I drew this months ago but was very afraid of posting it .. The idea of older Lance being the next leader of Voltron hunted me since I watched the first few episodes of the first season. Skin damaged by the sun, bags under eyes of living nightmares and sleeping dreams, lips peeled out of stressing on them and hard, green eyes that have given up on coming back home but still a stare so raw with life Lance says believe in me I’ll save us and Keith just does.
(I guess Lance makes true that thing of courage not always roaring, sometimes it only being a matter of trying again tomorrow).
Maybe there aren’t any such things as good friends or bad friends - maybe there are just friends, people who stand by you when you’re hurt and who help you feel not so lonely. Maybe they’re always worth being scared for, and hoping for, and living for. Maybe worth dying for too, if that’s what has to be. No good friends. No bad friends. Only people you want, need to be with; people who build their houses in your heart