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underground-secret · 3 months

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The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam, Dean, and Y/N investigate a haunting in an abandoned asylum rescuing two teenagers who ventured in, they become trapped with the spirits of those who had died in a riot decades ago, one of which was a doctor who causes extreme rage in his victims.

Warnings: Cannon violence, murder and mentions of suicide, arguing, banter, usage and mention of guns, ghosts, panicking/ anxiety, a little bit of angst

A/N: There will be a confusing part where your like who is she talking about and to that I say all in due time. Also i’m sorry it seems like i’m giving up on this (I didn’t realize I posted the last part a month ago) IM NOT i’m just super busy with school, if you’ve taken APUSH you get it—i’m fighting for my life.

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44, @bonkydarnes, @star-yawnznn

Word Count: 11,033

Asylum

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch)

I let out a big sigh, slumping in my chair as I do so, my head falling onto my laptop's keyboard, “How is your dad moving from place to place so fast”, I grumble into the keys. “Literally how!” My head shoots up as I complain, looking at Dean who sat across from me with his head propped up on one hand as he stared down at his fathers journal.

His eyes meet mine even as his head faces the book, his stare tells me everything I need to know. He’s also very frustrated, certainly more than me and he too has no answers.

I contemplate slamming my head against my keyboard when Sam walks back into their hotel room. His phone clasped tightly in his hand after he just went outside to call several people. “Caleb hasn't heard from him?” Dean asks his approaching brother even though the answer is written on his disappointed face.

“Nope. And neither has Jefferson or Paster Jim. What about the journal? Any leads in there?” Sam shoots back, referencing people the Winchesters knew. I had heard of them too, most of them really good friends of the boys but I never actually met them.

Now it’s Dean's turn to answer and complain, “No, same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out.... I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like frickin’ Yoda.”

“You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing person’s.” Sam sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“But isn’t he like, you know…wanted?” I ask, considering being a Hunter comes with breaking a lot of laws, like a lot. “That and Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail” Dean adds.

Sam’s face contorts into anger, “I don't care anymore.” Suddenly a cell phone rings from across the room, Dean's phone to be exact who immediately goes over to his bag. Sam huffs something between a sigh and a frustrated grunt, “After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean...he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself. You tried to call him and...nothing.”

“I know!” Dean yells loudly, snapping, the sound echoing off the ill painted walls. He rummages through his duffel rougher, “Where the hell is my cellphone?”

“You know, he could be dead for all we know.”

“Don't say that!” He snaps again, “He's not dead! He's – he's…”

“He’s not dead, your father is good at what he does. I'm sure he’s just caught up in something.” I tried to reason, turning in my chair so I could face both boys.

“Like that’s a good excuse” Sam spits back.

“Hey, I never said it was! But it certainly is a better and more optimistic view than death!” I lecture, my face scrunching up in offense.

“Huh.” Dean mumbles quietly getting our attention, “I don't believe it.” His words stopped Sam from saying anything further to me. His focus turned back on his brother, “What?” He asks.

“It's, uh....It's a text message. It's coordinates.” Dean answers and it’s clear who the message is from. I want to turn to Sam and say ‘Ha! told you so!’ but I hold back on the childish, but totally correct, notion. Before Sam can say anything snarky about the message Dean cuts him off, “Can I steal that?” He asks me to point to my open laptop. I nod my head quickly, “Go ahead.”

He walks back over to the table turning my laptop until it’s facing him and where he sat. “You think Dad was texting us?” Sam asks as his brother types away.

“He's given us coordinates before.” Dean answers.

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.”

“To be fair, a toaster and coordinates are pretty different. All you need is a paper map” I cut in, earning a hard glance from Sam. I could not explain why he suddenly had a problem with me other than the fact I disagreed with him, which in that case makes him just as childish as I wanted to be.

“Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least.” Dean adds, arguing.

“Well, was there a number on the caller ID?” Sam pushes, still somehow convinced it isn’t his Dad which when I think about it is pretty harsh. Would he rather his dad was dead? Probably not.

Dean answers, “Nah, it said 'unknown'.”

“Well, where do the coordinates point?” Sam follows up.

“That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois.”

“Ok, a little random, but what’s specifically so interesting about Illinois?” I ask this time.

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” He turns my laptop around with a news article zoomed in on a black and white photo of a cop, “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

“Okay, I'm not following. What has this have to do with us?” Sam asks, again I want to say something about him asking a dumb question but I hold back not wanting any more sass from him or anyone.

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” He scoots my laptop back, pulling open his Dads stuffed journal that sat on the table. “Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths – till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.”

Sam snorts, “This is a job... Dad wants us to work a job.”

Dean shrugs, “Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?”

“Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.” Sam snaps back.

“Does it matter? I mean we know it’s a hunt and we get to help people. I don’t see a loss in going.” I say, half shrugging.

“This doesn't strike either of you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Sam argues, his head snapping from his brother to me. It’s a good point to be honest but what else is there to do? Though I do not make that question vocal.

“Sam! Dad's tellin' us to go somewhere, we're goin'.” Dean yells, final word. Sam makes a nasty bitchface and sighs, saying nothing more.

