I started thinking up a plan quickly, desperate to keep Keith and myself out of trouble. "Keith, I have an idea." I spun around toward him only to find he was missing from the bed, "Keith?" I looked up at the back window to see Keith fully clothed ready to escape. Keith's eyes glistened with sorrow and guilt as he hopped out, scampering away. My heart shattered all in one instant, "Keith..."

Keith hated himself for liking Lance. His limber build, the way he carried himself with shoulders raised and chin held high. His blue eyes, dark like the sea's deep, inky bottom. His tangled mess of dark brown hair that stood at odd angles, and never seemed to obey Lance's vigorous brushing. His smooth, light brown skin as he crinkled his nose, or batted the sand from his eyes on a particularly windy afternoon. Even his laugh, as loudly obnoxious as it was, Keith adored. And that was the worst part, because, unlike Keith, Lance hated him. With every word he uttered, an argument seemed to arise. Lance constantly joked and poked fun of Keith, determined to one up him in every way imaginable. So, in all retrospect, Keith had every right to detest Lance in return. But that was the thing: he didn't. Even as Lance stood before him on the worst days - face scrunched and reddened, throat hoarse from the shouting - all Keith thought as he stood stone faced, eyes locked on Lance's chattering lips, was: 'wow, I really want to kiss this shit-head.' And then he was both mad at himself and the world. Mad at himself for imagining Lance in ways he shouldn't, and mad at the world for allowing Lance to be in his life in the first place. It was torture. As powerful as a lash to the chest, or a hammer to the kneecap. Especially now, as Keith stood above Lance's cold, unflinching corpse. The dead boy's bony hands crossed over his chest, shoulders squared atop the white, velvet cushion that rested inside the opened coffin. He wore the best suit and tie money could buy, and had his shaven scalp hidden by a head of hair that was similar, but could never match the boy's old image. The image before cancer. The image before hell. The image before Keith's every being crumbled to dust. *** A Klance au in which Keith discovers that him and only him can see Lance's ghost. COVER ART: kuurakuu on Tumblr

Hey, This can't be real. But what is real? I don't know... the white walls of this hospital seem realer than the vibrant worlds I've visited... inside a flying lion. That does look a lot dumber in writing. Good, I'm glad I'm insane, it's so much more convenient to be insane than to be stressed about my team not being able to form Voltron without me. There is no Voltron. There is no paladins. There is no Zarkon. There is no Voltron. There is no paladins. There is no Zarkon. There is no Voltron. There is no paladins. There is no Zarkon. (Cover art: Klanceshipper06 on tumblr (I think???))

No one gave it a second thought whenever Lance would go quiet when someone mention family or Earth or how Lance should just be quiet sometimes. No one noticed until Lance locked himself in his room, not coming out for anyone, screaming gibberish at anyone who'd try to get in. No one knew why, but Keith was determined to find out. Dude this description sucks omg

Keith panicked when he heard Lance's strained voice and then panicked even more when he heard nothing else.. "LANCE!?" Everyone else began shouting too. "Lance! Can you hear me?!" Shiro "Are you Okay?!" Pidge "Stay with us buddy!!" Hunk Klance One - Shot

Lance was the class clown back in school. His crooked grin full of gaps often brought a smile to his friend's faces. Seeing everyone else smile made him happy. Lance was the shameless flirt in the Garrison. It made the girls laugh at his failed attempts, and the boys chuckle at his ridiculousness. He didn't mind being turned down, because everyone ended up happy. Lance was the blue paladin. It was his duty as a member of Voltron to keep the universe happy. But sometimes, just sometimes. Lance couldn't bring himself to smile Cover art: thesearchingastronaut.tumblr.com

What does it feel like? For people to actually care about you? To actually make sure that you're okay? Lance has forgotten that feeling, ever since team voltron had been formed he was he seventh wheel, even when he did something Keith would always be patted on the back for it, becoming the eight wheel after they rescued Matt. Being betrayed after his lion was taken from him because he was 'unfit', 'not working hard enough' because he ' didn't deserve it'. So he left. left the paladins with their problems, left everything behind and started his own, brand new life as the white paladin.

Lance was always the goofy , cheerful one of the team. Always making people laugh. At least that's what he thought. After a while he noticed, no one really laughed at his jokes. No one really paid attention. Do they really need him? Does anyone actually like him? Lance and Keith get closer as they put their differences aside. But, nothing is ever simple.

'A final scream left the tan boy's mouth, before all he saw was black.' After the defeat of Zarkon, his son, Prince Lotor, decides to take a different approach to defeating Voltron. And it involves a certain freckled Cuban boy and his insecurities. If only Lotor knew it wouldn't be as easy as he expected. TW // Brief mentions of suicide, dark themes, murder, manipulation and abuse.

memories float onwards, taken for granted. Small things are missed, like the sentence in a novel that changed the story. Responsibility without relief tugs at him, and he is tired, so tired of this. A house isn't always a home, and the castle can also be a cage. Lonely is his mind, which cries out in pain as it's chained and caged. Lance is suffering the weight of the world, and friends are often lost in his echo. LANGST, KLANCE FIC. Triggers and warnings will be mentioned in the beginning of the chapter.