#keith & lance’s mom

[itscherryterry-again]

yea

[deckoftrickcards]

made a lil thing on my sisters ipad

[mushed-kid]

vld as textposts etc. 34

(i could’ve posted these a while ago but i thought i might make three more to have like a full post but i didnt manage that sorry, i wish i could post as often but making them just doesnt hit the same anymore😔 the children yearn for the vld textposts)

[torveiglyart]

Continuation of the BlackPaladin! Lance AU. Keith is in for quite the surprise…

[autisticlancemcclain]

part one

part two

———

“Ugh,” Keith says.

“Ugh,” Lance agrees.

Keith looks up slowly from where he was glowering at his plate of appetizers, staring at Lance for several minutes with eyes squinted in suspicion.

“What the fresh fuck are you talking about.”

Lance wrinkles his nose at him. “What?”

“You love these things,” Keith says, like the Blue Paladin is a particularly slow toddler. “You’re usually – prancing around, making a fool of yourself in front of pretty people. Every time one of these dumbass celebration missions ends you complain. The fuck you mean, ‘ugh’?”

“I mean ugh,” Lance repeats, emphasizing the word. “Sometimes I simply do not feel the party vibe, Keith. You ever think about that? No. Because you never think about anything. Because the only thing in your skull is a hamster wheel covered in cobwebs. So there.”

Keith lets that hang between them for a moment.

“You’re just mad you got called ugly earlier, huh.”

“It was so rude!” Lance explodes, obviously waiting for Keith to bring it up. “Like, who says that? What kind of trained diplomat refers to a random stranger as ‘the homely one’? Why the fuck would you say that? And it’s not even true! I’m a legit snack! I have been propositioned, you know! More than once! It’s actually quite frequent!” He throws his hand up, noise of frustration coming from deep in his throat. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no actual sentences come out, just different variations of ‘ugh!’ and ‘how dare!’ and ‘the nerve!’.

Because he is a stellar person, Keith does not laugh, instead biting his tongue as hard as he physically can without biting it clean off. Everytime Lance’s sputtering dies off only to kick back up when he thinks of his transgression again it gets harder.

Contrary to what everyone seems to think, Keith likes Lance. They’re friends. They hang out, they talk shit about other people, they do friend things. That’s why they’re both sitting here, at the edge of some grandiose ballroom on a planet whose name Keith has forgotten because they’ve only been here one day, leaning against each other and picking food off the same plate. (Well, Keith’s plate. He’s being gracious and letting Lance have some because Lance has taken enough massive Ls today, and Hunk is busy, so if Lance gets hangry Keith can’t just pass him off on somebody, so. Better to keep him fed, or whatever.)

“We should go – do something,” Lance mutters, picking apart what appears to be a cookie. Maybe. Alien shit is weird. “Make faces behind Shiro’s back. Convince Coran to get wine drunk.”

“We did that already,” Keith dismisses. “Last time, remember? We can’t do it too many times or we’re gonna have to be supervised again. We just managed to convince Shiro to ease up on the trackers.”

Lance sinks further into his chair. “Ugh,” he says again, with true feeling.

Keith begins to feel bad. Lance doesn’t look genuinely upset, he doesn’t think – he knows what a genuinely upset Lance looks like and it’s fucking heartbreaking; it’s the kind of shit that could stop wars – but Keith is a little bit worried that he is bothered, in some way. It can’t feel good to get called ugly in front of everybody. It was funny. And Keith laughed a little. But, still.

Keith nudges their shoulders together. “You wanna go dance?”

Lance freezes. He turns his head slowly to face Keith, like if he moves too fast Keith is going to change his mind. His brown doe eyes are wide and hopeful and over the top, honestly. God. No one asked for that.

“Really?”

“No. I’m taking back my offer. You’re being weird about it.”

“Nope! Nuh-uh! No takebacksies! We’re dancing!” Lance whoops, shoving back his chair and scrambling to his feet. He wraps his fingers tightly around Keith’s wrist, grinning so wide his face is about to split.

“You are holding me hostage,” Keith complains, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He gets up at Lance’s urging, popping the last of the weirdo alien cookie in his mouth and wiping his hand on his suit pants. “Let’s go, Homely One.”