I lean against the cold exterior of the Impala, my arms crossed against my chest to fend off any bit of the cold night even with my layers on. I could go inside the car but standing outside, right at the front of the car, felt more productive while waiting for the boys to finish their whole “skit” for information.

Dean would go in and antagonize the partner of the cop from the article which would inevitably fail. So Sam would be waiting there telling Dean, who he pretends to not know, to (in a lack of a better word) f- off so that Sam could weasel his way into questioning.

A very complicated plan for a bunch of dummies. I sigh again, my eyes closing in the progress, I try to force the tension out of my body, all the arguing infecting my usual good mood.

I open my eyes back up only to round the car and find it locked. My head falls forward, my chin touching my chest, of course Dean would lock his precious car. I glanced around me, barely anyone lingering outside except some people up against the bar smoking or leaving to go elsewhere, no one was looking so I gingerly tapped the handle, a swirl of purple mist leaving my fingertip until it slithered its way into the car and its mechanics. With a satisfying click the little lock pokes up, I grin as I pull open the door leaning in only to rustle through my bag and pull out my book.

Dean would have to forgive me, though my little trick did nothing to harm the car to begin with. I push down the lock, jabbing into my palm as I do so, closing the door behind me I make my way to the front of the car once more leaning against it as I open up my worn book of Little Women for the hundredth time. The pages had long begun to yellow though it only went as far as a light yellow, still the crisp smell of an old book wafted into my nose, serenity finding me.

Suddenly the bar door slams open, startling me for a moment after getting lost in the prospect of an escape. Dean quickly walks over to where I was waiting looking extra grumpy, his eyebrows scrunched together with his arms thrown out, “He pushed me so hard!” He nearly yells, his choice of words were childish at worst and yet it was very amusing. “Why are you reading that again?” He asks, suddenly pointing at my book.

“‘Cause I love it” I smile simply.

“Haven’t you read that a hundred times?” he asks, moving next to me, leaning against the car too.

“Give or take” I laugh lightly, “It’s one of my many comfort books.” I mark my spot before shutting the book. “I’m guessing your silly plan worked?” I ask him as he leans closer to me. He gives me that devilish smirk, “Not silly if it worked, sweetheart.”

Some time later Sam exits the bar, “Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy” Dean spits.

“I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting.” Sam bites back, just tension building on more tension. But there’s only so much the atmosphere or people can take before it blows up.

“Huh?”

“It’s like immersing yourself emotionally and psychologically with your character” I whisper before closing my book shut. But instead of clarity crossing over Dean's face he looks just as confused if not a little more. Sam sighs, “Never mind.”

“Okay so what’d he tell you?” I ask.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.” Sam explains. Basically nothing to suggest him suddenly committing a murder suicide.

“What about at home?” Dean shoots back.

“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.” Sam answers, I frown at the last part there was a whole life they could have lived.

“Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him.” Dean acknowledges.

“Well did anything happen as of supper recently that would even hint to a psychotic break?” I ask even though based on what we have it didn’t seem likely.

“No” Sam shakes his head, “Not that he mentioned at least.” I nod my head making a small mental note of that possibility, although unlikely, just in case.

“What'd Gunderson tell you about the asylum?” Dean questions.

“A lot.”

A loud horn blares from a nearby truck as Sam makes his way over the tall fence. With Dean slightly ahead of me I begin to climb the chain linked fence, I get a small jumping start clutching on to the cold fence. I shove my shoes into the little groves as I make my way up swiftly, being able to lift my legs high enough that I could make it to the top in about four moves. I balance myself on top of it before swinging my leg over it, I reposition myself to dangle slightly as my feet find purchase in the fence when about half way down I just decide to jump the rest of the way, landing on my feet in an almost crouched position.

The asylum itself didn’t look like it was falling apart but the overgrown bushes on the plot, the moss covering the building and the boarded up windows were a tell-tale tell sign enough that it was abandoned. The only thing keeping it from being entirely creepy was the early morning sun.

The door had no lock on it most likely from all the trespassing. But just as the door fell open an immediate musty smell hit my nose from all the trash covering the floor from beer bottles and cans to random bits of paper. Every surface of the walls was covered by either graffiti or mold, only small hints of the old green wallpaper left behind. “So apparently the cops chased the kids here....into the south wing.” Sam points to the sign hung over the door. The letters were mostly peeling, just another sign of the aging building.

“South wing, huh?” Dean breathes out, “Wait a second.” He pulls out his Dada journal from the inside pocket of his coat, flipping the pages until he found whatever he was looking for, “1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.”

“So the South Wing seems to be the route of this all” I remark.

“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?” Dean points out, looking up from the journal. Sam notes the rusted, broken chains hanging from the handle of the door, “Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could've been chained up for years.”

“Yeah, to keep people out. Or to keep something in.” Dean comments.

I cringe, “Is it really necessary to say such ominous things?”

“What? It’s the truth” Dean shrugs and I roll my eyes.

“Are you guys done?” Sam asks looking at us impatiently

“Yeah yeah open the door” I say before quickly adding a mumble of, “I hope a rat jumps out at you”

Sam looks at me with a mix of being offended and being annoyed, “Why would you say that?”

