywhere in their argument. He instead busies himself with finding tiny little washers under the couch (left there from the time Pidge, extremely sleep deprived at one in the morning, mistook the common room for her workshop while carrying a box of loose parts and tripped over the couch, spilling parts everywhere) and throwing them at Hunk. The man ignores the first couple dozen hits — and they are hits, because Lance doesn’t miss — but after washer #46, he visibly snaps, setting his tools down in a very carful way that tells Lance that Hunk wants to kill him a little.

“Lance, I’m fucking busy.”

“Oooooh, are they any good?”

It takes a moment for Lance’s horrible joke to sink in. Hunk closes his eyes and sighs deeply, but the corner of his mouth is twitching and Lance smirks to himself.

Hehe. Point to Lance.

“What is so important that you must interrupt my very important —” he puts heavy emphasis on the words and stares at Lance pointedly, but Lance has lots of practice pretending to not understand things to piss people off, so it does nothing — “work by repeatedly assaulting me with I-don’t-know-what?”

“Washers that Pidge dropped,” Lance supplies, and then points at the three stooges. “They’re arguing about ghosts. Team Ghosts Aren’t Real is losing. Thought you might want to weigh in.”

Hunk looks incredulous. Lance doesn’t even pretend to hide his grin. “How is the correct team losing?”

Lance shrugs. “Dunno. Guess Pidge needs your arguing expertise and your patented look of disdain. You should join her.”

Look, Lance has never claimed to be subtle.

“Damn right,” Hunk says, determined, and Lance grins.

He loves having his own personal sitcom.

“Now what are you fools arguing about?”

The speed at which everyone’s head whips toward Hunk is comical. What is also comical is all three dorks make an identical face of relief, each one individually thinking that, of course, good ol’ Hunk is on their side.

God, this is literally getting better by the second.

“Hunk,” Shiro says, weariness leaving his face by the second.

Oh, Lance cannot wait to see it come back full force.

“Pidge seems to fully believe that ghosts aren’t real, even though that’s a ridiculous stance to take given our current circumstances.”

Hunk scoffs. All the blood is starting to rush to Lance’s head to the point where it’s hard to pay full attention, now, so he scrambles back upright and leans as close as he can. He will not miss even a second of this.

“Of course ghosts aren’t real.”

Silence. A pin could drop on the rug-covered floors and sound like a nuke going off.

They erupt at once.

“Hunk, how could you?” Shiro sounds heartbroken. He looks it, too, deep black eyes all big and sad like a hurt puppy’s.

“Hunk, you fucking traitor.” Keith is all hot and glare-y, but his stance is loose, playful.

God, Lance is so attracted to that man. It’s fucking ridiculous.

“That’s my man!” Pidge’s yell is louder than anyone’s, and she holds her hand up for a high-five. Hunk slaps it without looking, and the sound cracks through the room.

“Unrehearsed,” they say in unison, like the dorky nerds they are. There’s a second of unbelievably tense (and still a little betrayed, if Shiro’s expression is any indication — Keith has been absentmindedly patting him on the shoulder for the past few minutes) silence before everyone speaks at once.

“We fly magical robot lions —”

“Magic does not equate ghosts —”

“Yes it fucking does —”

“That’s so fucking stupid, just because one thing exists doesn’t mean another thing exists. If humans evolved the ability to breathe underwater it would not give them the sudden ability to fly —”

“In what way is that argument even remotely the same —”

“In every way, what are you even —”

Their argument is getting circular, so Lance starts to get bored. And snacky. Hm. He’s pretty sure Hunk is hiding that Beruvian wild rice grain in the top-most counter in the kitchen (the one only he can reach), and that shit pops deliciously, almost as good as movie theatre popcorn. And Lance is good at climbing shit, and also at stealing from Hunk.