If looks could kill, Keith’s intestines would be painting the floor. The look Lance gives him is lethal. It’s made worse when Keith laughs, because that was funny as hell and he refuses to pretend otherwise. He pulls Lance away, though, before he can reach for the butterknife that’s closeby and stab Keith in the eye, clasping their hands together and weaving them through the crowd of dancers and partygoers. Pretty soon the excitement catches up to Lance, because after a minute he’s the one dragging them around, having apparently picked a perfect spot on the ornate marble dancefloor for them to situate themselves. It is, of course, right smack in the middle, surrounded by people on all sides, right under the massive and delicate crystal chandelier that Keith and Hunk spent forty minutes mocking when they first got here.

“You’re extra as all fuck,” Keith informs him, dutifully putting his hand on Lance’s waist as instructed.

“I will have my Sam Montgomery moment or so help me God,” Lance responds. Keith notices he’s closer than he needs to be and immediately orders himself to un-notice that. He can see flecks of amber in Lance’s dark eyes. It’s so actually horrible. He focuses on Lance’s nose, instead, hoping for reprieve, but of course there is where all his freckles are. An attempt to focus on Lance’s mouth is a disaster waiting to happen, so he looks deliberately at Lance’s bigass forehead to distract himself. It kind of works.

The forehead that he is so intensely focused on wrinkles, and Keith says, “What,” and Lance says, “Aw, Keith, gross,” and then before Keith can stop anything Lance is untangling their hands, licking his thumb, and wiping something at the corner of his mouth.

Keith freezes.

He processes.

He gags.

All in that order.

“Lance!” he cries, swiping his own hands at his mouth. “Gross!”

“What’s gross is you walking around with crusty icing on the corner of your mouth, heathen,” Lance says, eyebrow arched and chin tilted defiantly.

Keith makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. His face matches his armour. He prays that the universe crack open the ground to swallow him whole. He can’t – gah. No one has done that to him since Shiro’s mother would come to visit and take them to get ice cream. When he was eleven.

“Are you a ninety year old grandmother,” he hisses, swiping the corner of his mouth one last time. He thinks his face may actually be glowing.

“Are you a two year old who can’t keep his food in his mouth?” Lance counters. He looks entirely unbothered and Keith wants to strangle him. Who does that. Who, honestly.

“That is not how I wanted your spit near my mouth,” Keith mutters, and immediately wants to open his bayard between his eyes.

Lance stops. A twirling trio of people bumps into him. He does not move. Slowly, his face begins to burn, starting from the sharp jut of his cheekbones and quickly spreading everywhere else. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then narrows his eyes in determination and opens it again.

“Nope,” Keith says before he can say anything. There is no recovery from this. There is only tactical retreat. “I have to – I left my excuse on the castle. I’m gonna go grab it.”

As quickly as he can manage he lets go of Lance’s hand and his waist, gracefully ducking around a dancing couple and high-tailing the hell out of the room. He averts his eyes when he walks by Shiro, praying he doesn’t get stopped, and walks straight out the door. Lance’s calls of his name quickly become faint as he sprints down the hallway.

He can’t believe — God, he said that. Out loud. To Lance’s face. After Lance fucking — licked his thumb and wiped Keith’s face. Like the fussy mother he is.

And Keith is still attracted to him.

He stops in the middle of the hallway, head cradled in his hands, skin hot to the touch.

Fuck, he has a complex.

[blanceyblance]

Lance ended up being the closest thing the paladins had to a Team/Space Mom since he was usually being the one giving pep talks to the leader figures or being approached by them to talk. He was also usually very protective of other members of the team and took more of a caretaker role in later seasons. In this essay I will

[klspacecadet]

DAYUM IM FAMOUS

[keithkog]

Just an actual text conversation:

Lance: Tell my mom you want her famous croquetas for dinner

Me: What? Why??

Lance: Because you love me :T And I want them, so pls

-Keith

[x-soapbox-x]

Craigslist missed connections moment. Happy Mardi Gras!!!!

[corvus--rex]

Less of a full fic, more of a rough sketch of a concept.

Been thinking about a modern au where Tex & Krolia never married. They come to a point when Keith is 7 where their romantic relationship has come to its natural end but they're still best friends and want to raise Keith together so the farthest Tex moves is a different bedroom.

A few months later he starts dating the divorced mom of an 11yo boy at the same time as Krolia goes on a business trip where she meets a young widow with a 6yo daughter.