“Sorry!” I say half meaning it, “It’s an abandoned building and all so you know…rats”

“Just” Dean starts, him being the annoyed one now, “Open the door.” Sam nods, carefully opening the rusted door with a creek revealing a long creepy hallway, but at last no rats scurry out. The long hall was somehow only slightly better than the entrance with the walls peeling of its paint, most of it replaced by mold which only increases as the hallway extends, if we get sick we’ll know why that’s for sure.

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel.” Dean jokes, lighting the mood as he pulls out his EMF reader, referencing the movie Six Sense. “Dude, enough.” Sam groans.

“I'm serious. You gotta be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.” Dean says. Without missing a beat, Sam bites back, “I told you, it's not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don't ask, don't tell.”

“Anything going on with your EMF?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Nope. Of course, it doesn't mean no one's home.” Dean answers.

“Well, spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day.” Sam adds.

“Yeah, the freaks come out at night.” Dean comments.

The room falls quiet for a moment before Dean speaks up again, “Hey Sam, who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?” Sam pushes his brother in response. “Oh definitely Jennifer Love Hewitt, I mean did you see her in Shortcut to Happiness ‘cause…wow” I answer before quickly adding, “No offense Sammy.” But Sam pushes me lightly too, a laugh bubbling up from my chest as I nearly knock into the moldy wall.

We enter a room that smells worse than the main entrance area, the culprit of the rotting flesh smell most likely being whatever pink goop is spilling out of a glass jar with liquid on a table in the far corner. This asylum was truly amazing at one-upping itself in terms of being horrible. The entire room is bad itself, all sorts of equipment they used on patients long ago when they had no clue what a mental illness really was or how to help people who struggled with it.

“God, they did such horrible things to these poor people” I remarked, stepping deeper into the room. The sight of a clearly used surgery table sending a shiver down my spine. Dean lets out a low whistle, “Electro-shock. Lobotomies…”

“Did you know JFK’s sister got a lobotomy done because she suffered from seizures and mood swings. But it only wound up leaving her permanently incapacitated and unable to properly speak, only goes to show how little they knew about all that stuff” I say, recalling a fact I remember reading about somewhere in an article.

“‘That one of your fun facts?” Dean inquires, clearly humoring me. I hum a “mhm” as I bend down slightly to look at a glass container filled with some sort of yellow liquid. I almost expect something equally as gross to be inside but there isn’t.

“So. Whaddaya think? Ghosts possessing people?” Dean asks out loud to no one in particular.

“Maybe. Or maybe it's more like Amityville, or the Smurl hunting.” Sam answers, listing out examples of cases in which people claimed the devil had told them to do something bad and or possessed them. “Or Son of Sam, though that guy was just a basket case who admitted to lying about that demon bit” I add.

“Spirits driving them insane. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.” Dean quips in, always with his references. I look up from the vials of I don’t know what to see him grinning, a smile forming on my own face at his charming expression.

“Dean.” Sam calls out, gaining his brother's attention, “When are we going to talk about it?” Uneasiness slips its way into the cracks of the building, finding us. “Talk about what?” Dean asks back, but I have a feeling he knows what he’s talking about, it was clear as day. “About the fact Dad's not here.” Sam answers, already clearly annoyed. I straightened up, moving an inch closer to where they stood in the middle of the room in case I had to break up another fight. It hadn’t been anywhere close to a week from the last time I had to do so back in Kansas. “Oh. I see.” Dean replies, “How ’bout...never.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “I'm being serious, man. He sent us here…” Dean cuts in immediately, “So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We'll pick up the search later.” They moved closer to each other with each word they spat, up until they got close enough that they would be able to throw a punch if they decided to. “It doesn't matter what he wants.” Sam argues.

“See. That attitude? Right there?” Dean points at him, “That is why I always get the extra cookie.”

“Guys come on, you can argue this later let’s just finish this hunt” I sigh, crossing my arms across my chest. Sam glares at me as if to say “stay out of this”, I get why they’re upset but all this arguing gets us nowhere and it’s beginning to get annoying. Sam turns back to his brother, “Dad could be in trouble, we should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we're talking about.”

“I understand that, Sam, but he's given us an order.” Dean replies rather calmly. I don’t necessarily like John, knowing everything he put my boys through made it hard to. But he was their Dad and Dean wanted my help and so I will help find their Dad, even if I mostly agree with Sam. “So what, we gotta always follow Dad's orders?” Sam spits, and I almost hate the fact that I do agree with him.

I try to ignore their arguing, knowing they wouldn’t let up, it wasn’t the sort of argument where someone won. I open a drawer near me, cobwebs and multiple clippings from old patient files filling it. “Of course we do.” I hear Dean answer.

I carefully take the clippings out, trying to avoid the cobwebs. I look through the handful quickly everything either ripped off or eradicated except bits of the Doctor's name. “If you're done over there it seems the main evil doctor was ‘Sanford Ellicott’. We should probably research him and the south wing, see what we can find” I say plainly, hoping this could all be over with soon so at least they would stop fighting.

I keep my legs up on the soft chair, my knees to my chest as I read my book. Dean is sitting next to me, his arm resting on the back of my chair, his legs spread widely. From my peripheral vision I see him stare up at the ceiling clearly bored as we wait for his brother to be done in therapy, or really done questioning the apparent son of Dr.Ellicott.

