#get in the robot Lance

[vldunchartedregions]

I love that this is being discussed. ☕️

[Season 8, Episode 7: Day Forty-Seven, 14:41]

sorryyyyyy but I can't get over jealous Keith here, like it's so obvious. He's not even looking at Allura or any of the others ToT

[d4rk-x-w0lf-17]

whoops it's time for my comfort characters now

[pidges-lost-robot]

The episode where Lance's Lion gets taken except they take Lance too and he has to get out and for some reason the only plan they have is having Keith in Yellows Mouth as they desperately try to catch up with them and they have to do the scene from The Runaway Bride from Doctor Who cause Lance absolutely does not trust Keith will catch him

And later Hunk yells at him cause he's known Lance a while and there's no way with the trust issues he displayed at the very beginning that he wouldn't have kept his beady eyes trained on Lance so it ended up with Lance having to track Rolo instead and they have to switch up their plan

[em1i2a3]

Send The Pain Below

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: After you return from a mission severely injured, Bob can’t help but offer you as much help as possible.

Warnings: Semi-Spoilers for Thunderbolts cause Bob. Hurt/Comfort, Fluff (kind of?), Mentions of Injuries/Blood

Author’s Note: Hey y’all! I had this on my WIP list and wanted to get it out, this wasn’t a request I just randomly wrote this and literally didn’t have a clue on how to end it to be quite honest lol. But I didn’t want it clogging up my drafts, and the idea was good in theory.

Word Count: 4,859

The elevator doors of the compound slid open with a quiet hiss, and you stepped out like your body might give out if you stopped moving for even a second.

Your boots landed heavy on the tile, your limp was masked only by sheer willpower and the remaining adrenaline you had running through your veins. Every step sent a bolt of pain up your legs, through your hips, lancing into your ribs and shoulders like tiny barbed wires that threaded themselves deeper with each shift. You didn’t stop to breathe–because it felt like if you tried to, your ribs were going to break.

Throughout the entire ride up to your living quarters, you hadn’t been still for a moment. You paced the tight space of the elevator like a caged animal–shaking, twitching, trying to outrun the memory of the fight. The metal walls had felt too close, too quiet, too loud with your thoughts.

Now, in the open hallway, your ears were still ringing. All you could smell was blood and dirt–iron and ash clinging to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. You didn’t know if it was your blood or someone else’s. You didn’t want to try and figure that out though.

“Hey, I called medical, they’re waiting for you.” Bucky’s voice echoed from the living room. He knew you were coming. He had been communicating with you through your comms the entire mission, and he had gotten a call from the extraction team who gave him a heads up on the damage you had taken.

”I’m fine.” You muttered back. Your steps were stiff, bordering on robotic. Blood had soaked through the fabric at your waist and dried in large dark patches. You were grateful you wore black tactical gear, because if you didn’t it probably would’ve looked like you worked at a butcher shop. One sleeve was ripped open, revealing a long, nasty cut that ran from your bicep to your elbow, and your back felt like it had been slammed through a concrete wall–and it actually had, or at least maybe in your haze you had convinced yourself that happened.

It was your first solo mission. A simple infiltration, Valentina had said. The mission description screamed that it was going to be quick and easy, you had planned it out so much, and you did everything right.

But it hadn’t been enough.

You rounded the corner into the living room, and all the conversations and commotion died instantly.

“Holy shit, Y/N.” Yelena said under her breath, getting up from the couch. You continued to drag yourself towards the washroom, ignoring the comment.

”Y/N, you’re not fine kid, come on–let’s not try to act tough right now. You need to go see medical.” Walker added, following suit with Yelena. You didn’t slow your steps, nor did you look back, because you knew if you stopped now you’d be glued to the floor, and you wouldn’t be able to keep moving.

You could feel the weight of their stares burning into your back as you made your way towards the washroom with one hand trailing the edge of the wall to stabilize yourself. Your vision was swimming–edges soft, depth distorted–but you knew this floor, this hallway, this layout, and thankfully you could walk it blind if your sight gave out.

“Y/N you’re literally leaving a trail of blood across the floor, this isn’t a walk it off type of situation here.” Ava commented, joining in on the pestering, her voice sharp and worried. Yet you still didn’t answer them, you just kept moving.

”Is she even hearing us?” Walker asked, his voice dropping an octave, then a door in the hallway opened and Alexei poked his head out of his bedroom, disheveled and confused from the commotion that was happening, tying his robe around his beefy upper body. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and right when he saw you there was an immediate look of concern that appeared on his face.

“Dorogaya,” He called gently, his brows pinching “You walk like dead woman.” You clenched your jaw hard enough at his words that it made your teeth ache.

“Let someone help, yes?” He added, his voice softer now, as if his words might land easier that way, “You don’t get glory for dying on your feet.” You felt your fingers curl slightly against the wall, but you didn’t trust your voice enough to respond–not with the heat gathering behind your eyes, not with the pain that was spiking again through your spine.

”She’s not listening to anyone,” Ava muttered behind you, voice tight. You didn’t hear the rest of what they said.

The voices behind you melted into background noise–blurred and echoing like they were underwater. You just kept moving. One foot in front of the other. Focused on the hall ahead, on the door you shared with Bob at the end of it. Your hand skimmed the wall, dragging along the paint like it was the only thing anchoring you upright.

The blood trail you left behind was uneven, smeared where your boot dragged slightly on the right side. You didn’t even feel the cuts anymore–not sharply, anyway. Just a dull throb beneath the surface of everything, like your whole body had been submerged in concrete and it was slowly starting to harden around you.

When you finally reached the door, you shouldered it open, and stumbled into the washroom. The light was too bright. The silence–too still.

You stood there for a second, just swaying feeling a wave of dizziness come over you. Then you slammed the door shut, and locked it, enclosing yourself in the small space you and Bob inhabited together.

Then it was just you.

You, and the sound of your breath–shallow, rattling, uneven, and crackling–shaking in your chest like it was a broken metronome. Now that you were alone you could also hear the light above you buzzing faintly, even though there was still a bit of bickering happening outside the door.

You moved stiffly to the switch for the fan and turned it on, letting the low hum kick in above your head. It vibrated in the walls, just enough to mute the sound of your breathing. Then you shuffled over to the shower, reaching in to turn on the hot water in one swift movement, hissing when your shoulder screamed out in pain. The pipes groaned slightly before water burst from the head, pounding into the tile like a rainstorm. Hot. Loud. And endless. Steam immediately began to fill the space, and that’s exactly what you needed–warmth, something to ease the pain that was about to come in full force.

All you wanted right now was solitude. You wanted to lick your wounds like an animal crawling into the shadows–quiet and wild and unwilling to be witnessed. You needed to hurt where no one could see it. Needed to unravel in private, where the grief could live without apology, and the shame could breathe.

You turned back toward the center of the washroom, your vision still swimming, limbs trembling slightly from the effort it had taken just to reach this far. The steam was already clouding the mirror, mercifully dulling the image of yourself–like even your reflection was sparing you the full truth of what you’d become.

You didn’t want to see it. Not clearly. Not yet.

Your fingers fumbled with the front of your vest, the fabric stiff and heavy with blood. It took two tries to get the buckle unclipped–your fingers were sticky and slippery, or maybe they were just numb–and when the strap finally gave, the release jolted your injured shoulder hard enough that your breath hitched through clenched teeth.

You pressed your lips together, hard, swallowing the sound before it could escape.

The velcro at your chest peeled back with a slow, wet rip, and the vest shifted. The weight of it–soaked through, dense and clinging–pulled down at your frame like it wanted to take you with it to the floor.

You reached up to shrug it off, and a bolt of pain exploded across your ribs. Your body locked up immediately, breath freezing in your lungs. For a moment, your knees threatened to buckle completely.

You caught yourself on the sink, gasping.

Your palm left a smear of blood against the porcelain.

Tears burned behind your eyes–not from sadness. From sheer, helpless agony.

Still, you didn’t cry. Not yet.

You stayed hunched over the sink, chest heaving, shoulders trembling with the effort it took just to stay upright. The pain was beginning to spike higher with each passing second–as if your body, now freed from the armor, had decided it was safe to let you feel everything all at once.

Your eyes flicked to the mirror again, just briefly. Your reflection was almost gone now, consumed by steam. Just a shape. Just a shadow of what was left of you.

You reached out blindly for the medicine cabinet.

The metal clinked as you opened it, and your fingers searched through the shelves with shaky, clumsy movements until they found the bottle. White cap. Red label. Tylenol.

It was something and it was all you had.

You unscrewed the lid with fingers that barely cooperated, spilling two pills into your hand. You didn’t have the strength to care about how many milligrams it was or if you’d already taken some earlier–which for the record, you didn’t. All you knew was that the pain had to come down–just a little–before you could finish what needed to be done.

You popped the pills into your mouth and chewed.

Bitter.

Chalky.

The taste coated your tongue like poison. It hit the back of your throat like ash.

