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This scene if they opened their eyes

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when your moral compass friend is dead

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they were TWELVE 

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Her <3

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Canon Marceline

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LANCE

Missed my boy

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☆⌒(＞。≪)

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the four horsemen of Queer Agony

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Judging_Trio.meh

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unexpected, voltron

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this is a dumb hc but when allura does cute lil tennis player grunts when using her whip and keith impersonates her every time they spar together

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Lance snaps the last piece on — a dorky fingerless leather glove — and smiles, satisfied. He observes the rest of his handiwork and can’t help a single nod.

Damn, he’s a whiz with a sewing machine.

“Don’t get too big of a head,” Pidge mutters, adjusting her new go-go boots. “This is still the dumbest thing any one of us has done ever.”

Hunk snorts. “Speak for yourself.”

That is fair. Lance has caught Hunk negotiating both of his kidneys for a particularly rare machine part.

“It’s still stupid,” Pidge insists.

To her credit, she’s probably right. It had started as a bit. A dumbass, one-off bit that Lance cooked up one random day, after a shitty mission that had them all in the dumps.

“I miss Keith,” Allura had muttered, huffing to herself. “He would have trained with me more so I wouldn’t have been so blindsided. You guys never do any extra training with me.”

The team’s responses had been a mix of mild offense and several other affirmations of missing their friend. All of them did — yeah, sure, each and every one of them finds great joy in giving Keith shit, and some of his leadership skills were…questionable, at best, but he was still their friend. And they missed him.

Lance got an idea.

After everyone else went to bed, he dug through random material boxes littered throughout the castle, and fashioned himself Keith’s infamous cropped leather jacket. It wasn’t quite the same — the only way he’d get leather in space would be from Kaltenecker, which was never going to happen on Lance’s watch — but there was no mistaking who he was imitating. He walked into breakfast the next morning with his fringe pulled over one eye and a smirk making the corner of his mouth twitch.

“Life is a nightmare and existence is a prison,” he’d said in his most emo voice.

Was it a fair impression of Keith?

No.

But was it funny?

Lance’s question was easily answered by the rest of the team losing their shit. He’d kept it up the rest of the day, playfully pretending to be Keith whenever someone asked him a question. As stupid as the whole bit was, it did make him feel a little better. A little more like Keith was just away for a little while, and that he was coming back, rather than a nameless face on a Blade base. It made things a little less scary, a little more lighthearted. It was a stupid joke, but a good one. Lance took off the dorky jacket at the end of the day, hanging it in his closet, not even thinking about it.

A week later, Pidge walked into the kitchen with the jacket she’d lifted from his room, doing her own garbage impression, and from there things had kind of snowballed.

None of them made anything official, obviously. That would be embarrassing as shit. But every Tuesday — or whatever the space equivalent was — someone would inevitably show up in the kitchen with an article of clothing that was unmistakably Keith’s. Eventually Lance started actually making replicas that would fit everyone; a jacket for Hunk, go-go boots for Shiro, fingerless gloves for Allura. Small, stupid things that Lance would make when he had the time and leave by their door without saying anything, without acknowledging the objectively deranged bit they were all overdoing.

It’s been long enough, though, that everyone’s outfit is complete. They’ve been celebrating Keith Day and cycling through enough weekly impressions that everyone has a full Keith outfit, so they’re having a Keith party.

Lance has not had so much fun in ages.

“Yo, Keith, pass the Gufla juice,” Lance says. Coran looks delighted for a moment before schooling his face into a grumpier expression.

“You’re the only one who drinks this garbage,” he says, doing a truly wonderful impression of Keith’s exasperated tone. “Just keep it where you sit.” He passes the bottle to Lance, then leans in close so Lance can hear his whisper. “Am I doing an alright job, lad? I’ve made an attempt to let the fondness he has for you bleed through my words!”

Lance flushes, taking the bottle from the advisor and hurriedly occupying himself with pouring a glass. He clears his throat three separate times before he finally manages to speak, conscious of the various snickers he can hear from around him.

“You did fine.”

Pidge scoffs, leaning back in her chair and raising a cocky eyebrow. “I dunno, usually it’s more like this.” She widens her eyes obnoxiously, batting her eyelashes and clasping her hands under her chin. “‘Nice shot, Sharpshooter. Couldn’t do it without my right-hand-man.’”

Allura and Hunk cackle, offering their palms for Pidge to slap, which she does unashamedly.