He groans, the noise coming from deep in his chest. I put my bookmark back in my book, shutting it and putting it next to me. I put my arms on my propped up knees lying the side of my face down on them, my cheek squishing against my arm as I peer at Dean. The immediate thought of how good he looks with his head thrown back, a very light stubble gracing his face, his eyes looking greener with the light shining from behind us and—

I shove the thought far into the back of my mind, it wasn’t the time for this not at all. Not even a little. “‘You okay?” I ask softly.

He rolls his head to the side, eyeing me “Sammy’s taking too damn long. He’s already pissed me off.”

“He wouldn’t be taking long unless it was necessary” I answer, smiling at his demeanor. He groans again, “Do you wanna go get coffee? I saw a place a block away, Sam can text when he’s done.” I offer, hoping it would distract him from being so pissed off. He leans his head up, squinting at me, “Is this your attempt at curing my boredom?”

“That depends, is it working?” I squint back at him as I lift my head from my arms, laughter threatening to bubble from my lips.

“Yes” He nods, throwing his hand on my knee, “Let’s go” but he keeps his hand there, a giddy nervousness settling itself in my stomach.

“See I told you couples therapy works!” a hushed voice says catching our attention. I look up to see a red headed girl and her tan boyfriend walking past us without trying to hide their stares, “Wer— we aren’t—“ I try to say loud enough for them to hear but my voice doesn't reach them, “Actually” I sigh, my face feeling warm, “it’s probably best if they just go to therapy.”

I turn my head back towards Dean, finding him already looking at me with scrunched eyebrows, studying me as if he was contemplating something. I place my hand over his, only realizing then my hands were cold when compared to his warm ones, “Ready?” I ask softly. He clears his throat abruptly, nodding his head as he removes his hand from my knee and gets up. I make sure to grab my book as I follow suit, but we only reach the door when a familiar tall figure walks right past us.

Dean's body language changes, he turns back to me confused and annoyed before pushing through the door. Tension clearly already has made its home in his back and shoulders. “Dude! You were in there forever, we were about to leave you. What the hell were you talking about?” He calls out towards his brother, easily matching his pace.

“Just the hospital, you know.” Sam answers plainly. I jog to catch up to them and their stupid long legs, “What’d you find?” I ask.

“The south wing? It's where they housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane.” “Sounds cozy.” Dean remarks.

“Yeah. And one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other.” Sam elaborates.

“Any deaths? Dean follows up.

“Some patients, some staff. I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.”

“Did they…stuff him somewhere. I mean I feel like the place is only so big, right?” I hesitantly say.

Sam shrugs, “Cops scoured every inch of the place.”

“That's grim.” Dean murmurs just as we reach the Impala. “Yeah. So, they transferred all the remaining patients and closed the hospital down” Sam says as he rounds the car.

“So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.” Dean lists out.

“And a bunch of angry spirits.” Sam adds

“Cute.” I remark, sarcastically.

“Let's check out the hospital tonight.” Dean finishes, opening the car door.

I shine my flashlight over the asylum, naturally in the darkness of the night it was far creepier than it was only hours before. I follow behind the boys as they enter the dingy entrance, making sure I don’t hit into the duffle bag hanging from Dean's shoulder. “‘You guys getting anything?” I ask since they hold the equipment. Dean holds his EMF reader out in front of him, “Yeah, big time.”

“This place is orbing like crazy.” Sam adds, looking at the screen of the camera he holds. “Eww, why would you say it like that?” I cringe before mimicking the way he said “orbing.” Sam turns around slowly, glaring at me “How mature of you, Y/n” he deadpans. “Hey i’m just calling it as it is” I respond in defense. He glares at me one last time, turning back around and I hear him mimic what I said. I’m about to hit him on the arm when Dean starts speaking, he looks between us, ultimately choosing to ignore our childish behavior, “There’s probably multiple spirits out and about.”

Sam added “And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”

“We gotta find ’em and burn ’em.” Dean finishes, “Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit... is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer.” With that we keep walking until we hit the same room we were in the last time we were here, not having gone any further than that the first time around.

We walk a few feet further separating into three different rooms. I scanned my flashlight over the dark room, it had no windows though even if it did it would have been boarded up meaning no natural light to begin with had it been daytime. It was a relatively small room with more graffiti lining the originally white walls. I take a single step into the room, glass crunching underneath my shoe, I lift my foot immediately, kicking the broken glass bottle to the side.

I move further into the room, an overturned desk and a long gone broken lamp on the floor. Must have been a little office, I think to myself as I walk over to the desk finding a small knocked over filing cabinet. I nudged the metal cabinet with my foot, testing to see if anything wanted to make an appearance…like a rat.

When nothing comes from it I twirl my finger, an invisible force turning the cabinet right side up making it accessible. I pull each draw open, still cautious of any critters crawling out, hoping that there would be some hint as to where to look for the unfound bodies. “Y/n” I hear my name called out from behind me.

“Yeah?” I say turning around but there’s no one there. I shine my flashlight first on the doorway, only shadows dancing on the outskirts of my light. I purse my lips, a small pinch of fear forming itself in my heart. I move my flashlight slowly to shine in the corner, every hair on my body standing up. An old man with deep sunken eyes stands in the corner, his body permanently hunched over with his head tilted to the side. Countless needles stick out from his ghostly body, piercing through his hospital gown.