He quietly makes his way out of the common room, taking his time as he walks to the kitchen. He won’t be missing any vital parts of the argument, he can feel it. He can afford to stroll. Mm, and think of all the salt and butter he’s going to put on the popped rice. Hell, maybe he’ll grab that weird spicy Altean soda that only he and Allura like, too.

Seriously. Murderous alien Nazis and crushing homesickness aside, Lance is living the goddamned life.

Allura and Coran are both in the kitchen when Lance walks in, and greet him brightly. Lance grins back and waves, but continues making a beeline for the counter farthest to the left and hefting himself up.

“What are you up to, dear?” Coran asks, sounding amused. Lance turns to wink at him.

“Shenanigans,” he says evasively.

Allura hums. “And would those shenanigans involve the destruction of my castle?” she asks, as Lance starts opening cupboard doors to use them as footholds.

“See, that’s the best part about being a stick, ‘Lura. I’m basically as heavy as a sad little puff of wind in the middle of the Arizona desert.”

“Neither of us have any frame of reference for that,” Allura points out.

Lance waves a dismissive hand. “Eh. I’m not going to break stuff, is the point.” He steps gingerly on the door of a particularly small cabinet, and pretends he doesn’t notice Coran blatantly standing under him with a hand out to spot him because he thinks Lance will fall and die.

How rude. Have they no faith in him? Lance is the youngest sibling of five. He is excellent at getting into shit he’s not supposed to be in. It’s, like, his superpower.

“Aha!” He finally sees it — a rough pink bag, pulled taut with the sweet sweet elixir of snacky promises. Hunk has made a valiant effort to hide it behind a couple pots.

He should know better, really. Lance has been stealing his shit since they were toddlers.

Lance carefully makes his way back to the ground — sticking his tongue out at Coran when he manages without dying, who raises and eyebrow and flicks Lance on the nose in retaliation — holding the bag triumphantly. He immediately starts rummaging around for a pan, some butter, and some salt.

“What’s the occasion?” Allura asks, poking at the bag.

“Drama in the common room.”

“Ooooh.” Allura perks up immediately, heaving herself up to sit on the counter to watch Lance as he works. Coran heads over to the fridge to grab himself a water and the two of them their fancy sodas, which he gives to them with a teasing grimace and a paternal hair ruffle (something they both pretend to hate but secretly feel all smushy about).

“What kind of drama?”

“They’re arguing about whether or not ghosts are real.”

“…Ghosts?” Coran says the word carefully, like he does when something doesn’t translate. Allura looks confused, too. Lance hurriedly wracks his brain for an Altean equivalent. He can’t think of one, so he goes with a description.

“Spiorad beoite,” he says after a moment of thinking. Animated spirit.

He’s proven correct when, at the same time, Coran lights up and Allura goes scowly. “Taibhse,” they both say, in exact opposite tones.

The first rice grain pops.

Lance grins.

“I think you guys should come back to the common room with me,” he says, after his rice is popped and seasoned and Allura and Coran have started a small argument of their own.

They do decide to come with him.

The three of them make their way down the hallways, Coran needling Lance for information the whole time.

“Who is arguing what?” he asks.

“Pidge and Shiro started it — team ghost and anti-ghost respectively. Hunk is on Pidge’s side, and Keith,” Lance, admittedly, smiles when he says the name, “is shockingly teaming up with Shiro.”

Lance sees the smirk spread over Allura’s face and realises a second too late what she’s going to say, and as such is not fast enough to run away before she slings an arm around his shoulder and holds him captive with her superstrength.

“I bet I can guess which team you’re on, Loverboy,” she teases. Lance glares at her, but it does very little because unfortunately his face is very red.

“Get off of me, you —” Lance tries very hard to think of an appropriate name to call her. Preferably something scathing and witty. “—jerky jerk face.”

God, he wishes the universe would smite him where he is standing. Why can he only think of good plans and insults when he is in mortal peril? What a fucking design flaw. Lance should take it up with a manager.