You reached down, turned the faucet on with your uninjured hand, and leaned in to catch a handful of lukewarm water. You brought it to your mouth quickly, sloshed it back, swallowed hard.

The pills scraped down your throat like gravel.

You stayed there for a moment, hunched over the sink, your hands braced on either side. The water kept running. The fan kept humming. The shower roared behind you, thick steam curling around your legs, climbing your spine.

You wanted to rest. Just for a second, but you knew you couldn’t.

Not while you were still covered in blood. Not while your pants were still clinging to your thigh like a bandage made of fabric and failure.

You let the water run. You didn’t have the energy to turn it off.

Your fingers drifted down toward your utility belt next. You unclipped it slowly, fumbling with the strap at your hip until it loosened and slid free. The belt thudded heavily to the floor, landing beside the vest. It sounded final. Like a chapter closing.

Then came your pants.

You didn’t want to look.

You already knew what was underneath–your thigh had been burning since the moment you’d hit the floor in that alley. Your hip had felt wet and wrong the second the rebar tore your side open.

Still, you slid your thumbs into the waistband and began to shimmy them down—inch by inch. Pain flared instantly.

The cut across your thigh had stuck to the inside lining. As the fabric peeled away, it reopened with a slick, wet sound and a wave of heat that flooded your vision with white.

You gasped again, one hand grabbing the counter to stay upright. Your breath broke mid-exhale, and the sound you made was something just shy of a sob.

Blood rolled down the side of your thigh in a thin, fresh ribbon.

You stood there half-undressed and trembling, your legs streaked with red, your body steaming in the mirror’s haze, and your throat thick with everything you were still trying to hold back.

————————

Outside in the hallway, the team hovered like ghosts–uncertain whether to press in or give space, tense with the kind of helpless energy that made people argue just to feel useful.

Walker had his ear against the wall, arms crossed, one brow furrowed as he strained to hear through the sound of the water. “I think I heard her,” he muttered. “She made a sound…Not good.”

“I told you she should’ve gone straight to medical,” Ava said under her breath, pacing a slow, tight line across the hall. “We should just go in there.”

“No,” Yelena cut in, her voice quieter but far more final. “She locked the door. Let her have a minute.”

“You saw her,” Walker snapped. “She doesn’t have a minute, are we gonna break down the door if she passes out?!”

”No, I’ll just phase through and unlock the door you idiot.” Ava shot back, and before Walker could rebuttal, Bob’s door creaked open, causing everyone to turn their heads to look at him.

He stood in the frame like he hadn’t even realized they were all there. He was barefoot, dressed in a baggy dark grey scrub set, similar to the ones they found him in when they met him in the O.X.E Vault–when he had admitted he found them comfortable you had gone out and bought him a few pairs. His light brown hair was tousled, and extremely flat on one side like he had just peeled himself off his mattress. He looked like he had just rubbed out a decade of sleep from his eyes as he stretched.

”…W-What’s going on?” He asked, his voice slow and sleep-warm, like it hadn’t yet left the fog of dreams. He blink slowly, shoulders hunching forward slightly under the baggy scrub top. Walker turned to him first, running a hand down his face, exasperation cooling into something just a little more worried.

”Y/N is in the washroom,” Bob’s brows drew together in confusion, almost as if he was urging him to go on, “She came back from a mission looking like absolute hell–like barely walking and bleeding everywhere. She locked the door and hasn’t said anything to us since.” Yelena crossed her arms.

“She won’t let any of us in either…” Bucky said, as everyone began to exchange glances at one another, “But how about you give it a try?” Bob’s arms hung stiff at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling against the fabric of his scrub top, like his body was trying to move before his mind could catch up.

“…M-Me?” He asked, voice quiet–half-hoarse with sleep, half-tight with something else he hadn’t figured out how to name. His eyes flicked toward the washroom door, then back to the group, unsure. “W-Why me?”

Yelena was the one who answered. Calm. Certain. No hesitation.

“Because you’re her friend. And she trusts you.”

Bob’s shoulders twitched at the word–friend–like it didn’t feel big enough to carry the weight of what you were to him. It didn’t feel small either. Just…Not right. Not complete. Not everything.

“She listens to you…She likes being around you and she trusts you…” Bob looked down, jaw shifting slightly. His hands came up, one running across the back of his neck, the other tugging anxiously at the loose sleeve of his shirt. He could feel the familiar burn start to gather low in his chest–the one that always came with too many emotions pressing up at once, begging for escape.

He wasn’t good with being needed. He wasn’t used to being the person someone called for when everything fell apart.

But you’d never made him feel like a burden.

Not once.

Even when he couldn’t meet your eyes. Even when his hands shook too hard to pour water. Even when he curled up on the floor and told you he wasn’t sure if he was real. You stayed. You held his face in your hands and called him Bob in a voice that made it sound like that name had never belonged to anyone else. You were his calm…And now he needed to try and return the favour.

He swallowed hard.

“Okay,” He whispered,“I’ll try…Just…B-Back away for a second okay, or g-go down the hall.” The team scattered almost immediately, as Bob took one shaky breath and padded forward, every step louder in his ears than it should’ve been. He cleared his throat and knocked gently on the door.

”Hey…Y/N…I-It’s me,” He said, barely louder than the sound of the fan humming on the other side of the barrier between them. He pressed his hand flat to the wood, almost like he would be able to feel you through it, “I–I know you probably don’t want to s-see anyone right now…I get it, I–I do…But…” He faltered for a moment, glancing down the hall seeing the rest of the team watching him.

”B-But can I come in? Please?” There was a pause. A long one, but he didn’t move, he waited until there was a sign to either go, or come in.

And then–the lock turned.

His heart thudded, heavy and thick against his ribs, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

He pushed the door open slowly, the rush of steam hitting him in a wave. It curled around his ankles, ghosted against his chest, and painted the room in a blur of heat and wet air. The mirror was almost completely fogged, and the fan overhead did nothing to stop the fog from swallowing the space whole.

And then he saw you.

You were standing by the sink, half-turned, wearing only your sports bra and underwear. Blood was smeared down your leg in stark red streaks, tracing the lines of torn muscle and raw, reopened skin. Your shoulder was mottled purple and yellow, your arm wrapped around your ribs protectively like the pressure might keep something from falling apart.

Your face turned toward him when he entered. Slowly.

And even though you weren’t crying, not exactly, your eyes were glassy–rimmed with something bitter and deep, something that looked a hell of a lot like defeat.

“J-Jesus,” Bob whispered, the breath barely making it past his throat.

His stomach dropped. His hands clenched uselessly at his sides, eyes scanning every part of you like he didn’t know where to look first.

Your cheek had a shallow cut beneath the eye, already beginning to swell. Your lip was split. There was dirt caked under your nails, your hair was stuck to your neck with sweat and blood, and your expression–when your eyes finally locked on his–was exhausted in a way he’d never seen on you before.

You looked like you had fought through the end of the world and barely made it out breathing.

“Y/N…” He breathed, and for a second he couldn’t move. Couldn’t talk. Couldn’t function. His throat tightened so sharply it almost made him cough. You shook your head slowly–once, twice–like each motion cost you something.

Bob flinched.

Not because you scared him, but because you looked like you were unraveling and still trying to hold it all in place. Because even just shaking your head seemed to hurt. Because you’d finally let someone in, and he didn’t know if he could be the person you needed, but God, he wanted to be.

He shut the door behind him gently, a soft click that sealed the two of you into that steam-filled quiet, then turned the lock. The air was thick, and his scrubs were already starting to cling to his chest, but he didn’t care.

His eyes were still moving over you–your thigh, your ribs, your face–and something in his jaw worked like he was trying not to cry for you.

“I–” He started, then stopped, trying again a second later “I know you don’t wanna hear it, but…M–Maybe we should go to medical, just for a minute. Y-You’re bleeding pretty bad and I–”

”No, Bob.” Your voice was sharp. Not cruel, but tired. Bone-deep tired. Your eyes were hollowed by it. “I don’t want to go. Don’t ask me again.”Bob’s lips parted. He froze like you’d slapped him with the words.

His hands came up instantly–palms out, defensive, the way someone does when they know they’ve stepped over the line. “Okay. Okay. I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–I just…”

His voice cracked, soft and breathless, and his lashes fluttered quickly like something was stinging behind his eyes. “I–I just didn’t know what else to say. I just–I wanna help.”

You didn’t answer right away. You turned back toward the mirror, wincing slightly, your weight shifting between your feet like even standing was a negotiation.

Bob took a step forward. Then another.

“C-Can we at least get you cleaned up?” He asked, voice gentler now. “Just… Just so we can see the damage a little better? I–I promise I won’t touch anything unless you say it’s okay…And I–I won’t bring up medical again…”

You blinked at your own reflection. Or rather, at the smeared suggestion of it–nothing but a shadow behind fog and grief and wet heat. Your throat bobbed, your lips parted, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the roar of the water pounding the tile behind you.

Then, slowly–like each movement had to be dug out of you one inch at a time–you nodded.

Just once.

