try to fix me

A Step Forward


Like, I couldn’t not do it after that scene, like, no. So, here! Enjoy!

Rated: T; Ship: Katt (either romantic or platonic)



The ship touches down and before the door can open completely Matt pushes through, heart still in his mouth, blood rushing in his ears.

He knows he’s okay, he knows he’s been saved (by their enemy, what the actual fuck, when he was right there he should have been the one that helped—) but he can’t emotionally process it; not until he can see with his own two eyes that Keith’s alive and safe and breathing.

He pushes past his friends without apology or excuse, brushes past Pidge and the rest of the paladins (who had cheered after Keith almost died and he shouldn’t blame them he knows he shouldn’t be angry at them they didn’t know but still—) and he’s the first to reach Keith’s side, to arrive by the lone hijacked Galra ship that’s been half destroyed. The door opens and Keith comes out of it on unsteady feet, Blade of Marmora suit as sleek and black as the night, contrasting sharply with his pale skin. His hood is down, so Matt can see his expression without problem—lips bloodless and tightly pressed together, eyebrows drawn in worry.

And the worst thing is, Matt knows the worry isn’t even remotely linked with his own situation.

“Shiro? Where’s Lotor?” Keith says into his communicator.

Of course. Of-fucking-course. Of course the stupid, self-sacrificing idiot would be most concerned with the location of their enemy than the fact that he almost died.

Matt snarls. “Who the fuck cares where Lotor is?” The words are rough and angry, tinted with fear and concern that Matt does not care to hide. Keith startles and looks up, gray-blue eyes widening in surprise as they connect with Matt’s.

“Matt, what—?”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” He isn’t quite sure when he got so close to Keith, but both hands are now on his shoulders, shaking him a bit. His eyes roam over his face, cataloging every twitch, every spot of dirt. “Are you okay? You’re not hurt? Fuck, don’t. Don’t you ever do that ever again.”

His hands are no longer on Keith’s shoulders. They are on his arms, on his forehead, running through his hair, down his neck, cupping his cheeks, making sure that he is, in fact, as uninjured as he seems to be.

Keith is like a frozen statue, barely breathing. His eyes are blown so wide and there’s such a lost look in them that Matt’s heart breaks.

“I don’t—I mean—”

“You almost died, Keith. You—” Matt closes his eyes and tilts his head back, trying to keep the tears he can feel prickling at his eyes at bay. There’s no use. They roll down his cheeks when he looks down again, making Keith’s eyes widen even more. Matt tries to smile, but it’s a tremulous, fragile thing that’s more a grimace than anything else. “You tried to sacrifice yourself.” He swallows. “Why?”

“I didn’t—”

“Why, Keith.”

Keith snaps his mouth shut, and then there is a moment of silence in which it seems that he’s not going to answer. His eyes are shining, though, fiery and defiant and full of stubbornness.

Matt waits.

A tic, two, and then—Keith’s shoulders slump; he averts his eyes. “It was the only way. The team, the blade, the coalition… everyone would have died if the weapon wasn’t destroyed. And…” His eyes find Matt’s again. He straightens his spine, juts out his chin. “I was the only one who could do something about it. So I did.”

Matt closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. He thinks he’s trembling (Because of fear? Powerlessness? Suppressed rage? He isn’t sure.)

The thing is, Keith is so… so convinced that what he did was what was best, that everything would have been fine after he…

“Hey. I’m—I’m fine, aren’t I? It’s fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

Matt whines—a high-pitched, wounded noise in the back of his throat that he can’t suppress—and crushes the stupid, stupid brave idiot with a heart of gold and too much worth that he won’t see why to his chest in the tightest hug he’s given anyone since his reunion with Pidge. Keith grunts, small and confused, but readily hugs him back, and Matt just tightens his hold on him, hiding his face on the crook of his neck.

Then Keith’s team is there: Shiro and Pidge and Hunk and Lance and Allura and Coran, all of them hugging Keith—and therefore Matt, because Matt was there first—and talking one over the other while crying.

