#i think being vegan should be more than oh i wanna be healthier and get in shape

[myhouse-pk3]

i think vegans that are only on the diet for personal gain (and not like they're being forced on the diet due to medical issues, just them like idk wanting a more lean body) and personal gain only are more cruel than the people who arent vegan. thats probably just me tho

[jewpacabruhs]

“You look really tired” or “You think you’re funny” for Kyman 👊🤧

Kyle hates the part of himself that cares deeply for Cartman. Because he does care about him; he can admit that now that he’s matured and all but abandoned his steadfast conviction that he must despise him, though he definitely resents the bastard. Regardless of it all, he knows deep down that even if he’s not fond of him, he’ll always want the best for him, and he’ll always hope to one day see him become someone happier, healthier, and maybe even some semblance of normal, and it pisses him the hell off, because no one deserves to be stuck caring about the well-being and future of someone like Cartman. He supposes someone has to keep an eye on him - he just wishes he didn’t feel bad for him.

But more than anything, it bothers him that Cartman knows he cares about him, and has made a hobby out of exploiting his sympathetic nature and taking advantage of his unending desire to see Cartman evolve into a better person. It upsets him that time and time again, he gives the asshole the benefit of the doubt, and time and time again, Cartman makes him regret it.

So when Cartman sits down for lunch on Monday after having ghosted them all weekend, looking absolutely awful, like he hadn’t slept in a week and had spent that time crying, too, Kyle doesn’t immediately ask what’s up, because he’s sure it’s a ploy for attention and pity, and he won’t give Cartman what he wants this time.

The other boys follow suit; they’re all tired of Cartman’s dramatics, too.

It’s only after Cartman doesn’t prod them to inquire about his state, doesn’t even touch his meal, which is absolutely unheard of, that Kyle gives in and says, “Cartman, is everything okay? You look really tired.”

Craig and Token glare at him, clearly irritated with him for engaging, and Craig goes so far as to gather up his lunch and tug Tweek away by the hand, but Kenny glances over from the nudie mag he’d been looking at with Clyde, peering worriedly at Cartman. Stan’s munching away at a salad - Wendy’s got him eating vegan again, and Stan’s decided salads are his safest option - but he’s watching Cartman, too. It’s some consolation to Kyle that he’s not the only one who does care about Cartman, though Stan and Kenny have frequently criticized him for being too invested.

“Had a bad night,” Cartman says quietly, and his voice is so small and sincere that Kyle’s instantly sympathetic. If this is another scheme, he’ll kick his ass, but by the looks of it, for once in his life, Cartman’s serious in his misery.

“You wanna talk about it, big boy?” Kenny asks him from where he’s sitting to his right. He’s handed Clyde the magazine so he can focus wholeheartedly on Cartman, though Kyle catches the way he’s eyeing Cartman’s untouched chicken nuggets. 

Cartman does, too, apparently. “No,” he replies moodily, before pushing his tray towards Kenny. “You can have them. I’m not hungry.”

Kenny actually hesitates before digging in, apprehensive where he wouldn’t usually be, because of Cartman’s bizarre behavior, but he starts chowing down quickly enough.

No one knows what to say, so they carry on with their lunches, though there’s an air of awkwardness due to Cartman’s mopey presence. He’s horribly quiet; doesn’t even pitch in when Jimmy and Clyde start arguing about early 2000s boy bands, though he’d typically jump right into a conversation like that with some obnoxious spiel about NSYNC’s superiority.

Kyle eats his sandwich solemnly and watches him out of the corner of his eye, even as Stan shows him a series of dumb memes mixed with cute animal videos; the usual lunch procedure. 

By the time the bell rings and everyone stands to go, Cartman’s demeanor hasn’t changed, and he remains seated as the lunch room begins to clear out. Kyle starts to leave with Token to their AP Bio class - but then he stops and looks at Cartman, and something compels him to stay with him. “I’ll catch up with you,” he tells Token, who frowns a little, searching his face briefly, before simply saying, “Okay, dude,” and taking off.

Kyle sits down at the table, straddling the bench. Cartman’s slumped over, head in his hands, but Kyle’s weight makes the seat squeak, and he glances up. “What the hell do you want?” he asks, and his pouty tone is familiar, but so much more legitimately dejected than Kyle’s used to. He’s even got tears in his eyes; real ones, not performative ones.

“What’s going on with you, Cartman?”

The fat boy heaves a sigh, and Kyle sees him fiddling with his hands in his lap, which is something he only ever does when he’s forced to open up and be vulnerable. If this were anyone else, Kyle would put a reassuring hand on his back or arm, something to calm his nerves and show him that he was there for him, but it’s Cartman, and frankly, Kyle’s not willing to let him have that yet. 

Finally, inaudibly, Cartman says, “Ralphie died.”

“Oh,” Kyle says. Ralphie was a sickly stray cat Cartman had been trying to nurse back to health for the last month. He’d named him after the Sopranos character because, according to Cartman, he kind of looked like Joe Pantoliano. That had sparked an argument with Kenny, who thought Pantoliano looked more like a French bulldog than anything (”But he’s Italian!” Cartman had yelled, as if that meant something). Then Kyle had pitched in that it was rude to compare people to pets, which upset Stan, who thought any human should be honored to be likened to an animal. 

Cartman had been excessively lovey with the cat, so Kyle’s not surprised he’s so upset. Part of him is just thankful Cartman’s capable of grieving; it’s proof he’s not soulless, like the other guys try to convince him he is. Proof he’s not a lost cause. 