My mouth goes slack with an almost scream in warning to the boys. Still the man doesn't move, he just stares at me which is arguably worse than if he lunged at me, his mouth moves as if in an attempt to say something but his jaw is broken and the words come out in an extended noise. “b….b…b—“ The loud sound of a shotgun goes off just across from the man, my head snaps in the direction of the doorway, a breathless Dean standing there his gun still pointed at the man. “We thought something happened!” Sam half yells, standing right behind his brother.

“I literally haven’t moved from here” I respond, looking back at the corner where he stood. “You okay sweetheart?” Dean asks. I nod, “Yeah, I mean he didn’t do anything he was just—“

“Standing there” Sam finishes my sentence, “See I told you!”—he nudges his brother—“There’s something weird with the spirits here, they aren’t being aggressive-“ I cut him off this time, concern and confusion making my eyebrows scrunch together, “Wait you encountered a spirit?”

“You didn’t hear Sammy scream for us? Or the gun?” Dean asks. I look between them only being more confused, “No, what are you talking about?!” Except they don’t answer, only looking at each other and then back at me, eyes wide, “Alright something really is going on” Dean admits.

They begin to shuffle out of the room, and I follow, we walk aimlessly down the hall in thought when suddenly a noise like metal scraping against the floor comes from a room just steps away. Dean immediately raises his shotgun, carefully entering the room with Sam and I acting as the lightning. The room had a singular upturned bed facing the only window in the small room, a ragged sheet covering the bed barely concealing the top of a blonde head. We all share a look, bracing ourselves, Sam reaches out tipping over the bed causing it to come down with a loud crash. A young girl sits crouched on the floor, panting and grasping her chest.

“It's alright, we're not going to hurt you. It's okay. What's your name?” Dean asks the poor girl, moving his gun down and away from the girl. “Katherine. Kat.” She answers, peering up at us with her big brown eyes.

“What are you doing here!?” Sam half yells at her. I hit his arm, “You suck at comforting people” I mumbled loud enough for him to hear, nearly missing the glare I received in return. I move past Dean leaning down towards the girl, offering my hand to help her up. You can comfort someone without making them seem incapable. She eyes me carefully for a beat before shakily reaching up and taking my hand, “Um. My boyfriend, Gavin” she answers as I lift her up. “Is he here?” Dean asks.

She lets go of my hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears, “Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts” she explains, "I thought it was all just...you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and... “

“Alright.” Dean responds, pausing for a beat as if to go over the plan he most definitely already made, “Kat? Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and then we're gonna find your boyfriend.”

“No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.” Kat declares, looking frantically between us all.

“It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous.” Dean lectures, his voice getting increasingly louder. “That's why I gotta find him” she answers, her voice stern and straight regardless of being clearly shaken up. Dean meets Sam and then my eyes, “Alright, I guess we gunna split up then. Y/N with Sam, Kat with me. Let’s go.”

I lead the way out this time, Sam right next to me as we go down hallway after hallway. Each one seemingly more intricate than the last, if that was even possible. I hope Sam is keeping track of where we are because I’m already lost.

“Gavin?” I call out, peeking around each hallway corner. Is it possible he left? No he wouldn’t leave his girlfriend, right? Though the asylum is huge and he could be anywhere—“Y/N! Over here!” Sam calls out from down the hallway to my left. I swirl around heading towards him, crouched down near a rouge hospital bed, I hear him speak as I approach “Hey, Gavin. It's okay, I’m here to help.”

“Who are you?” He responds, fixing his brown hair as he pushes himself away from Sam knocking into the wall behind him in the process. “My name is Sam, that’s Y/N” he gestures towards me, “Uh, we found your girlfriend.”

“Kat?” He asks his brown eyes widening, he gets up revealing his height. He isn't as tall as Sam, probably closer to Dean's height then anything but he was certainly taller then me and his girlfriend. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah. She's worried about you. Are you okay?” Sam responds.

“I was running. I think I fell.” He lifts his hand to the side of his head, his corduroy jacket moving with him. “What were you running from?” I ask.

“There was...there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up.”

“Okay listen, did this girl... did she try and hurt you?” Sam follows up, asking carefully. “What? No, she...uh…”

“She what?” Sam asks, impatience on the tip of his tongue.

“She...kissed me.”

…The hall falls silent, neither of us expecting that to be his answer. I’ve never heard of a case in which someone was kissed by a ghost. I mean that’s just disgusting and horrifying, no amount of mouthwash can fix that…or therapy. “Uh...um...but...but she didn't hurt you, physically?” Sam finally says.

“Dude! She kissed me. I'm scarred for life!” Gavin yells, his eyes widening again. “Well, trust me, it could have been worse.” Sam replies, again not much on the comforting side. Plus I feel like I’d rather be thrown ten feet then kissed by a ghost. “I’m sorry we have to pressure you like this now after you just experienced that but is there anything else you remember?” I ask softly.

“She uh...actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear.” He answers shyly, almost embarrassed by all this. “What?” Sam shoots back.

“I don't know. I ran like hell.” He answers truthfully.