Lance, who is the pinnacle of grace and poise and Being the Bigger Person, primly dabs his mouth with a napkin and decides not to attack his horrible gremlin friend where she sits.

“That was the worst Keith impression I’ve ever heard,” he informs her.

Shiro hums before she can respond. “You’re right, Keith.” He nods at Lance. Lance sticks his tongue out at Pidge.

Ha!

“He hasn’t used ‘Sharpshooter’ in a while,” he continues, and Lance’s heart drops.

Shiro? A traitor? No. No!

Shiro adjusts the oversized white collar of the cropped jacket and grins to himself. “It’s a little more like this.” He stands, because he’s a dramatic hoe, and puts his hands on his hips, shaking his head mock-fondly at Lance before saying, in a hugely exaggerated Southern accent, “Well I’ll be, Bluebell. Maybe we make a good team after all.”

Okay. Evidently, Being the Bigger Person is overrated. He grabs a butterknife and throws it at the asshole black paladin, which is narrowly dodged with a yelp.

“There,” Lance says smugly. “Knife violence. How’s that for a Keith impression?”

Besides Shiro’s pout that lasts for a good five minutes, the rest of breakfast is just spent having good fun. They each break character a thousand times each, but it’s fun anyway. Allura in particular is the king of Keith impressions — possibly from the mess that was the Coalition Show — and the rest of them aren’t too shabby, either. Lance thinks he’s pretty good at nailing Keith’s laugh when he’s startled to find something funny (and no, he’s not going to spend any time reflecting on why that is, thanks).

“You know, fellow Keiths,” Shiro says, picking at his gloves, “I’ve teased him about the gloves for years, but they kind of do make me feel cool.”

Lance sighs. “Yeah, that’s the worst part. The gloves really do make me feel like a ninja sword guy.”

Instead of the various affirmations he expects to hear — come on, he and Shiro cannot be the only ones to feel that way — there’s only silence. He glances up at the rest of the team, only to find them all slack-jawed and horrified, staring wide-eyed at the door.

Lance’s stomach turns to stone.

There’s no way.

Slowly, as if he can make his suspicions disappear if he halves his speed, he turns toward the dining room door.

Where, of course, stands Keith, somehow, the real one, Blade uniform clinging to his body as he leans on the doorframe. He sports the tiniest of smirks, and yet somehow it’s more smug than any expression Lance has witnessed before.

“Hey, guys,” Keith says, casual. “Mission got cancelled so I had a couple days off, and I was nearby. Thought I’d hang with y’all for a while; Black let me in.”

He speaks so casually, walking into the room with a slight sway to his hips, a swagger, that leaves no question about it: he sees the situation in front of him. He gets it. He knows damn well he has the upper hand here.

He’s playing them.

The whole team sits frozen in their seats, hyper aware of their outfits, each knowing they have no excuse and no way out. They will never be able to successfully clown him again. He’s won. He knows how much they like him. Worst, still, is that Keith knows exactly who on this ship can make fingerless leather gloves from scratch. He knows exactly who’s dumbass idea this bit was, who put hours and hours into making accurate Keith outfits.

Lance is going to reacquaint himself with that airlock.

“Oh, nice, you guys are having that Dushan stuff.” Keith strides over to Lance’s seat, places a hand on the back off his chair and leaning in close. Lance puts his head in his hands and prays his ears aren’t as red as they feel. Keith reaches right over his shoulder and plucks a piece of food off his plate, popping it into his mouth. For a moment there’s nothing but a horrible silence, none of them knowing what to say.

“And by the way,” Keith says, when it’s clear none of them are going to speak up. His smirk has widened significantly, and he looks like he’s just won every argument he’s ever wanted to have at once. “The gloves make me feel cool, too.”

———

based on this scene in teen titans

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i think about what keith’s backstory could be 23221 times a day

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Google Earth

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Sure tomorrow Jesus rose from the dead to save all mankind or whatever it is he did for the christians but TONIGHT Luz rose from the dead to quote her cringe book series and beat the shit out of a puritan once and for all with the help of found family

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Rise!Leo reassuring mm!Leo that everything will be okay cus we need some wholesome shit in the fandom rn smh. (For me the relationship between mm!Leo and Rise!Leo is that mm!Leo will act annoyed when he is around R!leo but in actuality, he adores the shit out of that smug asshole.) (This is also an apology comic for being gone for so long, save me guys, school in not letting me go frfrfrfr)