Tex & Krolia refuse to leave Keith behind to bounce between them, so they stay in the house, moving their new partners in with them. It's a bit of an adjustment, but the kids all get along and are acting like siblings in no time.

These are the relationships Tex & Krolia know will last, and a few months before their double wedding, they and their fiancees sit down with a lawyer, formally adopting each other's kids and signing co-parenting agreements. Shiro, Keith, and Romelle do not understand why they need to have some paper telling them they're siblings when it's something they already know.

Years later, when Lance tries to warn Keith about his own family, Keith just remind him that he grew up with two siblings and four parents, how bad could it be?

[bisexual-birdy]

in the year of our lord 2024 i am reading klance fics and crying because i miss my mom

i need help

[queengeni]

"We did it we are a good team" If I don't get that on my weding vows im not marrying

[discordiansamba]

funniest part of the parental figure bodyswap au is that Keith is literally the last person to be put into the loop. like. he knows something has been weird about Shiro for months now. He's not stupid. But he still treats him like Shiro always does, even if he's acting a little different. Why would he ever suspect that he wasn't Shiro?

And then just. finding out that was his MOM? His mom is in Shiro's body. Shiro is in his mom's body. His mom who is an alien, by the way. Which makes him an alien. It's just a lot to process!

[autisticlancemcclain]

The boy is young.

Marcela is concerned.

“What you are is nosy,” Miguel says.

“Blah, blah,” Marcela responds like the elegant lady she was raised to be, peeking through the blinds to watch as the boy struggles with several bags full of groceries. She frowns. “Look at him, Guelos. He’s still so young that he takes one trip with ten bags. He’s — a child, practically. A baby. With a mortgage. Who authorized this?”

Her husband sighs, pushing his chair out to come stand next to her. She opens the blinds a couple millimetres wider to help him see, leaning into the hand he places on her back.

“We were young too, you know. No older than him the year you were pregnant with Luis.”

Marcela frowns at him. “Yes, but we were young together. We both had savings, and jobs. I’d been practically raising my siblings for years, at that point. You’d been working since you were twelve. Times were — different, Miguel.”

She turns back to the window. The boy, who just moved in a few days ago, is standing on the small veranda, staring at the door. He looks down at his hand, laden with bags, and then back at the door. Marcela has to bite her lip to keep from smiling, despite her worry.

Miguel slides his hand across her shoulders, pulling her close and pressing a lingering kiss to her head. She closes her eyes, leaning into it, curling her fist at his sternum.

“Times have changed,” he agrees softly, words muffled against her skin. “We’ll keep an eye on him.”

“Okay,” she breathes. She watches over her husband’s shoulder as the boy finally gives up, dropping the groceries to the ground and digging around his pockets for his keys. It was funny before, but he looks so — defeated. Sad. Like this was the frustrating cherry on top of an already difficult day.

Or maybe she’s reading into things. She watches until he finally gets inside, door closing forcefully behind him, and she knows in her heart that she will not be able to leave it be.

———

Marcela is nosy.

“Why are we here,” Lancito whines, trying and failing to pull away from her hand.

“Because we are being neighbourly,” Marcela responds primly. She sees him stick out his tongue from the corner of his eye and decides to let him have it.

“You just want to see the inside of the new guy’s house,” he mutters.

Marcela’s jaw drops, because how the hell did that little brat know that, but before she can say anything the lock turns and she schools her face quickly back into her brightest smile, slightly strained. Lance, suddenly shy, hides behind her legs.

“…Hi,” the boy says. He looks — wary, slightly, but not too uncomfortable.

Marcela takes it for the win it is.

“Hello,” she says, softening considerably. The boy reminds her sharply of her brother. He had that same look to him, the eyes of someone older than he is; the posture of someone who seems to simply understand the world on a deeper level. His slight, awkward smile is identical, as well. She has to blink back tears, heart aching in missing him. “I’m Marcela. I live next door. These are for you.”

She holds out the plate of tostones, covered in aluminum foil. She’d originally had them in a container, but then worried that he’d feel pressured to wash and return it. She moved the tostones from the plate to the container so many times that Marco had walked over from where he was doing his homework, grabbed her hands, guided her gently to the side, and fixed the plate up himself. Miguel had laughed until he cried, because apparently he’s hankering for a divorce. (He’d laughed harder when she’d said that.)