“I’m sorry, Cartman,” Kyle says gently. The lunch room’s nearly empty, and the few kids left are staring at them as they exit, because their rivalry is decently infamous. The second bell rings; he’s definitely going to be late to class, and somehow, that’s not important to him right now. “I know you really liked that cat.”

Cartman heaves a sigh. “I just - after Mr. Kitty died, I - I missed her so bad, but I didn’t wanna just replace her, you know? It wouldn’t be the same. But when I found Ralphie, I thought maybe it was meant to be or whatever, ‘cause I just found him, on the street, and I thought Kitty wouldn’t feel betrayed about it ‘cause I was, like, doing an act of - of, like, charity, or whatever, you know? And I thought Ralphie was getting better, he was doing super good and he was more cuddly and, and affectionate, we really became friends- but then I came home from skewl on Friday and he wasn’t moving-” Cartman starts to cry, but he covers his eyes with his hands before Kyle can see. That’s how Kyle knows this is the most genuine sadness he’s seen out of Cartman, possibly in all the time he’s known him; his fake cry is hysterical shrieking paired with crocodile tears, but currently, he’s crying very quietly, sniffling a bit, hiding his face away, and it tugs at Kyle’s heart strings like those ASPCA commercials do.

Abandoning his desire to remain stoic for the sake of his own pride, he puts a hand on Cartman’s back. “Cartman, hey, listen - what if after school, the guys and I take you to the pound to pick out a new cat?”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He’ll have to ask them, but Stan’s always down for an opportunity to be near animals, though it might be hard to get him to leave without taking home every single creature there - and as for Kenny, he’ll tag along as long as Kyle offers to take them out to Taco Bell after.

Cartman rubs at his wet eyes with his sleeves and smiles happily. “I’d - I’d like that, Kahl.”

Then he falls on Kyle and hugs him tight, and to Kyle’s disbelief, he’s not annoyed at being embraced by him like he usually would be. Instead, he smiles and hugs him back, patting him awkwardly on the back once he doesn’t let go after a good thirty seconds. He smells like fruity shampoo and peanut butter, which is better than he usually smells, or maybe Kyle’s just not in the mood to pick out petty things to criticize for once.

Kyle’s typically sort of touch adverse, so if anyone else hugged him like this, he’d definitely be irritated by now - but somehow, Cartman holding onto him like he’s a lifeline just makes his heart swell in a way he’ll lie awake tonight worrying about.

[goliath-de-senfina-sango]

Local Teen fed up with Friends' Shit, Local Friends Having a Spat, Local Friends Fight a Ghost Instead of Each Other, Local Team of Youths Perform Exorcism

When Danny got to school, his friends were bickering, walking down the halls to their lockers stuck in a cyclical argument.   “This school needs change and I’m going to make sure it happens!”

“Nobody wants this but you and your vegans!”

“It’s healthier for you, better for wildlife and livestock and does less damage to the environment!”

“People literally need meat products in order to live, what about them?”

“There are supplements that can stand in for meat without slaughtering innocent animals that have no choice in whether they get murdered to feed us!”

“Just like you’re giving us no choice in our alternatives?”

Danny couldn’t stand it anymore and got between them both.   “Estrellas arriba, shut up! Go to class! No one wants to hear this screeching in the halls!”  Tucker and Sam both stared at him wide-eyed and red-faced but Danny was already pushing Tucker away since Sam was usually immovable.   “I can’t believe you guys.  You’re both so clever - how can someone so clever be so stupid?  How do you spend a week arguing over a temporary change that’ll never take hold?”  Sure, Danny’s angry ranting in Spanish may have been getting him stares but that’s what his hoodie was for and he was too annoyed to care.  Once they were in class, Danny went quiet and pulled out his sketch pad to lose himself in drawing whatever first came to mind. Hydra, the largest constellation in the sky, soon decorated the page until class actually started.

As the day progressed Danny shot out an argument on both sides and pulled his friends away from each other when they started yelling, determined not to deal with their bullshit more than needed.  By the end of the day he’d had to come up with several new star-based swears because regular cussing didn’t cut it anymore. “Gods, I can hardly get to lunch without a Denobola shouting contest! You two deal with this without me!”  Heading outside to eat his packed lunch in peace, Danny took solace in his last period being one without his friends. Who knew my least favorite class would be my only peaceful one?  Those two better be done with this soon.

A cow float, a stage, a ‘meat on a stick’ stand, kids in steak and hot dog costumes, a guy with a grill that couldn’t possibly be legal to just put on school property, and a sign that read “United we eat meat.”  These were the first things Danny saw when he got to school. Then he looked over at the other side of the schoolyard. A replica of the Mystery Machine, the biggest fake sunflower he’d ever seen in his life, and yet another stage were set up with people that Danny could only identify as hippies surrounding that stage with picket signs with “It’s easy being green,” and “Tofu for you” written on them.

“Literally, how?”  Danny groaned as his friends both approached him, looking furiously determined and holding megaphones.  He could feel the cold burn of his eyes flashing brilliant green once they were both in front of him. “Seriously, how did you even get this done!  I know there aren’t that many vegans here at the school who could’ve helped with this Sam, so how’d you get it done?”

Sam rolled her eyes at him, arms crossed.  “I paid some people to help us set up the stage on time, so what?”

