#anxiety keith

[vee-is-a-clown]

Tick tock, tick tock

The noise that clocks usually make, though not this one. This clock was the generic clock that every classroom in the school had in the corner. A silent clock with a standardized, minimalist design. Lance imagined that it made noises as it spun.

Why is Lance focused so much on a clock? He doesn't know. One thing he does know is that he's ahead on classwork in this class and that means that the teacher couldn't care less with what Lance does as long as it isn't loud.

So he drifted off, lost in thought as he stared at that clock from his seat in the far back. While he did so, he twirled a pencil in his hands. Suddenly, the sensation of the pencil slipping out of his grasp. He'd accidentally flung the damn pencil all the way across the room.

Click clack, click clack

The sound of black leather boots moving across the vinal tiles. Very pretty things, they would be if they weren't so worn. You can tell that they're loved. The soles were tall. Combat boots.

The combat boots were owned by a secretly scrawny, pale boy who sat in the very front. He wore loose ripped jeans with chains hanging down from the belt loops and an oversized MCR hoodie which, like the boots, looked well loved. As Lance's eyes wandered higher up the boy's figure, he couldn't help but notice that the boy's dark black hair was tied up in a small ponytail.

Lance tried to focus really hard on memorizing what the boy looked like, knowing full well that he would remember the boy's features anyway. He never does. His brain's just messed up like that.

Lance got a little distracted again. It's not his fault. It's just the clacking of the boy's boots. They're a little too loud. It's not like he needs to be doing something anyway. It's fine.

The cold sensation of his pencil's eraser being pressed against his face. He looked up to find the boy holding said pencil to his face.

"Hey, you uh- you dropped your pencil."

"O-oh. Than- thanks. Uhh Keith, right?"

"Y-yeah."

Lance was definitely a bit frazzled. Maybe Keith's boots wouldn't be the only thing about Keith that would be distracting him next time.

-------

*Boop* Keith's outfit (He shops in the women's section, ok? I had someone asking about it so I have to specify)

[mushed-kid]

voltron as textposts etc. 35

(yay made one! i have a feeling ur gonna have to wait a while for the next one. @bloutwo came up with the last one!)

[autisticlancemcclain]

“Neither of you are getting it.”

Twin sighs come from his laptop speakers. Lance lifts his head up from where he’s smushed it into his pillow to glare at his two best friends who apparently hate him, for some reason.

“I mean, there’s not much to get,” Pidge says. “You’re a big dumb gay loser and this predicament effects you emotionally.” She looks at Hunk as if to ask, right?, and Hunk, who is a traitor of the worst kind, shrugs in agreement.

“I don’t even get what you’re worried about, man. You have consistently been the one to get him the best gifts for years. None of us even try to beat you.”

“That’s the point!” Lance shrieks. “You’re not listening! I had ideas every other year, Hunk! This year I have nothing!” He taps his head aggressively. “There is not one thing in here! Nada!”

Pidge snickers. “Well, that’s not new.”

“Can it, Pidgeon.”

Hunk holds his hands up placatingly before the two of them can really start to go at it. “Alright, alright. Pidge, have mercy on him. He’s suffering. Lance —” he falters. “Dude, you walked into that one. Sorry.”

Lance will concede to that point. He kind of set his own trap. But still, he’s having a crisis, Pidge as his best friend should be going easy on him, so he sticks his tongue out at her.

“I just — ugh.” He takes a moment to fluff his pillows back up before falling backwards on them and throwing a hand over his face. This is a ridiculous thing to be so bothered by, and he knows it, but he is. Bothered by it, that is. He hasn’t been this lost since the first year they were in space.

“Lance,” Hunk says gently, startling him. “It’s August, dude. Keith’s birthday is two months away. You really, truly, do not need to be stressing about it.”

Lance’s eyes trace the long-faded glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling. His gazes unfocuses on the red-orange star that represents Pollux, which has always been his favourite.

“This will be the first time I’ve seen him in months,” Lance says quietly. “I want him —” he swallows. The dryness of his throat makes his voice scratchy. “I want to be perfect.”

It. He had meant to say, I want it to be perfect. Because that’s what he wants — he wants Keith to get here safely and actually be able to stay this time and nothing to go wrong and him to celebrate his birthday surrounded by his loved ones, his friends and family. And — Lance. Wants to be there. Also.

He swallows again. It’s harder this time.

“He’s going to love anything you give him,” Pidge says, uncharacteristically soft. “You know he’s just going to be glad to see you upright and in one piece.”

Lance winces and the strained quality of her voice, the sudden darkness in Hunk’s expression. He knows he’s the cause of it.

It was hard on the team, his death.

He knows it was. That’s why he never talks about it. (They were never supposed to even know about it. When Lance’s soul was yanked back into his body and Allura gasped in relief and hugged him to her chest and sobbed out, I thought I was too late, Lance clamped his mouth shut and kept it that way. When he had rare moments on their long trip home where the adrenaline began to fade and he felt his heart begin to slow, he picked fights. He ran sims. He made stupid decisions. He kept his body distracted and his mind wound so tightly around Red’s that there was no chance for it to slip, to remember what had happened to him, to fade back into that dark and silent place. He kept his mouth shut and kept his quintessence dragged up to the highest level he could bring it.

And when they defeated Sendak, and they had to sacrifice their lions or sacrifice their friend, Lance’s hands shook and he made the obvious choice. And he doesn’t know what happened, when the adrenaline finally faded and the one thing keeping him tethered to their plane disappeared, but he knows when his soul was yanked back into his body, permanently this time, his friends wouldn’t answer his questions or let him out of their sight and all of them had the same haunted look to their eyes. He has never had the strength to ask. But he has been careful with himself, since. He covers his Altean marks — a testament of how much Allura gave of herself to keep him alive — and keeps his feet planted on Earth and out of danger and knows that he owes it to them to keep himself safe.)

“Well, anything I could give him would be better than what you got him last year,” Lance says loudly, beating back the oppressive silence that has fallen over them. It works — Pidge scowls at him, remembering the plant she had got him that had turned out to be highly toxic to any Galra. Hunk snickers at the memory of the bright blue hives that had covered Keith’s skin for weeks.

“How was I to know?” Pidge cries. Hunk and Lance’s increasing laughter only seems to make her angrier “He — ugh! It doesn’t matter, anyway, because you handmade him a leather sheath for his knife so he wasn’t looking at what I was giving him anyway! Shut up! Ugh!”

“It’s true,” Hunk agrees, chuckling. “We should make you gift stuff last. It’s not fair and makes everyone else look bad. He couldn’t take his eyes off that sheath, last year. He still wears it every day.”

Pidge mutters something in her hand that sounds suspiciously like “he couldn’t take his eyes off of someone,” so Lance ignores her in favour of whining again.

“Yeah, well, there’s no point this year because I’ve got nothing. I started making that sheath in June. I started making his jacket from two years ago in March. But this year I didn’t have any ideas and now I don’t have the time, even if I do come up with something. ” He sighs, defeated. “It sucks. I’ve hardly seen him outside of a computer screen and I’m only going to see him less, and I can’t even give him something to remember me by.”

“You’re talking like you’re never going to see him again,” Pidge points out. “There would be way less pressure if you just — saw him more, dude.”

Lance scoffs. “Yeah, right. Lemme just pack up and run off to space with him. Boom, all problems solved.”

He blinks.

He sits up so fast he very nearly brains himself on his bed frame.

“Holy shit,” he whispers. He looks over at his friends, who are smiling widely. His heart pounds.

Holy shit.

“I gotta go,” he shouts, scrambling to grab his laptop.

“Goodbye, Lance,” Hunk says, rolling his eyes fondly.

Pidge makes a crude gesture at him because she’s the worst. “Bye, gay pining loser!”

He slams the laptop lid shut and holds it tightly to his chest. Everything, finally, starts to click into place — Lance smiles; small at first, but quickly his mouth spreads so wide his cheeks ache, and his eyes practically squish shut.

He knows what to do.

———

On the morning of October 23rd, he is stressing.

“You’re embarrassing,” calls Allura, from where she‘s been lazing on the couch and eating pineapples for the last three days.

“I regret asking for your help,” Lance grunts, struggling to lift a sack of flour. He side eyes her. “Especially because you’re supposed to be helping, Miss Superstrength.”

Allura snorts, shoving another chunk of pineapple in her mouth. “I am helping. If I wasn’t here you would have talked yourself out of this several times over. You’re welcome!”

“Ugh,” Lance says, because she’s right and he knows it. “I’m not letting you lick the spoon.”

“What? Hey!”

He does let her lick the spoon. Because he has no discipline. But to her eternal credit she does actually help, too, and in more ways than just picking him up and physically shaking him out of his many freak outs, and he has a lot of them.

He’s been planning this for weeks. There are so many aspects, so many moving parts, that it’s just — stressful. Trying to put together a party that balances all the people who want to come together and celebrate Keith’s 25th with every single time constraint and restoration effort and even Keith’s own discomfort with too much fanfare is…a lot. Plus all the actual stuff that goes into hosting people at a party — Lance absolutely would not be able to do any of this without Allura’s help. She is, after all, his best friend, even though she drives him crazy and always has, in more ways than one.

At eleven thirty, when all the (tasteful, despite what his siblings had insisted was too boring) decorations have been set up and most of the food has been prepared, Allura clasps her palms to his cheeks and says, “Lance, breathe.”

