icypantherwrites · 2 years ago
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Fanfiction: Tender
Summary:  Lance knows his injury isn’t fatal but it’s not a papercut either. When his options though are either treating it himself or the dark, narrow, cold cryo-pod that the very thought of makes his stomach clench more than looking at this wound, he knows there’s really only one choice. But as he wakes up now with a fever and wound pulsing and hot to the touch, he’s starting to fear he’s made the wrong one.
Story snippet:
A knock sounded on his bedroom door along with with a peppy call of “Number Three? Are you in there? I am looking for taste-testers for my newest creation,” and Lance jolted and that made him groan before he could hold it back as his leg violently protested.
“Number Three?” Coran called again and there was a clear undercurrent of worry now his voice as he’d no doubt heard the groan. “Are you all right?”
Lance gave a silent shake of his head to that.
But, but the moment Coran came in and saw him…
He’d put him in a pod and Dios, he didn’t want to go into the pod.
But, but if he didn’t say anything and he told Coran to leave and somehow the infection got worse…
A tear trickled down his cheek, his hands spasming at his sides.
“Number Three, I am coming in,” Coran announced, no longer giving Lance the option, “please pardon my intrusion,” and then the door was opening and Lance was squeezing his eyes shut at the too bright hallway light.
He still heard Coran’s sharp inhalation as Coran spotted him in his bed.
“Oh, my boy,” Coran’s footsteps were soft as he crossed the room, the door closing with a soft hiss behind him, “what has happened?”
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sukoshininja · 24 days ago
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Blood Gamble
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3
"It's not mine."
That's what Lance had said, because it couldn't be. He would know. Wouldn't he?
But judging by the look on Keith's face, he was clearly missing something.
"We need to put pressure on that," Keith said slowly in that carefully enunciated voice, the one he used when he was trying to hide his alarm.
Again, it wasn't his. But he knew better than to interfere when Keith was like this, teetering on the edge of panic. Better to let him see for himself. 
Lance allowed Keith to remove his left rerebrace, which, to Keith's credit, was slick with blood. Keith wrinkled his nose and bit the tip of his glove, pulling it off his hand.
"See? Not mine."
 "Nothing on this planet bleeds red, Lance," Keith reminded him as he forcefully pressed the rubber glove into Lance's tricep. 
Oh yeah.
But if that was true, then why didn't--
Oh. Oh. Okay. Now it hurt. The pain was so sharp it felt cold, spreading ice to his nerves in his fingers. He wiggled them experimentally. Bad idea.
 Keith tapped his helmet, activating his comm, "Red team withdrawing. We need to get Lance to a healing pod. Stat."
"Do you need an extraction?" Allura asked, concerned. 
"No, but he's losing a lot of blood."
"How much blood are we talking?" Hunk asked as Lance's vision started to get fuzzy around the edges
"Tourniquet level," Keith replied as he pulled his hairband out with one hand, the other still holding pressure to the wound. 
His heart was beating so fast that Lance half expected it to explode. He tried to focus on taking big slow breaths, but he found himself gasping for air when it seemed like he couldn't get the air in fast enough. Oh no, he was hyperventilating. That couldn't be good. 
"Hold this," Keith instructed as he folded the band in half and wrapped it around Lance's arm, pulling the elastic tight.
The pressure on his brachial artery was not a welcome sensation, he realized as he felt his hyperactive pulse push against the elastic band. Nausea rolled in his stomach.
Keith snapped his fingers in front of Lance's nose. Lance tried to focus on the eyes looking back at him with intensity. "I'm gonna need you to keep pressure on this, as much as you can."
Lance nodded, the pain making him feel so weak he was numb, like his extremities were slowly disappearing. It wouldn't be long before he was weightless. 
Keith hoisted him in a fire's carry before bolting for Red.
Lance was barely aware as his cheek lay against the cockpit floor. It was cool. And he was the coldest he had ever been. 
Fog pressed up against him, clouding his awareness. 
-nce
What was that?
-ance!
The sound dipped in and out, gently, like a lullaby. 
Lance! What's your blood type?
And everything was quiet. 
*   *   *
There was a pressure in his head. A pounding. Wait. That's what sounds were. Those were sounds. Funny. He couldn't understand them. Not yet. It was like they were all meshing together in one big blob that echoed through his head like a gong.
It was dark too. Oh. His eyes were closed. He should open them. Nope. Too hard. He could wait. Something was off, and he wasn't terribly eager to find out what. 
When Lance came to, he was on his knees.
He slowly opened his eyes. The light burned. He squeezed them shut again.
"How are you feeling, Lance?" a booming voice asked and Lance flinched. 
"I--" words felt weird in his mouth. And was that supposed to be his voice all frail and scratchy? "I'm alive, I-I think."
"You had us for a while there," the voice continued. Lance recognized it as Shiro. 
"Can't keep me down!" Lance replied weakly. Sensations were gradually beginning to return. None of them were pleasant. 
He tried opening his eyes again. Still too bright. 
"You saw that, right?" Pidge asked, alarmed. 
Shiro made a corrective noise. "Let's focus on getting him stable before getting side-tracked. Lance, can you stand?" 
Lance tried, but it was like his muscles couldn't be bothered. "I don’t think so."
"It's okay. I'm going to carry you, alright?"
Lance nodded. As Shiro lifted him, he attempted to open his eyes once again, but this time only by a hair. It was still too bright, but it was bearable, and he could roughly make out the figures around him. They were in the medical bay. He must have just exited the pod. 
"Should I wake him?" Pidge asked, gesturing at a makeshift cot.