Allura bursts out laughing and gives him a noogie, because she is horrible and spends way too much time with Shiro and Shiro is a horrible, horrible influence.

“Oh, but Lance! I want to hear about Keith’s luscious hair! Or his dazzling smile! Or —“ she batts her eyelashes — “his sexy, sexy voice —”

Since Lance has about as much physical power over Allura as a butterfly does a mountain, he decides his best course of action is to screech at the top of his lungs and go limp. It works like a charm.

Lance decides to celebrate his newfound freedom by crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out at Allura, which in hindsight was possibly a poor plan.

“Oh, it’s on, you little runt —”

This time Lance’s screech is one of fear. The last time he’d seen that expression on someone — one of bruised honour — was the time he’d been caught using Veronica’s very expensive custom lip gloss in a ‘potion’. He’d barely escaped with his life.

Lance barely dodges Allura’s sharp jab to the ribs, and is ready to start sprinting away from her and her pointy fingers before a calloused hand grips the back of his hoodie and lifts him limply in the air.

“Children,” Coran says drily, holding them away from each other (and also somehow holding on to the popped rice and drinks?) and up in the air like particularly naughty kittens. “Save the bloodshed for common room. Don’t waste it here.”

“But she falsely accused me of being on Keith’s team for gay reasons! Who says I’m even on Keith’s team?”

“Because it’s true, you whipped loser —”

Coran shakes them both, and they shut up. “Are you going to behave for the two minutes it will take us to meet the others?” he asks. His eyes twinkle mischievously.

“Yes, Coran,” they chorus, and are finally freed.

They make it the rest of the way to the common room without incident, except for the four (4) occasions wherein Allura looked suspiciously like she wanted to Say Something, because she is horrible and has no respect for Lance’s already tattered dignity.

“All of you are ridiculous! The existence of the Blue Lion on Earth does not imply the reanimation of the human spirit!”

“Of course it doesn’t,” Allura agrees as she strolls elegantly in the room. She nods at Pidge. “That would be ridiculous.”

Hunk looks close to tears in relief. “Finally, someone with sense!” he cries.

“Now, now, lad,” Coran says, shaking his head. “While indeed, our wonderful Blue Lion does not prove the existence of ghosts, it is not for your reasoning — ghosts simply outdate Blue. There are hundreds of other proofs of the spirits of the universe.”

Keith holds out a fist for Coran to bump, looking smug. Coran shakes it — because Lance may, admittedly, amuse himself by wrongly teaching Coran Earth culture —but Keith looks unbothered. “Take that, Hunk. We have a wise Altean advisor on our side, which means we basically win by default.”

“We have a fucking princess!”

Lance grins as he tosses some popped rice into his mouth. Now that Allura has turned her evil older sister teasing and arguments on someone that isn’t Lance, he can enjoy himself again.

And enjoy himself he does. When he notices that Shiro has his crazy-eyes again, Slav-style, he decides to hand him a couch pillow. Shiro, so caught up in his surety that he is Obviously Correct, barely even registers where the pillow comes from and immediately lobs it at Hunk’s face.

There’s silence. A shocked, incredulous silence. Then Keith’s face lights up with unbridled glee — and holy shit, he has the most beautiful smile of anyone Lance has ever met and ever will meet — and he grabs his own pillow and smacks Pidge with it. The room ascends into wonderful, wonderful chaos.

Lance hurriedly sets his bowl and soda somewhere else and busies himself with handing ammo out to any empty hand — Coran in particular is going absolutely ham — shouting encouragement whenever someone lands a hit (regardless of the side), and —admittedly — simping a little over Keith’s rippling muscles.

(Look, he’s wearing that black sleeveless hoodie, okay? The one that fits his chest real well and shows off his biceps. And, well.

Lance has eyes.)

“Ugh,” Hunk finally mumbles, half-smushed under a pile of pillowed-out paladins and co. “Who won?”