“Oh.” The boy blinks, surprised. He stares at the plate for a moment, wary look on his face replaced with something like confusion.

“They’re tostones,” Lancito offers, peeking out from behind her. The boy startles, looking at Lance with wide eyes. Lance takes his awkwardness for ignorance. “They’re squashed plantains that are fried. Plantains are like bananas but better. Mamá makes them really good.”

Slowly, the boy reaches out and grabs the plate. He peels back the aluminum foil slightly, peeking inside.

“They look good,” he agrees, voice soft.

Lancito scoffs. He steps out from behind her, offense making him brave, but still hold on to the hem of her shirt. “Um, duh. They’re tostones.” He looks hungrily at the plate. “Mamá spent all morning making them and we didn’t get any. You must be her favourite neighbour or something.”

“Leandro-Agustín,” Marcela hisses, cheeks flushing. Lance only stares back at him with a puzzled expression, hand raised in a universal, what?

Luckily, though, the boy doesn’t seem to notice, or if he does he doesn’t say anything. He only slowly peels back the aluminum farther and offers the plate towards Lance. Lance looks back at Marcela, questioning. Marcela sighs.

Quickly, so she doesn’t change her mind, Lance snatches the closest one and shoves it in his mouth. The boy’s small smile gets a little bit bigger. He picks up his own tostone and takes a bite, inclining his head after swallowing.

“You were right,” he says. “They are delicious. Thank you, Mrs. Marcela.”

“Just Marcela is fine,” she assures.

The boy hesitates, face twitching. “I don’t think I can physically do that,” he says politely. “I can feel my grandmother rolling in her grave.”

Marcela snorts. “Alright, fair. I can live with the formalities, I suppose.”

The boy has the same tiny smile again. It brightens his eyes, makes his whole face look younger.

“I’m Takashi,” he says. He goes to offer his hand to shake, but there’s only —

The stump of his right arm twitches. The boy — Takashi — stiffens. Marcela watches, despondent, as his expression shutters, and he steps back.

“Thank you for coming,” he says robotically. “I appreciate the food.”

Marcela knows a dismissal when she hears one. She anguishes, once again, in the privacy of her own mind, just how young this kid is. Barely older than Luis.

“I’m right next door,” she says softly. Lance, ever observant, watches the two of them closely. “If you need anything, Takashi, let us know.”

The boy nods stiffly. He closes his door without another word. Marcela sighs.

“You’re gonna need another plate of nosy food,” Lance observes. “Or maybe you should invite him for dinner, and then he’ll invite you for dinner. That might work better.”

Marcela guides them down the steps and back to their house, kissing him gently on the head. “I think you’re right, mijo. You wanna help me make some cookies?”

They’ll get there.

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 12:

"I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?"

Red | insomnia | "im up, im up!"

Fandom: Voltron 

Prompts used: All

Alrighty! Part 2 of day 3! Hehehehehe! (This turned Klancey on me so fast i didnt even see it coming…) As always the timeline is screwed, I am pickpocketing the moments I want and placing them on a conspiracy board to my aesthetic liking. This deals with the aftermath of isolation, and its effects- to the best of my limited knowledge- so please tread carefully. Would love to hear from y'all if you like it! Thanks! 

Ps: Since alien measures of time are slightly longer I'm going off of someone elses calculations of what they may be. (Spiralled_Fury on A03) so a movement is 1.23 weeks which is roughly 8 days and something hours. 

…

The observation deck is quiet and dark, nothing but that soothing blue glow of Altean technology- nothing like that yellow of-

The stars, foreign as they may be, are nice to look at. The castle hums, and Blue is present in his mind, and it's a calm night in the open space. In a few minutes he'll make his rounds, check on each inhabitant of the castle, each of whom he sent to bed about a varga- hour- ago. It's been about a movement- a week since the pod, and that extra day and a little that he was in it- since his… rescue. He's tried his best to return to what was, but sometimes he wonders if he even should. 

He loves his team, he has been 'loverboy Lance' since practically birth. He cared so deeply about others, in detriment to himself typically, that even as a baby he knew when something was wrong with his family. They worried about him and his horrid taste in people, Hunk had barely made the cut and he's… well Hunk. But he just knows that if his Mama had been here watching their lives, he'd have gotten smacked upside the head, hugged to death, and whisked away with only the destruction her Chancla left behind them. 