“That’s the third encounter without an attack” Sam thinks out loud. Gavin glares at him sharply, “Oh…Um…besides the…Uh…kissing” Sam adds.

“Can we really trust that the South Wing really did have violent patients? I mean the workers here aren’t exactly the most reliable considering everything they’ve done to these poor people” I mention.

“She’s got a point” Gavin intervenes. We both look at him, “Um yeah. But what if they were trying to tell us something?” Sam says.

“You mean like some hint as to where uh…” I look over at Gavin knowing I can’t exactly say a rotting body somewhere, “you know is” I mumble looking back at Sam. “Yeah” he answers just as a loud scream rings out from afar. We all share a look of confusion and worry, “That sounds like Kat!” Gavin says. Not waiting a second later we go off running in the direction of the screaming, just about everything you're not supposed to do.

Just down the hall Dean is banging on a huge metal door with a pipe. “What’s going on?” Sam asks just as we approach.

“She's inside with one of them.” He answers his breath a little labored. Kay screams again, “Help me!!”

“Kat!” Gavin yells back banging on the door.

“Get me outta here!” She shouts.

I hide my hand behind my hip making sure to look down, to avoid having to explain anything to Gavin later. With my concealed hand I reached it over to the metal door, my fingertips barely brushing the cold exterior before a hand wrapped around my wrist pulling it forth. “Wait” Sam said sternly, dropping my wrist. I turn my head to look at Dean with questioning eyes as if he would have a reason why his brother stopped me. But when I look at him he’s looking between my wrist and his brother, his eyes scrunched in offense and what may look like anger, upset he stopped me, because doing so might be risking an innocent girl's life.

“Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down.” Sam commands, talking to Kat through the door. He must be thinking back to what we said before. “She's gotta what?!” Dean yells, astonished.

“I have to what?!” Kat shouts back.

“These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate.” Sam explains, indeed referencing what we were discussing before I just hope he’s right, “You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it.”

“You face it!” Kat snaps back. A smile threatening to show on my lips. “No! It's the only way to get out of there” Sam insists.

“No!” Kat screams.

“Sam, come on let me get her out” I say quietly hoping only those who know about my abilities can hear me. “No” He says towards me before directing his voice towards the door, “Look at it, come on. You can do it.”

She seems to listen to him, no more screams against his plan. We all wait impatiently, the air thick with anxiety, if this doesn’t work then we caused a very avoidable death. “Kat?” Gavin calls out.

“Man, I hope you're right about this.” Dean grumbles.

“Yeah, me too” Sam nods.

“No offense Sammy, but you should have voiced your concern before” I bite, crossing my arms across my chest.

Suddenly the door creaks open slowly, Kat peeking out. Her eyes are wide and blank, clearly startled and traumatized. “Oh, Kat” Gavin murmurs, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend.

Sam maneuvers himself around them, opening the large door further to get past them into the room. He comes back out not even a minute later shaking his head, whatever spirit was in there isn’t anymore.

“One thirty-seven.” Kay says suddenly, wiping away her teary eyes.

“Sorry?” Dean looks at her, puzzled.

“It whispered in my ear. 137.” She clarified.

“Room number.” The boys and I said in sync, our eyes wide in clarity.

“Jinx” I say quickly pointing towards the boys. Dean groans, “You always win.”

I beam, looking up at him, “You just always forget.”

“Yeah cause he’s actually focused on the hunt” Sam quipped, annoyed. “Hey I am foc-“ I try to defend only getting cut off by Sam nudging Dean and I down the hall out of hearing reach throwing a “Excuse us” to the two teens.

“Alright. So if these spirits aren't trying to hurt anyone…” Sam starts getting his sentence finished by his brother, “Then what are they trying to do?”

“Maybe they're helping us out” I shrug, “Giving us hints?”

“I guess we'll find out.” Dean huffs.

“Alright.” Sam confirms, nothing more to be said.

Dean separates from our little huddle calling out to the kids waiting on us, “So, now, are you guys ready to leave this place?”

“That's an understatement.” Kat remarks.

“Okay.” He turns back to us, “Sam you get them outta here. Y/N were going to go find room 137.”

“Isn’t it best that I go with Sam?, make sure they can get out” I ask, not to say that I don’t want to go with Dean but still trying to be reasonable.

“If the spirits suddenly decide to get rowdy and gang up on me like they did Doc, I’d want you on my side” Dean answers, making a motion with his hands weirdly that I suppose is meant to represent my abilities. “Ok fair enough” I shrug, not needing any more convincing. Sam moves away towards Kat and Gavin. Dean and I waited until they were out of sight, getting led by Sam, before moving to find room 137.

We only move a few feet when I notice the lack of something in Dean's hand, “What happened to your flashlight?” I ask. He pulls back the side of his grayish-blue button down jacket exposing the thick flashlight tucked into his jeans, “Died jus’ before Kat got dragged into that room” he explains. I reluctantly drag my eyes back up to his face, a flashlight held in his jeans shouldn't have been hot, I give him a single awkward nod before forcing my eyes back in front of me.