Bob exhaled like he’d been holding his breath since the door opened. “Okay,” He murmured, so quietly it barely reached you. “Okay.”

He moved carefully, like you were a wild animal that might spook. His hands stayed visible, slow and shaking just slightly. His voice was raw and steady all at once. You watched him in the mirror as he stepped around you to reach the shower, his eyes flicking back to your face every few seconds like he was checking to make sure he wasn’t doing something wrong.

He pulled his scrub top over his head. His chest was lean and pale, the faint trace of old scars visible across his ribs. He didn’t look at you while he did it–he wasn’t doing this to be seen, only to be with you. To match your vulnerability. To show you he wasn’t going to ask you to do something he wouldn’t do beside you.

Then the pants went next, dropped quickly to the tile with a soft thund. He stepped into the shower in only his boxers, reaching up to adjust the temperature with a small frown, his brow furrowing as steam curled around him. Then, gently–so gently–it was his voice again.

“C’mon. I’ve got you.”

You turned, just barely, and let him take your hand. His fingers laced through yours so softly it nearly broke you. You stepped forward, and he guided you into the stream like you were made of glass and grief and things that couldn’t be named without breaking apart.

The moment your skin hit the water, the heat scalded into every nerve ending that had been screaming silently for hours.

You cried out.

Your knees gave out without warning, your body folding in on itself with a sudden, sharp gasp of pain.

“Woah–woah, hey, hey–I’ve got you–” Bob’s voice cracked mid-sentence as he caught you, his arms sliding around your waist and shoulder just in time to keep you from hitting the floor.

You collapsed against him with the weight of everything. Your cheek pressed to the curve of his collarbone, your ribcage shaking with shallow, broken breaths as the water soaked your skin, turning the blood on your body to long, diluted streaks that ran in ribbons down your legs, and floated around his.

Bob eased you down slowly. The tile kissed your knees, too cold beneath all the heat, but his arms stayed around you–tight, protective, and stable. He let himself sit with you fully, legs folding beneath his weight as he cradled you in his lap, one hand braced gently at your lower back, the other spread over your ribs, careful not to press too hard.

His chest rose and fell against your shoulder, each breath a little too quick, a little too uneven. You could feel his heart hammering, not with fear, but with something else–some horrible, aching emotion that had nowhere to go but into the way he held you.

You tilted your head up slightly–just enough to look at him.

And the look on his face made your breath catch in your throat.

Bob wasn’t crying. But his eyes were wet, the rims pink, his brows drawn in tight with something that looked like devastation barely leashed. His jaw was clenched, not out of anger, but because he looked like if he let it go, it would all fall out–every emotion, every worry, every broken piece of what this had done to him.

”Don’t cry Bob…I’m fine.” Bob leaned in closer at your words, his brows tightening even more–not with disbelief, but with something gentler. Something so heavy with care it made your chest ache worse than your ribs.

His forehead came to rest against yours, water beading and dripping between your skin, breath warm and unsteady against your lips. His voice was just a murmur, barely there beneath the drum of the shower.

“Please d-don’t lie to me…” He whispered, closing his eyes. “I c-can’t…I can’t see you like this and not do something, I–”

His voice broke completely then. And it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic or violent. It was quiet devastation—the kind that crumbled inwards, the kind that shook hands and pressed foreheads and curled arms around broken bodies in the dark.

And then something in the air shifted.

It was subtle at first–so small you didn’t register it until it started to crawl up your spine.

A hum.

Not from the fan.

Not from the pipes.

Not from the water.

From him.

From the center of Bob’s chest, where it pressed faintly to yours. A vibration–gentle, low, like the world taking a breath. It was warm. Not hot like the water. Soft, like standing in sunlight after a long, cold night.

Bob didn’t seem to notice.

His arms stayed around you, trembling slightly but strong, his breath hitching once more as he whispered, “I–I would take it if I could. I’d take all of it, Y/N. I swear I would…” You blinked.

Once. Twice.

Then the numbness hit.

It started in your cheeks, right under where Bob’s forehead rested against yours. A strange, tingling sensation, like static running under your skin—like the prickle of limbs falling asleep, but deeper. Warmer. It began to spread across your jaw, down your neck, over the pulsing ache of your ribs. You stiffened slightly in his arms.

“B-Bob…” Your voice came out thin. Cautious. “Something’s… wrong. I—I think I’m—”

You pulled your head back.

Just an inch. Just enough to look at him.

And that’s when you saw it.

His eyes–his eyes–weren’t the soft blue they usually were. They weren’t even shimmering yellow like when the Sentry burned through him, lit up and alive and untouchable. No, this was something else entirely.

They were light.

Not glowing with light–made of it.

Warm and impossible, like the moment just before sunrise. Liquid gold, honeyed and bright, but threaded with something deeper–something eternal. Like looking into a star too close. Like watching the sky open.

Bob didn’t even seem to realize it. He was staring at you like you had changed. Like something was wrong with you.

His brows furrowed suddenly, breath catching. “What the hell…”

You froze.

“What?” you asked, voice sharp and shaky all at once. “Bob—what is it? What’s happening?”

His eyes searched your face, wide and stunned and almost afraid to believe what he was seeing.

“Your face…” he whispered, “Y/N… it’s–”

He reached up–slowly–and touched your cheek.

His fingertips brushed the skin just below your eye, where the cut had been. Where the swelling had bloomed purple and raw. There was nothing there now. Not even the tenderness. Just heat from the shower. Just clean, unbroken skin.

“It’s healed.”

You blinked again.

And now that he said it–you felt it.

The pounding in your ribs was gone.

The throb in your thigh, the searing line from your bicep to your elbow, the burn from the rebar in your side—it was all gone.

Your body felt heavy, yes, but no longer from pain. Just from the realization.

You looked down at your arms, your legs, your skin, now mostly clean under the steady pour of water–and new. Whole. No dried blood. No open wounds.

You looked back at him.

“Holy fuck…You healed me…Is the…Is the Sentry back or something?” He shook his head in confusion.

”I–I don’t know…I didn’t e-even know he could do t-that to other people…”

[jungwnies]

f1 grid (2/2) | meeting the family

୨ৎ : featuring : kimi antonelli, ollie bearman, yuki tsunoda, isack hadjar, and liam lawson + special feature franco colapinto and lance stroll (click here for part one) ୨ৎ : synopsis (requested by @holycastles) : your formula one boyfriend meeting your seemingly "normal" family

୨ৎ : genre : comedy ୨ৎ : word count : 2661

୨ৎ masterlist ୨ৎ 10k event | masterlist ୨ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : surprisingly this 10k event isn't overwhelming.. it's such a good downtime from having to study for finals >.<

ʚ・kimi antonelli

kimi stood at your door holding a pie.

a literal pie.

“i didn’t know what to bring,” he mumbled. “my mom said pie is safe.”

you blinked. “you baked?”

“supervised.”

he was already flushed before your family even answered the door. when your dad opened it, kimi stood straighter than you’d ever seen him, like he was back on the karting grid at age twelve.

“hello, sir. thank you for having me. i brought… pastry.”

your dad raised an eyebrow. “pie?”

“yes. that.”

you tried not to laugh.

inside, it was mild chaos. your younger cousins immediately started whispering about “the mercedes kid” like he couldn’t hear them. your aunt hugged him too long. your mom made him a plate before he could even sit down.

kimi’s hands were in his lap the whole time. his posture was so straight it hurt to look at. he said yes sir, no ma’am, thank you very much. and the only time he dared look away from his food was to check if you were still there.

your cousin leaned over halfway through dinner and whispered, “is he always this… robotic?”

you smiled. “he’s just nervous.”

he looked like he was surviving a full-blown press conference. until your uncle asked, “so how serious are you two, huh?”

kimi blinked like the question short-circuited him.

you jumped in quickly. “we’re not getting married, uncle joe.”

“i didn’t say that,” he grinned. “just wondering if mercedes' the only thing he’s committed to.”

kimi nearly choked on his water. “i mean—yes. no. i mean—yes, i’m committed. not just to mercedes. to her too. but not—like—married committed. just—” he turned bright red. “you know what? i should stop talking.”

the room went silent for half a beat.

then your dad laughed. “relax, kid. you’re alright.”

that night, as you walked him to his car, kimi rubbed the back of his neck.

“they were looking at me like i was about to propose.”

“you did say you’re committed.”

“i panicked.”

you smiled, tugging his sleeve. “you did great.”

he finally smiled back, soft and a little crooked. “your dad said i can come back.”

“you want to?”

he looked at you, more certain than he had been all night. “yeah. i do.”

ʚ・ollie bearman

ollie bounced nervously on his heels at your doorstep, holding a suspiciously lopsided cake he insisted on baking “from scratch.”

“it’s… edible,” he said, side-eyeing it like it might betray him. “i think.”

you grinned. “it’s sweet. they’re gonna love you.”

“they better,” he muttered. “i watched a ten-minute youtube video on ‘how to impress your girlfriend’s father’ for this.”

you stared. “please tell me that’s a joke.”