“…How much money do your parents make that you ca-”

“So you’re a capitalist?”  Danny was not going to punch his friend for interrupting him, that’d be counter-productive right now.  Even if Tucker’s screeching in his ear nearly made that ear bleed. “You have the money and privilege to chose not to eat meat and you go and condemn the poor people who have to work their asses off to make ends meet and who literally need meat to live?”

“Enough!”  Danny put a hand over both of their mouths.  “Sam: you’re right, eating meat is bad for animals cause they die.  You’re also disregarding the struggles of the poor and forcing your choices on the rest of the school like your parents do to you and like they do to everyone else through money and political power.  And you.”  Danny whirled around and pointed his finger in Tucker’s face.  “This is going to ridiculous extremes. How did you even do this?  Don’t answer that, I don’t wanna know. This is only a week-long change, you know that.  Parents would’ve complained to the school about their kids being forced into someone else’s diets and the school would never do this again.  More importantly!”

Shiver, mist.  The sky darkened, the wind whipped up, and Danny swore he could hear cackling from everywhere.  He looked over at the truck that Tucker had brought in and grabbed his best friend’s shoulder. “I’m going to punch you later for bringing a stars damned meat truck when we’re fighting a ghost who’s obsessed with meat.”

“That was my b,” Tucker admitted meekly.  As the meat ripped out of the truck and flew through the air, Tucker and Sam slipped their wrist rays on and Danny ran to and slid under Tucker’s stage.  The sound of something huge hitting the ground shook it, and Danny reached inside of himself. That humming ball of cold and void and out of reach stars, he plunged into it, and light washed over his body.  The world changed, colors turning vivid and bright, strange colors he had no names for other than non-visible light raced into his eyes. The shadows were no longer black but silvery grey, the vast emptiness between molten starmetal and the blazing suns.  Sounds and smells and sensations hit him that were all too alien to process. He reeled, nearly dropping the form. But he had something to do, he had a job to do.

Danny phased into the ground and popped up in front of the meat monster.  It towered over him, so large Danny could barely see anything else. A check of his wrist showed that his ray was now pretty much melded into his hazmat.  “Weird, question later, ass kick now.” 

Tucker was shouting at the rest of the students, his wristray aimed at Agatha but attention on the crowd.  “MOVE, GET OUT OF HERE!” Sam grabbed onto Tucker to try and pull him out of the way of an oncoming meat fist but one of the vegans sprinting away knocked her into him and they both went flying onto the grass.  A snarl on his lips, Danny charged forward. He lashed out with his foot to the… head, he supposed, of the meat, and it staggered backward away from the student body. She swung at him with a hand that moved faster than he’d anticipated, and Danny went flying. The world faded into unreality and he passed through what he vaguely knew were trees and the ground before stopping and righting himself. He flew under the ground, legs merging into a tail - also to freak out over later - and he zoomed. He emerged right under her and missed his uppercut as she stumbled backward from the rays that Sam and Tucker fired.  Another fist grabbed him and Danny was slammed into the ground.

After a failed kick to the hand, Danny concentrated on his wrist ray and lined up the trigger that was sitting comfortably under his glove.  Pull and - Agatha screamed from within her monster host, and Danny flew free. His ray was clearly bigger than the others, but he also felt drained.  “Reserve for bigger fights.”

Danny weaved around her next few blows, kicking and punching the construct of processed meat backward away from the fleeing students and his friends.  Flying in circles to orbit the monster, Danny picked up speed and slammed his foot into the head of the meat pile and it toppled to the ground.

Danny took a moment to breathe, glad to find he could if he didn’t think too hard about it.  A fist came into view and Danny went soaring up and up and up. He saw a plane fast approaching and moved into that safe spot between the world and everything else.  He passed through the plane like it was a thin cloud of smoke before managing to stop. Then he dove, turning solid again when Agatha was in sight from within her meat construction.  “Not a lot of mass but anything with this kind of velocity should do the job.”

BOOM

In the center of the crater, at least as deep as Danny was tall and twice as wide, a splatter of green pulled itself back together into a black and white-suited Danny Phantom, blue skin bruised a sickly purple-black where his cheek had impacted the ground.  Picking himself up, the teen rolled his shoulder until it ached a bit less and saw Agatha there, staring at him. “Oh dearie, are you ok?”

“Surprisingly.”  Danny rolled his neck. When he focused in on Agatha - he really could just see everything couldn’t he? - her face was warped and stretched larger than the rest of her.

“Tough!  You being ok isn’t part of my balanced breakfast of death!”

Smaller chunks of meat came together into constructs about three-quarters of Danny’s size, five of them in total, and they grinned at him.  This was when Sam and Tucker caught up with everything, apparently. Danny spun, heel tearing through the creatures like a knife, and landed to see Agatha being pushed back by Sam and Tuck’s wrist rays.  “Fuck yeah!”

Danny’s celebration was cut short by his grasp on that deathly cold void slipping in the excitement, light washing over him with the warmth of being alive again.  “This is inconvenient.” The meat monsters grabbed onto Danny’s limbs, reminding him that they were mere extensions of Agatha’s will. “This is even less convenient, how about no?”

As Danny was dragged through the air, something smacked him in the face.  Catching it before it could fall out of reach, Danny felt a minor bloom of relief.  “The Thermos! Maybe I can get it to work!” Seeing his family below, Danny hoped to all the stars in the sky that he was just going for a ride.