"Let's wait until Lance gets settled," Shiro advised. He gently carried Lance, bridal style, to his room. 
Pidge pulled back the sheets and Shiro gently placed him down on the mattress. They fussed at him, arranging his limbs, fluffing pillows and tucking him in. Shiro adjusted the weird cape thing that draped from Lance's shoulders. It reminded him of that thing barbers snapped around your neck when getting a haircut. 
 "What's this?" 
It did not escape him how they both stiffened. 
"We’re gonna wait until you are a little more sober," Shiro said carefully. "You'll get to see it soon, after you heal a little more."
That bad?
"Chicks dig scars," Lance made it sound as flippant as he could. 
Shiro regarded him with a calm mask. "Do you need anything? Water, more pain killers?"
"Can you turn the lights down? They really hurt."
Shiro adjusted the dimmer until the lights faded to a soft glow.
Everything came into sharp focus as he was able to open his eyes fully. His vision was still a little off, though.
Pidge was looking at him intently, almost as if she was studying him.
"How long was I out?"
"Long enough to have us all worried," Shiro answered. "I'll let the others know you're awake. I'm sure they'll want to see you, but it's okay if you're not up for company just yet."
"I can say hi," Lance offered.
Shiro nodded and stepped out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him. 
Pidge was still squinting at him. He was not about to apologize for the low light. She looked pale, like all the color had gone out of her. 
"Why do you look...less?" 
"You're standing in the presence of a universal donor, you greedy bastard," she announced proudly, striking a hero pose.
That couldn't be right. She was much too small. She definitely didn't hit the weight limit to safely donate. "I thought you had to wait at least another year to give blood?"
"If I waited, you'd be dead."
Oh.
"You're welcome."
"I don't know how to thank you," Lance said quietly. He owed her his life, that was a debt he would never be able to repay.
"Don't. Anyone would have done the same."
The door slid open and Keith strode in, out of breath and hair a mess.
"How was your nap?" Pidge asked. 
"I brought the pain drugs. Is he sleeping? Why is it so dar--" Keith made eye contact with Lance and froze. 
"Shit," he whispered.
"Keith!" Shiro called from down the hall, he appeared in the doorway a moment later. "I told you to wait."
But Keith wasn't paying attention. His eyes locked on Lance, lower lip trembling. Suddenly he turned on his heel and all but ran out of the room. 
"SHIT!" Lance could hear him scream into the hall.
Not exactly the reunion he expected. 
Shiro heaved a tired sigh, "I'll be back."
*  *  *
It had been days, and Lance was getting antsy. 
"Is it really that bad?" he asked Allura when she brought him breakfast one morning. 
"Is what bad?" 
"My face."
There was a reason all the mirrors were covered, that Shiro had tried to stop Keith from barging in, that when the others come to see him they wore curated expressions.
"Still got your looks, if that's what you're concerned about," Allura laughed, mussing his hair affectionately.
Lance tried to lean into and enjoy the rare casual touch Allura graced him with. But the feeling that they were hiding something from him wouldn’t leave him alone. 
"Keith took one glance and bolted," Lance challenged. He hadn't been back either. That bothered him more than he cared to admit. 
She smiled softly. "I believe he feels at fault for what happened to you."
Lance's memory was pretty hazy at best, but he seemed to remember Keith saving him. "What are you not telling me?" 
Allura hummed thoughtfully. 
"I'm going to find Shiro." She raised a hand at Lance's protests. "He can explain it better than I can. I'm afraid I don't quite understand how you earthlings work. He wanted to be the one to tell you anyways."
"You're scaring me."
“It’s been a very scary time for all of us,” she agreed as she slipped out the door.
When Shiro walked in a few moments later his mouth was set at a grim angle. "Hey, champ. How are you feeling?"
Lance shrugged. "Arm hurts. I'm stuck in this room because you won't let me out of bed. And everybody is hiding something from me."
That came out a lot harsher than he had meant it. But he was frustrated. 
Shiro nodded somberly as he took a seat on the bed, facing him. "We should have had this talk earlier, I'm sorry. We wanted to give you a chance to get your strength back a little first. I understand your frustration, but I still stand by that decision."
Shiro placed a hand on his shoulder. "I think you know this, but we came so close to losing you. There was a stretch where we didn't think you would make it. "
"Hunk said Pidge nearly killed herself to save me."
"She gave more than she should have,” Shiro confirmed. “However, you needed more than she had to give. When it became clear she would bleed herself dry for you, we had to make a choice. Losing both of you was not an option."
Hunk had conveniently left out that bit. 
"But neither was losing either of you. So, as your senior officer, I made a decision. A decision that should have been yours. But in the moment I was so scared of losing you that I didn't care. I am sorry I took away your choice. But understand that I do not regret my actions. The important thing is that you're still here, the rest is details."
Shiro looked down at his mechanical hand. Flexing his metallic palm open and closed a couple times. He reached behind Lance to undo his cape. As it fell off his shoulders, Lance braced himself for what he expected to be a nasty scar.
Only there was no scar.
Because there was no arm.
“There was no saving it,” Shiro whispered after a moment. “I’m so sorry.”
Lance could feel his heart rate quicken as his breaths became shallower. He lost his arm. They cut off his arm! How was he supposed to shoot?How was he supposed to pilot his lion? He couldn’t be a paladin anymore. He couldn’t even return to his life before, not with one arm.
“When you’re further along in the healing process, we’ll get you outfitted with a prosthetic,” Shiro continued. “Coran claims my Galra tech is too clunky and that Altean tech is much better suited for prosthetics.”