That other voice in his head however pipes up, reminding him that they are children in war, lost in space and far away from all they have ever known. This team of teenagers is being led by two young adults, with one actual adult juggling a million duties behind them. This is a battlefield, and in a castle meant to house so many many more, 7 people barely fill a corner of it. 

Lance knows that they are good people. The thing that scared his family the most, was not that he could not discern the good and the bad people, but that he cared for them anyway like it would do something. (That's not true, he went to them because they gave him the time of day, you can only be used if you have a use after all…) 

But with the team, he knew they were good people. But they were also tired, traumatized and thrust into the turbulence, trials and tribulations of war and adulthood in one go. Lance had chosen who he was going to be the minute they'd all met in the desert. For kids lost in space needed something to ground them, something to make them smile, and remind them to rest, and to reminisce on home and what they fight for. But that apparently also made him the least, it felt like he was always coming up short or failing all together. That what he was doing was nothing to the team. 

He… didn't want to go back to that. But if he had to choose between that and the room, well… it wasn't a hard choice he supposed. 

His knees creak as he stands, he has to consciously straighten his back and neck- he doesn't have to duck or crouch anymore, there's room Lance, remember- his legs wobble for only a second before he takes his first step. He reminds himself that that's okay, he was gone for… a long time, and he sat or crouched or layed for all of it, his legs needed time to adjust to walking again. 

Bare feet pad slightly as he makes his familiar route. The Alteans are first, he can hear Corans snoring outside his door, and a small peek shows Allura curled up with the mice slumbering in her hair, her brow is relaxed and form loose, she needed the rest. Shiro is next, and he frowns at his leader's tense form, fist clenched in his sheets. He leans against the doorway, wracking his brain for a tune, and hums the first one he thinks of softly. He doesn't know why it works, why Shiro's whole form melts into the bed after a few moments of it, but he won't complain either, Shiro deserved good sleep. 

Hunk is next, and like Coran he can hear his snores through the door, though a deeper timbre and slightly quieter. He wants to peek in but Hunk is a light sleeper so he allows himself a few moments to listen before moving to Pidges room. The little gremlin is stubborn and Lance always has to prepare for the possibility of her being awake, so he braces himself as he opens her door. Her breaths are soft and though he has to maneuver around her heaps of who knows what, he finally finds her sprawled like a broken starfish in her bed, glasses askew and laptop haphazardly on her lap. He smiles at the drool at the corner of her mouth and shakes his head, carefully slipping off her glasses and placing them atop her laptop on her side table. He pulls the covers over her as she curls up on her side and lingers for only a moment, he still has one more person to check on. 

Keith's room is empty, two warring feelings hit him at once- a wave of panic and a tired sigh of exasperation. He makes his way to the training room, hearing the sounds of the gladiator from down the hall. He's too tired to interrupt this time round, Keith's chest is heaving so he'll probably be done soon anyway. He leans against the doorway watching mullet maneuver around the sparring section, more aggression than tact in his movements than usual, and finds his eyes feeling heavy. 

It's not a new feeling, he's felt strangely heavy for a while now despite his ribs doing their best at being one of those wooden frogs that you can make croak. He's only been able to get a few hours in this week, not that the team knows, or they haven't said anything. But everytime he closes his eyes…

The walls glow yellow and seem to creep closer every time he blinks, but if he doesn't blood starts to seep from the crevices he could never peel open and flood the room. He'll float there, eyes unblinking as he screams but no sound reaches his ears. The not bread and the not water dance a tango in front of him before launching down his throat as pain erupts from his very bones and his head expLOADS-

"LANCE!" 

"I'm up, I'm up!" He flails, wobbles backwards, falls-

Finds himself looking into Keith's frazzled eyes as the sweaty samurai holds him to his tense form. The image and sensations are too real, it was just a dream, he must have dozed off, he's fine, Keith is here and he's fine. 

"Sorry, I uh… was here to make you sleep ha…" Lance's body refuses to cooperate, but Keith seems to read him well enough, moving them until they're both simply sitting in the entrance. 

"You were… uh, you didn't look er no, I mean that it just seemed like something was freaking you out." Keith to his part, is even more awkward than Lance, but he's also actively working his sentences through so that's something. 

"Oh yeah… I'm fine, sorry." Lance looks away, rubbing at his face to stave off what he saw. 