The ride stopped.  Danny was dropped. A scream flew from his lungs, and Danny reached deeper, desperately grasping, to pull himself into the chill of the grave.  The abyss met his call at the same time that his family looked up at the blur fast approaching. “Thanks for the thermos!” He shouted as he dove into the ground.  Not waiting to see how that was handled he resurfaced to find Sam and Tucker bound in mounds of meat. “Work. Please work.” Danny aimed the thermos, poured his own cold  heat shadows into the thing, and hit the button.  A flash of blue light, a scream of defiance, and he capped the thermos. Gravity and heat washed over him again and Danny let out a sigh of relief, running over to pull Sam and Tucker out of the meat piles. “You guys ok?”

“I have meat and blood everywhere and I was nearly crushed to death.”  Sam shuddered, even as Danny phased everything off of her.  “I am the very definition of not ok.”

“My nightmares are scarred for life after that. That was freaky. What do we do with her?”  Tucker’s voice sounded more robotic than Danny liked, he’d have to do something to help him back to normal.

Before Danny could answer that he heard footsteps and turned the thermos invisible.  As he thought, his parents thundered toward him with the Ghost Finder in hand. “Just missed em, guys.”  Danny pointed behind him and was relieved when his mom and dad jogged off after a nonexistent ectosignature.  “Well, that was a shitty start to the day. We should go inside before someone makes something out of the crater here.”  Danny, Tucker, and Sam all headed off to the nearest entrance to the school, thoughts going south. “What if the security cameras caught all that?”

“Oh, no, that you don’t have to worry about,” Tucker said.  “I’m all over that in like, a couple of hours tops.”

“Good.”  Danny waited until they’d gotten to their lockers, and stuffed the thermos into his bag before punching Tucker in the arm.  “That is for bringing a stars damned meat truck when there was a food-obsessed ghost flying around!”

“Alright, yeah, that was stupid of me.”  Tucker nodded. “I shouldn’t have done that.  But uh, we all agreed not to do stuff that affects literally everyone without consulting each other?”  Tucker and Danny both looked to Sam, who glared at them heatlessly.

The goth sighed and leaned heavily on Danny.  “Alright, fine, ask people what they want first.  Lesson learned. Can we talk about what we’re gonna do with Agatha though?”

“Well, I don’t think she’s a mindless monster or anything,” Danny started slowly as they walked toward their homeroom.   “I think we can reason with her. Show her that change can be a good thing when it’s done right.”

“Alright, we can do that once we’re sure she’s not gonna try and kill us though, right?  Tucker tried to go for a neutral, slightly teasing tone but Danny could hear - could feel a shakiness to him.  “We are meat if you didn’t notice Danny, and I don’t know if her control over food extends to a cannibal’s diet.  I don’t wanna find out.”

“I’m horrified and grossed out,” Sam groaned.  “I’m all for not getting cannibalized. That’s the wrong kind of macabre for me.”

Danny shook his head, made some crack about how bad either of them might taste, and promised to let Agatha cool down before releasing her.  “Now, Sam, about how you’re using your money to muscle people around.” Danny groaned as loudly as he could and Tucker waved him off anyway.  “No no, she’s an activist and all that shit, she knows how capitalism effects the working class and the attitude that people can just get by without animal products..”  Danny pushed both of hs friends forward while this conversation happened. It was going to be a long day.

That cooldown time happened to be the amount of time it took for the veggie week thing to run its course and be done with.  The school was cleaned, though all the vegan students who’d showed up for the rally were questioned about any kind of explosives they may have tried to sabotage the meat truck with and the news settled in on a gas line story.  Saturday arrived, and the trio all met up in the park. Away from all the dog walkers, readers and normal people having fun outside, Danny Tucker and Sam stood in a small clearing of trees, a few chipmunks shifting around above their heads and in the bushes.

“Tuck, you got the reports?”

“Roger.  Sam, got your wrist ray ready?”

“Of course.  Danny, remind me to tell your parents they’re awesome for making most of their stuff solar powered.”

“They hadn’t figured out how to tap the afterlife for energy yet, it’s the most efficient thing we got.”  Danny shrugged. He pulled out the thermos, which hummed beneath his fingers with the contained energy of Agatha inside.  Sam and Tucker couldn't feel it, so he chalked that up to another ghost thing. “Alright, Agatha, if you’re ready to talk to us, I’m gonna let you out now.”  The thermos offered no response. Danny opened it anyway.

The bark on the trees darkened, the leaves turning grey and the branches and bushes rustling as birds and squirrels left in a hurry.  The air turned colder and sharper, and the sunlight dimmed as green spilled out of the thermos and stained the air. Agatha took shape quickly, though her glow was dimmer than it had been before.  Her eyes raked across all three of them and narrowed. “Well, children? You kept rambling on and on about talking whenever I tried to get out. What’s so important that you didn’t put me back in the Ethereal Plane?”

Tucking the name of the other side in the back of his mind, Danny offered his best-placating smile.  It disarmed most teachers back when he wasn’t having as many problems, he was hoping it’d work here too.  “Agatha, hi. I’m Danny, this is Tucker and Sam. I feel like we got off on the worst foot before, what with you trying to kill us and all.”  Tucker elbowed him in the ribs and Danny shoved him back. The buzzing in the air grew louder, his skin tingled, and some small part of his brain kept screaming to shoot, to run, to do anything that could get this thing that did not belong away from him.  “So, I understand why you were angry.”

“You, Sam, changed the menu to just one food group!”  Agatha’s voice was rising to those terrible echoes in the mind, and the tiny voice got louder.  Still it was ignored.

