that he can barely focus on giving orders

anonymous asked:

LANGST PROMPTS OKAY SO WHAT IF LANCE PICKS UP AN ALIEN VIRUS THAT MAKES HIM SUPER WEAK SO EITHER HE GETS SEPERATED FROM THE TEAM WHEN JT KICKS IN AND HE GETS REALLY BADLY INJURED O R HE GETS SEPLERSTED AND THEN PASSES OUT AND T H E N GETS HURT REALLY BAD

Sick Fic!!!!! I changed it slightly (sorry!)

Lance sprung his eyes opened, bolting into an upright position before running to his personal bathroom, dumping his dinner out in the toilet. He felt shaky and his vision clouded over with dizziness, his hands gripping the warm metal as he attempted to keep himself stable. 

“Ugh, my head hurts.” Lance placed his right hand on his forehead, feeling the heat roll off his skin. Am I sick? How would I get sick in space? He felt his stomach lurk again and heaved himself forward. After a few more moments of Lance pushing everything out of his stomach he washed his mouth with water before crawling back to his bed, his body was consumed in shivers as his forehead was dripping with sweat. I need sleep, he closed his eyes and prayed that his head would stop pounding enough for him to get some much needed rest, yet the universe had other plans. 

“PALADIN! PLEASE REPORT TO YOUR LIONS, WE RECEIVED A DISTRESSED FROM A PLANET BEING ATTACK FROM THE GALRA. THERE IS NO TIME TO WASTE.” Allura’s voice boomed over the intercom and Lance grabbed his head in pain.  Fuck! Why now? He rolled out of bed, falling on his knees hard, get it together Lance, don’t bring the team down. He swallowed quickly before forcing his legs to support his weight as he reached for his armor.

-

Lance fought back a groan, wishing he could wipe his forehead through his helmet. They had landed on the village, rushing to help the species, Hunk and Shiro directing the citizens to safety, Pidge flying her lion around using Green’s invisibility to smash into the Galra ships. Keith was running around, using his bayard to slice through the centuries as Lance covered him from the building rooftops. 

Yet Lance couldn’t get his eyes to focus on anything, blurs consuming his vision as he attempted to aim his sniper at the centuries. 

“Lance! Can you give me more cover?!” Keith huffed a few times, running towards another century.

“mhhtrying, kinda…hard.” Lance knew his voice was slurred but he could barely bring himself to care.

“Lance…are you okay?” Shiro carefully chose his words, mumbling directions and orders to Hunk. 

Lance wanted to respond, he knew he needed to but soon he was falling on his back, his bayard falling in front of him. Shit, I can’t keep going, he looked up at the sky, the orange color shining down on him. “I’m sorry everyone.” 

Panic filled the coms as everyone attempted to figure out what had happened to their beloved Blue Paladin. “Guys, Lance is passed out on the roof, want me to get him?” Pidge spoke quietly, already landing her lion before anyone could respond. 

She ran out of her lion, drapping to her knees by her friend head. “He’s burning up, I can feel it through his suit, I think he’s sick.” 

Hunk swore over the coms, Keith yelling something about taking him back to the ship and Shiro told Pidge that they could leave the mission with Lance, they would be fine. 

Lance mumbled something that wasn’t coherent and soon Pidge was dragging the boy who she saw as a brother towards her lion. 

-

The next few days were complete torture for Lance, every hour he would wake up, either on the verge of emptying his already starving stomach, shaking from the cold or sweating like a hot day in Varadero.

Everything hurt and Lance would scream out in pain constantly, his knuckles going white from his grasp that he had on the sheets. 

Coran has explained that this was a virus that was common in Alteans, basically a more intense version of the “common cold” back on Earth. There wasn’t a cure for it except sleep and water. 

Nobody could do anything for Lance but listen to his whimpers of pain, as he twitched in agony. 

“Ma-ake it s-s-s-stop Coran.” Lance kept his eyes shut tight as he rolled over, grabbing his stomach. 

Coran frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands running through Lance’s damn hair. “I wish I could boy, unfortunately all we can do it wait.” 

Lance moved his head back and forth, “I’m brin-bringing th-the team do-down.” 

Coran glared at his favorite paladin, grabbing another wet towelette. “Your sick Lance, you can’t rush recovery. You’re not bringing the team down, we’re not going anywhere, they just want you to be better.” 

Lance wanted to nod, but all that happened was his teeth starting to chatter when violently chills started to take over every part of his body. 

Coran motioned for Hunk to grab another blanket as he stood from the bed, “just focus on getter better my boy, you’ll be soon in a day or two.” 

I hope I did okay!

Sorry it took so long!

Thank you <33333333333

Social Anxiety (Cake/4)

Requested ? Yes
Summary: You have social anxiety and he tries to help.