Oh yeah. Shiro had lost his arm as well. He seemed to be doing just fine. Alien technology for the win. When he dreamed of following in Shiro’s footsteps, this isn’t quite what he imagined.
He forced a smile that he didn’t feel. “We’re twins.”
“Now back to that choice I made.”
Lance felt his stomach drop. There was more?
"As I said, Pidge alone couldn’t save you. But she wasn't the only one aboard with an O negative blood type. But given that Keith’s not all human we didn’t know how your body would tolerate this blood. But when it became clear that you need more, what choice did I have? Watch you die? Or pump you full of alien blood and watch that possibly kill you faster? Or possibly live? At least you had a chance. So I gave the order. I didn’t even ask him.”
Was that why Keith couldn’t stand him? Because he stole his blood?
Shiro sucked in a big breath before slowly letting it go. “It saved your life, but there were…side effects.”
“Side effects?”
Shiro handed him a pocket mirror.
He caught a flash of yellow, glowing, pupil-less eyes from a familiar face.
“He turned me into a quiznacking Galra!”
Next Part -> my whumptober masterlist
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ykiounion · 6 months ago
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Attention fic readers.
Please help me find this one Voltron fic.
I'm searching for a fic about Lance, where he suffers from depression and it gets worse once he finished his antidepressants pills. In replacement, he begin to use the pod as he found out that the healing pod temporarily messes with his brain waves, eventually making him feel better about himself. He thinks of it as a better solution than the pills, to the point he begin relying on it entirely. Thus, he purposely puts himself in harm's way, so that he will be required to use the pod and heal.
I recall a scene where he purposely picked up a fight with Keith, at first it was all jokes and fun until Keith swing towards his head and Lance who intended not to dodge, got hurt. Another scene where Lance holds the gun to his head/mouth and Pidge caught him in act.
I appreciate anyone who can help me out!
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yellow-cr0w · 2 years ago
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Disaster
Fandom: Bones (2005)
Pairing: Lance Sweets x Reader
Rating: Teen & Up
Warnings: Severe injury and blood loss, description of an attack with a deadly weapon. I’m very new at writing so be warned that there might be other things that I didn’t think to include.
Description: I really really want to write a long term slow burn fanfic for Sweets, this is the first scene that I had fully formed in my head (even though it occurs MUCH later in the plot, so I supposed I’m spoiling the fanfic for everyone rn but you’ll probably forget this happened by the time I get around to writing it). At this point Sweets and the OC, Julia have been friends for years and moved in together after he dumped Daisy and stayed with Booth and Brennan for a while. I forget which serial killer was in this era but I’m going to be rewatching the entire show while I write so this scene will also be heavily edited later once I get to that part of the plot. 
Let me know if you have any suggestions since I haven’t written anything in a LONG time and this is my first ever fanfic that I’ve actually put on the internet!
I hope you enjoy! :)
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Distracted by my thoughts, I stepped into the shower, the heat helping ease the tension from today. Sitting down to let the near-boiling water beat down onto the top of my head, I replayed earlier events.
A faint noise ripped me from my thoughts.
“Sweets? Is that you?” I stood, it should be way too early for him to be back home - unless I had been in the shower longer than I thought. He shouldn’t be home for another two hours at least, but maybe I had lost track of time. I winced, the water bill was gonna be high this month if that was the case.
Hands trembling, I reached to turn off the water.
Click
The lights were out. I held my breath, frozen in place under the heated water.
Suddenly, the shower curtain was ripped open. The beginning of a scream left me before my mouth was covered. The weak light from the little toy nightlight outlined the horror in front of me. I blindly scratched at the silhouette - managing to land a few feeble hits until a sucker punch landed on my right side. The rough hand released my mouth and I was shoved hard into the tile wall.
The last thing I remembered was the ground disappearing from underneath my feet, and the quiet click of the light turning on.
I woke up shivering.
The freezing cold water contrasted the dull, crippling, warmth on my right side. I blinked at the filtered light coming from the closed shower curtain.
How long had I been here? My vision spun as I tried to push myself up on shaking hands to turn off the water. A spot just above my ear pounded. My stomach lurched and I resigned myself to leaning back and shivering.
I opened my eyes to the sound of the front door. 
Maybe whoever did this to me came back to finish me off. Maybe it was-
“Sweets,” my voice croaked out. He wasn’t going to hear me. Hell, I could barely hear myself. I tried again, sounding even weaker than the first time.
I closed my eyes again, praying to whatever, whoever, inhabited the sky that he would decide to use our apartment’s one and only bathroom soon. Maybe he would be too tired to brush his teeth before bed. Maybe he wouldn’t risk coming in with the shower running. Maybe he didn’t hear the water at all.
“Jules? You didn’t slip and fall down the drain did you?”
A small cry left my throat in my attempt to call for help.
Please, I silently begged.
“Are you okay in there?” A gentle knock along with a pause, “Julia?”
Come in.
The creak of the door and gentle footsteps pushed me to try again.
”Help… please.”
The shower curtain was hesitantly pushed open and I came face to face with a wide-eyed Sweets. He muttered expletives under his breath, rushing to turn off the freezing water and start grabbing several towels from the bathroom closet. He stumbled over himself trying to get a towel to lay flat on the bathroom floor before moving to cover my exposed body.
“-crap crap crap, how long have you been here? Do you know how much blood you’ve lost?” He leaned over the side of the tub. His eyes frantically searched my face.
“I’m not bleedi-“ I slurred out, my words fading into a cry as his hands pressed the rough fabric into my side. High pitched ringing blinded me and a furious coil rose into my throat.