"You look exhausted, I thought you were already in bed. What are you doing up again?" Keith ducks his head to see his face, sweaty mullet hanging in a scraggly mess. 

"I look awesome." Lance scoffs halfheartedly, definitely not saying what he was going to say because 'I haven't slept in days, but who's counting?' Would not go over well.

"What!? What do you mean days??"  

Oh well, maybe he's more tired than he thought. Lance laughs stiffly, moving to stand, but only accomplishing a weird half crawl wobble before Keith moves to keep him in place, they naturally fall into a tuffle because like hell is Lance going to have this conversation when hes so artfully avoided it and no ones brought it up and everything is FINE! 

And he's pinned. 

Keith is slightly winded- Lance's boney knees had a few purposes thank you- but he has Lance's wrists pinned on either side of his head, and legs pinning the rest of him in an annoyingly cool move that Lance will be learning later. But there's no triumphant grin or banter, instead worry still clouds his expression. 

"Have you slept at all since you've… been back?" He- like everyone on this ship- have refused to really bring up what went down. And it's not like Lance did either! But he's scared still, of things that happen again before his eyes. Keith's finger presses gently on his cheek, turning Lance's teary eyes towards him once again. "Talk to me, Sharpshooter." 

And Lance's soul, tired and weary, breaks open like a flood gate. Tears leaked down his cheeks- warm, they were always so warm against his cold skin- and he trembles- shivers, it was cold there, he was so cold. 

"I'm scared." He utters the words like a secret, and really it is one. Even if they saw him broken and at the end of his rope, Lance had tried so hard to return to his role when he got back, to be useful… “I don’t want to go back Keith.” 

“We will never let that happen! That guy isn’t going to hurt anyone ever again, and I promise to keep anyone else from doing it too!” Keith’s adamant response and determined eyes are enough to make him sob again, Keith falters wiping some of the tears absentmindedly. “What did I miss?”

“I don’t,” he swallows thickly, trying to get his thoughts in order, “want to be the seventh wheel anymore. The least. I don’t want to be alone. Please don’t-” he chokes on another sob and Lance is hurriedly pulled into a warm embrace. 

He’s startled for only a moment before heat chases away his cold, and safety wraps around him, and he burrows into it, hands gripping tightly around shoulders, afraid the moment will end too soon. 

“I’m sorry we made you feel that way. We were an absolute mess without you Lance, you have no idea how lost we were, I think I was literally ready to kill one of them. And I wasn’t alone in the sentiment. We can’t do this without you, and I don’t think we’d want to either.”

“I think,” he sniffles, voice muffled in Keith’s chest, “that’s the most I’ve heard you say at once in a while.” He squeezes tighter, voice softer, “thank you.” 

“I don’t know exactly what you went through, but I’m here if you need anything. And the team will be too, I’ll make sure of it okay?” Lance is hesitant in his nod, worry still deep in his chest. “Alright dork, movie night on the couch. If you’re gonna be awake so am I.” 

Keith stands and Lance yelps as he’s lifted, gripping Keith’s throat tight enough to choke. His face burns a brilliant shade of red to match his swollen eyes no doubt, and he can only give Keith’s little grin a petulant look. 

“I can walk.” 

“You could.” Keith agrees as he turns and starts the journey towards the common room. 

Lance watches him as they walk, aware of how out of character this was for them, How much Keith surprised him. He even worries this is a dream, that he’ll wake up alone in that cold dark room, or worse yet, that something terrible will happen next and the team will- but Lance doesn’t think even his mind could imagine these strong arms and abnormally warm chest. He’s set down on the couch, his fingers tighten on Keith’s shirt unconsciously. 

“I’m staying, I promise.”

And that meant more than Keith will ever know.

<<Prev

[justaz]

i’m mad about the implications of the lion switch and the way the creators/writers/whoever the fuck ignored it again

if lance going from blue to red was supposed to signify his attention/attraction switching from allura to keith WHY DIDNT IT FUCKING HAPPEN

listen. allura never reciprocated his feelings. blue SHUT. HIM. OUT. honesty it was pretty fucking obvious keith had a thing for him: bonding moment, “lance i got ur lion back”, “are you joking?” in the softest fucking voice ever, etc etc and red ROARED FOR HIM. RED CHOOSE HIM.

why tf wasn’t klance canon. there was so much development for it to happen but noooo we hate gay people or sum