A/N: I hope this is okay, the other 2/4 will hopefully be posted sometime this week or this weekend, depending on whether I can get internet at the place I’m staying for NCS. Let me know what you think :)

Calum:
Clammy hands and rising fear. Too many people; too much noise. You couldn’t handle it; you wanted to get out, to escape the chaotic mess of bodies and booming music. Parties had never been your favourite thing, and this one was bigger, more exaggerated, than any you had ever seen.

A gentle touch on your waist startled you and your heart rate spiked with fear, dreading the thought of having to fend off some lech who was looking for a drunken girl and a good time; it wouldn’t be the first time. But turning your head cautiously, your heart fell into its previous, yet still unusually fast rhythm, as your eyes landed on Calum, who had never been far from your side all night. If there was anyone you felt safe with it was Calum, but in this hazy environment, with music and fear clouding your senses, not even he could make you feel alright again.
“How are you doing?” he asked, because he knew. Without you telling him, he knew how you were feeling; how anxious you were getting and how there was a rising feeling of panic within you, coursing through your body, in both your stomach and your mind. The mere shrug of your shoulders which you offered up in response told him that you weren’t okay, that you weren’t coping, and when he took hold of your hands to comfort you and felt how clammy they’d become, he knew that he needed to do something. You had gone to that party for him, to make him happy and be there to support him, and now he needed to be there for you; he needed to support you.
“Let’s go home, eh?” he smiled, pulling you closer to him, wrapping an arm around your waist, and guiding you to the nearest exit.
“And thank you for coming tonight, I know how hard it must have been.”
It was as if the fog was lifting, and you could feel your heart rate returning to normal with every step you took away from the club, and with Calum by your side, guiding you home, you felt safe and calm once more.

Luke:
Things are fine when it’s just the two of you, huddled in the corner of the coffee shop, laughing and chatting away with each other. With nobody else that you have to talk to it’s easy to relax and tune out the rest of the world, but then comes the noise and the chatter and the cheers; the unfamiliar sounds of Luke’s bandmates as they stroll their way towards you. Of course you recognise them, despite having never met or been introduced until this point, you would be a fool not to recognise them, if not from the photos in magazines then from Luke’s almost perfect descriptions of the three boys he spent his days with.
“Hey guys!” Luke beams, beckoning them over, momentarily forgetting about the anxiety that he should know would be bubbling in your stomach. Your face flushes almost immediately as they approach your table, and their gaze flickers across to you.
“Hey, you must be Y/N!” Ashton grins, and you nod, trying to act a normal as you possibly can, but visibly tensing up anyway.
“Nice to meet you,” you mutter quietly, giving a little wave to the guys though your arm remains stiff. Your actions earn you a curious look, but you dismiss it; it’s something that you’re used to with unfamiliar people; people who don’t know about your anxiety. After that, you sit back as Luke chats, or rather shouts, excitedly with his friends, hoping desperately that they won’t speak to you again so the focus won’t be put on you. You’re so consumed with worry and anxiety that you barely notice Luke’s eyes drifting to you, taking in your rosy cheeks and stiff posture.
“Can you just give us a minute actually, guys?” Luke asks, and without question the boys nod their heads, marching over to the counter to order the coffee that they had originally entered the shop for.

“Do you want us to leave?” Luke asks, his voice soft and his hands reaching out for yours.
“No it’s fine, talk to your friends.”
He eyes you suspiciously, taking in your still stiff and clearly nervous body. With a shaking head and a soft smile on his face, he stands up, signalling for you to wait for just a moment as he makes his way to the boys. Out of earshot he explains to them in the simplest way, with the kindest words, about how you’re feeling, and how you’re maybe not the best around new people, and the boys understand; they get it completely. And so Luke returns to you, and the two of go to say goodbye to the others, with Luke rubbing soft, soothing circles on the skin of your arm to comfort you.
“Bye Y/N!”
“See you later!”
“Maybe we’ll see you again soon?”
The chorus of kind goodbyes makes you smile despite the knot in your stomach.
“Yeah, it was nice to meet you guys,” you grin, trying to fight back the nervousness and let your speech flow clearly. With that Luke guides you out of the door, assuring you that the guys loved you, and speaking words of how proud he is, how grateful that you had tried so hard with his friends, and how that is all he could ever ask of you.

Too Little, Too Late - Chapter 2

Before we begin:

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO HAS LIKED AND/OR REBLOGGED MY WORK.

You all give me LIFE and MOTIVATION to keep taking my word-vomit and editing it into a semi-coherent form.

This is Chapter 2 of my 3-part series around the prompt for more about the photographs of Brianna. Please go HERE for Chapter 1 of this series.

(I might be able to put together a chapter 1B if anyone wanted a more direct continuation of Chapter 1 - just message, reply, ask, etc.)

As I mentioned in part 1, I’ll be making artwork to go with each of these and reposting it all together.

Anyone have suggestions as to good places to put these more permanently? Perhaps Archive of our Own Or AO3 (not familiar with either- or are they the same thing)?

—————–

Spoilers for Voyager.