“it had animations.”

you couldn’t stop laughing.

from the second your family opened the door, ollie was full golden retriever mode. hugged your mom without hesitation. complimented the wallpaper like it was his job. called your grandma “queen” and meant it.

but your dad?

that was his mission.

“sir,” he said, offering his hand with olympic-level intensity. “big fan. of… your house. and your daughter. and your grilling skills. smells amazing out here.”

your dad blinked. “you alright, kid?”

“yep!” ollie said way too fast. “just eager to bond.”

at dinner, he tried to subtly mirror your dad’s posture, which ended with him sitting like a stiff action figure. he laughed at all his jokes. nodded like he understood the economy. agreed to try the spiciest dish on the table and instantly regretted it.

you passed him a glass of water under the table.

“i’m fine,” he whispered hoarsely. “this is fine. i’m proving my worth.”

you nearly choked trying not to laugh.

later, you found him in the backyard with your dad, holding barbecue tongs like a sword, listening to a long story about fishing while nodding very seriously.

“he likes me,” ollie whispered when you came outside.

“he told you that?”

“no, but he handed me the tongs. that means something.”

on the way home, he beamed the whole time. “i think your dad’s my best friend now.”

“bold.”

“he invited me golfing.”

“you don’t play golf.”

“i’ll learn.”

you looked at him, this chaotic, giggling, totally love-struck idiot, and shook your head fondly. “you’re ridiculous.”

“ridiculously winning over your family,” he said proudly.

and honestly? he wasn’t wrong.

ʚ・yuki tsunoda

yuki arrived five minutes early, hands folded neatly in front of him, shirt pressed and hair just slightly too styled. he looked… nervous, but in that perfectly composed way that made you want to pull him into a hug.

“you don’t have to bow,” you whispered, watching him do just that when your mom opened the door.

“i know,” he whispered back, “but i want to be respectful.”

respectful might’ve been an understatement. within ten minutes of entering the house, yuki had complimented the decorations, asked your dad thoughtful questions about his hobbies, and called your grandma’s cooking “the best meal i’ve had all year.”

“you brought flowers?” your mom asked, touched.

“and tea,” he said shyly, holding out the perfectly wrapped box. “from japan. my favorite kind.”

you could physically see your mother melt.

the dinner table conversation started light, a few questions about where he grew up, how he liked traveling, if he missed japan. yuki answered every single one kindly, never cutting anyone off, listening fully before responding.

you were so proud you nearly cried.

but the second your little cousin leaned in and whispered, “do you drive really fast?” something shifted.

yuki grinned.

“only when they let me.”

from there, it spiraled. he told stories about karting crashes and near-misses in the most matter-of-fact tone while your uncles leaned in like it was a campfire tale. when your aunt asked how he handles fear, he just shrugged and said, “i scream on the inside. then i go faster.”

by dessert, your mom was feeding him extra servings and calling him “sweetheart,” your grandma was offering to knit him socks, and your cousin was asking if he’d teach them how to drive.

you found him leaning against the hallway wall later, looking overwhelmed but happy.

“are you okay?” you asked, sliding next to him.

“your family is amazing,” he whispered. “but your mom keeps feeding me. i might explode.”

you laughed and rubbed his arm.

he looked at you, soft and a little wide-eyed. “your grandma just kissed my cheek.”

“she does that.”

“she also told me i have husband eyes.”

you blinked. “what?”

“i panicked and bowed again.”

you nearly doubled over with laughter.

“you’re a hit,” you said.

he smiled quietly, cheeks pink. “good. i wanted them to like me.”

you kissed his cheek. “they love you.”

ʚ・isack hadjar

isack strolled up to your parents’ door like he wasn’t dying inside. hands in his pockets, shirt wrinkled just slightly, like he got ready too fast after overthinking what to wear for thirty minutes.

“i’m calm,” he said.

“you’re not.”

“i’m french. i’m composed.”

you snorted. “you’re sweating through your shirt.”

he knocked anyway.

your mom greeted him with a warm smile and your dad stood behind her with his arms crossed, silently evaluating him like a pit crew chief sizing up a suspicious front wing.

“hi, uh… bonjour? i mean, hello. thank you for having me.” isack blinked. “sorry. language overload.”

he was polite — genuinely trying. sat upright. complimented the dinner. called your dad sir at least three times. but then someone — your cousin, of course — brought up the one thing guaranteed to send him straight into a tailspin.

“wait. you’re the no no no i destroyed ze carrr guy, right?”

isack’s soul left his body.

“no,” he said too quickly. “that wasn’t me.”

you cackled. “yes it was.”

“do you say it like that in real life?” your uncle asked, grinning.

“no!” isack groaned. “only once. under stress. high emotion.”

your cousin pulled up the clip on their phone. isack covered his face in both hands.

you leaned over, whispering in his ear. “you okay?”

“i’m being haunted by my own voice.”

he recovered eventually. teased your cousins back. made your dad laugh with a sarcastic “i promise i drive better than i talk.” won over your mom when he offered to help clean up and ended up drying dishes while telling her about how he got into racing.

later, in the car, he leaned his head back against the seat and sighed.

“that was brutal.”

“you were great.”

“they all mocked me. quoted me. in multiple accents.”

you grinned. “they do that to everyone.”

he turned to look at you, eyes still wide. “your grandma said i look skinnier in person.”

“she says that to celebrities. you’re famous now.”

he groaned. “i hate this family.”

you kissed his cheek. “no you don’t, you love us.”

he smiled, soft and red-faced. “okay… maybe i do love you guys.”

ʚ・liam lawson

liam showed up with a six-pack of your dad’s favorite beer and a bag of dog treats.

you blinked at him on the doorstep. “you brought what?”

“strategic bribes,” he said. “i’m trying to secure my position.”

he got both feet in the door and immediately crouched down to greet your golden retriever like it was his dog.

“look at this face,” he said, ruffling the fur behind her ears. “you’re a unit, aren’t you?”

your mom smiled warmly. “she usually doesn’t like new people.”

liam grinned. “i speak fluent dog.”

the dog rolled onto her back like she’d known him her whole life. you watched from the hallway, slack-jawed.

dinner started off simple. liam was friendly, relaxed, throwing in “ma’am” and “sir” when needed but still being his usual cheeky self.

“you’re from new zealand, right?” your uncle asked.

liam nodded. “we have sheep, rugby, and now… somehow, me.”

your dad actually laughed, and you nearly choked on your drink.

he slid into conversation so naturally it was almost unfair. talking rugby with your dad. asking your grandma how long she’s been crocheting and then actually caring. helping carry dishes to the sink without being asked.

you caught your mom whispering to your aunt, “he’s got good manners. the funny kind.”

and then, mid-dessert, it happened.

your dog jumped into liam’s lap.

“she doesn’t even do that for me,” you said.

“she’s in love with me. sorry, babe.”

“she’s my dog.”

liam scratched behind her ears. “she’s chosen.”

later, while everyone was chatting, you found him near the coat rack, dog curled up at his feet, both looking suspicious.

you raised an eyebrow. “you better not be planning a dog heist.”

“me?” he blinked, mock offended. “never.”

“liam.”

“okay, listen,” he whispered. “if i took her, it’s because we share a soul. not because i’m a thief.”

you laughed and reached down to ruffle her fur. “you’re ridiculous.”

“she likes me more than your dad does.”

“he invited you to the barbecue next week.”

liam grinned. “then i win.”

as you both walked to the car later that night, the dog followed you to the door. liam looked back at her with genuine heartbreak.

“i’ll miss you,” he said dramatically. “stay strong, my fluffy queen.”

you rolled your eyes. “don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

ʚ・franco colapinto

you warned him.

you said, “they’re loud. there’s like twenty of them. someone’s always grilling something. someone else will be dancing. my grandma will try to kiss your face.”

franco just grinned. “sounds fun.”

you were thirty seconds into the front yard when he got his first “how handsome” from one of your aunts. he hadn't even taken off his jacket yet.

your uncle hugged him like they were long-lost friends. your younger cousin offered him a soda and then immediately asked how fast his car went. your mom kissed his cheek, told him he was “very handsome,” and franco smiled like he'd just been handed a trophy.

you were watching it unfold in real time: the colapinto effect.

inside, it was pure chaos. laughter in one room, music in another, someone shouting over a blender.

franco thrived.

he complimented the rice, hugged the grandma, took his shoes off without being asked, and said “gracias señora” every chance he got. your aunt actually clutched her chest when he called her food “incredible” in spanish.

at some point, he ended up dancing with two of your little cousins in the living room, one on each foot, spinning them around like a movie montage. your dad watched from the couch, sipped his drink, and nodded slowly.

“alright. i like him.”

meanwhile, franco reappeared beside you in the kitchen, slightly out of breath, hair a little messy, a soft grin on his face.

“i think your grandma just winked at me,” he whispered.

“she probably did.”

“she also offered me food to go and told me i looked too skinny.”

“she’s adopted you now. sorry.”

he laughed quietly, then leaned in. “your family is… everything.”

you tilted your head. “too much?”

he shook his head. “perfect.”

later, after hours of being pulled into photos and interrogated about his star sign and whether or not he could cook eggs, franco finally exhaled next to you on the porch.

