Your asthmatic Lance fic was AMAZING and you're one of my fav voltron writers! Would you maybe be interested in writing something where the rest of the paladins leave to do a mission except for Pidge, who is at the castle to keep the defenses up, and Lance, who's protecting her (who was also left at the castle because he's got a cold). But Lance's cold turns into a really bad respiratory infection, complete with a fever-migraine, and he tries to hide it because he's protecting Pidge??
(YOOOOO THIS IS SO GOOD. WHAT AN A+ PROMPT. Also so sorry took so long! And I made this way more dramatic than I think u asked for lol! Also warning for self loathing thoughts and depression!)
Every so often Lance would have an off day.
Days where he didn’t feel right. Where he’d feel like he didn’t belong, feel lost. He’d feel worthless, and insecure. Days where he’d question his place in the universe, and every answer he’d come to terrified him. There were days he’d feel so small and minuscule, so insignificant. Days where he just felt..blue.
Sometimes they wouldn’t come for months, and sometimes they would happen every week. Sometimes they lasted a day, and the next morning he’d be his bright, bubbly self, but sometimes they lasted weeks and he’d be stuck in that dark place trapped for what seemed to be an eternity.
But for the past while, they’d come a lot more frequently and he’d have them for longer. They’d happen so often that it became easier and easier for Lance to conceal them.
He wasn’t quite sure why they happened, but he had a hunch. Lance wasn’t completely sure, but he theorised it might have been the pressure of having the entire universe’s fate in his hands. Or maybe the fact that the universe was a lot bigger than he expected, and that he felt so small in retrospect. Or maybe even simpler; being constantly surrounded by people better than him, stronger than him, more talented than him.
He wasn’t sure, but he’d felt down for quite a while now.
Lance’s friends were supportive, of course, they were the best friends in the entire world and he genuinely did not deserve them. But they made him feel so small. To no fault of their own; it’s just that everyone had their thing, and they were all damn good at their thing. And Lance was just your average joe. He just wished he could be more.
So Lance tried. He really did. He’d spent all his free time training, trying to be faster, stronger, more precise with his shoots. He’d try without rest. Until he was exhausted, drained of all energy. Until his bones were weak and fatigue seeped into his being. He would never stop until he was good enough.
But eventually his body went against him in a desperate plea to save itself, and forced him to stop when he had caught a cold that did not go unnoticed amongst his teammates.
It all started with a briefing.