“I think it’s down this way” He nudges my arm just as we get to the end of the long hallway, pointing left. I point my flashlight in that direction, the light illuminating the continuous mess of the asylum, “How do you know?” I ask. He shrugs, “Intuition.” I followed him down the hall even under the weak assumption, there were hardly any sign indicators and if there were they were unreadable due to destruction or graffiti.

I give him a look as we walk the hall, not finding the room. “I meant the next one over” he says with a stupid smile on his face. “Oh yeah of course” I nod, playing into whatever you want to call this.

He mumbles the room number underneath his breath, an excited-nervous energy surrounding him as we approach the supposed right hallway. It was adorable.

“Look who was right.” He says, his voice coming from behind me. I turn towards him an even bigger smile on his face, I lift my flashlight to shine where the number would be. “Let’s just hope the ghost wasn’t tricking us” I huff.

He goes to push the door open only to find it stuck on something, he grunts putting more of his body weight on the door until it’s open enough to let us through. The room is a mess (but what else is new for this place), filing cabinets pushed over, papers everywhere, the walls stained with something that I think I’d rather not know. I shine the flashlight around going over to one of the filing cabinets opening it to find manila folders, I flick through them. More patient files but nothing of use as of now.

I whirl around to find Dean crouched down in the back of the room, prying off a wooden panel. He finally gets it off with a loud cracking noise, “This is why I get paid the big bucks.” he murmurs, the only indication that he found something. “You don’t get paid any bucks” I responded.

He turns his head slowly to me in offense holding up a deteriorating satchel in one hand and a mess of papers in the other. He gets up handing me the stack of papers and with his foot drags up a nearby chair scooting it close for me before dragging up one for himself. I go through my stack, a bunch of drawn images of medical instruments like lobotomy pick, straight jackets and cuffs, and other drawings with no labels but incredibly detailed writing and drawings that were nothing more than torture. “This feels like a messed up book club” I comment.

“Yeah check this out. Dr. here believed that provoking extreme anger would be therapeutic.” He explains, “Seems like all he ever did was work on this theory.”

“I think I read a research paper from 2002 on a similar idea called catharsis” I explain, “It basically means venting out negative emotions, especially anger. However researchers found it did the opposite and more likely increased aggression. But I guess in this case he was forcing it rather than the patients venting out anger they had from past traumas or anything of the sort.”

I know he is listening to my rant, his eyes moving up from the book to look at me before going back to the journal, his eyes scrunched in concern at what he read, “All work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy.”

I nearly laugh when a sudden creak comes from the hall, I look to Dean to find him with just as a confused face as mine. He had heard it too. He makes a “give me” motion so I hand over the papers, he puts them and the journal he read from back in the satchel. Without saying anything I knew he was moving us to check up on Sammy.

We manage our way back to the room Kat got locked into, but from there it winds up being a maze as to where Sammy could be. Lefts and rights and accidentally going in large circles. “Alright one more hallway and then we’re calling him” I plead, getting frustrated at this stupid musty asylum. “Deal” Dean nods.

The floor was particularly bad in this hall, each step followed by a creak each one louder then the next. Just as we reach the end of the hallway and turn right, for a split second, Kat stands there shotgun raised at us, her finger on the trigger. She shoots. Dean throws himself backwards, his arm going out right in front of me pushing me back against the corner wall out of the way from danger. Both of us were up against the wall next to each other, his arm just beneath my breasts holding me in place. A large puff of white smoke looking substance flies out from the wall, bits of the wall crumbling to the floor just by Dean's shoulder opposite to the one near me. Acting as the only signs of where the bullet had gone.

Our labored breaths nearly matched each other's, chests heaving. His arm remains where it is even when no more shots ring out, he yells, “Damn it, damn it, don’t shoot! It's us!!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Kat meekly cries out.

“Jesus Chri-“ I peered around Dean's body at the shot, she would have killed us. Impressive. I bring a shaky hand up to the arm that still held me, he drops his arm allowing me to move past him and round the corner to the people who nearly ended us.

“What are you still doing here?! You're supposed to be gone! Also, why are you good with a gun?!” I exclaim. Dean immediately adding, “Where’s Sam?” Our rushed voices combining for a melody of pressured questions.

“He went to the basement. You called him.” Gavin answers, pointing to Dean. “I didn't call anybody.” Dean replies, looking at me confused I shrug not having any idea myself.

“His cell phone rang. He said it was you.” Kat elaborates.

“Basement, huh?” Dean hums before turning to me, “I’m gonna go to Sam, get them out of here.”

“Wait no I should come with you” I say.

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart, just get them out of here” He orders, but his voice is soft where it should be commanding. He takes the gun from Kat and before I can say anything more he’s running off.

I turn towards the door, trying to think of the least suspicious way possible to open the door. A chain with a lock lies on the floor just in front of my feet. It must not just be a locked door, perhaps it is the spirits here keeping it closed. I pull on the door handle letting my powers seep into the large door willing it open. It opens with another pull, having to use a lot of strength to open the old door. “Alright let’s go” I say, turning to the two behind me. They look at me with a mix of shock and confusion, “How di-“ Gavin asks before I cut him off, “It was just jammed” I lie.

I follow them down the steps and watch them climb over the fence. I wait until I see them physically get into the car, both kids looking back almost hesitant to leave us behind. But I have no time to help with their guilty conscience, I turn back toward the building immediately running up the steps and back into the asylum. I curse not knowing which way Dean exactly went or where the hell the basement was let alone where a staircase was.