“i met, like, thirty people.”

“thirty-five.”

“i flirted with at least ten of them.”

“they flirted first.”

“i know. it was incredible.”

you laughed and rested your head on his shoulder. “they really liked you.”

he smiled. “i really liked them.”

pause.

“…but i’m never leaving without food again. that’s non-negotiable.”

ʚ・lance stroll

lance wasn’t nervous. not exactly. but as he stepped into your parents’ house and was immediately hit with overlapping conversations, two toddlers racing down the hallway, and music playing from a speaker that no one seemed to be in charge of.

you slipped your hand into his.

“too much?”

he blinked once, then shook his head. “no. just… new.”

you’d expected that. lance came from quiet homes and structured dinners and rooms with expensive things that didn’t get touched. your house had mismatched chairs, finger smudges on the windows, and someone yelling “who took the good plate?” from the kitchen.

he took a deep breath and followed you in.

your dad greeted him first. solid handshake. “lance, right?”

“yes, sir. thank you for having me.” he said it so politely your mom actually looked impressed.

he made it through the first hour like a champ — sat on the couch between your cousins and didn’t flinch when your aunt hugged him like they were old friends. he accepted food every time it was offered. he complimented the casserole. he nodded when your uncle asked about his car, even though he clearly had no idea which one he meant.

you found him standing near the kitchen later, hands in his pockets, watching your family like he was trying to piece together a hundred different storylines at once.

“you okay?” you asked, bumping your shoulder into his.

“i don’t think i’ve ever heard this many people talk at once.”

you laughed. “we don’t really do quiet.”

“i noticed.” he looked at you then, eyes soft. “but it’s kind of… nice.”

you tilted your head. “really?”

“it’s real,” he said simply. “everyone’s just themselves. no performance. no pretending.”

he stayed close the rest of the evening, quietly letting the chaos swirl around him. at one point, your grandma made him a plate and told him he looked tired and “too rich to be eating this little.” he smiled and thanked her and finished every bite.

when it was time to go, he lingered at the door. your little cousin hugged his leg.

“you coming back?”

lance knelt down, smiling. “only if there’s more casserole.”

the kid beamed. “there’s always more.”

on the drive home, he reached for your hand.

“i really liked them,” he said.

“i know. they really liked you too.”

he paused. “do you think next time, i could bring something? like dessert?”

you looked over at him and smiled.

“yeah. i think that’d be perfect.”

2021-2025 © jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[jes3icasriley]

Tangled Threads - Spiderwoman au

chapter 1: The Bite

synopsis: You and Abby Anderson have been inseparable since childhood, two nerdy best friends who’ve always had each others backs. But after a strange spider bite, you began to change—stronger, faster, sharper— and you hide it to protect her. As feelings begin to bloom between you, Abby starts noticing something’s off: bruises, new muscles, and reflexes too quick to ignore. The closer you get, the harder it is to keep your secret.

Parings: Abby Anderson x fem!reader/ nerdy Abby Anderson x spiderwoman!reader

Warnings: slow-burn, childhood best friends falling in love, very small angst towards the end.

You’ve known Abigail (Abby) Anderson longer than you’ve known anything else. Before you knew how to spell your name, before you knew how to ride a bike or speak properly—Abby was already there.

You were neighbors. Your parents were best friends, and by default, so were you two. There are photos of you as literal babies, chubby-cheeked and giggling in matching onesies, clutching each others tiny figures. Your earliest memory is sitting in Abby’s backyard under a big tree, splitting a popsicle while she told you about the dog book she just got. She had just turned four. You were three. And you were in awe.

That feeling never really went away.

Abby has always been… well, Abby. Tall, freckled, goofy in the sweetest way. She wore high-top sneakers with lab goggles in middle school because she thought it made her look “scientifically intimidating.” It didn’t. You wore cat-ear headbands and carried around a binder labeled “Conspiracy Theories & Other Facts.” Together, you were unstoppable.

And painfully nerdy.

You both leaned into it. Friday nights meant staying in and watching either scientific documentaries or crime, debating about wether cats or dogs make better pets, and making DIY bracelets from beads. Abby had her comic book obsessions (mostly X-Men and Doom Patrol), and you had yours (you were a Spider-Man girl through and through). You had one binder just for Peter Parker theories. Abby read through all of it without mocking you once.

But everything changed the day you got bit.

You were seventeen and on a school field trip to Oscorp. It was supposed to be boring. Corporate lobby. Tour guide in a cheap suit. Abby was next to you the whole time, nudging your arm whenever something looked remotely cool. But when the guide got distracted by Coach Davis asking about security clearances, you and Abby snuck away. You were supposed to just peek inside the genetics wing—just to say you did it.

That’s when it happened.

One second, you were gawking at a containment chamber filled with strange glowing vials. The next, a sharp sting lanced through your hand. You yelped and slapped your palm. The spider was gone. You blinked at your hand. Nothing. Abby turned, concerned.

“You good?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Just… static shock, I think.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t push.

You wish she had.

Because that night, the fever started.

You barely remembered getting home. Everything pulsed. Your skin felt electric, your vision blurred, and when you gripped the sink, it cracked under your fingers. By morning, everything was different.

You weren’t just stronger. You were… more.

Faster. Your senses sharper. Your body humming like a live wire.

You could feel everything—the wind through your open window, the heartbeat of a bird sitting on the sill, the tiny vibrations in your fingertips when your mom walked past your door.

And when you stuck your hand to the ceiling by accident and couldn’t get it off?

Yeah. That was a whole new level of panic.

Over the next few weeks, you tested what you could—carefully. Secretly. You climbed walls, stuck to ceilings, realized you could swing from a rope tied to a tree in your backyard without even straining. You built a web-shooter out of parts from your robotics club stash. Your aim got better. Your reflexes? Insane.

You were becoming Spider-Woman. Not that you had a name for it yet.

But you didn’t tell anyone. Especially not Abby.

Because Abby? She was everything. And you couldn’t risk her safety. Not when the world suddenly became a lot more dangerous.

Still, secrets don’t stay small forever. Especially not when your best friend knows you like the back of her hand.

“Hey,” Abby said one afternoon, frowning at your arm as you sat on her bedroom floor, surrounded by open textbooks and empty soda cans. “What happened to your elbow?”

You glanced down. Bruise. Big one. You’d taken a hit stopping a mugging the night before. “Oh. Um. Bike accident?”

She blinked. “Since when do you ride a bike?”

“Since… recently.”

She gave you a look.

It happened again the following week. Then again. And again.

She caught you jumping unnaturally high to grab a book from her top shelf. “Jesus,” she muttered. “Have you been working out or something?”

You laughed nervously. “Why? Do I look… different?”

Her eyes scanned you. It made your ears burn.

“Yeah, actually,” she said slowly, tipping her head. “You’ve got, like… biceps now. And your legs are kind of jacked. You dodged that football Jesse threw like you were in The Matrix.”

“Fast reflexes?”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

She sat beside you on the couch and poked your arm. “Seriously, what’s up? You doing CrossFit behind my back?”

You shrugged, biting the inside of your cheek. “Just… felt like being stronger.”

She smiled, soft and warm. “Well, you look good”

You couldn’t tell if your heart was racing because of her smile or because of how close her thigh was to yours.

Maybe both.

Later that night, lying in bed, you stared at the ceiling. Your phone buzzed beside you. It was Abby.

Abby [10:12 PM]: hey

Abby [10:12 PM]: you’re not avoiding me, right?

You swallowed.

You [10:13 PM]: never.

Abby [10:13 PM]: okay. just checking. miss u.

You buried your face in your pillow.

Because the truth was… keeping this from her hurt more than anything else.

You’d spent your whole life side by side with Abby Anderson. You knew her freckles like constellations, her eye rolls like punctuation. She was taller than you by a good few inches, always had been. Towered over you protectively like a giant dork, arms crossed, making sarcastic comments when people tried to bully you in the hall.

But now? You had secrets. Ones you couldn’t share.

And that distance—no matter how small—was starting to fray the threads between you.

But how could you tell her?

How could you look into those soft blue eyes, taller and warmer and familiar, and say: “Hey, I got bitten by a radioactive spider and now I climb buildings and stop robberies and punch bad guys with my webs. Also I’m hopelessly, pathetically in love with you.”

Yeah. No. Not yet.

So instead, you trained at night. Learned how to move through the city unseen. Built your suit by hand, piece by piece. And every time you stumbled or bruised or bled, you thought of Abby.

Thought about how she’d kill you if she knew.

And worse—how she might not forgive you if she found out.

But you weren’t ready.

Not yet.

Not until you could protect her from everything.

Even if it meant lying through your teeth.