“I understand now that it was probably a bad idea.  No one’s been going to the line in the cafeteria all week except fellow vegans,” Sam grumbled.  “Still though, some change needed to happen. The cafeteria wasn’t giving us any healthy foods!” Sam was a good actress when it came to her voice. She sounded unafraid, ready to argue for hours.  Danny could feel something off though.

“And healthy diets aren’t exactly easy to come by if you don’t put a lot of effort into it nowadays.”  Tucker held out a sheaf of papers. “This, Miss Reece, is a report on the various health crises around the country because of the food they’re feeding us.”  The papers were taken and Tucker let out as subtle a breath as possible. “I don’t agree with changing the menu to just one food group, no one in their right mind would.  But I think we should still change things up. Is there any way you can help us do that?”

There was a long beat of quiet, where all that Danny could hear was the sizzle of patties on a grill, the crunch of lettuce being pulled apart, the chopping of a knife on a cutting board the came with Agatha’s presence.  It was in the background of everything unless he focused. It was still there though, and it was so distracting with everything else happening. Agatha read, frown deepening as she did before she handed the reports on obesity and diabetes increasing in children of their ages and lower back to Tucker.  “Alright,” she started, then stopped. A superfluous breath. She looked to Danny. “Well, I suppose that I was a tad extreme about everything. How about this?” She held out her hand, and above her glove, the green light that seemed to shine in all directions from her coalesced into the form of a burger.   “I’m not sure they’ll accept me in the school kitchens again but I’m certainly able to make a meal for everyone.”

“That’s amazing!”  Tucker crowed. “I’ve already sent a few texts and set up some online polls to find out what most people actually want out of their lunch, maybe you can help us with finding ingredients around Amity?  Do you have a food sense?”

“Even if they don’t let you into the school’s kitchen you could still probably find a soup kitchen that’d definitely let you in,” Sam offered.  “If you can create food from basically nothing, then I see no reason for them to turn you away.”

“Plus, since ectoplasm draws energy from heat and electricity, you can probably just relax in the sun and be able to pull out a full course meal.”  Danny took in his friends’ curious looks and scratched the back of his neck. “My parents are the world’s best ghost scientists. I just asked them.”

“I’ll certainly look into that soup kitchen idea dearies,” Agatha said with a bright smile on her face.  “For now though, I should be getting back to the Astral Plane. Sunlight is a nice substitute but after all that fighting I need a quick break.”

“I can get you back there without my parents noticing,” Danny offered.

“I only need to be invisible for that, dear,”  Agatha assured them and faded out of sight. The chill and fading of the clearing dissipated, and Tucker and Sam relaxed visibly.

“Well,” Danny said as he pulled his notebook out of his bag.  “That’s one ghost down.” He hoped it wouldn’t be too many till he convinced his parents.

Ao3

[fictionalrat]

let it happen | chapter 6

read on ao3

lance: i busted a nut

keith: oh joy

lance: [sends pic of an actual busted nut]

lance: #lewd #nsfw

keith: blocked

Lance wakes up with the worst stomach ache he’s had in like forever. A motherfucker of a stomach ache. The Worst™. The stomach ache to end all stomach aches. The stomach ache to put all stomach aches to rest in shame. Life is hell, he’s in hell.

He presses his face into his pillow and groans. He’s so fucking miserable it hurts his pride. 

Okay, you wanna know the truth? This has happened way more often than he cares to admit. Way too often, honestly, one too many times, it’s happened so many fucking times he’s lost count cause he’s a shit who wouldn’t know healthy even if it fucked him in the ass, is why. 

Yeah, you’re right, a guy who claims his skin is his most important feature and has an entire, and very thorough, I might add, skin care routine should be eating healthy. Or, at least, healthier on a daily basis, less takeout and more, dunno, vegetables? Homemade meals, whatever. 

If he could care he wouldn’t, though, cause he can’t cook for shit. 

What about Keith, you ask. Well, if Lance’s bad, and Lance is pretty bad, Keith’s fucking hopeless. 

Get this, he almost blew up their entire apartment trying to nuke fucking tekitos, can you believe that? How hard can that be? Seriously? And to top all that, they’re both lazy as fuck. 

The math is easy, put shitty eating habits, shitty cooking skills and shitty disposition together and what do you get? Yup, shitty intestines. See? It’s not rocket science. 

Real talk: you can only live on takeout for too long before your intestines start giving you shit. I’m serious. That’s just how it is, my dudes, I don’t make the rules. It’s a real fucking pity, honestly. 

Look at the bright side, though, at least Lance can safely nuke some fucking tekitos without putting anything - other than his own hands and pride, but that’s secondary and nobody needs to know about that one incident, least of all Keith - in jeopardy, thank you very much. 

God, he misses Hunk’s cooking. He should give him a call, see how he’s doing, maybe ask him if he’s up for cooking some alt vegan shit for Lance. Some tasty detox grub. Fucking anything. Probably not, but let a man dream. 

He shifts in his bed and his stomach screams at him. It feels like, dunno, sharks? Yeah, sharks. It feels like sharks are getting a real good kick at chewing Lance’s stomach until there’s only a void, a very, very painful fucking void left. This is bad, it’s so bad, so bad he thinks he might die. He might be dying, what if he’s dying? Oh my god, he’s dying, he’s gonna die. 

His life flashes before his eyes. He can see the light. 

He comes to a simple conclusion: he fucking regrets all his life decisions with a vengeance. 