Lance looks at her with wide eyes and says, “I’m cancelling everything.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I can’t do this. What was I thinking? This is — cringe. Ridiculous.” His chest shakes on an inhale. “What was I thinking, ‘Llura?”

She hums thoughtfully. Her thumbs trace his cheekbones, wiping away the makeup that covers his Altean marks, making Lance twitch but not move.

“You were thinking,” she says quietly, “about how long it has been since everyone has been on the same planet.”

He swallows. “Yeah.”

“And how much we have all missed each other.

His shaking hands come up to grip her wrists, breath shuddering as he exhales.

“Yes.”

“And. Maybe. How much you miss Keith.” She pulls her hands away from his face and wraps them around his hands. “How much you miss the stars, even.”

“I’m scared,” he admits.

She squeezes his hands. “When has that stopped you?”

———

It’s three thirty and there’s still no sign of Keith.

Shiro and the rest of the Atlas crew, including Hunk and Veronica, arrived arrived sometime around one. The Holts came in right on their heels. Kolivan, Krolia, and a few other Blades Keith has kept up with over the years showed up a few hours ago. Lance’s family has been here the whole time, and Coran and Romelle came with Allura. Everyone that Lance had invited to come is here.

Except the one person Lance actually wants to come.

“Lance,” Shiro greets, somehow sensing his anxiety like the guru goody goody he is and popping up next to him.

Lance smiles anyway. He’s missed him too much to do anything else — he hasn’t seen anyone on the Atlas since their last restock, ten weeks ago.

“Hey, Shiro.”

“You freaking out?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. I’d be shocked if you weren’t, you walking Xanax advertisement.”

That startles a laugh out of Lance, and he shoves him, grateful for the distraction. Shiro grins wide and throws an arm around him, guiding him away from the front door — where he’s been biting his nails and staring at the sky in anxious hope for the last twenty minutes — and back to the rest of the party, ducking under flailing limbs and the random football that someone has brought out for some reason (Marco, probably).

“He’s gonna come, you know. He’s been excited about it since you invited him. I have received no less than nine hundred and twenty-two texts about it. It’s all very sweet and embarrassing. He’s coming, Lance.”

Lance huffs. “Unless he’s dead or maimed somewhere. I did some quick stat evals and there’s at 37% chance he was attacked on the flight to Earth and is bleeding out as we speak.”

Shiro stops them. He blinks at Lance several times. He sighs.

“You actually need to see a psychiatrist. Genuinely.”

“Nah.”

Shiro flicks him on the forehead, but the fond smile stays affixed to his face. Soon Lance finds himself relaxing, tucked under Shiro’s arm. He’s probably right — he usually is. Keith is chronically late, just as a person. Lance even told him the party started at ten just to make it more likely that he’d show up before everyone left. It’s not that he doesn’t want to be places — he just struggles with the concept of time passing, and also gets distracted a lot. (There are a lot of people who need Keith’s help, after all, and he’s a bleeding heart if Lance has ever known one. All humans are wired to respond to calls for help, but Keith seems almost attuned to them. If Lance thinks about his crooked smile and kind eyes for too long he gets physically nauseous.)

As Lance’s watch ticks its way to four o’clock, a light streaks across the sky, and before Lance knows what he’s doing he ducks under Shiro’s arm and starts running. He flings open the back gate and slides down the sandy hills, barely managing not to trip on rocks and pits in the sand where children have dug little pools. He doesn’t bother to slow as the aircraft makes its fiery descent, confident the pilot will not hit him, and by the time he makes it across the beach his bare feet burn and he’s stepped on a sharp shell and lost his jacket somewhere near the house. But it doesn’t matter, because the craft lands and seconds later the door flings open and Keith comes sprinting out, still clad in armour, hair long and thick and braided back, and he runs at Lance at full speed and they collide at the top of a sand dune and Lance leaps into his arms and Keith loses his balance and they go tumbling down, laughing, Keith’s hand on his waist and Lance’s fingers clutching tightly at his shoulders.

“You made it!” Lance shouts, smile wider than he ever thought capable.

Keith laughs again, full-bodied and relieved, crooked incisors on full display and long neck pulled back as his head rests on the ground.

“I know! I’m late, I’m sorry, I lost track of time and —”

“You always lose track of time,” Lance says warmly. He traces a strand of hair that has loosened from Keith’s braid, brushing it off his forehead and tucking it behind his ear. He stays where he is, half-pinning Keith into the sand, knees on either side of him, re-memorizing the curve of his grin and the indigo of his eyes and the scars on his face and the softness of his gaze. Suddenly his chest aches, painful in the best possible way, and his stomach pits and swirls and butterflies flutter wildly in his abdomen. Heat zaps up his veins and sparks through his arteries. The slowly setting mid-autumn sun casts golden light on Keith’s face and Lance is reminded, again, how breathtaking things are outside of Earth.

“Happy birthday,” he breathes, choking on the words.

Keith’s eyes crinkle. His hand comes up to cup his cheek, thumb pressing gently on the gold Altean marks. They curve perfectly around the shape of his fingerprint.

“I missed you, Bluebell.”

Someone huffs. “Yeah, and he nearly killed us trying to get here. Some kind of leader you are, Captain.”

Keith flushes, gently pushing Lance up so he can get up and glare at Ezor properly. “We were fine!”

“We crossed nine hundred million lightyears in two days!”

“I took a shortcut!”

“Through weblum mating grounds!”

Lance punches his friend in the shoulder. Keith pouts at him, wounded.

“You flew through weblum mating grounds?!”

“It was fine!” Keith defends. “It wasn’t even an issue!”

Acxa scoffs incredulously. “We were chased by fourteen weblums at once, Kogane.”

“But did you die?”

All three of Keith’s crew roll their eyes. Keith crosses his arms smugly. Lance loves him so fiercely that it hurts.

“Keith!”

With what Lance can only call divine instinct, he has enough forethought to throw himself out of the way before a five foot nothing blur throws herself at Keith’s person and sends them both crashing to the ground, significantly more painfully that Keith and Lance’s whole thing. Keith groans loudly, but Pidge doesn’t even give him half a second to complain, dragging him back upright and hugging him properly. Keith, softie that he is, hugs her back immediately, smiling into her hair.

“Hey, Pidge.”

“Happy birthday, loser! Birthday beats!”

She, immediately, starts to let him have it, impervious to Keith’s yelps. He attempts to squirm away, but Zethrid, lover of violence and also loud supporter of Pidge in general, firmly clamps onto his shoulder to allow Pidge to assault him in peace.

“That was twenty-six!” he says in outrage when she finishes.

She smiles pleasantly. “You were late.”

Hunk, thankfully, chooses that moment to jog over, carrying an ice pack because he’s an angel and also a genius.

“Figured Pidge would come in fists swinging,” he jokes, leaning down to hug Keith tightly. “Happy birthday, man. It’s been too long.”

“It’s been two weeks,” Keith protests, but he looks like he agrees.

It doesn’t take long for the rest of the party to flock over, despite the fact that it would be much easier for everyone to just wait for Keith to walk over to them. Lance isn’t surprised — it’s not like he could wait, after all. When Keith is around, people gather. Such is the way of the world.

He smiles at the crowd of Keith’s loved ones, and especially at the bewilderment on his face. It’s been years, but Lance knows that he still gets surprised when he’s reminded how big his family has gotten. It’s nice to see that reminder written all over his face. He edges out of the smattering of people and starts to head back to the house, figuring he might as well start setting up the table to get dinner started now that Keith’s here. Most of it is already cooked and keeping warm in the oven, but he figured it would be best to wait until everyone was ready to —

“Hey, Lance, wait up.”

He startles when a hand wraps its way around his wrist, relaxing when he recognises the calloused fingers and leather-covered palm. Keith jogs over the rest of the way now that he has Lance stopped, falling into step next to him.

“What’re you doing?” Lance asks, looking at him urgently. “Go say hi to everyone!”

Keith shrugs. “I’ll get there.” He flashes another smile at Lance and it’s crooked and familiar and Lance is weak in the knees. “I started an argument about human versus Altean time measuring systems. Everyone is now picking sides. They won’t notice I’m gone for the next ten minutes at least. I’m all yours, Sharpshooter.”

Lance resists the urge to bury himself in the sand and die of mortification. There’s actually no physical reason for Keith to look the way that he does. It’s — too much. The smouldering eyes and sturdy shoulders are one thing, but with the whole — grin and hair and wide hands and fucking — everything else; it’s too much. It’s a lot. Keith should maybe — wear a mask, or something. Or a hood. Or be more of a klutz, just so he’s humbled slightly.

“Oh,” Lance croaks, trying desperately not to focus on the way Keith’s hand is still holding onto Lance. “That’s — cool.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Blue, Red, if your spirits are still kicking around somewhere, send help, he prays at the heavens.

Apparently they are, because the heavens do indeed provide.

The air in front of the sparks and warps, flashing blue so bright Lance had to squeeze his eyes shut. He hears a loud bark, and opens his eyes again just in time to catch the ball of fur and floof that throws himself into his arms.

“Kosmo!” he cries, pulling away from Keith in his haste to hug the space-wolf tightly. Kosmo yips in delight, covering Lance’s face in dog slobber as he wiggles around in excitement. “Oh, buddy, I was wondering where you were! Mwah! Mwah mwah mwah!”

“He saw the crowd on the descent and got nervous,” Keith explains, scratching Kosmo’s fur fondly. “He was hiding in the back, huh, buddy?”