The following takes place within Voyager after Jamie, Claire, Fergus and Marsali are all aboard The Artemis.

—————–

Too Little, Too Late - Chapter 2

The Artemis - Day 10 of the voyage

Feeling appropriately frustrated, Claire found her errant Supercargo on deck in the shadow of the mainmast, looking down at his left palm as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“Jamie, there’s a Mister McFinney that is looking for you. I can barely understand his Irish Gaelic, but I think he might be looking for a barrel of squid?”

“Aye. He likely means the squid INK I keep in the Captain’s quarters. McAllen is helping me with inventory.”

Claire sidled up to her raggedy husband, hoping to see what was in his hand. He had seemed distracted earlier when giving out orders for the day to the crew and she was determined to stick her nose in and find out why. He put his hand back in his pocket before she could see what had his focus.

Neither of them had fully bathed in quite a while, and with all the work with rope, tackle and steering, not to mention writing, she was convinced that Jamie had at least a few blisters on his hands that he was trying to hide from her, possibly burst and infected ones. That simply wouldn’t do.

“What have you got there?”, she said as she snatched at his hand. She missed it and grabbed him by the wrist and dragged it forcibly out of his pocket with a glare at him.

Instead of finding a furtive open wound however, Claire suppressed a smile at seeing one of Brianna’s photographs in Jamie’s hand, curled up there like a student’s cheat sheet. It was the one of her by the fire, with the wind fanning her hair out echoing the flames she looked upon, the colors vivid on the paper in his palm. She leaned in to his ear and whispered, “Is there any particular reason you’ve got that out and about on deck where anyone could see it?”

“Oh, aye. I was thinking about where on earth I might be able to find a priest once we get to land. The last thing I want is to have to keep those two separate for months when it’s just the four of us again.” She followed Jamie’s gaze towards the starboard side to see Marsali and Fergus side by side, looking out at the rising and falling horizon, hands clasped on the railing.

“Enforcing separate berthing is simple enough with doors and witnesses on board. But once we hit the islands and jungles… Well, I dinna expect you’d want to continue that arrangement for too much longer, Sassenach,” he said with a sly grin.

“It seems strange to have my foster son wishing to marry my… stepdaughter. I intend to walk her down the aisle, as I should, but it got me to thinking. What about Brianna?” He looked down at Claire with a squint against the sun and yet behind the squint was a deeper sadness she hadn’t expected to see on his face in this context.

She paused for a second, unsure of where he was going with this. “What do you mean? What about Brianna?”

“Well… I’m here.”

“Yes?”

“And she’s… out there,” he gestured at the open sea beyond the deck. “You said she’ll decide on her own when and even IF she marries,” he said with a chuckle. “But I canna be there to walk her down the aisle.”

Claire realized with a shock that the same applied to her as well. Unless some catastrophe occurred, to which she made a hasty sign of the cross in her mind, she would remain in the past with Jamie. Where she belonged. But she would never see her daughter marry and the fact that she hadn’t even thought of that before leaving the 1960s suddenly infuriated her.

Too bloody little, too bloody late, Beauchamp.

“And so, I’ve been carrying that fool picture with me all day trying to… to see her. As she would be on her wedding day. To paint on the years that I dinna get to be there for.”

Claire cleared her throat to sweep away the lump and the angry tears that threatened to begin. She could cry in private later, but the ache for her daughter flowed through her veins.

“Well, if it’s purely a visual you’re looking for, I might be able to help with that. You see, in…,” she did some quick calculations, “…eighty years or so, it became very fashionable, and not too much later it was actually expected that the bride wear specifically a white dress for her wedding.”

“White? All white?”

She nodded.

“Well that’s hardly very practical,” he scoffed.

“Yes, and a veil to cover her face, too, but usually made of a thin tulle so you can see through it. The white of the dress was to symbolize innocence and purity… and virginity.”

Jamie grinned at this and bent to whisper in her ear.

“So it should ha’ been me wearing all white on our wedding day, eh Sassenach?”

Claire had to clap her hand over her mouth to stifle a guffaw at the mental image of her proud Highland warrior husband with a fistful of daisies, wearing a white, lacy, shift dress, which had been the latest fashion when she left Boston in 1968.

After taking a moment to get herself under control, she whispered back between fits of giggles, “Oh, no one cared whether the MEN were virgins or not.” She stopped to take a deeper breath to calm her clenched diaphragm. “Not that they do now, either, come to that.”

Jamie continued to squint down at his wife, unsure of what exactly she thought was so funny about a man leaving himself unsullied for his bride. After all, Claire certainly didn’t seem amused at the prospect when they wed years earlier.

“So… a white dress.”

“Yes,” she said, taking a final deep breath in and out.

“And a veil.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, Mo Ghraid.”

He bent to kiss her quickly before tucking the photo back in his coat pocket, then headed towards the bridge to intercept Mister McAllen and his search for squid.