“-s okay. You’re okay, stay with me.” A small tapping on my cheek prompted me to blearily open my eyes. “How long have you been here?”
“Don’t know.” A heavy lead filled my muscles, keeping me from shivering any longer. “-m so cold. I just woke up.”
“I’m gonna put you on the floor until the paramedics arrive, okay? You’re gonna be fine-“ Sweets repeated more soft encouragements as he carefully moved his arms under my bare upper back and just under my thighs. I sighed in relief as the hard curves of the tub no longer pressed into my bones. He lifted me like I was made of paper thin porcelain that would shatter at the slightest bump.
“You smell nice.” My head rag dolled against his arm, and I caught the hint of the earthy cologne he aways wore. “Why’re all the colors weird.”
My mouth felt funny.
Everything feels funny. Half of a laugh slipped out.
Sweets muttered more curses as he kneed next to me. “-k you’re in shock.” One of his hand pressed hard on my side as he desperately fumbled to release his phone from his pocket. “It’s going to be okay- I’m calling 911 they’re going to help you.” He blinked rapidly, phone shaking and jerking with each beep of the keypad. “-you’re going to be okay. You’re going to be oka- COME ON answer the phone.” The pressure on my side increased.
“Lance,” I faintly tugged on his dress pants. I heard the faint noise of the 911 operator picking up and getting cut off in their standard introduction by Sweets speaking faster than I could register. I repeated myself, losing my grip on the fabric. Beautiful, wild eyes ripped away from the blood soaked towel to look at me.
“I’m in love with you.”
A sob broke out of his mouth as he switched the phone to speaker and threw it down onto the tile. He used both hands to stop the bleeding, now blubbering our address to the operator.
His left hand broke away and moved to cup my face. I leaned into his touch, the dark edges of my vision creeping to the center.
It feels so nice.
“Don’t cry.” I mumbled, vision swirling as I tried to fight it and focus on what he was saying.
“Jules. Julia, no- stay with- NO.”
Too bright, I tried to say.
Hurts.
I’m so tired.
I’m sorry Lance.
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discordiansamba · 10 months ago
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anyways I don't know if it's due to falling asleep to the backdrop of people setting off way too many fireworks or not, but I had a weird dream last night and now I am here to tell you guys all about it because I've been idly rotating it all day. you've heard of body swap not get ready for... personality swap, I guess? But not completely?
anyways it seemed to take place at the tail end of season one, where instead of getting shot out into random locations by the corrupted wormhole, all the lions stayed on the Castle, but something about the combination of the corrupted wormhole and the paladin bond resulted in something... weird happening. Some kind of quintessence rearrangement that resulted in Lance, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith all swapping aspects of their personalities around that Shiro was apparently spared from because of some kind of defense mechanism that Pidge installed in the control chip for his arm that's in his brain that protected him but the backlash forced him to require some time in the cyropod.
(I guess my brain said. you know what would be funny. Shiro just waking up to this nonsense. and honestly? valid.)
(also allura and coran are fine and somehow escaped the wormhole don't worry about it. apparently the mice did also have their personalities swapped around but like. they're mice. they don't care.)
Pidge was probably the least effected bc she got traits from Hunk, who she already has a decent amount in common with, except now she's prone to nervous tirades, is now a morning person, and is calmed by the act of cooking. except she can't cook. Hunk at least kept very clear notes on all of his cooking experiments so she has something to work with. She suddenly finds herself more drawn to tinkering with things as opposed to coding, but she can still do the latter super easily. Also she has a solid sleep schedule now? She also stops wearing her brother's glasses bc she winds up fixated on the idea that she'll break them so she just keeps them safe in her room instead. Which she has now cleaned. She still kind of feels like she dodged a bullet. Sorry guys.
Lance is... having an experience, because he picked up traits from Pidge. He likes studying now? Except apparently he still has ADHD, but also Coran gave him this clicker thing that seems to be working wonders. He's suddenly a lot less interested in flirting and his detailed skin care routine kind of doesn't seem so important anymore. He has to actively set alarms on his phone otherwise he'll pull all nighters. He's starting to learn how to code? Which is weird but it's oddly calming. He's also pretty sure he picked up Pidge's sense of humor, because Pidge definitely picked up Hunk's sense of humor.
Hunk, to his great misfortune, has picked up traits from Keith. Which also includes his temper and his general introversion, the former of which he is working very hard on managing. He's also spending way more time on the training deck than ever before, but it suddenly doesn't feel like exercise so much as it feels... relaxing? Also he is like. always tense. What the hell, Keith, how did you live like this. How is HE going to live like this. Although it is kind of nice to not feel the urge to puke from nerves, which he... doesn't really seem to have anymore? That's kind of nice.
Keith is probably the oddest case of the bunch. He picked up personality traits from Lance, which he can't even get angry about because he doesn't have a temper anymore? apparently? He's suddenly a lot more extroverted, and also he feels the weird compulsion to... flirt? He's also become way more interested in self care and is suddenly not a morning person anymore. But for all that in some ways he has the most traits leftover from his core personality, because those traits turned out not to be parts of his personality so much as they were due to him being Galra- so he still likes training and fighting as much as he did before. Which is great, because if he let Lance's personality take him by the nose, he'd definitely just start to coast on his talent.
But they also each still have core aspects of themselves that apparently their lions preserved so it's not a full personality swap. Pidge will still wax poetic about the tech around them. Lance might not be huge into self care anymore, but he's still interested in trying to keep himself looking good. Hunk is still very kind, which makes having Keith's temper hard on him. Keith still is a nature boy and a jock, and somehow still doesn't understand how the cheer goes.