“Like father like son,” Lance teases. He adjusts the big dog into his arms so he’s half on his shoulders, panting right next to his ear and giving him gross slobbery kisses every three seconds.

“I do not hide from crowds,” Keith huffs. “And he can walk, Lance. Don’t baby him. He’s always spoiled after he hangs out with you.”

“You do so. And of course I spoil the little baby!” Lance coos, scratching under his chin. Kosmo howls in excitement, tail thumping hard against Lance’s hip. “Who’s the bestest boy? Who is my favourite in the whole big universe? It’s you! Yes, Kosmo-baby, it’s you! Good boy!”

“He’s not your favourite,” Keith grumps.

“Yes he is! Oh, yes he is!”

He coos over Kosmo for the whole walk back to the house, only setting him down when they make their way to the kitchen. Keith grabs the dog gently under the ear when he finally stands on his own, bending down to look him straight in the eyes.

“Kosmo,” he says quietly, angling himself slightly away from Lance, “remember what we Talked About.” He stares at the wolf for several moments. “You know. About the — thing.”

Amazingly, the dog seems to bark in understand. Keith nods in satisfaction, patting him on the head. “Good. Go do.” With a poof Kosmo disappears again, leaving just the two of them in the kitchen.

Lance pouts. “Aw. I wanted to spend more time with him. I haven’t seen him in months.”

Keith looks affronted. “You haven’t seen me in months!”

Lance turns away to hide his smile, busying himself with the food. “Eh.” He waves an oven-mitt-clad hand dismissively. “I text you all the time.

“You’re a bully,” Keith pouts. “You’re being mean to me on my birthday.”

“At the party I put together for you, dweeb. Don’t you pout at me.”

In response, Keith inserts himself into Lance with the guise of helping him plate and pouts harder.

“Bully,” he emphasizes.

Lance flicks him on the nose. Keith catches his hand and holds it hostage between two of his, rubbing his thumb along the bump of Lance’s wrist. Lance considers screaming.

“Help or get out of my kitchen,” he manages instead.

Smirking, Keith does, loading garlic knots onto a plate and stealing several, thinking he’s slick. He’s not — Lance notices, but it’s Keith’s birthday and Lance also ate like six already, so he lets it slide.

They have everything ready to go in under five minutes, loading up as much as they can carry and heading outside to set it all out. Everyone else is back by the time they get there, and Hunk and Shiro scramble to come help set up. Very quickly the party is in full swing, people eating and laughing and wishing Keith a thousand happy birthdays. Keith has always claimed to hate attention and crowds, but he’s — glowing, really. His smile doesn’t leave his face. Maybe it’s that he’s older and maybe it’s that he knows everyone. But more likely it’s the easy confidence that’s grown in him over the years, sprouting from the knowledge that he is good and he is kind and he is loved, and trusting everyone who assures him this is true. Lance remembers when he hunched his shoulders and scowled at anyone who looked at him too long. Now he smiles when someone calls his name.

There’s no rhyme or reason to the party. Lance had attempted to plan it, but given up quickly — he knows his people. They’ll flutter around something until inspiration hits and they’ll flutter around something else. The only constant has been food and loading Kosmo up with affection.

As the sun begins its journey below the horizon, someone — Adam — forces Keith into a random lawnchair and says, “Open your gifts, gremlin.”

Immediately, everyone else clambers to grab their gifts and gather around, ignoring Keith’s protests of “I’m twenty-five goddamn years old, I don’t need gifts, you people waste your time and money —” and arguing over who goes first.

Adam goes first. Obviously.

Despite Keith’s grumbling, he’s very obviously touched. He gets a range of things, from a fancy knife from his mother (again) to a framed photo from Shiro, with he and Adam grinning widely at a camera as a young Keith snores in Shiro’s lap. Keith starts bawling some time around gift number three and never really stops. Lance tries to hand him tissues, but after he uses up an entire box decides to let him be a big emotional dork in piece.

“Is this a crystal from the first Balmera we ever visited,” Keith sobs.

Hunk smiles, amused. “It is.”

He makes his way over to Keith’s lawn chair and hugs him tightly for several minutes, muttering something and pressing dozens of kisses into his hair. Keith holds him tightly. Lance himself cries on several occasions, but he’s not alone.

“I just love everyone so much,” Keith blubbers.

“Here we go,” teases Allura, but she’s the one to shoo everyone out of his space to give him a break. “Take a few minutes, darling. Gather yourself. Let me know when you’re up for company again.”

Keith nods at her gratefully. Kosmo makes his way onto Keith’s lap and plants himself there, curling up and laying his head on Keith’s knees. Lance sits on the lawn chair next to Keith, offering him a glass of water that he accepts gratefully.

“I do this every year,” Keith laments, attempting to dry his eyes.

Lance pats him delicately on the hand. “Don’t worry. It’s charming.”

Keith sniffles. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Yes.”

Lance is the only one who hasn’t given Keith his present. Well, and Allura, technically, since she’s part of it. Part of him wants to do it now, get it over with. He even finds the words for it, but then Pidge hollers something about cake, and Keith, who has the biggest sweet tooth in the entire universe, brightens, looking at Lance hopefully, and Lance swallows it down.

“Go sit at the table,” Lance orders. “I’m doing candles and you’re blowing them out.”

“That’s babyish,” Keith protests stubbornly.

“No candles, no cake.”

“Ugh.”

Keith gets up and goes to sit at the table, Kosmo pattering after him.

Smiling to himself, cheeks redder than he would like, Lance ducks back into the kitchen, digging around the cupboards for the candles he bought the other day and carefully pulling the cake out of the fridge.

It’s chocolate-chocolate-chocolate-chocolate. Quadruple chocolate. It’s chocolate cake with chocolate custard and chocolate frosting covered in chocolate decorations. What it is is sugar on a platter, and Keith will devour it. Lance spent more hours than he’s willing to admit on making it. If anyone questions him even a little he is going to die on the spot.

He carefully sticks twenty six candles — one for wishing — on the top of the cake, lighting twenty-five of them. Everyone is already sat down by the time he walks back outside, and the second Coran sees them he starts singing loudly, and everyone else is quick to join in. As much as Keith tries to roll his eyes about the truly startling amount of flame on his cake, nothing he can do can hide the obvious excitement that lights up his face upon sight of the chocolate monstrosity. He takes a deep breath and blows out the candles when the song ends, extinguishing all but one. Immediatey, a ripple of teasing snickers and ooooooou’s fill the air.

“One candle left! You’re gonna get a boyfriend this year!” Pidge shouts, looking directly at Lance.

Both Keith and Lance flush up to their foreheads.

“Cut the cake!” Allura shouts, because she is a true ally and Lance loves her.

Grateful for the distraction, Lance does, nudging Keith out of the way when he tries.

“If you cut the cake then you can’t get the first slice, dorkbrain. Sit down. Let me.”

He does let Lance cut the cake, which makes Lance feel touched for some reason. God, Shiro is right. He needs a psychiatrist. He hates it when Shiro is right.

He’s very smug to receive dozens of compliments on his cake, highest of all from Keith, who scarfs down his first piece in literal seconds (thirty seven, to be exact). He has several more. There will be no leftovers.

But Lance knew that.

It doesn’t take long for people to start milling about again; finishing their dessert and picking at the various fruit trays and chatting and watching the last rays of sun disappear. Lance twitches nervously, stealing glances at Keith, until Allura walks up to him, pinches him on the shoulder, and says, “Get your quiznak together.”

And Lance grumbles, “Yeesh, woman. Alright,” and forces himself to walk over to Keith, who is spinning some hugely exaggerated story to Nadia and Sylvio.

“Children,” Lance says when Keith finally takes a breath, “Tío Lance has to talk to Keith about boring adult things. Go harass your Tío Marco, it will be fun.”

“Quieres tiempo a solas con tu nooooooovioooooo,” the twins singsong in unison, and then run away cackling. Lance flushes bright red and considers pelting strawberries at them like the little shits deserve.

“What was that?” Keith asks, bewildered.

“Probable cause,” Lance mutters darkly.

Keith snorts. “Please don’t murder your niblings.”

“That’ll be my gift to you. Not committing homicide on your birthday.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Well, not really.”

Keith raises his eyebrows. “You mean…” He gestures vaguely at everything. “This isn’t already my gift?”

Lance shrugs.

“Lance, come on! This is more than enough. It must have taken you weeks to prepare.” He shakes his head, looking at Lance with soft, kind eyes. “You always do so much for me.”

Lance shudders, weak under Keith’s gaze.

“I like to.” He pauses. “I miss you. Always. It — fills the time, to do things for you.”

Keith reaches up and brushes some sand from Lance’s hair. He lingers, after, tracing his fingers along the shell of his ear, resting his hand against Lance’s neck. Lance closes his eyes, leaning into it, letting himself have this affection he’s craved like nothing else for months.

“I miss you, too. Constantly. Sometimes you’re all I think about, up there.” He sighs, and Lance can hear the tired, enticing smile on his face. “Wish you were watching my back again, Sharpshooter. No one else does it quite like you.”

Lance forces his eyes open again, although he can’t bring himself to meet Keith’s eyes. He traces the crooked line of his nose, instead, the tilt of his thick brows.

“You going back tonight?”

“Nah, I’ll stay a couple days. I’ve got nothing pressing for another week.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Tell him. Tell him. Tell him, chants the Allura that lives in his head.

Give me a goddamn second, he snaps back at it.

“Uh, Allura and I have been. Working. On a project.”