Okay, okay. Pause. Enough drama, he needs to fucking shit. Priorities.

Resume: He’s not smooth, or maybe he is, like a goose or something, in his haste to get to the bathroom, so he trips on his own feet and comes impossibly close to busting his fucking nose on the sink, so close he could almost hear it cracking if not for him bracing himself on the doorframe with both hands.

Plot twist: He can’t avoid hitting his pinky toe on Keith’s poop stool when he plops down carelessly on the toilet seat, though. 

Fuck this shit.

“FUCK THIS HUGE PILE OF SHIT!” Lance battle cries and kicks Keith’s fucking useless poop stool with so much feeling he tears up a little bit.

Slow motion: It hits the wall, the wall sends it right back to him, he sees it coming but is too baffled at his own shit luck to do much of anything, so the stool ends up hitting him in the shin.

Back to normal: IT DEAD ASS HITS HIM IN THE SHIN, because why the fuck not, right? Break his fucking tibia already, why don’t you, you bitter bag of dildos. It’s not like he needs his leg, right. Bitch.

It sends a jolt up his entire fucking leg, so violent it leaves his hipbone tingling, his fucking hipbone , his fucking hipbone is tingling.

He doubles over screaming, vocal cords malfunctioning and stuttering in pure, unadulterated agony.

That’s gonna leave a nasty bruise, for sure. His life is just amazing, isn’t it? Awe inspiring, he’s flabbergasted.

He bites down on his bottom lip, eyes welling up with tears. His hipbone still fucking tingles.

Why did it have to be his shin? Goddamnit. THIS FUCKING!

This is all Keith’s fault, Keith and his fucking poop stool, swear to god. Why? Why a fucking poop stool, Keith, why .

He’s so fucking weird, Jesus Christ Almighty.

Who in fucking hell takes their shit with their feet propped on a damn stool? Weirdo losers, that’s who. That’s right, Keith is a fucking weirdo loser and Lance hates his guts.

Flashback time: Lance had side-eyed Keith so hard the first time he saw him doing that, because seriously, what the fuck, right? Again, WHO does that?

Answer: Keith Kogane, because he’s a fucking wEiRdO LoSeR.

“You know, shitting with both feet on the ground makes your rectum fold like a water hose,” Keith had told him, ugly ass feet propped on his ugly ass stool.

“Bullshit. Who the fuck says rectum anyway?”

Keith had rolled his eyes, leaning back on the toilet seat and crossing his arms,  “Well hoe, believe it or not, it does, that’s why you get half a shit stuck up your ass sometimes, or can’t even shit at all.”

Shit, I got sidetracked. Where was I?

Ah yes, Lance and his need to shit.

Present time: Lance rubs at his chin, takes a deep breath and goes to work. Except it doesn’t work.

He looks up at the ceiling to send a little prayer before he starts pushing again. One, two, three, seven, except it doesn’t work.

He’s struggling hard, veins are popping out, his face is turning purple, the whole shebang, which would’ve been funny if his poor ass wasn’t suffering like a cat in heat.

Seriously, he would be laughing right now, if it weren’t him in this position, but unfortunately he is, and his asshole is crying. Well, not really cause it’s too fucking dry, so dry he can’t shit. Lance is definitely crying, though.

What a day to be alive.

Lance startles out of his struggles when Keith barges in, pillow creases stamped on his soft, sleepy cheek, eyelids swollen, a slight blush up his cheeks. He looks warm, like really fucking warm. Also, cosy.

Lance sighs and sags against the toilet lid.

God, he misses his bed.

He also misses shitting regularly like a normal human being.

Keith looks at him and frowns, squints, then scowls, “Great, my bladder’ll explode.”

Fuck him.

Lance’s hate for Keith’s guts intensifies, he’s almost boiling with hatred, he hates him so much he’s gonna scream. Not to mention… “EX CU SE ME????” Lance’s voice cracks but he doesn’t give a shit, ha fucking ha, jokes on him, “Some fucking damn privacy, the fuck?” Keith blinks blearily at him, unfazed. “Your tongue was up my ass two days ago, Lance,” he quips around a yawn wide enough to wrinkle his nose up, rubbing the sleep off one eye, “this is - pause for another yawn. there. resume - fucking nothing.”

That’s… that’s a good point. Damn it.

Lance glares ugly at his profile, mouth slacking around a yawn reflexively, as the weirdo bends down to wash his face. “Okay Lance, finish up, I need to fucking pee.” “HOLD A DAMN MINUTE, WILL YA, SHITFUCK.” Lance cringes at how constipated he sounds, he can feel the strain in his neck.

Keith examines his face, his mouth twitches up into a lazy, lopsided, demonic little thing, “Your intestines giving you shit again, Lance? Do you want me to make you some coffee?” He teases, reaching for his toothbrush.

Lance fucking hates his fucking guts.

“FUCK YOU TOO, YOU SHITTY ANUS!” He shoots back, kicking Keith’s fucking useless poop stool again for emphasis. He’s angry, let him kick shit. He’s venting. It’s cathartic, okay, fuck you.

The stool topples over and finally, FINALLY,  to Lance’s utter fucking relief, hits the tiles like a miserable burnt waffle, instead of his shin. Blessed be. Fuck you, Murphy’s law, see your ass in hell. He kicks the stool again for good measure.