POV: You're Shiro. You wake up to this mess. It's been like this for a week apparently, and Coran and Allura don't know how to fix it.
...can you just go back to the cryopod maybe?
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notmoreflippingelves · 4 months ago
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Was anyone going to tell me that Jason Todd was not the first child with a criminal past living under the guardianship of Bruce Wayne who died in the Robin suit--or was I just supposed to be blindsided by that in my Silver Age Teen Titans readthrough?
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princelancey · 1 year ago
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naw i'm sorry take your gleeful ooh lance might not race this weekend hehe my driver can instead shit out of the lance tag, we his fans don't want to see that shit. not to mention all the original tweets about it have been deleted like come off it
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j-emini · 1 year ago
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no lance hate allowed.
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cementcornfield · 2 months ago
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😔
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autisticlancemcclain · 1 year ago
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Nearly two years ago, Lance had gone on a solo diplomatic mission to a seemingly harmless planet, with the intention of recruiting them for the Coalition. It had been his first solo mission, and he had been so excited. He had researched and prepared and done everything he could to be ready to make the mission as smooth as possible, but had still been despairingly nervous despite his eagerness. It had honestly been kind of adorable for everyone else. No one doubted him – if anyone could get a planet to join the Coalition by themselves, it was Lance.
When he missed his first scheduled update, no one was worried. As meticulous as Lance tends to be, he often gets caught up on big projects and forgets to do things like sleep or eat. Missing one update wasn’t a huge deal.
When he missed his second update, everyone was a little wary, but they were so busy with other tasks and missions that they figured they could afford to give him the leniency of a couple missed checkpoints.
Upon Lance’s third missed update, everyone really started to freak out. At that point, it had been almost a whole day, and the mission really shouldn’t have taken more than a few vargas at most. It definitely should not be so harrowing and difficult that Lance wouldn’t even have a moment of free time to shoot the team a text, at the very least. And so the team had paused any other tasks, made their way to the bridge, and wormholed over to the Flxr planet to figure out what the hell had happened.
Numerous attempts at contact with the planet were ignored, and the team truly started to panic. Lance had not contacted them at all since he left, and now the planet he was supposed to be on was completely radio silent. They had descended on the planet in a fit of fear and fury, desperately hoping to find a sheepish Lance who had simply forgotten to check in. Instead, they were greeted with the smug royal family of the planet, boasting on how they had tricked the Blue Paladin, and he had been handed over to Zarkon in exchange for their guaranteed freedom, power, and status in the Empire.
Allura and Keith had slaughtered the royals where they stood. No one did anything to stop them.
For months after, the team had been a wreck. It was honestly like they didn’t know how to work with each other – they argued over every word and decision, screamed at each other for every little thing. They isolated themselves during every moment of free time. At the end, they were so broken and damaged that they very nearly called the whole thing off, too angry and miserable to be in the same room. Their reputation had taken a huge hit, so few people trusted them anymore, and they hadn’t completed a mission in months.
It had been the combined efforts of Matt and Coran that had brought them back together, actually. Coran started forcing them all into grief therapy – individually at first, then as a team. Matt had whipped them back into shape team-wise, reminding them how to trust and work with each other. Slowly but surely, they reformed themselves into a team. Although the pain of losing Lance had never lessened, it no longer threatened to tear them apart. They all learnt to live with the pain, to work with it.
That’s not to say they were perfect. They still didn’t work as well as they used to, they still didn’t spend as much time together as they once did. They were still family, but it often felt like they were no longer friends.
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chriss-club · 2 years ago
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CONGRATULATIONS 😭😭😭😭
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f1-disaster-bi · 2 years ago
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Lance saw that Seb retiring was real and decided to stage a little protest
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princessofmerc · 2 years ago
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When Alonso does well in the Aston Martin it’s vile and disgusting and down to them cheating.
When Lance does well it’s great that he finally gets the chance to show what he can do.
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rightnewshindi · 3 months ago
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अनंतनाग में शहीद हुए हिमाचल के लांस नायक प्रवीण शर्मा, आतंकियों के साथ मुठभेड़ में हो गए थे घायल
Sirmaur News: हिमाचल प्रदेश के सिरमौर जिले के राजगढ़ क्षेत्र के हब्बन गांव के रहने वाले लांस नायक प्रवीण शर्मा जम्मू कश्मीर के अनंतनाग जिले के कोकेरनाग में आतंकियों से हुई मुठभेड़ में शहीद हो गए। प्रवीण शर्मा वन पैरा स्पेशल फोर्स में तैनात थे और 10 अगस्त को ऑपरेशन के दौरान आतंकियों से लोहा ले रहे थे। इसी दौरान हुई गोलीबारी में प्रवीण शर्मा घायल हो गए और बाद में उन्होंने अस्पताल में दम तोड़ दिया।…
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princelancey · 2 years ago
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The. Lance. "News". Is. Rumour.
More than likely it came from scotty's tiktok comments, hardly reliable. The riding one handed thing? How would anyone even know that, Henry, the guy who goes out on bikes with him, isn't there. Mike, the team boss, has reported its only one hand and has nothing about a break. A break in one wrist nevermind both would not be classed as a "minor injury"
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5sospenguinqueen · 2 months ago
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Feels Like Sabotage - Charles Leclerc x Red Bull! Reader
Summary: The Grid have decided that this is the season to see who can injure Yn the most. (Not intentionally, they all feel terrible about it). Fed up of seeing his girlfriend injured, Charles decides to enact revenge. 