Keith tilts his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah, she’s here a lot. Obviously.” He gestures to his Altean marks, which he has just remembered are uncovered. He’s fine — all systems are running and he is a-okay. But his situation was a little different than Shiro’s. A little more Frankenstein. Lance depends on quintessence heavier than anyone else — he’s probably fine to make his own and live his life, but…he’s always struggled with depression. And Allura worries. So she wormholes to Earth regularly to hang out and make sure he’s not too low.

They have a lot of time to scheme, the Blue Paladins of Voltron.

“Obviously,” Keith agrees. Unlike everyone else, he doesn’t avoid looking at his marks; doesn’t wince when he’s reminded of them. The only change in his eyes is a look of determination, a renewed intensity in which he watches Lance. It’s a little bit intoxicating.

“I love Earth,” Lance says quietly. “It will always be my home. I will always want to come back here. I want to die here.” He finally meets Keith’s eyes. “But.”

Keith’s eyes are wide. The hand still resting on the curve of Lance’s neck twitches, slightly.

“But?” he asks, breathless.

“I’ve been helping her organize plans for a castleship. A little smaller than the old one, but — you know. Similar. It’s something to do. I’ll feel better knowing you guys are together, up there, fighting as a team together. There’s the Atlas, but it’s not the same. It’s not Voltron.”

“Oh.” Some of the excitement dims from Keith’s expression, although he takes great care to keep the smile firmly on his face. “That’s great, Lance. I miss the castle too. It’ll be a little more stable, and missions will —”

“And I’m coming with you,” Lance blurts.

Keith freezes.

“To space. Permanently. Um, mostly. I still want to come back to Earth and see my mom and everybody but you know. I miss everybody. I’m lonely. And being a farmer is actually super duper boring. No offense to farmers, but I want to shoot shit again. I even miss training, which is crazy, because I hate training —”

“Lance,” Keith says, and Lance says “Yeah?” and then he’s being pulled forward and Keith’s other hand comes to rest on his hip and he is being kissed.

“Oh,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut and words fading from his brain. His hands slide into Keith’s hair without his conscious thought, and he tilts his head and lets Keith devour him as the butterflies storm in his stomach and kisses Keith back like he will get all the breath he needs from Keith’s lungs. His head spins and his knees go weak and Keith smells like pine and sandalwood and his lips are chapped and his hands are calloused and it’s the most wonderfully strange mix of foreign and familiar, bexause Lance knows all these things, but he has never known them in this way.

“Finally!” someone shouts, and soon there are wolf whistles and catcalls and Keith’s smile is pressed against his and Lance can feel the press of his crooked incisors against his bottom lip and he could live off the sensation.

“Happy birthday,” he whispers, half-drowned out by the noise of their teasing friends.

“Exactly as I wished it to be,” Keith whispers back, and then kisses him again and again and again.

[fictionalheroine]

Thank you Reddit, now I can't unsee this

[keithkog]

Me: Walks down the street casually

Little kid: Stares intently at me

Me: Speeds up walking

I faced alien fucking overlords it shouldn’t be this hard for me to be stared at.

-Keith

[floydsteeth]

Todays modern au drawings, Keith!

[klaissance]

walk with me here you guys ahem,

Keith and Lance finally have The TalkTM on a day like most others. The paladins go about their business on the castleship, Keith and Lance mostly doing their activities together as has become, without their really noticing, habit. Keith flips through the pages of one of Allura's Altean romance novels on one end of the couch, Lance plays a video game on the handheld console he and Pidge found at a thrift store the last time they'd stopped off at a space mall from the other end. At some point they wander to the kitchen and make Hunk's latest attempt at space popcorn. They throw the pieces at each other, trying to break their previous streak record of 106 popcorn-mouth-catches. When they run out, they pelt each other with kernels until they collapse on the kitchen floor, out of breath and laughing. They clean up their mess together. They train, talk team strategy, help Coran out with some cleaning. They visit Hunk and Pidge in the lion bay and are promptly kicked out for causing trouble (neither of them can seem to keep their hands to themselves, always touching pieces and parts and projects, and inevitably something falls over and Pidge is yelling and they're scrambling away, giggling as they run down the hall). The paladins eat dinner, everyone hangs out together for a while, and life in space is pretty good.

Lance and Keith are often the last two left in the lounge as people split off--either to go to bed or to work on something independently until the wee hours (Pidge). They're chatting, swapping stories, arguing about silly hypotheticals, until Lance yawns mid-sentence and Keith knows it's time for bed. They stand together and walk to their rooms in warm silence, close enough to brush shoulders, neither changing trajectory to avoid the contact. They stop in the space between their doors to say goodnight; this, too, is normal. They smile small smiles at each other and linger, time stretchy in the way it is at nighttime.

And then something new happens.

"Keith," Lance says slowly, like he's turning the word over in his mouth for the first time. "Would you ever want--"

Keith's heart stutters in his chest and the silence of the empty hallway is suddenly deafening. Lance only hesitates for a beat but it stretches.

"--to go on a space date," Lance finishes, brows unknitting as he seems to consider what just came out of his mouth. Finding it acceptable, he nods, then lifts his gaze from the floor to meet Keith's wide-eyed gaze. "With me," Lance adds, an afterthought but an important clarification nonetheless, quirking an eyebrow.

Keith purses his lips for a moment that pulls like taffy into an eternity and it's Lance's turn to hear the ocean roaring in his ears as he waits. "Would that make us--"

Lance can't breathe.

"--space boyfriends?" Keith finishes and the air rushes from Lance's lungs, something like relief. Keith is smiling his mischievous smile, the crooked one that puts a spark in his eyes. It is among Lance's favorite Keith expressions (there are many).

"Yeah, I guess we'd be space boyfriends," Lance concedes, biting down on his lower lip to keep his grin from spreading too far. He's not doing a very good job.

"Hm." Keith nods solemnly. "Space boyfriends it is, then."

"Cool," Lance concludes eloquently.

"Cool," Keith echoes, and then they're standing in ooey gooey marshmallow silence, grinning softly at each other for a long time or maybe no time at all. Keith feels very warm and melty on the inside. Lance thinks he could run a marathon and not break a sweat.

"Alrighty then, g'night Space Boyfriend," Lance breaks the silence with a two-fingered salute and shuffles backwards towards his door.

Keith rolls his eyes without meaning to, affection heating his face despite himself. "Goodnight, Lance." He turns towards his door, grinning to himself as Lance snorts. Their doors slide open, their doors slide shut.

***

Hours later, Lance slips out of bed, buzzing with the news, and appears, bouncing uncontrollably on his toes and biting on the biggest grin, at Hunk's door. Hunk is rubbing blearily at his half-lidded eyes when he door slides open and he takes in the sight of Lance, practically glowing. Hunk blinks once. Twice. Does a little mental math. And it hits him. His eyes go wide and his mouth makes a little o, eyebrows leaping up his forehead.

"No... No." And Lance is nodding vigorously, eyes shining with unshed happiness, and that bit lip is barely withholding the giggle that threatens to erupt from the vibrating blue paladin. Hunk scoops him into the biggest bear hug, shouting "TELL ME EVERYTHING RIGHT NO-" and the door slides shut behind them, Lance's peals of laughter ricocheting down the halls.

Keith is awake in his room, sitting on the floor with his back up against the door, pressing a grin so wide it hurts into his knees. He rolls his eyes affectionately when he hears Hunk's muffled delight and finally stands up to go to bed.

[icypantherwrites]

New Fic: Reaching For Your Hand

Summary: One moment Lance was there, jumping and reaching for Keith’s outstretched hand as the cavern collapsed around them. And in the next he was gone, falling into the abyss. Just like that. 

And no matter how much Keith, Hunk and Shiro desperately search through the rubble, as they descend into the unstable cave, they can’t find him. And as minutes tick to hours and they go further and further down reality tells them it’s not a search and rescue mission any longer.

It’s a body retrieval. 

Chapter One Snippet:

Lance was trapped Lance was trapped Lance was trapped.

And, and not just trapped.

Trapped in cave that had collapsed, after falling God knows how many feet with his thrusters not working and all those rocks coming down and God, God, the odds of surviving that kind of fall on top of being crushed and on top of oxygen loss and possible blood loss from being impaled on a spire on top of—

“Hunk, breathe,” Shiro called from in front of him, eyes still fully forward as the landscape rushed past them in a blur of color but somehow aware of the fact Hunk was having a panic attack behind him.

Hunk tried.

He couldn’t help Lance if he passed out and he’d cause a delay if he passed out as Shiro would have to stop to help him and that was time they should be using to get to Lance and oh God, what if Lance was—

“Hunk!” Shiro’s tone was sharper but no less kind and despite the speed and the fact Shiro should absolutely not be looking away from driving his head turned around to look at Hunk.

It only made Hunk feel more panicked as now they were going to crash and then they’d be in trouble too and they couldn’t save Lance and God, Lance was—

“Hunk, look at me,” Shiro ordered and Hunk couldn’t do that, watching instead as the Black Lion kept barreling and Shiro wasn’t looking and they were going to go splat, just like Lance and oh God he did not just think that he did not just think that, oh God Lance had—

Hunk was turning to the left and puking at the image his mind conjured and he puked again around a sob.

Read it here

[owen-not-carvour]

pete spankoffski is to scrags as max jagerman is to keith swanson

[wiispywitch]

" A Terror-Stricken Doe "

Fandom: Attack on Titan

Summary: It's the first day for the new recruits of the 104th Cadet Corps, among the members being siblings Nathanael and Taylor Schuyler. The siblings already have their hearts set for the Military Police, however Taylor begins to wonder whether she truly knows if she can handle what will be the next three years of hellish training. However, she runs into a familiar face she didn't expect to see again.