[bayambii]

paladin hand headcannons...

warnings: none!

characters: shiro, hunk, pidge, lance n keith

bambi's comments: THIS IS A REUPLOAD OF AN OLD WORK THAT I OWN.. ok. @sta1rlight was my old account. i own this work do not flame the shart out of me.

shiro

rough and calloused hands, and quite big, even his robot arm.

holding you with his human hand is what he likes the best, he can feel your warm skin on his instead of on that cold steel.

really needs you to be there to squeeze his hand in to remind him that you're there, safe and okay

those nights where he can't seems to close his eyes and let himself escape to sleep, he needs you to at least hold his hand while he lays there

hunk

his hands always have something on them, from cooking, or engineering, maybe some oil

though, he takes very good care of his hands, so they're pretty soft!

lance taught him the importance of taking care of your skin, including your hands

pretty big hands, and always pretty warm other than that

he likes hand holding but can get a bit flustered while doing it lol

pidge

small hands!!!

her hands are always busy, so good luck holding them, plus she'll overload and blush so hard if you make like any physical contact with her

taking care of her hands is not really something she thinks about?? not her top priority lol

her nails are probably short and stubby from biting them, though

lance

not big hands, but long and nice fingernails that won't scratch you accidentally

probably paints his nails a light baby blue, or maybe a tan

likes hand holding!! hands sweatin like a teenager when you smile at him though,,,,

pda lover like crazy, maybe when hes older he'll maybe be into giving kisses on the hand

at a formal event, just imagine lance taking your hand, being all like "mlady/my gentlemen/my leige," and giving you a kiss on your hand and bowing

blsyehess

keith

long and slender like lances, but a lot stronger, and has an amazing grip

type of person to hold your hands in crowded public places, to make sure you don't get lost.

even before he was a pilot he had an amazing grip

but hes probably the worst at taking care of his hands

always has dirt under them, even though he always washes his hands regularly

maybe you could convice him to let you paint his nails when he's really sleepy

just like be like keiithhh i wanna give you a mancure and hes so tired just laying against your tummy like "huh.... yeah sure...."

hand holding, is something hes really only done to pull you along in public places- he never really thought of it romactically, and if you mention it, he'll go red as HELL

anways keiff <33333

[starlos-soulmate]

Never Ever Gettin' Rid o' Him. HAPPY ONE YEAR STARCAKE!!!

Starlo wasn't the only one with doubts pre-relationship, obviously, and this song was too cute to not draw this to. Like after the whole Rotten Star situation, Pancake often wonders why Starlo would even like her, let alone be in a relationship. But to Stars, she already redeemed herself. Shown she is a kind, caring person. And he's still friends with Ceroba. He got his heart broken once, he won't let it happen again, not when she's this amazing.

They also had a private clifftop confession scene earlier. This is cementing, to Pancake, that Starlo does love her. The cliffside was Starlo realizing Pancake loved him, so he's showing he loves her back. And the town finally gets a breath of relief as they finally get together. (more stuff under cut too)

Holy crap. Happy one-year. It's been one year since I've fallen for this cowboy. How do I even title this? I spent so long on this animatic too. (there are some parts that are janky but its my first time making something like this fksdfhkls) it's crazy. This is crazy. I have no idea how this happened, just a year ago today, I got lassoed in by this guy, haha!!

Starlo means so freaking much to me. Like SO much. I sometimes say he's the best and worst thing that's ever happened to me. I thought I was cooked with Spamton. But no, Starlo got me harder, and I love him even more. He was there for comfort, he was there for yearning and pain. He drove me crazy a few times. He means a lot to me. 2024 was supposed to be the year of the robots, till this guy lassoed me in and the rest is history. I love Undertale Yellow, and I love Starlo

I had this idea for this animatic for MONTHS, and I managed to do it, for the anniversary no less. LiKE holy cow! its a bit messy, and i like it. The sardine cat pert does not fit him but i could not edit it out jkldfjs. Ah well. So yeah. Hopefully, despite it's jank, you all enjoy!! aahh its so flustering to watch. aaaaaaaaaaaa

tagging: @lances-wife @aego-philautia @sarahs-malewives @astral-express-family @moxanji-real

@vergils-beloved @dudeshusband @prismatica-the-strange @ghost--girlfriend @pinkdinkydoon

@mandrakebrew @starshakez @rockstars-soulmate @sparkyscissorhands @sparklings-husband

@catships777 @boyfriendblogging @cordshake @mrs-bluemarine @gideongrovel

@francinekisser @kissingarthurclaus @faerie-circle-ships @lenzwideshut

[keiths-haircare-routine]

So I think at the beginning of their relationship, Lance insists on doing all the cooking because “You were living in the middle of the desert for a year, dude, your idea of a hearty dinner is probably like… I dunno, a fried gecko garnished with some sand or something!”

(And okay, Keith’s never resorted to eating sand, but there was that one time when food was scarce enough that he’d resorted to catching a lizard climbing up his wall and putting it to a quick death with his knife. And he had to admit it wasn’t half bad. Not that he particularly enjoyed putting an animal to death. And not that he’d ever tell Lance that, obviously.)

But Keith’s got no real reason to complain, really. Lance is no Hunk in the kitchen, but his skills have been honed by years of having to help his mother out with the stove, and sitting on the countertop yapping while Hunk found ways to make food goo more appetizing. He’s pretty great.

Lance cooks them warm, steaming plates of ropa vieja and picadillo and arroz con pollo. Lance cooks them croquetas for breakfast and sweet arroz con leche for dessert. Keith grumpily sits on the countertop and huffs in annoyance as Lance bats his hand away every time he tries to help out.

Then one day, Lance falls sick.

And obviously, he’s a baby about it, griping and groaning and insisting that he’s dying despite Keith groaning that his temperature hasn’t even breached 100 F.

Lance keeps insisting that he’s too sick to do chores or even move, really.

So sick, in fact, that when Keith asks if that means he’ll have to be the one to cook lunch, Lance just moans and buries himself further under the covers.

Keith bites back a grin and heads into the kitchen.

It isn’t until an hour later that Lance gains enough awareness to process what Keith had said.

“Wait, no! Mmph!” Lance stumbles in his rush to get out of the bed and his foot is snagged by the blanket. He quickly pulls himself up and makes a mad sprint into the kitchen like both their lives depend on it.

(Because they do, they very much do, Lance thinks.)

“Keith! My buddy, my man, hold on a sec! You don’t have to do this! I can call Hunk and ask him really nicely!” Crap, Hunk’s out catering in space. “Wait, no, I’ll just call Pidge, ask her to make us a robot-” Shoot, no, she’s visiting family in New York. “Alright, we can order out o- or- fuck! I’ll just do it. I’ll make us lunch, I- woah!”

Lance catches himself at the last second before he runs straight into Keith.

Keith, who is standing in front of him with an entirely too smug expression on his face, holding two bowls.

Bowls that smell suspiciously good.

Lance narrows his eyes. “What is this?”

“I made soup,” Keith says, placing a bowl in Lance’s hands. The latter tenses; neither Keith’s too-sweet smile nor the gaze steadily trained on Lance have wavered once.

Lance looks down at the bowl in his hands. It smells good, warm and savory. Looks good too- dark orange with bits of meat, tofu and vegetables floating in the broth.

“… You know you’re supposed to drink it, right? Not just stare? Did the cold mess up your head that badly?”

“Shut up, mullet, I’m savouring them.”

“Savouring what? The soup? Because from here it just looks like you’re doing a whole lot of nothing.”

“My last few moments on Earth before I drink this soup and the poison kicks in.”

Keith scowls. “I wouldn’t poison your soup.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

“Why would I want to kill you, Lance? We are literally dating.”

“Semantics,” Lance waves off before staring dismally into his soup again. Eventually, he works up the courage to walk over to a drawer and fish out a spoon. Gulping, he scoops some up and swallows it down.

Nearly chokes. Braces his hand against the countertop.

“Holy shit.”

Keith braces himself against the counter beside him with the type of smirk he’d get after piloting Red through black holes and asteroid belts that would leave the other paladins in splinters while he barely broke a sweat.

It turns out Keith’s no slouch in the kitchen either.

Keith had microwaved grilled cheese sandwiches and instant ramen for his dad to come home to after those long graveyard shifts he’d been saddled up with. He had swung his little legs on the countertop as his dad chopped up vegetables and explained the recipe with a relaxed tone and a dry sense of humor. He’d had to help out with meal times in all those foster homes and orphanages he’d been thrown into.

Keith had spent a year in the desert, recalling his dad’s instructions and swallowing down his remorse before getting to work. Instructions on how to make Texan classics such as chili and breakfast tacos and brisket. Instructions on how to make foods from back in Korea, such as kimbap and japchae and sundubu-jjigae, which he had served Lance just now.

(Lance sneaks a glance at the bowl in his hands before turning back to Keith as he continued his story)

In those two years on that space whale, Keith and Krolia had to improvise greatly, boiling and steaming nearby vegetations and moss. Roasting these little floaty creatures that neither he nor she knew the name of, cute enough that Keith almost felt bad eating them until his stomach rumbled in complaint.