“Now, now,” keith admonishes, voice muffled by his toothbrush, he takes it out of his mouth to spit in the sink, then looks back at Lance, “Don’t need to throw a tantrum about it, it’s your own fault your eating habits suck.” “EAT MY SHIT.” “Well,” Keith points his toothbrush at him smugly, “You gotta actually shit first.” “I CAN’T FUCKING BELIEVE, FUCK OFF! GO PISS IN THE KITCHEN SINK OR AT SHIRO’S, I DON’T FUCKING CARE! JUST GO! I DON’T WANNA SEE YOUR SHITTY FACE RIGHT NOW!”

“Tough shit, boo,” Keith blows him a kiss before sticking his toothbrush back in his mouth, a little bit of foam dribbles down his chin and it’s so adorable Lance forces himself to grimace.

“Would you fuck off if I told you your mullet’s pretty?” He gripes.

“What was that?” he turns to Lance with one brow raised, toothbrush hanging between his slightly parted and foamy lips.

“I SAID, WOULD YOU KINDLY FUCK THE FUCK OFF IF I TOLD YOU YOUR MULLET’S FUCKING PRETTY? FUCK! SHITTY!!!! I MEAN SHITTY, FUCKING AUTO CORRECT.”

“Don’t use that meme on me, you absolute shit, and stop screaming, we’re having an actual real life face-to-face interaction right now,” he throws water at Lance.

“The FUCK, you heathen. HUMANS MAKE MISTAKES NOW KINDLY, GO PISS AT SHIRO’S.”

“Well, I’m not human, so.”

“OH MY GOD, GET OUT OF THIS BATHROOM BEFORE I THROW THIS FUCKING STOOL IN UR SHITTY FACE!”

Keith throws his head back to gargle some water, his eyes glinting with amusement before spitting it in the sink. He washes his toothbrush, shakes the excess water and rubs his mouth dry with the back of his hand while putting his toothbrush back in its holder. He turns to Lance and winks, sauntering off the bathroom like he’s not almost pissing his pants. That guy, swear.

“I KNOW WHAT I SAID BUT DON’T FUCKING PISS IN THE KITCHEN SINK, MAN, GO PISS AT SHIRO’S!!!”

He can hear Keith cackle fading into the background.

Lance rolls his eyes and sighs, his ass is starting to hurt.

Oh well, what can you do.

Back to work, then, guess.

He’s once again startled out of his struggles when someone barges in the bathroom.

This time it’s not Keith, but Pidge.

Lance stares at her in utter confusion but she just shrugs and hops on the counter, feet dangling, “Keith’s got a new tattoo and Shiro’s freaking out about it, I’m on my period and ain’t got no time for that shit, swear.”

Lance winces, “Fuck, I’m sor- WAIT, KEITH’S GOT A NEW TATTOO????” He jumps to his feet, sweatpants falling to his ankles. Pidge’s face contorts in disgust, “Wipe your fucking ass, Lance, the fuck.” “I DON’T HAVE TO, I CAN’T SHIT.” He throws his arms up and his dick wobbles.

Pidge covers her eyes, “WOAH THERE DUDE, HAKUNA YOUR TATAS. And yes, he did? I thought you knew? You guys are fucking, aren’t you?”

“I mean yes, but…” Realisation hits. His eyes bug out. “OH MY GOD.”

Cue: Lance almost rips his sweatpants in his haste to pull them up and sprint like a fucking lunatic out the door.

Glance: Pidge spies through her fingers and rolls her eyes so hard at Lance’s frantic retreating back, she thinks, just for a split second, they might get stuck in the back of her head permanently like that. What a load of crap.

“What the fuck?” Pidge stares at the ceiling with wide, incredulous eyes, “I’m surrounded by fucking weirdos.”

“Okay, what the fuck is happening in this damn household,” Lance goes through the door.

Shiro’s head whips around and he… doesn’t look too happy. He looks downright disappointed, to be honest.

Matt comes into view with a mug of coffee in hand, hair a mess and glasses slightly off kilter. He sighs. “Shiro’s acting all weird cause grumpy cat here,” he points his mug at Keith, who’s sitting on the couch with his feet up the coffee table with a mug of his own between his hands, “got a tattoo without consulting him first.”

“I’m not-”

Keith rolls his eyes, taking a sip off his coffee.

“Which is stupid,” Matt looks pointedly at Shiro, cutting him off, “and I already told him to quit being a baby about it.”

“But babe,” Shiro’s voice is exasperated, he flails his arms around, “It’s his first! I should’ve been his first!”

Keith chokes.

Matt raises an eyebrow and takes a sip, clearly amused.

“That didn’t sound weird at all,” Lance snickers behind his hand.

“Jesus fuck, Takashi,” Keith heaves, wiping his face, “way to make things weird.”

“Shut up Keith,” Shiro huffs, “you promised me you’d let me tattoo you first and then you go and stab me in the back like this. A fucking betrayal. My own fucking family!” He exclaims, “I have feelings, you know!”

“How old are you? Six?”

“Six years older than you, kid .”

Keith narrows his eyes, “Oh, real mature.”

“Okay children, enough,” Matt places his mug on the coffee table, “Shiro, stop being a baby and Keith, stop provoking him. I can’t believe this shit, honestly, this family’s gonna be the death of me.”

“I feel you, man,” Lance salutes.

“Shut up, Lance,” Keith and Shiro say in unison.

“Yikes, good to see you’re back in synch, my guys. Welcome back,” He deadpans.

Keith stick his tongue out and flips him off.

Matt disappears into the kitchen.