Word Count: 4,501

Characters: Keith Shadis, OCs {Tay Schuyler, Nathanael Schuyler, Mel Oglethorpe, Sam Dossam}, Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman

Warnings: Depictions of a panic attack, emetophobia/vomit warning, heavily implied OC x canon interaction, major changes in canon

Divider cred: kimjiho1

Author's note: I split this into two-parts otherwise this post would be too long, and that will be posted very soon! Thank you for reading my fic, I'm not really the best writer but I hope that you enjoy it🖤 Edit: I rewrote Mel's scene where she has more interations in the story (she'll give Shadis hell later😚), and I feel like the rewrite is much better. Sorry for any confusion!~

Next chapter~♡

848.

The brutal sun’s intense heat was beating down over the newly recruited cadets of the 104th Cadet Corps. Led by the strict Instructor Keith Shadis, he was determined to whip these children between the ages of twelve to fourteen into shape and turn them into titan-killing machines and take back the land that was taken from them just three years ago when the Colossal first showed itself. The fear remained that the Colossal would return someday, so everyone was doing whatever it took to prepare for when and if the next titan attack would come. Some had made the choice to pursue a career in the military, a more promising idea if it meant they wouldn’t have to work in the fields, and others were there because their families had sent them away to fight the war against the titans. It was an uneasy time, yet many of the new recruits felt a sense of strength and purpose.

There were those who were there that day to see Wall Maria fall under attack that were now wishing to seek out revenge against the titans within the Scout Regiment, then there were others who were interested in the other branches in hopes to give themselves a better life, those options being between the Military Police Branch and the Garrison Branch. The rest that wouldn’t make it through even the first week would be sent out to work in the fields and help provide food for the remaining population; if it meant not having to face the titans up close, it seemed like the better choice.

Amongst the new recruits, standing tall with her hands behind her back facing the sun, stood a young baker from Windsor Village, a small village just on the outskirts of Wall Rose. Any breeze against her newly short hair sent a very slight shutter down her spine despite the intense heat. She just reached the age of thirteen, and she felt a mixture of pride to be standing alongside the newest generation of soldiers that were ready to dedicate their hearts, and yet she felt paralyzed with fear when she realized how real this was starting to become. 

Because of the incident with that strange girl choosing now of all times to eat a steamed potato, Shadis was a lot more irritable and the tension between the cadets waiting for him to scream in their face for an introduction was very high. At this point, she began to mentally prepare herself on what she would say when Shadis asked her name and why she was there.

“My name is Taylor Schuyler, sir! I’m from Windsor Village, and I am here to join the Military Police and dedicate my heart to my community and the king!”

And do not forget to salute with the right hand, she thought repeatedly. The right hand. The right hand. 

“You there! State your name, Cadet!” Shadis shouted. How he hasn’t lost his voice from shouting for this long was a miracle.

“Nathanael Schuyler from Windsor Village, sir!” replied the light-brown-haired boy. At fourteen, he had already begun to look a little older and had almost grown a bit of facial hair on his chin. He stood tall before the instructor, almost just as tall as him.

Shadis seemed to pause for a brief second, and that made Nathanael’s heart skip a second, but he continued as though nothing happened. “Schuyler?! I never thought I would hear that name again! Have you come to follow your father’s footsteps to slaughter the titans?!”

Shadis noticed Nathanael’s fist clenched at the mention of his father, but he kept his composure as he replied loudly, “Actually, I have my heart set for the Military Police, sir! My goal is to give my family a better life whilst I dedicate my heart to serving my great community and the king!”

“Good God, Schuyler, you seem to be quite the nobleman!” There was a hint of sarcasm in Shadis’s response as his tone and face remained unchanged. “Do you really believe the interior would be so generous to allow a spineless maggot like yourself in just because you want to play nice?!”

“That’s what I’m hoping for, sir! I’ll do whatever it takes to get into the interior even if it kills me!”

“Then that shouldn’t be much of a problem!” Keith Shadis turned to approach the next cadet, but he stopped for a moment, and he lowered his voice as he looked at Nathanael. He said in a more quiet voice but sternly said, “Don't expect me to go easy on you because of your reputation around her, Schuyler.” 

Taylor’s eyes shifted over just as Shadis, now back to shouting at another cadet. He wasn’t standing next to her, so it was hard to tell exactly what Nathanael was thinking when Shadis said that. Now shouting at the next cadet, a boy named Sam Dossam, Taylor felt uneasy realizing how much closer he was getting. Her eyes began to wander to the other row of cadets. Some she could see by the looks on their face they made up their mind that they wouldn't stay long, and others she could tell that they would be staying to train.

She just hoped she could prove herself just as much as everyone else here.

As she observed her surroundings and took in what would be her home for the next three years, her eyes had caught sight of a familiar face she never thought she would see again. She was so deep in thought she had forgotten that Shadis passed by this cadet and didn't ask for his name, because he already knew from the look on his face why he was here.

A boy close to Tay’s age stood firmly with his hands behind his back, his eyebrows furrowed into a permanent scowl. She remembered him because there was something in his eyes that she was fascinated with: Breathtaking, yet filled with rage.

The memories of the day she had met him and his friends immediately came flooding back. With everything happening all at once—from her mother struggling to keep the bakery afloat, having to raise four children on her own, and struggling food on the table so her children wouldn’t have to go to bed hungry—Tay’s mind had been so occupied that she hadn’t thought of that boy, Eren Yeager, in quite some time. The last time she saw him was that night she caught him trying to steal food when she was out on her first bread-run alone through the town. He was so skinny and his cheeks were sunken in as though he hadn’t eaten in days, but he wasn’t taking the food for himself; rather, he was only worried about bringing food for his two friends. She could’ve easily alerted the Military Police to have him arrested, but instead she chose to do something Eren didn’t see coming: She just gave him the basket.

Tay wondered if he remembered that day. Based on the glance he gave in her direction, he probably did. 

“EYES FRONT, CADET!”

Taylor suddenly gasped as she quickly focused her eyes forward to be face to face with the piercing copper eyes of Keith Shadis. At that moment, Taylor froze up like a deer who was just spotted by the hunter. She felt the urge to flee, but she forced herself to speak, forgetting to salute. “Ta-Taylor Schuyler from Wind—”

“SPEAK UP, CADET! I CAN'T HEAR A DAMNED WORD YOU'RE SAYING!”

Taylor shook when Keith Shadis shouted in her face. She was so afraid, but she didn’t want him to see her fear. She puffed out her chest, and saluted with her right fist slammed against her chest. “MY NAME IS TAYLOR SCHUYLER FROM WINDSOR VILLAGE, SIR!” she shouted. 

“Another Schuyler, I see?! Did you come here to waste my precious time standing around daydreaming or do you have a good reason to be standing here?!”

“I’M HERE TO GET STRONGER SO I CAN JOIN THE MILITARY POLICE!...SIR!”

“The Military Police?!” Shadis said loudly. “You have quite the ambition for a soldier who can't even pay attention for more than a second! Do you really believe someone so small and meek like you has what it takes to join the MPs?!”

Taylor felt a jolt of anxiety in her chest. Her hand was beginning to shake, which she tried her hardest not to let Shadis take notice. (Unfortunately for her, he did in fact notice.)

“I-I am determined to do whatever it takes to earn my place and dedicate my heart, sir!” she stammered.

“Well, answer me this, Schuyler.”

Taylor’s heart began to race much quicker and the knot in her stomach got worse. She tried to keep her composure the best she could as Shadis got close in her face, so close that she could practically smell his breath. She so badly wanted to look away from those daggers that were his eyes, but she knew if he did Shadis would bite her head off, so she was forced to stare look into those eyes despite her discomfort.

“I can see right through you that you won't even last till the end of today before you throw in the towel and quit, so let me ask you this again, Schuyler, do you believe that you can really become an MP if you can't handle the pressure?”

Shadis could see Taylor was trembling and her eyes looking glossy. She was fighting hard to find a response whilst also holding back tears. She had the same forest green eyes as his comrade Dawson Schuyler, one of the greatest captains Shadis had the honor of fighting alongside. A bit of a nitwit who talked about his family too much, sure, but a hell of a fighter. The last people Shadis expected to see here were both of Dawson’s oldest kids. With that in mind, he was determined to push them hard, especially his daughter.

“I-I…I want to try—”

“So that’s it? You think you can get into the interior because you want to? Here’s a reality check for you, Schuyler, the interior isn’t going to want a bellyaching crybaby like yourself just because you want to. You can’t handle that fact, you’re better off getting out of my face and not wasting my time.”

Taylor was left petrified after Shadis had finally gotten out of her face and made his way down the row to the next cadet. She stifled holding back tears, not wanting to show the other cadets that she was surrounded by that she was a weakingly like Shadis had said. But in her head, it suddenly crossed her mind that him screaming in her face wouldn’t be the worst of it—from here on, it would get much worse, and if she couldn’t handle even him screaming at her, what good would she be for the Military Police?

Eren Yeager had briefly caught a glimpse of her. He remembered her all too well, the daughter of the baker from that village they stayed in when they were evacuated. He had thought that night in the rain would’ve been the last time he ever saw her instead of a place like this, shaking like a leaf as her face reddened from fighting the urge to break down crying. She may have the passion, but there was no chance she would even last a week in a place like this. Even he could see that.