And after he’d settled in Daibazaal post-war, Keith was greeted with foods and tastes he’d never even imagined before. He’d adapted just the same. He’d chopped up thryx the same way he’d chopped up kale and asparagus just minutes prior. He’d learned to make this dish called boiled nox that tasted absolutely awful if not made exactly right.

“And then we moved in together and I couldn’t exactly get a lot of cooking done after,” Keith finishes, tilting his head and leveling Lance with a playful smirk.

“Fine,” Lance says, having finished his soup throughout the course of the story. “You win. I’m sorry. You can help out in the kitchen on one condition.”

“Yeah?”

“You promise to make more of this stuff. Babe, this is so good, I think it single-handedly cured my ailment-”

Keith rolls his eyes, a fond smile tugging at his lips.

So now sometimes they cook chicharrón and pasteles, but sometimes they cook seolleongtang and galbi too. Now Keith will chop up vegetables as fast as he can as Lance will throw them in as quick as he’s able to without getting burned and the two will make a game out of it. Now Keith and Lance will try and fail to make boiled knox and force the unsuccessful attempt down their throats before violently hurling into the toilet an hour later.

Now the two of them will cook together.

[vldunchartedregions]

As a Lance girlie I'm very excited to read what was his og involvement in the finale. Is there anything you could tease about it? Like if some scenes with Veronica or his other family members were cut or if his scene with previous paladins (Alfor or Blaytz) was also changed?

Really excited for reading and thanks to the team for all the hard work!

Good morning!! Thank you for the question. I hope you’re having an amazing day.

We’re excited to talk about it too, as fellow Lance Stans. He deserves the world.

It’s not really in the meta, but fun fact: Neil Kaplan discussed at a panel where he voiced Lance’s Dad in a scene in Season 8 and it was beautiful, made him emotional, but it was cut.

[Timestamp: 3:00]

Since you’ve mentioned it, there is reason to believe that a conversation between Lance and a certain Blue Paladin may have been altered or exchanged, as suggested by narrative context and character arc analysis.

More to come. ☕️

Thank you for the question!

[studentinpursuitofclouds]

Hi there, i feel like our spouse doesn't react much to all the magical weirdness on our farm

Can i get some hc for Sdv+sve spouses one day waking up and being able to see an army of juminos recolting crops (farmer have like 4/6 juminos huts and lots of crops)

And the farmer just say "oh you can finally see them" while giving the juminos some raisins.

Heya 👋 Thank you for your ask, dear anon! (and I apologize for taking a little longer to answer 😅).

_________________________________________

SDV/SVE bachelors:

Alex can't believe his own ears! Spirits? For real? No way! The athlete dropped everything and quickly walked over to one of the Junimo and started poking at them, causing the little creature to squeak. "Alex, don't be rude. At least offer them raisins first." "Oh, sorry..." But he can't help himself because... a real spirits!

"Hey hon, I made you coffee-" Stepping out onto the front porch of the farm house, Shane found an army of apples with eyes and arms and legs following Farmer around like little chickens following mama hen. With a "fuck this shit, I'm out" face, he walked back home, thinking it was all from lack of sleep.

Sam's eyes nearly popped out of his orbits when he saw Farmer surrounded by apple-like creatures that were jumping and reaching for the raisins in Farmer's hands. The guitarist approached his spouse with an obvious question, but his stomach rumbled treacherously. "Do you have any raisins left for me?" Breakfast first, question later.

"Huh." That was all Sebastian expressed as he treated Junimo to some raisins. This creatures kinda cute, actually. "Sebby, dear, didn't it surprise you at all?" *Sebastian looks at the huge slime hutch, the coop with void chickens, the giant golden clock and the four tall warp obelisks* "Nah, not really, why?"

Not believing his own eyes, Harvey wiped his glasses and looked again, but what he saw before him had not changed. Farmer was still standing over the strange leaf house, and the apple-like creatures were still jumping around them. The doctor felt a little uneasy. He wants to ask. At the same time, he doesn't want to ask anything, lest he break his mind completely.

At first Elliott couldn't understand why there were different apples lying around his spouse. Red, yellow, green... blue and purple? Until those apples had eyes, arms and legs. "Good morning, Elliott, did you sleep well?" Apparently not, because the writer feels that sleep deprivation is making him see some... jumping apples.

Why would Magnus be surprised by the existence of Junimo? In fact, he's the one who introduced Farmer to these creatures. Interest in how his spouse had made friends quickly with the forest spirits, yes, but surprised? He is a wizard, he'd seen more stranger things than that in his life.

Well, that.... explains why Farmer refused Victor's advice to hire some helpers for the farm. Turns out his beloved spouse already has helpers... Little, apple-like helpers. Victor knows magic exists, but he didn't think he'd see something like this in real life. This is great, actually. Very interesting.

Does Lance see Junimo? *Chuckle* Of course, dear Farmer, and not only does he see them, but he even managed to ask the little forest spirits a few questions. For a good portion of raisins, because they love this treat so much. When else would the gallant adventurer have a chance to chat with Junimos, hm?

_________________________________________

SDV/SVE bachelorettes:

It had been about half a minute, and Maru couldn't let go of the idea that what she was seeing was the work of magic, and not Farmer's little robotic assistants. Magic, spirits... No, that somehow doesn't fit in her head. She's determined to study these 'Junimos' to see who or what they are. Erm, if the Farmer and the creatures themselves don't mind, of course.

You know that state when you have a lot of conflicting emotions bubbling up inside you, you don't know how to react to your own cognitive dissonance about the "magic" that is right in front of your eyes, but you try to stay positive for the sake of the person you love? That's what Penny was experiencing when her spouse was showing her forest spirits.

"Oh, so cute!" Abigail has a bit of magic in her, so of course she can see Junimo too. She's in awe of these forest creatures! And they are such wonderful helpers, harvesting the crops. "My spouse pays you well, yeah?" And the little Junimos jump around happily with tasty raisins in their little hands.

"Eeew! What is tha- Ah, okay, at least it's not rats." Apparently Haley can excuse cute magical forest spirits, but she draws the line when it comes to rats. Because she's terrified of those rodents, yuck. Junimos at least help her beloved Farmer with work, and they smell like forest freshness.

Merciful Yoba! Emily felt the presence of someone's unusual aura, but she couldn't explain who it was coming from. It turned out that all the time the little apple-shaped creatures had been at the farm and had helped her spouse! Kind spirits, how wonderful! And they like raisins? Oh, she sure has a treat for her new forest friends!

Huh, when Leah mentioned that Stardew Valley is "full of magic," she meant that it's full of inspiration for her future works, not literally... Oh, well. Yes, strange little creatures live with her and Farmer, so what? They're cute, kind, and hard-working. Great neighbours (not like she had when she lived in the Zuzu City).

Olivia thought all week that there were a bunch of mice running around the farm, stealing the ripe wheat. After expressing their fears to Farmer that their crops might be destroyed by pests, Farmer showed their wife that it wasn't mice, but little helpers, Junimos, who live there. ...She need a glass of wine. Maybe two.

"Oh, do you see them too, dear?" To be honest, Claire would rather not see them. Not that she minded the cute, erm, creatures, just... Eh, you know what? Why should she be surprised at all? There are so many unusual things and creatures (golden chickens, slimes) on her spouse's farm that there's no point in her being surprised.

Sophia was stuck somewhere between the "Adorable lil apples!" and "Eeeeep! What is that?!" when she saw her spouse surrounded by a dozen magical Junimos. The pink-haired girl floods Farmer with questions and tries to take pictures of the forest creatures on her phone, to show Scarlett (only they've scattered now, awww!)

_________________________________________

[cool-and-grizzled]

nobody asked for klance trying to assemble furniture but im giving it to you anyway

"Keith, no, I'm telling you, you're holding that piece upside down."

Keith shoves the instruction booklet into his face. "Look, it clearly shows the side with the three holes facing up."

"I can't look," Lance says, pushing Keith's hand away from his face, "because I can't see it from an inch away. And you're wrong, it's the side with the four holes."

Keith huffs, blowing his bangs out of his face as he re-ties his hair into a bun. "Where do you even see that fourth hole? Did you hit your head too many times?"

"I wasn't the one getting concussions all the time, but I digress. Okay, let's do it your way, but if I'm right you're doing the laundry too for a week."

"Okay, fine," Keith says, his tone clipped.

Assembling a pull-out couch should not be this hard, or take this much time, but they've been here for an hour already, and they don't even have a frame to show for it.

Saving the universe from total annihilation? No problem. Flying sentient robot cats that merge into a giant robot? All in a day's work. Putting together a couch? Now that one seems to be a tall order, but they won't let a couch, of all things, defeat them.

They could call Hunk for help. He wouldn't laugh at them, probably. Hell, they could even call Pidge or Shiro, but they don't want the two to remind them of this every single time they'll meet up. Besides, they would both rather die than admit they're wrong - their pride doesn't let them.

As Keith works on the piece, Lance eyes it with trepidation. "I don't think that looks right."

"What?"

"Come here," he waves Keith over to where he's standing, "it looks all wonky from this angle."