Shiro rolls his eyes and reaches for Matt’s mug, taking a sip and grimacing, “Way too fucking sweet.” He shrugs and takes another sip, following after his boyfriend.

Lance chuckles, “Now that that’s settled,” He clicks his tongue and turns to Keith, “WHAT THE FUCK.”

Keith jumps and splashes coffee on himself with a yelp, “LANCE! SHIT!” He puts the mug down and shakes his hand, stray droplets catching on the couch, “Someone get me a towel, shit.”

“I gotchu, fam,” Matt throws him the dishrag from the kitchen entrance.

“Thanks,” Keith grunts as he catches it and starts wiping himself off, he looks up at Lance with wide eyes, “What the fuck.”

“That’s what I just said, you idiot. You got a fucking tattoo and didn’t care to fucking tell? Brutal man, I thought we bonded.”

“Fuck no, not you too, not in my damn house, Martínez,” Matt reappears with a plate stacked with pancakes, voice muffled around a bite. He holds the plate to Lance, “Shove this in your mouth and shut up. Jesus .”

Lance eyes the pancakes warily, “Did you make those?”

Matt laughs, “Fuck no, it was Shiro.”

Lance hums and takes one from the stack, he rolls it up and takes a bite, he hums again, “It’s good.”

“Only thing I can make without burning the whole place.” Shiro says proudly, coming behind Matt to steal one pancake from the stack. Matt rolls his eyes but smiles fondly when Shiro plants a loud kiss on his neck.

“Gross,” Keith says from the couch, which gets him a pancake slap on the face from Shiro. He chuckles and shoves the whole thing in his mouth, cheeks puffing up.

“Now who’s gross,” Shiro teases.

“Nhow whosh grosh,” Keith mocks around a mouthful.

Matt cackles, throwing his head back, “Goddamn it, you two.”

Keith grins and redirects his eyes back to Lance, “Sit Lance, you’re making me awkward.”

“You don’t need my help for that.”

“Shove it up your ass, smartfuck.”

Lance smirks, throwing himself on the couch, “Don’t need to ask twice, sweetheart.” He winks and sends finger guns Keith’s way.

“God, what a fucking loser.”

“Whatever, you still owe me a peak of your tattoo.”

“Do I now?”

“ASSHOLE, THERE’S PANCAKES!” Matt hollers from the kitchen.

Keith and Lance grin at each other as Pidge comes running like crazy through the open door.

“Where’s he?” She looks at them with crazy eyes.

“Kitchen,” Lance points and she’s running.

A moment later they can hear Matt’s voice.

“Holy shit Pidge, the fuck, calm down, you’re gonna- Ah shit.”

Lance hears choking sounds coming from the kitchen and he snickers.

“We’re a bunch of weirdos,” Keith shakes his head.

Lance hums, “You gonna show me your tattoo or I’ll have to wait till I get you naked?”

“Wow, you’re so romantic, did anyone ever tell you that?”

“Quit stalling, sassmaster.”

Keith rolls his eyes but pulls his shirt up to reveal his tattoo anyway, and Lance… Lance’s having a fucking heart attack. Cardiac arrest. A stroke. He’s fucking dying. His heart is suffocating.

“Oh my god, is that-” He comes closer, sitting on his knees, “Keith, KEITH! Oh my god, what the fuck.”

Keith shrugs, “I told you I loved it.”

Lance doesn’t know how to react, it’s his fucking alien head. He did that, he drew that, now it’s fucking permanent, it’s branded on Keith. A part of Lance is stamped on Keith’s fucking skin and it’s permanent. His alien head is there, sitting proudly on Keith’s hipbone. This is… this is… he has no words. He’s gonna fucking cry, swear. He’s gonna fucking faint. Jesus Christ Almighty.

He slides down to the floor and scooches closer to Keith’s legs, almost shoving his face into Keith’s crotch to take a better look.

It’s fucking beautiful, it’s so beautiful he’s getting kinda hard, honestly. What the fuck.

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” he hears Pidge say in a mocking tone, but he’s too fucking distracted looking at the fine piece of art that is Keith’s tattooed hipbone to realize the true meaning behind those words. Then it clicks, and it clicks hard, so hard it has him whipping his head around so fast he hears a pop.

Pidges grin is wicked when he fixed his glare on her, she waves at him with her phone. He’s gonna dead ass strangle her. “Pidge,” he warns.

Her smile only widens, turns even more wicked. She looks fucking manic.

“I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU POST THAT, YOU’RE DEAD! SO DEAD I’LL TURN YOU INTO CHICKEN WINGS, I FUCKING SWEAR, KATHERINE ELIZA HOLT.”

She bites her bottom lip to stifle her laughter, but the phone is still trained on him.

“DO NOT FUCKING TEST ME, GIRL.”

Keith snorts and Lance socks him dead ass on the chest, “You shut it, mullet.” 

Keith raises his eyebrows and hits Lance upside the head. 

“Keith!” 

“What!” Keith raises his arms innocently, “You started it.” 

“It’s true,” Pidge points out, her voice wavering with suppressed laughter, “I caught it on video. You can’t run away from digital evidence, pal. The People vs. Lance Martínez.” 

“I’ve been set up, the fucking betrayal!” 

Keith hits him again, with a pillow this time, “Shut up, you fucking loser.” 

Like a flip is switched the three of them bust out laughing. 

Lance still gotta shit, though.

He’ll do it later, guess, his stomach doesn’t hurt that much, anyway.