Pairing: Platonic! Grid x reader. Charles Leclerc x Reader (slight)
Warnings: swearing, slight injury 
Word count: 3.3k
F1 Masterlist
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#1 Lando Norris
Cheers thundered throughout the track, vibrating through the floor and buzzing into the bodies of the podium winners. Max Verstappen stood in the middle, arms raised high as he bared his Grand Prix trophy to the roaring crowd. Another successful race, another win under his belt. The Dutch anthem was still ringing in his ears, and his smile widened as he turned to his left, finding his teammate beaming with her P3 trophy in hand. A double podium for Red Bull and another step closer to the Constructors Championship.
Jumping down from the P2 podium, Lando raced over to his friends, eager to share in their victories. He threw his arms around Max and Yn, dragging them both into a hug and shouting congratulations into their ears. Disentangling herself from the papaya racer, Yn turned to face the crowd, eyes scanning for a dark-haired Ferrari racer. Dimples deepening as he made eye contact with her, Charles blew his girlfriend a celebratory kiss. Unimpressed that Yn was distracted and not listening to his overjoyed shouts, Lando waved his arms about in front of her, hoping to garner her attention. Miscalculating his movements, his face morphed from delight to terror. Around them, cameras caught the moment that Yn’s face morphed from heart eyes to pain as the trophy came into contact with her skull. 
“Oh, fuck! Yn, I am so sorry! Oh, no. That was so hard.”
Recoiling from the McLaren driver, her free hand came up to nurse the red mark forming on her forehead. Lando chased after her, apologies spilling from his mouth. Yn beat him back with her elbow. 
“Did you just hit me with your trophy?” Yn asked in shock. “I didn’t even beat you.”
“I didn’t mean to. I was waving it about and…”
“And they say F1 drivers are coordinated,” chuckled Max, walking over to his teammate to inspect the damage done to her skull. He winced jokingly, fingers prodding the dark bruise forming. “Oh, dear, you have a bump.”
“Your protective P instincts are kicking in.” She teased, jerking back as pain lanced down the side of her face. “You going to put a Disney princess sticker on it next?” 
Max laughed, the melodic sound breaking through the ringing in her ears. “No, no. I will save those for Lando after Charles runs him off the track.”
The three winners glanced down at the aforementioned Ferrari driver, although Lando quickly looked away. Fury blazed in his blue eyes at the dark mark on her forehead. 
Sighing deeply, Yn placed the bag of ice (long since melted into water) on the table in her driver’s room. Post-podium interviews were always draining but it seemed to drag more so today. Although that might have partly been due to the pounding headache and the dull ache behind her eyes. After the disaster on the podium, the journalists had focused less on their momentous success and more on the injury she had sustained at the hands of Lando Norris.
The internet had already turned their moment into a meme, laughing at the incident, but the journalists decided to take a different route, complaining that Lando had done it deliberately. Fielding those questions was always soul-destroying, especially when they liked to twist whatever you said. Three short knocks sounded at her door, and it clicked open before she could turn from the mirror. 
“Mon amour.” Charles’ head poked between the gap before wincing slightly at the look on her face. “Does it hurt? I can’t believe Lando hit you.”
“He’s like an excitable toddler.”
Charles pulled her into his arms, glancing down at his bruised girlfriend. “You look like an œuf.”
“Saying it in French doesn’t make it any less insulting, Charles.” 
“You are the most beautiful egg I have ever seen,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to the wound Lando had left. 
#2 Daniel Ricciardo 
Sweat ran down the back of Yn’s neck as she gripped the steering wheel harder, flying through turn six. She tapped the brake slightly as the back of a Ferrari came closer, slowing down. 
“What is he doing?”
“Leclerc seems to be having an issue.”
“No shit. He fucking slowed right down.”
“Overtake when you can.”
“Tell me how to do my job, why don’t you?”
Pushing the car forward, she inched past the Ferrari as they approached the next turn. Her teeth clenched tightly together as he faded from view, running right alongside her. She felt sweat run down her cheek as her heart pounded in her chest and tried to focus on her breathing. She could do this. Just a little more.
“Fantastic job,” her engineer praised. “P5 now.”
Glancing in the mirror, she startled at the sight of Charles skidding off the track and onto the gravel, coming to a stop just before the barrier. 
“Is he okay?”
“Gearbox malfunction. Leclerc is fine and out of the car. Car behind is Ricciardo, two seconds.” 
“Okay.”
Relieved that Charles was fine, Yn returned her attention back to the track, doing her best to keep the McLaren behind her. 
“Defend. He’s going to try and overtake.”
Turning the corner, Yn kept on the inside, yanking the wheel in order to achieve the tight turn. Despite pulling left, she felt the car veer off to the right, ignoring her command as she slammed her foot down on the brake. Her body snapped forward as the car came to a sudden stop, smacking into the foam barrier. The plastic coating with Pirelli splashed across it broke, landing atop her head. 
“You okay?”
“What the fuck was that?!” 
“Ricciardo made contact.”
“No shit. He fucking shunted me into the wall!” 
“Obviously we’re going to have to retire the car.”
The cameras honed in on the Red Bull racer as she pulled herself out of the car. The crowd sighed in relief, pleased that she was alright but recoiled as she turned, violently kicking part of the plastic barrier. “Fuck!”
Storming over to the McLaren garage, Yn called out for the other driver forced to DNF. Behind them, the race was continuing, only another ten laps left to determine who would find their way onto the podium. And Yn wasn’t one of them. 
“What the fuck was that! Do you know how to drive?”
“Me? You turned into me!” 