~

By the time the cadets were dismissed and evening was beginning to fall, Nathanael, changed out of his uniform and into his normal clothing, had walked outside his cabin to find his little sister and their friends that had come along with them into the military. He was hoping Taylor would be in higher spirits after their little introduction with Shadis, but Nathanael was determined to show him that he would work hard to prove he had what it took to get into the interior. And he would gladly rub it in his face when he made the top ten.

Outside the mess hall, he spotted his best friends—Sam Dossam and Melody Oglethorpe, his best friends from early childhood that he had shared dreams of joining the Scout Regiment with many years ago—times had changed ever since Nathanael had since given up on the scouts. Sam was more interested in the Garrison Brigade and had no interest in taking part with the Military Police or, understandably, the Scout Regiment. Mel, on the other hand, was the only one who was still interested in joining the scouts, and her reasoning was because she wanted a chance to see the world and have a grand adventure before she died. 

Sam and Melody were sitting on the steps of the mess hall as several other cadets passed by, also changed out of their uniforms and into their normal clothes, as Nathanael approached them as he whistled his favorite tune. 

“Well, that went well,” he said, leaning against the wooden stairwell.

“As well as it could’ve been,” Sam said, sighing as he sat down next to Mel.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared in my life.”

“He wasn’t so bad,” Mel said. “Besides, it’s the first day. He’s only trying to scare us into soldiers.”

“Well Shadis is gonna learn fast that we can be quite a handful,” Nathanael chuckled, gently nudging his fist on Sam’s shoulder. “Especially you, Mel.” He pointed at the redhead.

Mel smirked as she shrugged.

Nathanael happened to glance over, looking around to see where in the world his sister was and if she was coming to join them. Just as he noticed the hill, he spotted a couple of wagons going up the hill, some of which carrying a few people he could’ve sworn he saw earlier that day.

“Hey, what’s that?” he asked.

“Dropouts,” Sam answered.

Nathanael was surprised to see two wagons passed by. He had also seen a couple more, so he had to assume there were more dropouts that were either returning back to the comfort of their homes or being sent off to work in the fields.

Then a thought crossed his mind. He hadn’t seen Taylor since they were dismissed. As soon as introductions were over, she had just vanished out of nowhere.

“You guys seen Tay around?” Nathanael asked, uncertain.

Sam and Mel both looked at each other, then back at him with their heads shaking.

“Not since earlier today, no,” Sam replied.

“I haven’t seen her,” Mel added.

That answer didn’t sit right with Nathanael as he looked back at the wagons. He didn’t think she would up and leave without saying anything. But he remembered that look on her face. She probably wanted to run away and hide, much like she always did when she was scared. This was exactly what he was afraid of, her getting her hopes so high only to be let down.

“I don’t think she’s on one of those wagons, if that’s what you’re so afraid of,” Mel said.

Nathanael tensed up. Mel was always so good at reading people. Sometimes it was scary how accurate she was, and she wasn’t entirely wrong in this case.

“Just give her some space for a minute. She’ll show up soon. After today, I think she just needs to let out what she’s feeling.”

Nathanael took a sigh of relief, feeling a mixture of relief at knowing his sister didn’t leave without as much as a goodbye, and dread knowing of what was to come with the harsh training she would have to endure.

“You know, I hate to say it, but maybe Sarge is right,” Sam said.

Mel turned her head towards him, her eyebrow raised “About?” 

“About Tay not being able to handle the pressure.” Sam felt Mel’s harsh gaze hit him like a dagger. Mel was very protective over Taylor, almost as much as Nathanael was. She was sweet, sure, but she was also the type of person who would bawl over the sight of a dead squirrel in the forest.

“I agree,” Nathanael said, much to Mel’s surprise. “That's what I've been worried about since she came along.” He crossed his arms as he paced around.  “I mean, we’ve talked about this day for years, but we were just kids, you know? She hates being yelled at and isn't the best fighter. I mean, thank God she’s not joining the scouts anymore—no offense, Melody”—He noticed Mel put her hands on her hips—“but still…I dont think I can see Tay lasting the first year. I just don't want to see her disappointed.”

Mel sighed heavily as she shook her head. “You guys really underestimate her,” she muttered. “She's not some fragile little girl who needs to be protected all the time.”

“Yes, but you know better than us that Tay is too soft for her own good,” Nathanael told her. “Sorry, if that's harsh, but it's the truth.”

“That’s not your damn decision.” Mel stood up, standing tall to where she was close to Nathanael’s face. Now Nathanael felt a bit uneasy, knowing how easily angered Mel could be. “She’s the one who signed up, so she gets to decide whether or not she can do it, regardless of what you guys or Shadis say. Now leave her alone, she’ll talk when she’s ready.” She turned her back and made her way up the stairs. Nathanael opened his mouth to say something, but Sam had immediately held his arm out and shook his head. The big blond brute watching the sunset glanced at Mel, and hearing what she had to say had caught his attention.

Nathanael sighed, sitting down on the steps next to his friend. “I didn’t mean to make her mad.”

“Well, Mel is protective of her,” Sam stated. “You think she can make it the first week?”

“I would be surprised if she made it past the altitude test.” Nathanael looked over at the wagons, feeling torn on what exactly he wanted for his sister. Nathanael wanted to believe Mel was right, but something in his heart still told him that Taylor would break so easily under the pressure. As young kids, Nathanael and Taylor always had big dreams of joining the Scout Regiment together and fighting the titans alongside each other and seeing the world. But those were just childish dreams. Now that this day was here, Nathanael thought differently.

Behind the girls’ cabin, Taylor, still in her uniform, held her arm against the wall as she spat bile onto the ground, her other arm clutching onto her stomach. She wanted so badly to stop the feeling in her stomach, but she couldn’t stop herself from gagging until, finally, it was all out of her stomach. Now she was left feeling weak with tears streaming down her face, and turned to have her back up against the wall as she slid down to sit to calm herself after an episode. Her hand was placed over her fast-beating heart as she was trying so hard to calm her intense breathing. Her eyes stung from the tears that fell down from her cheeks and her legs felt so weak and wobbly, and now she could feel her head starting to ache from the crying. Looking at herself now, Taylor began to wonder why she had even come here in the first place. These were big dreams all she and Nathanael talked about, but now it’s all changed and she only agreed with the Military Police so they can give their family and the twins a better life. Deep down, Taylor didn’t care for the Military Police. Why was she here? Was this even worth it? 

“You can't let him tear you down so easily. It'll only show him you're weak like he said.”

Taylor gasped as she looked up, and she met the neutral gaze of the gray eyes belonging to the beautiful black-haired girl. She tried to catch her breath and made herself stand up, despite her wobbly legs.

“If you want a chance to get into the Military Police, it's not going to be easy, and you crumbling so easily as you are now is only going to prove him right. Is that what you want?”

Tay quickly shook her head. “No!” she said. “As much as I want to, I don't want to just give up and leave so soon…I…I don’t want to just be seen as weak. I want to get stronger so I can help support my family, that…that’s the only reason why I want to join the Military Police so badly…I can’t let them down…I don’t want that.”

“Then you're going to have to learn to get thicker skin if you want any chance of succeeding.”

Tay’s face turned red as her bluntness. “What, you don't think I can do it?” she muttered.

“To be truthful, I don't think so.”

Tay felt a bit hurt by that and her face morphed into a scowl.

“But I can see in your eyes that you're determined to keep going. And I could be wrong. You may just exceed my expectations. But if you leave, then I guess it's just a waste.” She turned around. “I can't decide that for you. You can either get back up and get stronger, or you can walk away without having accomplished anything. That's up to you.”

Taylor glanced over at the cliff side where the wagon carrying the drop-outs had just finished loading up. There was one final call for anyone else who would be returning home to their families or would be sent off to work in the fields to provide more food. Taylor remembered the words her mother had told her. 

“If it ever gets too much to handle, you can always come back home.”

That offer began to sound more and more tempting to take, to come back home in the protective arms of her mother, the sweet aroma of the bakery giving her a sense of comfort. But deep down, Taylor knew that she wouldn’t be happy with herself if she just gave up so easily.

“I'm not quitting.”

The black-haired girl stopped walking and glanced over at her.

Taylor wiped the tears off her cheeks and straightened herself up. “I don't want to just give up on the first day. I want to keep going and prove to Shadis that I can get stronger and he can’t break me so easily. I’ll…I’ll show that bastard what I’m capable of.” Taylor exhaled, that being the first time she ever uttered a curse word.

She turned towards her, and it was a little hard to tell from the shadow of the cabin, but from the look on her face she seemed to be impressed with what she’s hearing.

“Thanks for telling me what I needed to hear, Mikasa,” Taylor said.

Mikasa closed her eyes and sighed. “I'm surprised you remember me.”

Taylor smiled. “How could I forget? I've thought about you guys often. I was hoping you and Eren…” Tay stopped herself from saying what she was about to say. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “You got tall.”

“So did you,” Mikasa said, “...sorta.”

Taylor chuckled. “Why are you here anyway? I mean…I didn't expect to run into you and Eren again after—...Oh, right.” 