“What he said… Is it true?”

“Keith you didn’t—”

“Why would you even—”

“You can’t do that, mullet, what the fuck—”

“Oh my God, Keith, are you—”

“I’m so sorry I didn’t—”

“—not fine why —”

“—n’t do this without you—”

“—Voltron needs you, we need you—”

“—n’t do that again!”

The arms around him twitch, then squeeze. The fingers on his back tighten around the cloth of his uniform, and then Matt can feel dampness spreading on his shoulder, there where Keith has hidden his own face after the avalanche of words and feelings started.

Keith’s crying. He’s crying with them, clinging to them, and Matt feels that he can breathe easier.

It’s a small step, just a breach of the barrier, a scratch on the surface of the problem, but they’ll get there. He doesn’t know why Keith thinks so poorly of himself, why doesn’t he see his own worth, and he isn’t sure he even wants to know. (He’s afraid of his own reaction.) But one thing is certain: he isn’t going to let that stand.

He runs his hand through Keith’s hair; Keith hiccups and pulls him closer still.

No, he isn’t going to let that stand. He’s going to help, whatever it takes.

can we please just go back to error messages that actually fucking tell you what the hell went wrong. i’m so tired of Hip Websites going “whoops! whoopsy-doodle! we had a fucko! Oops! Oh no! oh no!” whenever there’s an error. just fucking tell me what happened so i can try and fix it


a soft and beautiful man and the sharp asshole that lives in his house

sometimes you need to accept that yes i may have been a little bit manipulative. yes i worded something in a specific way that would make my friend/fp/SO feel a bit guilty. yes i could have handled that situation in a much better way. yes i am wrong.

i just need to get it off my chest
yeah, more than you know (/\)

thats right kids iโ€™m doing one of these lmao (i am a Master of graphic design)

hello everyone itโ€™s alice and i hit my first follower goal so hereโ€™s my first follow forever lmao ! i remade nearly 2 months ago and now i have all of u beautiful mutuals and i just wanted u to know that i Love and appreciate u allโ€ฆ i sound very soft and honestly i am but enough of me ily all keep up the good work etc etcย ๐Ÿ’Œโค๏ธ๐ŸŒน๐Ÿ’ซ

Keep reading


Today’s BCAC was to write a song based on a ship that you guys chose in under an hour. You guys chose Lams, and I did succeed, but tumblr decided “Hey, let’s make her wait four hours before she can post the video!”

Anyway, bitterness aside, here’s a short and sad song about Laurens and Hamilton entitled “Alone”. Enjoy!

anonymous asked:

Drabbles!!!! Lance wants to get some flowers for his long-awaited date, Keith, so he goes into a flower shop to find a nice bouquet. Except one catch, Lance is very allergic. Like, needing-an-inhaler Very Allergic


The date’s been coming together as smoothly as the final pieces of a puzzle displaying a stunning, complex image. Keith and Lance’s relationship had been rocky, for better lack of words. Many assumed they would never be able to work past their differences to even be friends, yet they pushed against all odds, and Keith made the move and asked Lance out once the two had sealed a friendship for a few months. 

Lance, of course, had been over the moon when Keith asked, and since then, he’s been plotting the perfect date. All that’s left is to piece together a beautiful bouquet from the local flower shop then he can pick Keith up and whisk his date off to dinner and a movie. 

When he opens the door to the flower shop, a small bell chimes over head, and moments later, Shiro pops up from behind a shelf of vases. 

“Hey, Lance!” 

Lance has only known Shiro for a few months, but he’s fond of the guy. Shiro’s the type of person who is incredibly easy to talk to, and the two had become quick friends. 

“Hey, Shiro. What’s up?” He asks, rubbing absently at his nose as a soft smile plays at his lips. 

“I should be asking you that,” Shiro says, motioning toward Lance’s outfit. “Finally got the big date with Keith?” 