“Don’t give me that shit! I was ahead of you, I was doing my turn first! You fucking clipped my wheel because you didn’t leave enough space and you want to blame me.”
Flashes of light went off around them, capturing the furious racer as she yelled at the sheepish Australian. 
“I am sorry but coming in here to yell at me won’t put you back in the race.”
“No, it won’t because my car is fucked! Learn to fucking drive next time.”
“A pleasure talking to you as always, LN.” 
“Suck my dick!” She yelled back, ignoring the numerous journalists smirking to themselves over their next juicy headline.
Debriefed and dismissed for the evening, Yn dragged her weary body out of the Red Bull motorhome. Despite having been cleared by medical, she was covered in bruises and looking forward to a night off. 
“Fancy seeing you here.” Charles teased, taking his hand out of his pockets and holding it out for her. Lacing her fingers through his, Yn’s broke out in a smile when he pulled her closer. 
“You didn’t have to wait for me.”
“What sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t drive you back to the hotel after your accident.”
“But, my car-”
“Will be dropped off later. I’ve already sorted it, mon ange.”
“You take such good care of me.”
Charles bent down, lips tracing her ear. “It does not end here. What do you say we take a bath when we get back?”
Yn laughed, leaning into him as his breath tickled her neck. Before she could answer, the pair of them were out of the paddock and assaulted by the media. 
“Yn. Yn. How are things between you and Daniel after your argument today? Things looked to be quite heated.” 
“Daniel and I will be fine. We haven’t spoken since our argument but it’s very hard to remain mad at someone like Daniel.”
“Charles, do you feel the same way? After all, it was your girlfriend he crashed into.”
“Obviously there was a bit of anger at seeing someone you care about crash. Um, but Yn is a driver much like anyone else. These things happen. If she forgives him then that is all that matters.”
The two drivers excuses themselves, walking past the rest of the media without stopping. Charles’ arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close. A muscle in his jaw ticked and he was relieved when they entered the safety of his car. 
“You handled that very well.”
“Could you tell I was furious?”
“No. You were very diplomatic.”
“Just another name to add to my list of people to hit with my car.”
“Char, you can’t say things like that,” giggled Yn.
“Only to you.”
#3 Lewis Hamilton
Waving at the crowd, Yn made her way across the paddock, eager for the day ahead. Another Sunday, another race, another chance at the podium. Stopping every now and then to take pictures with fans, Yn chatted animatedly with her PR manager as they discussed her upcoming media obligations. Unlike her teammate, she was much more amiable towards media appearances but only enjoyed the ones that didn’t feel more like a conference. 
“Beep beep,” a British voice called out behind her, alerting the two women clad in Red Bull polos that he was approaching. “Good morning, lovely ladies.”
He pulled up alongside them, foot slipping off the brake. Instead of coming to a stop, he felt the scooter roll over a bump in the end. Jumping off the two-wheeled contraption, he winced as his on-track rival hopped around clutching her left foot. 
“I am so sorry. I didn’t realise your foot was right there.”
“Why can’t you walk like everyone else?” She grumbled, wincing at the throbbing sensation when she put her foot flat on the ground. 
“Because it’s slower?” He offered weakly, looping her arm around his shoulders and helping her hop the remaining feet towards the Red Bull garage. 
Interested in the laces of her shoes, Yn shuffled in her seat. The top half of her racing suit had been discarded, tied around her waist, but when she sat down the sleeves had created an uncomfortable mound. P4 had been a helpful finish for the battle for Constructors but she couldn't help the disappointment at her finish. Lando, noticing her movements, asked if she was still in pain. One of the journalists called her name, preventing her from answering. 
“We noticed you limping earlier when you got out of the car. Was that in relation to the videos of Lewis helping you into the Red Bull garage earlier?” 
Lewis shifted awkwardly in his seat, offering the young woman another apologetic smile. 
“Uh, yes. Unfortunately, earlier today, Lewis ran over my foot with his scooter. I have some lovely bruising to show for it.”
“Do you blame Lewis? Do you think that was what stopped you from achieving P1? Perhaps it was deliberate.”
“Both Lewis and Toto made their way down to the Red Bull garage to apologise personally. It absolutely wasn’t sabotage. I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Unfortunately, yes, my boot was tied looser than usual, and putting pressure on my foot was painful in terms of braking. However, the onus is on me in terms of my performance. I don’t feel like I gave it my best today, and Max is very fast,” she finished with a laugh, earning scattered laughter from the room.
A buzz sounded in her pocket and she discreetly slipped her phone from it, checking the notification. The little race car next to the name had her smiling. 
Charles: You. Me. Celebration later? I’ll find the greasiest food
Yn: I miss you. This conference sucks
Charles: No, you miss being in the podium conference. Don’t lie to me x
Yn: That too
#4 Max Verstappen
“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is another perfect 1-2 for Red Bull! I imagine it’s smiles all around in their garage.” 
The Dutch anthem was still ringing in her ears when the 2nd place trophy was placed in her hands. Grin plastered across her face, Yn raised her trophy high in the air, relishing in the roar of her team, watching down below. Once Charles’ trophy had been securely handed over, and the presenters had scurried off the stage to safety, Max lunged forward for the large champagne bottle. Shaking it profusely, he popped the cork and aimed at his teammate.
Not even having time to reach for her own bottle, Yn was waterboarded by the bubbly liquid. Spluttering violently, she clapped her hands over her face, trying to ward off the onslaught of champagne. It was up her nose, down her throat and, most painfully, burning her right eye. 
“Max, you bastard,” she hissed, stumbling towards the edge of the stage where her engineer was waiting with a damp towel. Pressing it tight against her eye, she grumbled to herself about the dangers of champagne. 