Taylor couldn’t help but smile as she remembered the first day she visited Shinganshina. It was just three months before Shinganshina fell under titan attack. As children, Eren, Mikasa, and Armin showed her around the town; she had clicked more with Mikasa and preferred to stick with her since the only girl friend she knew was Mel, Armin was definitely more talkative and had a lot to share in a very cool book that she swore to keep secret but Eren mostly kept to himself and seemed to be a grumpy little kid until the bell tolled that alerted them the scouts were coming through. Eren eagerly wanted to see them.  Upon seeing those battered soldiers again, Tay was reminded of that day her family received the news that her father was killed on duty. They didn’t even have a body to recover. Not wanting to be reminded, she quickly ran away until the scouts had passed by. Tay remembered Eren feeling guilty for reminding her and him apologizing to her, but she was able to tell him about her father and all the good he did and how much of an admirable captain he was. That's how Tay found out about Eren's desire to join the scouts.

Tay sighed. “Nice to see he hasn't changed…” She frowned and looked at Mikasa. “Does that mean…you too?”

“Yes,” Mikasa stated, nodding. “I've already decided that I'm joining the scouts.”

“Does he know?”

“Not yet, but he should figure as much. Wherever he goes, I'll go with him.”

Tay sighed, smiling. “You guys really are stuck together like glue. It's nice to see you guys have each other, really.” She grabbed her wrist, still feeling clammy. “Would you be opposed to me sitting at the table with you and the boys, maybe do a bit of catching up? I’d feel weird just sticking around with my brother.”

“I don’t see why not.”

Taylor smiled. “G-great! I, uh…just gotta get changed. I feel sweaty. I’ll meet you in the mess hall.” As she walked, she about walked into the barrel that was standing behind her but managed to catch herself. She looked at Mikasa, flustered. “I…I’m just gonna go.”

“Wait,” Mikasa said. “There’s one more thing. I wanted to thank you for what you did for us.”

Taylor looked back at her. “I couldn’t just let you guys go hungry.”

“You saved us by doing that. I don’t know what I would have done had Armin and Eren starved to death. But you helped us.”

Taylor smiled. “It’s the least I could do. Besides, your dad saved my brother. I owe it to you guys.”

She couldn’t tell, but she thought she saw Mikasa smile.

Feeling much better about herself, Taylor made her way back into the cabin to change out of her uniform and into her casual clothes: A shirt with poofy long sleeves (she adored big sleeves), a brown skirt, and a nice black corset. Looking at the mirror, Taylor began debating on wearing pants more often since it may be easier to change out of. Before leaving, she reached into her satchel and took out her most prized possession: Her gold locket carved with the Wings of Freedom.

She sighed, holding her locket close to her lips. “I made it through the first day, Daddy,” she whispered. “I’m not gonna give up. I’ll keep fighting…”

[autisticlancemcclain]

The air in his apartment is getting staler, and his scalp is starting to ache.

Everything is going to fail, he thinks to himself, unhelpfully. He doesn’t have time to correct himself because he has time for nothing. He barely has time to breathe. People will be coming in less that two hours, and he’s only just begun decorating; at this rate people will arrive and everything will look barren and horrible and boring and of course no one will say it to his face but he can hear how muttered conversations will go on the way home, how everyone will think he’s —

The front doorknob rattles. Lance gasps, a great, heaving breath forcing its way in and out of his lungs, realizing for the first time his hands are trembling too much to hang the tinsel correctly.

“Lance?” calls a voice, familiar and soft and raspy from years of cigarette smoke. “You in the kitchen?”

Lance finds himself frozen in place. His mind has gone completely blank, and he’s become a statue; thoughtless, still, unblinking, unable to process. As if someone has hooked him up to a remote and pressed pause.

Quiet sounds of boots unlacing echo the empty apartment, followed by socked footsteps. Keith appears round the bend of the front hallway, eyebrows knit together in concern, lips pursed.

“…Lance.”

“Everything is falling apart,” Lance blurts. He twitches suddenly, stiff muscles spasming, and the sudden movement rocks the rickety footstool under him. Quick hands flit out to grip his arms before he falls, steadying him on the ground with a soft, “Woah, dude.”

For several moments the only sound is the synched billowing of their breathing. Keith’s hands slide down his biceps to rest on his elbows, squeezing gently. Slowly, dragging through molasses, Lance’s heart begins to slow.

“You’re freaking out,” Keith says. “There is no need to freak out. Take a breather.”

“I don’t have time for any of this,” Lance says, heartbeat picking up again. “I barely finished the last of the food fifteen minutes ago, decorations aren’t out yet, there’s flour all over my clothes and my face is a mess and I haven’t washed my hair —”

Darting out faster than Lance can track, Keith’s hands come to rest on Lance’s cheeks, thumbs brushing under his eyes — rough, warm, startling. Lance stares at him with wide eyes. Keith smiles back, quickly, widely, crookedly; breathtaking. His hair is twisted back neatly, thick and gorgeous, and festive red sparkles line his eyes. Pretty red stones glitter in his ears to match. The gold bands of his thumb rings are cool against Lance’s cheeks, and the chain he got from his mother rests delicately over black knit fabric. The high-cut neckline of his sweater compliments his frame nicely. His jeans are the only pair he has without rips — a pair Lance forced him to get last time they were shopping together.

The air punches right out of Lance’s lungs, and the last of his worries with it. Keith tucks a curl behind his ear, lingering.

“Go shower and get dressed,” he urges, indigo eyes dark and imploring. “Let me help.”

“Okay,” Lance breathes. He doesn’t move.

Keith smiles. He pulls Lance’s face down at the same time that he stands up on his tiptoes, eyes fluttering shut. Their lips press together softly, one, two, three, and then he pulls away.

Lance makes a noise in the back of his throat. His fingers come up to brush the swell of his lip. “What was that for?”

Keith’s eyes flick up at the doorway. Amusement dances across his expression.

Mistletoe, green and white and fragrant, hangs delicately from the door frame.

“Oh,” says Lance, flushing. He remembers, abruptly, the stepladder and falling into Keith’s arms. He becomes hyperaware of the bareness of the rest of the apartment, hardly lived in one month.

“Lance,” Keith says again, noticing the shift in his expression. He slides a hand down and pats his hip. “Go, you walking mess of anxiety. I got this. Get fixed up. Everything will be fine.”

Lance closes his eyes, exhaling shakily, and nods. It’s too late, now. Whether or not things get finished is irrelevant — he can’t very well host a Christmas party in sweatpants and his grossest, most threadbare hoodie. Whatever Keith can manage while he showers will have to be enough.

He rushes off to his room, tearing off his clothes the second the door locks behind him, practically throwing himself under the stream without bothering to wait for it to heat. He rushes through his routine faster than he maybe ever has in his life, toweling off so roughly the first two layers of his skin go with it, and buzzing around his closet like a horde of wasps on a field of decaying grapes.

There is Nothing to wear. Because of course there isn’t. The outfit he’d picked last night suddenly seems inadequate, and most of his other stuff is still boxed up, so he doesn’t even have the time to go digging. Eventually he just throws on what he’d planned and tells himself to get over it.

Forty-five minutes have passed, by the time he steps out of his bedroom, and the state of his apartment makes him gasp.

String lights are hung delicately along the walls and wrapped around his small tree. Ornaments and decorations sit artistically on every surface, as if each placement was deliberated and perfected. Paper snowflakes, even, that Lance had made in a fit of procrastination to avoid work weeks ago, are hung from the ceiling. Keith stands on the same footstool Lance tumbled from earlier, hanging a few more.

“Keith,” Lance chokes out. “Oh my God.”

His friend shoots him a grin. “What, surprised? I told you I’d handle it. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do.” Lance swallows as the words come out on reflex, heavier than he’d ever usually let them. “I just.” He looks pointedly away from where Keith stretches his arms above him, thin paper held delicately between his thick fingers, sweater raising to show a strip of pale skin. “I appreciate it, is all. Turns out you do have some taste, Mullet.”

“Asshole,” Keith huffs.

But he’s smiling.

They spend the next twenty minutes in comfortable silence, putting up the last of the decorations and plating up the last of the food. Lance doesn’t need to say, I should have asked for help from the beginning. Doesn’t need to say, I’ve missed being close to everyone, being a real adult is hard, finally finishing school and growing into a new phase of adulthood, away from all the people I’ve grown up with, is hard. I had to prove I’m handling it. Doesn’t bother admitting, I couldn’t have done it on my own. Thank you for knowing me enough to come even if I couldn’t ask.

Keith brushes his hand on the small of his back as he walks by. Lance smiles, shy and pleased, and sinks into the comfort of Keith knowing, of Keith knowing him; of the proof of their familiarity despite all the new changes. He sighs, long and silent and heavy, something settling in his bones.

When the doorbell rings, and the rest of his friends start pouring in, he’s ready for them.

———

Hours later his giggly and red-cheeked and a little bit tipsy. Pidge brought bottles of liquor and Allura brought novelty shot glasses, and the rest of that story wrote itself. Lance lost count somewhere between Hunk slicing up the honeyed ham he brought and Shiro busting out the Twister. Cheesy Christmas songs have been looping for hours on Veronica’s CD player, and the air smells of plátanos a sweet-smelling incense Adam pulled out, and Lance is drunk on more than just the booze.

“The place looks great!” shouts Shiro, not particularly because it’s loud in here. He looks pretty red-cheeked, too, glass of wine tucked protectively to his chest. Adam watched him in amusement, arms half-raised in preparation for his clumsiness.

“Keith helped,” Lance admits, just as loud. Their shouted conversation draws teasing glances from the rest of their friends, but for once Lance isn’t self-conscious of the stares on him.

They’re drunk. It’s Christmas. Who cares?

“Speaking of, where is Keith?”

