this is it… langst is all i will be remembered for
-lance is a HUGE. fan of Marina and the Diamonds. All of her songs just hit him in the heart just right, but whenever he listens to them he starts crying. Someone started humming or singing it and instantly became alarmed/panicked when he started bawling.
-allura and coran can’t possibly be the only alteans left. there would have been some alteans that lived on other planets, right? lance’s great great grandparents were completely altean, but they stayed shapeshifted as humans for so long their children looked like humans too. Lance is 100% percent altean, but his familes forgot their history.
-lance self harms. not cutting, he does it in more… subtle ways. like making himself sleep with no blankets, or biting his hands, or scratching at his skin. shiro did all of these things, so when he realizes what lance is doing he immediately tells everyone else in an attempt to help (he really did try to help. he really did.), but that’s not a good idea. Lance lashes out and panics.
-alteans don’t lie about important things. they’re truthful and honest (until it comes to ‘who stole my cookies??’. then they lie.), and they don’t know how tricky and deceitful humans can be. Lance, coran and allura soon learn, is an expert liar.
-lance always carries a compact mirror around with him, and a lot of times people call him out for ‘being obsessed with his appearance’. somehow, it saves the entire team at some point, whether from blinding an enemy, or making a stuck-up king thankful, but pidge mutters ‘wow, lance’s vanity finally does something useful for once.’ lance hears her.
I don’t think I could face you long enough to say this out loud, and I’m not sure if you could listen to me without giving me a well-deserved punch in the face, so written form it is. Here we go.
I’m sorry that this is the handwriting you had to look at in the principia for eight months while I was missing, and I’m sorry that I went missing at all. Granted, it wasn’t exactly my fault or choice, but maybe if I’d heeded your warning on that last night when you dragged me away from Octavian things might have turned out differently. I’m not sure.
I’m sorry that for those eight months, you had to run the camp on your own on the verge of a brewing war. I know I meant a lot to you - as much as you meant to me - and doing that with your colleague and best friend missing must have been hell.
But most of all, I’m sorry for New Rome. I’m sorry for acting like our friendship never existed, as if our praetorship never extended beyond the boundaries of a shared burden, because it did. I remember. It’s blurry, sure, almost dreamlike, but I remember the hot chocolates and the movies and the times you patched me up and the times I did the same for you. I remember our friendship and I treasure those memories, though I acted selfishly and put romance before that friendship and never looked at myself from your point of view.
Basically? I was a dick. By hiding behind my pen and caving to my reluctance to apologise to you in person, I’m proving to myself that I still am. But I can’t let you live anymore with that pain or its ghost - I loved you, Reyna, and even if I’m starting to see past my obliviousness and suspect that it wasn’t in the way you wished it was, I have to say something.
So yes, Praetor. I’m sorry for abandoning you and the place that was my home for twelve years. I’m not going to be arrogant enough to ask for forgiveness; asking anything more of you after what I’ve done would be a new low for me, and I’m now aware that that’s a hard record to beat. But, if you’re up to the challenge of raising a phoenix from the smouldering ashes I’ve left, you’re always welcome to come to Camp Half-Blood for a bit.