“Oh, bebe, not another injury.” Charles murmured, glancing at her bloodshot eye. Champagne rolled off the tip of his hat, flicking the tip of her nose. 
Max bounded over next, laughing in elation at his win. He apologised at the sight of her eye but it felt a tad insincere when he followed it with, “They should call you the driver’s champion of non-race related injuries.”
“More like the champion of idiotic work colleagues.” 
“Don’t be like that. You love me really.” Max pulled her in for a headlock, wet arms wrapping around her head. Yn stomped on his foot when another drop of champagne rolled into her stinging eye. 
Fiddling with the cord of her microphone, Yn’s high from achieving P2 faded with each passing moment. Winning a podium was euphoric until she remembered it entailed a ninety minutes press-conference afterwards. Ignoring how badly she wanted food, Yn leaned over, whispering to Max, who looked as equally bored as she.
Charles’ hand slipped from her thigh as she moved, and he shook his head with a smile when he caught her gossiping. Her teammate grinned at whatever she said before the pair of them heard her name being called. Snapping to attention, Yn pulled away from Max and sat upright in her chair.
“Apologies but would you mind repeating the question?” Yn asked sheepishly. 
“Following your recent accidents at the hands of your fellow racers, there’s rumours flying around that the male members of the Grid are opposed to your presence on the track. Care to comment?” 
Yn leant forward towards her mic. “I must admit I’m starting to believe these rumours,” she let out a small laugh, informing everyone she was joking. “No, no. In all seriousness, I do seem to be getting attacked an awful lot by my fellow racers this season - uh, most recently was being blinded by Max after the podium - but I don’t believe there is any animosity behind it. They’ve all been very apologetic. I’m just unfortunate.” 
“Mon amour maladroite,” whispered Charles but the microphone picked it up regardless. 
Fake frowning at him, she reiterated for the crowd. “There’s a lot of love between me and the rest of the drivers so these are all just inCHIdents.” 
Charles looked at her in shock, offended by her mockery. “Hey!” He whined. “I’m the only person not trying to sabotage you.”
Yn pressed an apologetic kiss to his cheek and the cameras lapped up the rare glimpse of affection between the two during a race weekend. 
Charles' Revenge
A race in Monaco meant that the majority of drivers were able to spend the week beforehand at home. Padding across the living room barefoot, Yn made her way towards the kitchen. Wrapping her arms around Charles’ waist, she pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades. He turned in her arms, beaming down at her in his oversized hoodie. After her racing suit, this look was his favourite. 
“Thank you for helping me with this, handsome.”
“Help you? It was my idea, mon coeur. Especially because you would not let me run them off the track.” 
“Because that is…” she prompted.
“Dangerous,” he finished with a pout. 
The doorbell alerted them to the arrival of their first dinner guest, and she smirked to herself before flitting over to the door. Max stood there nervously, a bouquet of flowers in hand. She stepped aside to let him in, and thanked him when he handed the large flower bunch to her. 
“To apologise for blinding you, and to thank you for dinner.” 
“That’s very sweet of you, Max,” she inhaled the sweet fragrance of the flowers, almost feeling bad for deceiving him. He probably deserved this the least but her boyfriend needed a way to release his anger. “I’m going to put them in some water. Charles is in the main room with some sport thingy on the television. Gin and tonic?” 
“Just one.” He nodded, placing his discarded shoes on the rack before sloping off in search of the brunette driver. 
Hands clasped, Charles and Yn placed dishes of pasta in front of Lando, Daniel, Lewis and Max, smiling when they thanked them. Yn was well-known for her cooking throughout the paddock, often cooking sweet treats in the week and bringing them in for the Grid to share. Having a birthday on a racing weekend was a much coveted holiday because it meant a homemade cake from the Red Bull racer.
Watching as each of them took a big mouthful, she watched them all grimace in disgust when they swallowed. Taking a sip of wine before speaking, she informed them of the true reason behind their meal. “I lied to you. I didn’t cook dinner for you this evening.”
The four of them turned to face the devious Ferrari driver looking innocently at them, horror plastered across their faces. “Charles did.”
Friday - Practice 
“Four F1 drivers are reportedly suffering from food poisoning. Perhaps a racing dinner gone wrong? They’re still set to race on Sunday, just two days from now, but images of them have emerged from today’s free practice, and the four look particularly under the weather.”
Seated opposite her Team Principal, Yn fiddled with her fingers as Christian berated her. Shame crept up the back of her neck and for the fifth time that day, she wished Charles was with her. Hands perched on his hips, Christian stared down at her, waiting for an explanation. 
“I didn’t think they’d be ill for this long?” She defended weakly. “I just thought they’d suffer through a gross meal and that would be the end of it. I bought pizza afterwards!”
“You let them eat Charles’ food! What did you think would happen? The boy can’t cook.” 
“Oops…?”
Christian sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You could’ve at least left Max out of it.”
“He blinded me!”
“And I’d do it again!” Max groaned, clutching his stomach. Sweat beaded his forehead despite the cool compress resting atop it.
“The alternative was Charles pushing you off the track,” she shot back.
“He’d have to catch me first,” argued Max. 
The two drivers broke out into good-natured bickering, voices raising as they got more heated. Sighing yet again, the Red Bull principal sank into his chair and muttered to himself, “I’m working with children.”
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A/N: I'm not sure what this is (laugh) I apologise but writing fics isn't my strong suit. I should probably stick to smau's lol
On that note, requests for F1 smau's are open. You can see who I write for on my masterlist :)
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