Lance frowns. He blinks some of the dizziness out of his eyes — he truly needs to stop walking around, there was way more rum in that daiquiri than he thought, typical Matt — and scans the crowd of people shoved into his tiny apartment. He would recognize that mullet anywhere and from any angle, and it is not currently among the masses.

“Hm,” he says out loud, and wobbles off.

The first place he checks is his bedroom. It’s locked, but he knows Keith can pick a lock and also has no qualms about picking the lock for Lance’s bedroom, because he was raised by wolves. He’s not in there, though, so Lance pivots to checking the bathroom — occupied by Kinkade and Rizavi who are busy sucking face — and the weird little linen closet tucked in a random alcove, which is empty. Keith is, strangely, nowhere to be found, but he couldn’t’ve just — left, right? He would have said goodbye.

Lance pouts. He hopes he would have, because Lance’s emotions are Compromised right now, okay, and if he gets sad he’s going to get sad for real. And Keith leaving just like that will, indeed, make him sad as shit.

“I need t’clear my head,” he mumbles to himself. He pushes through the tight circle Allura, Pidge, and Veronica have formed — he does not want to know, it might be actual witchcraft knowing them — to make his way to Hunk, tugging on his sleeve to pull his attention away from Shay.

“‘M gonna go get air.”

“Don’t die,” Hunks says. Lance nods, moving to stumble away, but Hunk grabs his sleeve and tugs him back. “No, wait, drink this, buddy. Else you’re going to walk into a wall and we’re going to end up in the ER on Christmas again.”

Lance dutifully chugs the three separate glasses of water Hunk hands him, realizing suddenly that he’s parched. By the end of them and also a banana Hunk has him eat, his head has miraculously stopped spinning.

“Hunk,” he says in total seriousness, “I love you. Deeply. From the bottom of my soul.”

Hunk rolls his eyes fondly and presses a kiss to the top of Lance’s head. “I know, you doofus. Begone.”

Lance snickers and heeds his command. As he closes the apartment door behind him, shutting out the noise with it, he breathes a huge sigh of relief. He hadn’t realized how overwhelmed he’d been getting, as much as he’d been having fun.

He understands, immediately, where Keith has gone. He huffs a smile.

“Goober,” he says around a smile, and jogs to the stairwell.

———

A sobering seven flights later, he pushes open the door to the roof, panting breaths turning to steam in the frosty air.

“You are elusive, you fucker.”

Keith looks over his shoulder, smiling in that quick way he does. “And you’re tipsy.”

“Nuh uh! Hunk made me drink water!”

“Right, and that undoes the six shots you took when Pidge dared you.”

“Obviously.”

Keith laughs, a little, and Lance preens like he’s won the whole lottery. Keith most definitely notices. Lance can’t bring himself to care.

“C’mon, let’s sit somewhere not so close to the edge. Knowing your shit luck you’ll go careening over the edge and I’ll have to jump after your dumb ass.”

Ignoring how that makes his heart pound, Lance shoots back, “That wouldn’t solve anything, stupid, we’d just both be dead.”

“A very Merry Christmas to us both, then.”

Keith finally finds a spot on the ground that’s mostly clear of snow and only a little wet. He plops himself down. Lance grimaces, looking down at his expensive and shimmery black slacks before sitting down beside him.

“You good?” Lance asks after a moment.

Keith lets out a breath. “Yeah, it was just getting to be a lot in there.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re basically a cat in human form. Surprised you didn’t bite anyone on your way out.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

Keith looks over, eyebrows raised. A smile twitches at the corner of his mouth.

“That was very transparent, you know.”

Lance shrugs, not bothering to hide his own smile.

“Hey, you’re the one who kissed me. Not my fault I’m thinking about it.”

“You think I kissed you to shut you up?”

“A little.”

Keith holds his gaze, challenging. Lance crosses his eyes. Keith snorts, punching him in the shoulder.

Heh. Success.

“I didn’t kiss you to shut you up, you goober. I kissed you because I wanted to.”

“…Did you maybe want to again?”

Now it’s Keith’s turn for his smile to turn shy, for a slight flush to rise on his cheeks. Lance’s own cheeks hurt from grinning.

“No mistletoe up here. Not sure I have an excuse this time.”

“Aha, but that’s where you’re wrong.” Lance digs in his pockets until he finds the little sprig, plucked from when he and Hunk were caught under the doorway sometime after shot number five. He holds it up between them.

Keith’s smile grows. “You really are a genuine actual goober.”

“You seem to like it,” Lance says cheekily.

“It’s fine, I guess. If I had to live with it.”

“Mhm.” Keith’s hand has snaked its way around Lance’s neck. Lance’s own hands are planted firmly on the ground between them, keeping him balanced as he leans closer, closer, closer. “Is that the case.”

“Yeah,” Keith breathes, and then he doesn’t bother with anything else, closing the distance between them. “Merry Christmas.”

Lance sighs into his mouth, tilting his head as their mouths move, as Keith’s long eyelashes tickle his cheek. Merry Christmas, indeed.

———

based on this art by @mothmanavenue

[aro-paladin-pidge]

I feel like most of my problems with the characters of Lance and Hunk is that Lance got a lot of a little, and Hunk got a little of a lot.

[keithkog]

I would love to add something to the conversation, but I am too busy feeling like I’m not worthy to be included in the conversation.

-Keith

[1-800-internal-damnation]

Keith kogane pulling up to the garrison realizing that half the mfs there aren't from arizona, and if they are they're not from trailer parks hot dusty pickup truck interior broken window air conditioner twisted chain link fence arizona

[floydsteeth]

Ciel and her malewives :3

Ignore how badly I wrote trophy on rios shirt

Also the sketch cause I kinda like it more

[vee-is-a-clown]

Log Entry #4

Red,

You would not believe the day that I've had. I am mentally exhausted. I need to write all this down. Where do I start?

First thing I did today was go into town with Kosmo to buy food. I wore my fancy coat and put my hair in a ponytail. It makes me look like I have something important to do and people don't bother me. I got bread, potatoes, carrots, honey, and tea. I could get more but I don't have the time to cook nor the patience to learn how.

I got home and put everything away. I then set off with Kosmo to go to the McClain's house. I was not excited. I didn't want to be weird about it. I absolutely was though. I was absolutely freaking out.

I got there and Mrs. McClain was worried because I never go to their house. I told her that everything was fine and that I wanted to talk to someone. I don't think she believed me. She invited me in anyway. I honestly don't know what I expected. Would she not invite me in? Probably not.

She sat me down in the dining room and left to make some tea. In that short time, Veronica came in and asked me how I was doing, Rachel passed through and waved at me, and Nadia skipped in and asked where Kosmo was. She then left to go pet him. She's such an energetic little girl, I wonder how they get her to sit still.

The McClain family truly amazes me sometimes. Anyway, Mrs. McClain came back with a pot of tea, apple slices, and honey. I keep telling her that I don't need her to put effort into our interactions but she won't listen. I don't see why she does things like cutting apples or even making tea. It really doesn't matter. Infact, it makes it worse because I don't want to be ungrateful and not eat the food but if I eat to much, then I'm taking advantage of her hospitality.

We talk for a bit. I think it was around noon at this point. Lance stumbled in, looking dazed. It was as if he just woke up. I didn't exactly recognize him but he's the only McClain that I haven't seen and he perfectly matches his mother's description. He yawned and looked around until he saw me and I thought I was going to die. Nothing happened but he looked at me for longer than someone normally would as if trying to recognize why a stranger was having tea with his mom. Completely reasonable, honestly. It still freaked me out though.

What happened next was so confusing. He called me "That boy from the hospital" and asked me how I was doing since I left the hospital. How the hell does he know me from the hospital? I didn't say anything so he kept talking and asked me where I'd been. He said that he hadn't seen me in ages. Again, what the hell? I have no memory of even seeing him. How does he remember me? It's been about 5 years since I've worked with Shiro, in the hospital. He seemed a little offended that I didn't remember our interactions.

Also, apparently his family has been refusing to tell him my name or current occupation which is funny. I would do that to Shiro if he didn't already know everybody.

Anyway, Lance sat down next to me and had an apple which I didn't mind and Mrs. McClain luckily didn't scold him for. I hate when people get in trouble when I'm around. It makes everything awkward. But Lance just sat there and Mrs. McClain told him that I was here as a guest so he should be mindful. She then continued our conversation.

It was hard but I managed to bring up my possible need for an assistant which confused Lance a lot. He still somehow didn't piece together that I'm a witch. Mrs. McClain laughed which scared me because I don't know if she's laughing at how stupid the situation is, how stupid I am, or some silly little thing in her head.

Anyway, Lance finally learned that I'm a witch and volunteered. Yeah, I'm screwed. It was at that point that I realized that I hadn't thought this through. I was committed now. I'm going to have to work with this boy who apparently knows me.

Also, he definitely doesn't live close enough to me to do the job. It's an hour's walk and judging based off today, he wouldn't get here until after I would actually need him. I'll have to make a deal with Allura for him to stay at her inn.

I stayed at the McClain's a little bit longer but I left pretty quickly. As in, I stayed for 15 minutes then left before my ability to be social left without me.

That interaction was so stressful. Sadly, I'm going to have to do that more because I just decided that I needed somebody to help me. I really am an idiot sometimes.

After I went home, I was productive and made some potions (finally). It was a nice destresser. When I make potions, it feels natural. If only talking to people felt like that.

Here are the potions I made today:

Hunk's 5 fire potions

Farmer's 5 plant growth potions