Shiro and Pidge — who started it all — answer at the same time.

“We did.”

There’s a loud, in-unison groan from the pile.

Lance giggles. “Dorks,” he says.

At the sound of his voice, Keith shoots up so quickly that Shiro is thrown off him with a yelp.

“Lance!” He shouts it. Lance startles, staring back with wide eyes — dark brown meeting dusky purple. “Lance, you’re the answer!”

Alright, look. Look.

Lance is a human guy, okay? He’s just a guy. He’s challenge any other being in the giant fucking universe to look the love in their life in the eyes as they called them the answer and not, like, collapse. Lance is surprised his heart is still beating, Christ above.

“I am?” he squeaks.

“Of course you are!” Keith says it so earnestly. As if it’s obvious.

Lance’s heart honest-to-God skips a fucking beat.

“Our vote’s divided, shatz.” The closest Earth language to the Galran Keith’s speaking is German, and Lance’s German is rusty at best, so he has no clue what Keith’s saying. The word could be different, anyway. Lance tries desperately to convince himself it doesn’t matter.

“You could solve everything!” Keith continues.

Oh, dear God. Is he doing this on purpose? Lance is gonna fuckin’ die.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Pidge says from her position on top of Allura. “Tie-breaker, to say it in a less gay way.”

Allura snorts.

“Shut up, Pidge,” Lance and Keith snap at the same time. They look at each other, and then away quickly.

Keith’s face is as red as Lance’s.

Jesus fucking shitdicks, this will be how Lance dies.

“C’mon, Lance,” Hunk complains. “I want to be off this pile. Choose! Are ghosts real or not?”

Keith is looking at him so hopefully. It’s so cute. Pidge rolls her eyes, like she already knows what the answer is going to be.

And, well. Lance hates proving Pidge right, but he’s doomed! He’s doomed, when Keith is looking at him like that.

“Ghosts are very definitely real,” he rushes out.

Keith smiles so hard his eyes crinkle shut. Lance’s very favourite Keith expression. “I knew I could count on you, liebe.”

Vaguely, Lance hears Shiro’s muttered ‘oh my God’ and Coran’s blatant laughter, but all he can really hear is the blood rushing through his ears because holy shit.

“This proves nothing,” Hunk whines as everyone lethargically makes their way off the floor and to the popped rice. “Lance would be on our side if he wasn’t so disgustingly in love with —”

“OKAY THANK YOU HUNK,” Lance says loudly, and his entire horrible team snickers at him.

Except for Keith. Keith is looking at him almost… shyly.

“I have to be somewhere that’s not here,” Lance announces transparently because he’s a little too frazzled for excuses.

“Loser,” Pidge heckles, because she’s particularly horrible.

“Goodbye,” Lance says again. As he’s about to finally walk out the door, there’s a soft call of his name that stops him in his tracks. Lance swallows roughly.

“Yeah, Keith?”

Keith looks hesitant again, for a second. Then his eyes narrow, and his smile gets sharp and cocky.

His game face.

“I’m glad you’ve got my back, Sharpshooter,” he says. And then he winks.

Lance can’t even help himself. He practically flees out of the room. He doesn’t allow himself to stop until he’s collapsed in his bed face-first, and has a good, lengthy scream into his pillow.

Once he’s calmed down and his heart no longer feels like it’s been injected with pure cocaine, he sits up, props up three of his favourite stuffed animals, and looks at them intently.

“I think Keith was flirting with me,” he tells them seriously. Mr. Shark says nothing, but Lance can feel a giddy smile spread over his face anyway. “I think — I think he likes me.” He can no sooner stop the giggle bubbling up his throat than fly to the moon.

“I think Keith Kogane likes me!” He holds a pillow to his chest and flops back onto his quilt. He sighs to himself, kicking his legs out a bit. Yeah, he suffered quite a bit of teasing from the whole ordeal, but — but. He thinks he was right, earlier.

He really is living the life.