Keith stands up with a sigh, and stands next to him, his hands on his hips. He looks at the assembled piece with a frown, and tilts his head to the side as if that would help. His shoulders sag, and he rubs at his eyes.

"Don't tell me I told you so."

Lance hugs him from behind, resting his chin on Keith's shoulder. "I wasn't going to."

"Yes you were," Keith says, leaning back against him. "You love being right."

Lance presses a kiss on his cheeks. "I do, and I love not having to do laundry even more. Now let's put this thing together."

Turns out, Lance wasn't right either, and in the end they had to call Hunk, who told them they were looking at the wrong piece in the first place and laughed himself to tears. Lance hung up on him without any remorse.

[waythroughtheice]

Okay, now I'm curious about the MM/Pokemon AU, because I've done a couple of those before too

Oh, this is a fun one.

So that AU in particular was actually made with @bruggle, and it was her idea in the first place to do an MM/Pokemon AU. However, we workshopped it together to make it work, and actually got a lot of out it.

The general idea was that the universes/worlds merged one day, pretty seamlessly....sort of. That was the only way we could logically make the two universes work together logically; after all, if there were magical creatures running around from the get-go it's not entirely likely reploids or robot masters would be created, nor is it likely that the wars would even go on for so long (or be so many).

So, if we wanted a pokemon/MMX au we needed the worlds to merge, so that's what happened. Arceus probably did something, who knows.

The merge would happen after MMX 8, but before the Elf Wars (this was also so we could add in Brook, Bruggle's OC), so we had all the drama with Weil coming up but none of the death and pain the Elf Wars cause....yet.

On the pokemon side of things, this happened after their war (which is hinted at in the OG Pokemon Red/Blue titles), and Lance is firmly Champion. Ash is typically a few years before beginning his journey, but it'll be soon.

The governments work together to make things work. Mavericks are still a problem, and since children are typically the victim of choice for Mavs (in mine and Bruggle's aus, anyway), journeys typically begin at 16 now across all regions. Kanto didn't want to at first, citing tradition, but there was a pretty bad massacre on one of the routes that made them go "oh no," and Lance put his foot down and that was that.

The S-Rank Hunters are typically regarded as the "Champions" of their world (they hate the title), and from what I recall really only had three to four pokemon each, and I can't even recall all of them, oops. X had a Lucario, though. Axl had an Inteleon, Espeon, and a Ditto (they were all menaces), and Zero had an Arcanine and an Aegislash.

Things begin to really heat up once the first pokemon movie approaches, and Mewtwo begins to threaten the world.....

But yeah, that's the barest bones of the AU.

Thanks for the ask!

[lance-thunder-reporting-live]

Good morning Amity Park, I'm your ghostly weatherman, Lance Thunder. Today's Wednesday, October 2, and there's a 0% chance of rain. Highs are in the high sixties, and the lows are in the mid fifties.

Much like the incident last June, a sleep ghost attacked Amity Park last Thursday night, causing everyone to fall asleep until yesterday afternoon. It is assumed that Danny Phantom was the one to defeat the ghost, as when the Fentons chased and shot at him last night, he was observed screaming, “I can’t believe this is the thanks I get for saving the all of your butts again. What, do you want to sleep for a thousand years or something?”

Two giant ghosts fought each other in Landreth Park yesterday, destroying several trees and the swing set. The two ghosts, a robot similar in appearance to a scaled up Transformer or Voltron toy, and a dinosaur, similar in appearance to a child’s interpretation of a dinosaur, were defeated and captured by Danny Phantom and the Red Huntress. It appears that they used a new and as of now unknown Fenton Weapon to subdue the ghosts.

All students in the Amity Park School District will not be required to attend school today.

The Fentons will likely be driving today.

[atla-what-is-this-site]

Voltron Bloopers

*Keith is standing holding half of his bayard in front of a sentry* *off camera*: Keith what happened?

Keith, sadly: it broke

————————

Shiro: y’all

*cut* Shiro: y’all

*cut* Shiro: Yoll?

*cut* Shiro: you’ll

*cut* Shiro: y’all- fuck, PALADINS!!

————————

*scene being filmed between Allura and Coran* Coran: ya know, your father put this handy dandy hologram into the ship so you could talk- *shiro screams off set* Allura: what the fuck was that?

Keith, appearing just on set, using two pieces of armor to trap a spider: where’s the back exit again?

————————

*Allura glaring at Keith* Keith, with his most innocent eyed expression: princess

Allura, looking away: shit i can’t do this

————————

Lance, angrily: I’ll stick you in a-

Keith: *laughing*

Lance, also laughing: stop you’re contagious!

—————————

Shiro, looking at Keith’s conspiracy board: what is

Shiro, elbowing Lance in the face: THIS- shit Lance you ok?

—————————

Pidge: I programmed this robot to- what did I program it to do again?

————————

*During “the journey”* *Shiro is strapped to the table* *Kosmo runs in and leaps up onto Shiro’s chest* Shiro: aww who’s a good boy? *pulls arm out of restraint to pet him*

Handler, rushing to drag the dog away: dammit Kosmo not again

————————

Hunk: so Pidge, what’s your favorite food?

Hunk: *opens cabinet*

Matt, working on his newest coding project in the cabinet: oh hey guys

Pidge, perfect deadpan: I guess you could say he was in the closet.

Director: get out of the closet, Matt

Matt: I’m bi

Director: NOT LIKE THAT

Hunk: Matt get off the set

————————

Coran: you ever heard of a Red tailed fishmonger?

Pidge: oh yea my brother’s one

Coran: a giant sentient mammal?

Pidge: a furry who likes fish

————————

*lance gets into the Blue Lion* *barbie girl starts playing* Lance: 🎶oh I’m a Paladin in a giant lioon🎶

————————

[blanceyblance]

A study on Lance's underrated role on the team. Pt 4

Pidge

It is a common interpretation to see Pidge and Lance's relationship as very sibling like, and I can see why.

Since the very first episode we see Lance being very perceptive of her.

It is funny how bossy Lance is in the simulator, but he does care about his team following safety measures.

After they crash the simulator and Iverson badmouths the Kerberos Mission crew, Lance prevents Pidge from going off and getting in more trouble.

And this ends with him in the end of Iverson's irritation, reminding him he is in this class because the best pilot left. This visibly affects him but later we see he doesn't harbor any ill feelings against his team.

He plans on taking Pidge with them for a fun night in town, and he is being a rebellious teen here but also keeps mentioning how important it is for the trio to bond as a team.

Later in the roof, is his observation about Pidge's strong reactions to any mention of Kerberos and his insistance that they need to bond as a team that convince Pidge to tell then about what she was investigating.

And it may seem that Lance is using the "team bonding" as a excuse to just hang out but it is something he mentions constantly and Pidge has noticed it. We see in a flashback of Pidge's first meeting with them that Lance was eager to welcome them into the team and get to know their new member.

And even if Pidge blew them off quite rudely, Lance still tried to include them.

In the comics, Pidge mentions "team work" and "team awareness" as some of Lance's strenghts. So Lance being heavily team oriented has not gone unnoticed by her.

Back in the topic of perception, the rooftop was not the only moment we had of Lance being observant of Pidge's behaviour.

In the Game Show, Lance had trouble recalling Rolo's name, but had the detail that Pidge liked Beezer very present.

And it's Lance's awareness of Pidge's behaviour and her absence around Rover that made him realise that robot was an impostor.

Speaking of "The Fall of the Castle of Lions", is in that episode where Pidge reveals she is thinking of leaving Voltron, and while she is the one with a made up mind Hunk also expresses his desire to leave and being unsure of being in the team. Allura herself says "This team is falling apart." It takes Lance getting hurt for the team to spring to action and that helps both of the members being hesitant in staying reach an understanding of the importance of being a Paladin. Pidge in particular since she realises she has not being present for her team that much (Lance and Hunk) but she is willing to help them now.

Even by accident, Lance helps the team stay together.

This episode also has the moment where a hurt and weak Lance shots Sendak to get him to drop Pidge. Later it's implied that Lance doesn't remember this moment, so he was barely conscious.

Again, a barely conscious and weak Lance decided to use his remaining strenghts to help his friend in peril.

This is not the only moment we see Lance being protective of Pidge, in later seasons, where the team gets captured by Zethrid and Ezor. To get them to talk, Zethrid assumes the paladins have a soft spot for "the small one".

She is right, but the first (and only one) to react in that moment is Lance.

We also see this protectiveness in more subtle ways, in the episodes where they are talking about the possibility of getting Sam Holt back.

At first he looks on board with giving Lotor because of his personal grievances with him, but then understands how serious Pidge is about this and even looks a worried at her outburst.

And then, when Zarkon double crosses them and doesn't give Sam back, Lance is the first to react and tells the team to go down and help.

Lance just really dislikes seeing his friends in any kind of distress.

And I know I said Keith and Allura's parts were going to be the longest but turns out that the 10 pic limit is still my enemy and there is still some things I want to talk about related to Lance and Pidge interactions.

[Masterpost] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7]