Lance nods, sniffling quietly as he starts further into the store, fingers ghosting above various flowers. “Yep! I wanted to pick out a bouquet for him.” 

“That’s sweet,” Shiro says, voice gentle, earnest. “You want any help?” 

“Nah, I’ve got this,” Lance says as he leans forward to closely examine a cluster of red roses. He knows red is Keith’s favorite color, but he’s not sure if roses would be too forward of a gesture. He straightens his back with a slight cough that has him frowning and rubbing gingerly at his throat. 

He was feeling fine before, more than fine, yet there’s a persistent itch building in the back of his throat. A brief flash of hot panic shoots across his mind, bringing with it vivid images of childhood days in the hospital after severe allergic reactions that triggered his asthma, but, he thinks to himself, shutting down all memories, it’s been years since he’s had a bad reaction. 

Don’t these things fade away with time? 

He clears his throat and continues picking through the various flowers, but the itch at the back of his throat begins to burn and grow until he’s turning away to cough into the crook of his arm. He figured one or two coughs and he’d be fine, but the second he starts, he can’t stop. It’s almost as if his lungs cannot take in enough air against a massive, burning lump clogging his throat. 

“Lance? Are you okay?” 

Looking toward Shiro is a struggle for Lance’s eyes are filled to the brim with tears, but he can still faintly make out the older boy’s worried features. He shakes his head and wraps one hand around his throat. “Can’t,” he wheezes out around rattling coughs. “Breathe.” 

“Shit! Okay, hang on!” 

Lance nods, watching against hazy vision as Shiro storms to the front of the store. His legs buckle, and he’s slumping toward the floor with harsh, dry coughs that seem to never end. 



Lance looks up from his spot on the back of the ambulance to see Keith racing toward him, face deeply flushed and chest heaving as if he’s just run straight from work. 

“Keith,” Lance starts as the boy gets closer. “What-”

“Are you alright? Shiro called me and told me everything! What the hell were you doing in a flower shop if you’re severely allergic?” 

Lance’s gaze finds the cracked pavement of the small parking lot once more just as his shoulders slump enough to have the small blanket that’s draped over his shoulders slip down some. “I wanted to get you flowers for the date,” he mutters. 

For an endless moment, Keith is silent, but Lance cannot find the courage to pull his gaze back up. He’s so sure that this sealed his fate. Why would Keith want to be with him now? Why would-

“You’re insane.” 

It’s not the words that have Lance snapping a quick gaze up, it’s the light tone laced with concern. “You aren’t mad,” he says, voice forming a statement and not a question. There’s nothing displayed across Keith’s face that shows anger in the slightest. 

“What? No. Jesus, Lance. No. I’m just worried.” 

The sincerity in Keith’s tone has Lance’s eyes welling with tears. He struggles to form words, but luckily, he doesn’t have to because Shiro is walking toward them with a bouquet of red roses in his hand. 

In an instance, Keith spins on his heel and promptly blocks Lance from the flowers. “Shiro, what-”

“They’re fake.” 

Lance leans over to peek around Keith’s protective stance. “What?” 

“We have some fake flower in the back,” Shiro explains, handing the bouquet to Keith for inspection. 

Lance shifts his gaze to the fake flowers in Keith’s hands. “Thank you,” he whispers, and Shiro offers a quiet nod before taking his leave. 

“How about a date in tonight?” Keith suggests, thumbing a fake rose as he turns back to Lance. “I can cook you a nice dinner than we can watch a movie.” 

Lance doesn’t want to admit the exhaustion that’s settled over him after this whole ordeal, but Keith can see it without having to ask. Both know Lance wouldn’t make it through the dinner and movie tonight, not after an asthma attack of that severity. 

Nodding, Lance slowly slips off the back of the ambulance, abandoning the small blanket in favor of finding Keith’s hand with his own. 

“That sounds nice.” 

anonymous asked:

throws a sign at them that said " FRIEND" before the male tackle hugs them laughing- silentbendy (:3 let them be friendsss))