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One of the first things Lance does, once everything really settles down and they’re bored as hell in their hospital rooms, is make everyone a twitter account. He already had one, of course, and he flies back to it with a relish. But everyone else gets to start their accounts already famous, which is kind of cool.
Hunk uses his for nerd purposes. As does Pidge. Both of them post pictures of their nerd projects, and they’re followed more by engineering professionals and random hobbyists than anything. Allura and Coran, unused to Earthen social media, treat their twitter accounts as ways to interact with every single human they possibly can (Allura gets her account parental-controlled, because the internet is a nasty, nasty place and their queen does not deserve to be exposed to such heinous bullshit. She has fun anyway). Shiro treats his account like a Facebook wine mom might, interspersed with random selfies that incur the horniest commentary anyone has ever seen in one place.
Lance, as expected, takes a goddamn shine to his social media experience. He’d already had a decent following across all platforms — he specialized in not having a specialty, posting the most insane range of shit anyone would think possible, from how-to bedazzling videos and videos of him outrunning cops for vandalism — and his popularity after saving the literal world only skyrockets. Lance, as always, knows how to work an audience.
But by far, the most popular twitter account of any of them is Keith.
And boy, is it as frustrating as it is flattering.
Because unlike Lance or the Alteans, Keith is uninterested in catering to or indulging his audience. He could have one follower instead of his millions, and it would not change his content. If anything, his posts are more like Hunk and Pidge’s, in that he only really posts about one thing.
What is that thing, you may ask? And where does the ‘flattery’ point come in?
Well, excellent questions. And, ironically, they both have the same answer:
Keith posts, exclusively, about Lance.
And it’s certainly something.
Look, Lance is well aware that his boyfriend adores him. He fuckin’ adores his boyfriend, too. Mutual adoration! To the point where their friends are beyond exasperated, in fact.
But, contrary to popular belief — Lance is kind of… shy, about these kind of things? Like, he’s not embarrassed, or anything. And maybe shy isn’t even the right word — he’s certainly not reserved about PDA at all. He’s happy to hold Keith’s hand in public, act like a mushy couple. It’s great.
Keith, on the other hand, would stand on a rooftop with a megaphone and loudly exclaim to everyone and anyone who will listen about how much he loves Lance and how great Lance is.
Maybe it’s because he knows Lance’s insecurities so intricately. Maybe it’s because Keith likes to do things that stir the pot. Maybe Lance’s boyfriend is just a weirdo. (Honestly, it’s an even mix of all three.) But regardless, Keith treats his twitter like a megaphone that projects to everyone with a wifi connection — and he relishes in it.
His very first tweet — not a hello, not a my-name-is, nothing — is on the vaguer side. He hadn’t even put his name in his bio. Hell, he and Lance hadn’t even officially gone public, yet, and Lance isn’t even mentioned in the tweet. Keith doesn’t bother tagging it or anything, either.
The general public has no idea that this post is about Lance, or even that this post is by Keith.
But Lance knows.
“Really, babe?” Lance teases, poking Keith on the cheek. “Arguing with me is your favourite hobby.”
“My favourite hobby is blowing things up in the desert,” Keith says primly. He cocks his head to the side, reconsidering. “And, also, fucking you.”
Lance snorts, decking Keith none-too-gently on the shoulder, pretending his ears aren’t red. “Horndog.”
“Besides,” Keith continues blithely, making no protest on Lance’s accusation (because it’s true and they both know it), “I like messing with you, sure, but we haven’t argued for real in years. Same page, huh, Sharpshooter?”
Lance smiles softly. He can’t argue with that.
But the tweets do not stop there. Oh, no. Once Keith is established, once people know who he is, he gets worse. He delights in the opportunity to show Lance off.
“To flex on all my haters,” he likes to say. “I bagged the Garrison hottie. I bagged Loverboy Lance. These bitches wish they were me, I’ll tell you that, sweetheart.” He’d finish the proclamation with a smacking kiss on Lance’s cheek and often a squeeze to Lance’s ass.
Does it also often get him laid?
…Yeah. That would be a fair assessment.
(Keith knows Lance damn well, is all Lance has to say about the subject.)
Really, Keith takes every opportunity. Sometimes his tweets are ridiculous:
Or based on whatever meme he found amusing:
Or even downright rude:
It’s truly ridiculous. The responses he gets are ridiculous, too. A good chunk of them are followers of Lance’s, who would either agree or (jokingly — well, hopefully) challenge Keith for Lance’s hand — to which he would demand from them immediately a duel.
It is, incomprehensibly, stupid. The dorkiest running joke in existence.
But…honestly? The damn twitter account has damn-near destroyed any insecurity Lance has ever had. Like, yeah, sure. The account is mostly a joke. Keith isn’t being 100% percent serious. He’s not going to physically fight off any of Lance’s fans. He’s not going to fight the damn sun on Lance’s behalf.
But Lance isn’t stupid, either. While the tweets might be playful, Lance can read the genuine sentiment present in them. He sees it in the big, teasing grins Keith shoots his way, in the endless and overwhelming kisses Keith presses to every inch of his skin, in the way Keith sometimes looks at him and sighs, out of nowhere, and says “Lance McClain, you are everything to me, you know that?”
So, yeah. Is it frustrating that Keith’s borderline satire account has four times the followers of anyone else’s account combined? Yes. Has Keith gotten banned three times for dumbass threats he sent to Lance’s haters? Also yes.
Lance sees the account for the love letter it is, though.
And it’s leagues better than any mushy thing Keith could ever write on paper.