Your Daily Dose of Langst

Lol

AN: prepare yourself for Lance McPain

ahah

But really if you don't LIKE LANGST AND ARE JUST HERE FOR KLANCE MOVE ALONG

Also sorry in retrospect if it gets super ANGST Y and depressing that's because I wrote some of it when I wasn't feeling that great so yep.

(here's yer fukin langst nyatherfucker )
(BOI you're welcome for proofreading 😪- nyatherfucker)
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Growing up, Lance always had a fascination with superheroes. He was captivated by the idea of special people who rose above the rest, using their super-enhanced abilities for good. He loved how they could burst in and save the world at a moment's notice, and always get the girl. In the mind of an impressionable young boy, it was the perfect life. He had to have it.

He used to read story upon story, comic upon comic, immersing himself in the world where the galaxy had designated protectors and saviours. He learned about the Earth, and then about the stars. Space captivated him. Most superheroes were aliens, descended like angels, to bring the world from the brink of destruction. Because of this, the boy made it his mission to learn as much about stars and planets as he could.

Sometimes he found the information hard to process. The words danced and swirled on the page in front of him, messing up his brain and wrecking his train of thought. Sometimes he couldn't keep still as he read, and the words wouldn't stick with him. But that was how it had always been. So he lived by the words his mother enstilled in him,

"Sometimes, being a hero includes overcoming your own battles."

And he plowed on. To be a superhero, he first had to learn how to fight his battles in his own head.

Though the years passed, his love of superheroes never did. In fact, it grew. He read his younger siblings the stories he used to read to himself. He had mostly overcome his battles against reading, earning some of the highest marks in his grade. Lance planned to go to a school where he could learn about outer space, a highly prestigious academy called the Galaxy Garrison. He was going to go there and become a pilot. He was going to become the best damn pilot there ever was. A hero, in his own right.

He knew more about outer space and fighter pilots than any of his friends, and had all of the knowledge down from steering to types of planets. He was finally confident that he could take his knowledge to somewhere he could make a difference. He still held the fantasy in his heart that he could save the world. That he could be a superhero. Sure, he wouldn't be shooting lasers from his eyes or flying through the air. Actual supernatural powers were an outlandish thought. Even so, he hoped that he could end up as a praised, successful pilot who showed kids who struggled like he had that their dreams were within reach. That sounded super enough to him.

The day Lance was accepted, no one was surprised except for himself. He sat in awe, wondering what luck brought him there, while his family clapped him on the back and loudly expressed their pride. They chuckled softly at his expression of disbelief, knowing fully well how hard he had worked to get into the school. Everyone around him knew that it was not luck that brought him there, but his sleepless nights and hours spent pouring over books. He had truly earned that acceptance letter.

When Lance arrived at the Garrison, he was trembling. Astrange mix of anticipation and nerves stirred up inside of him. He looked around at the facilities, soaking in every detail as he passed the buildings he already knew so much about. Logically, he knew he shouldn't worry about anything. He knew practically everything there was to know about piloting, just minus the application. Yet, the element of dread prickled under his skin. He suppressed it and continued walking. He could afford to worry like that. He was ready to show Earth it's new hero.

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It turns out, piloting a real ship was much harder than expected. He had thought he could finally excel in his element, but instead was consumed by the constant stress. The pressure of being shouted at and ridiculed for every wrong move. The new terms and techniques he had never heard of. The physicality of being in control of an entire ship.

The first day in the simulator was humiliating, with the shortest time in the air of anyone in his group. He didn't want to believe his eyes as the flashing red timer blinked in front of him menacingly, and he felt his stomach sink. Lance went to bed early that night, ignoring Hunk's pleas to accompany him to the mess hall for dinner. He sat alone in his room on the bed, eyes closed. He knew that he didn't come all this way for nothing. He had to brush it off. Just let it slide by. That's what he was known for his whole life, that was his personality. He had a remarkable resiliency and could persevere. That's all he had to do.

After that night, he worked even harder. Harder than he had ever worked in his life. Harder than he had to get accepted into the Garrison. He snuck out on occasion, to get new books to study and to get a better feel for the simulator. Was he cheating? Some may call it cheating, but he called it smart. He was still working, just working "a bit out of the box." That isn't what Hunk called it, though. Hunk called it unnecessary trips to the principal's office that he always ended up getting dragged into.

Yet, Lance persevered.

But, have you ever run in water? That feeling where your arms and legs are weighed down and you're silently praying that you'll move faster because the more you try, the harder it gets.

That's exactly how Lance felt. It wasn't like he didn't improve. He made an insane amount of progress, but to him everything about his accomplishments seemed stagnant. He felt like people were racing around a track but he was stuck in the damn swimming pool. The more he moved, the harder he tried, and the harder it became for him. And everyone seemed miles and miles ahead. He couldn't stand it.

Sometimes he wanted to scream. He wanted to yell at himself for thinking that he could do this. He wanted to yell at the instructors and the FUCKING SWIMMING POOL. But there was one person he wanted to yell at more than anyone.

Keith motherfucking Kogane.

He first took notice of Hot Topic model wannabe after making a particularly bad crash in the simulator. As soon as he exited the "ship" he came face to face with an angry scowl. A very pretty angry scowl, but an angry scowl nonetheless. Not being one to back down, Lance scowled right back. He didn't know who this kid was, but he wasn't about to lose a staring competition with him. Lance had just faced a bad enough defeat as it was, and was feeling extra confrontational. It was almost as if he itched for a chance to prove himself at this point. So, when the new person scoffed at him and pointed out his failure nonchalantly, Lance didn't hesitate to lash out. That particular mishap ended with them both visiting the principal's office. Even after being harshly chided, the entire experince did nothing but cement their relationship for the rest of Keith's time at the Garrison.

Lance stayed out of his way from that point on, glowering at the other boy from a distance. His resentment and jealousy only grew with every passing day. Every single thing that Keith did seemed so natural. He never failed to perform as the best pilot of their class. Executing flawless, complicated maneuvers weeks before everyone else. He seemed angry with it, a dark seed that he didn't want to acknowledge. He couldn't help but notice how naturally he transcended everyone else. That was all Lance wanted in life, all that he needed. Yet Lance stayed behind. He stayed behind Keith, a step away.

And sometimes, late at night, unwelcome thoughts crept into his mind, unveiling his insecurities. He sat there, unmoving, as the thoughts poured in, wave after wave. He thought about how pathetic it was of him to have believed he could ever succeed in such a place. He thought about how no matter how hard he tried, Keith would be above him, looking down. Lance knew he would always be condescended, because he was weak. Weak willed, and unwanted.