In the dim, haunting corridors of the abandoned asylum, panic pulses through me like a heartbeat. The suffocating air clings to my skin as I navigate the labyrinth that is this building. Every step feels like a hesitant dance with the unknown. I try to suppress the fear clawing at my throat, envisioning worst-case scenarios involving Sam and Dean. Could they be hurt, trapped, dead? My thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, one that feels too overwhelming to control as pathetic as it sounds and feels.

Desperation fuels my movements as I sprint down seemingly endless hallways, each one a haunting replica of the last. It's a macabre maze, and my heart races with the urgency of finding the elusive staircase leading to the basement.

As I turn another corner, the harsh silence amplifies the echoes of my footsteps. "Sam! Dean!" I call out, my voice swallowed by the oppressive stillness. The only response is the distant moan of the decaying building. With determination fueling my every step, I press forward, driven by the desperate need to uncover the secrets hidden below. The dim light casts distorted shadows on peeling wallpaper, playing tricks on my eyes. Yet, I press on, the image of the elusive staircase driving me forward, my breath a rhythm of fear and determination.

As if the old building heard my pleas I spot a door just at the end of the hall, a medal bar for the handle and if it isn’t my eyes playing tricks on me then a small sign signifying a person walking up stairs lies on the small window on the door. I all but ran over, the thing I needed most lying right there. As I push open the door, anticipation and anxiety rests behind my rib cage, a reminder that finding the door wasn’t enough. I still needed to find them.

However, as the door creaks open, my heart sinks. Before me lies a staircase, but it ascends rather than descending. Everything that I do not need. I was being mocked. The staircase leading upward into the unknown when my every instinct demands a descent into the depths below.

I stand at the threshold, contemplating my next move. Panic threatens to resurface, but I force a deep breath, I know what I must do even when it is foreign to me. I had not trained in it, hadn’t studied it enough, so much of me was like that. So many abilities I could have and use but always dared to leave untouched, this being one of them. I knew only how to use it in such short distances, and only in spaces that I could see. Not like this.

But I’m afraid and desperate enough. I know the boys are very capable of taking care of themselves, yet an unmistakable fear lives behind my rib cage for those I love, a fear of losing them. I close my eyes. This staircase had to be close enough. My fear had to be enough. I force another deep breath, bracing my feet beneath me. I could picture the room around me even with my eyes sealed, focusing on how the walls stretched above me in my mind's eye.

I had not seen the basement, hadn’t a single idea what it even began to look like. Yet still I force my perception down, below the concrete laying underneath my shoes. But more than that I needed to find them, I try my best to picture them specifically even in an unknown location. The air seems to ripple around me, reality folding over itself.

I open my eyes, no longer in the stairwell but presumably in the basement. The only indication I’ve gone to the right place is the boy's only feet in front of me. What should be a triumphant moment is crushed under the scene in front of me.

Dean is on his back splayed across the floor, broken wall beneath him the concrete powder sticking to his clothes. Sam is standing over him, shotgun pointed down at his brother, I can not see his full face from here but I can see it is etched in anger. “Sam!” I yell, catching his attention. He turns to me, his face scrunched in disgust, he does not lower the gun.

“What the hell is hap-“ I try to ask but the gun goes off with a loud bang. Suddenly I’m in front of him, the bullets hitting the hall that laid behind me when I stood in the doorway. I teleported out of danger without a second's thought, I make a mental note for later as I punch Sammy square in the face, my knuckles hitting against his sharp jaw.

He stumbles back a few feet, my knuckles burn, he will have to forgive me later. I do not want to hurt him but I do need to stop him. I mumble a sorry, hooking my leg behind his, hitting into the back of his knee with my foot forcing his legs to collapse beneath him knocking him to his knees. I use his shock as leverage, easily pulling the gun from his hands, I point the gun at him even though I do not want to.

Dean groans still on the ground, only having leaned up from his position. Sam holds his hands up, “Shoot me” he spits. He was taunting me, testing me. “I have no need to” I answer calmly. He was possessed or influenced by the doctor here, this wasn’t really him, I knew that.

I hear Dean get up, panting and making small noises of pain. I look over at him from the corner of my eye, watching him hold just below his chest in pain, “You okay there?” I ask, earning a grumbled “yeah”. Dean drags himself to the front of the room where he must have dropped the duffle bag he was carrying.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam try to lunge towards me, I snap my attention back to him “Hey”,I warn, “Stop.” He looked even more pissed, his mouth twitching with words he wanted to say, “You think protecting him is gonna make him fall in love with you?” He says quietly. I check behind me but Dean makes no indication that he heard, I know it’s not really him speaking but the words still sting. “I’m not that diluted” I answered, turning back to him.

“You follow him around like a lost puppy, it’s pathetic” He laughs, “Really, you follow us around. But we don’t need you, we’d be better off without you. All you do is take up space.” The words bite into my skin, my heart suddenly feeling heavy. Losing my firm stance he grasps onto my ankle pulling it towards him sharply, knocking me on my ass hard. He punches me, his fist connecting with my nose, my eyes tearing up on its own accord with a harsh throbbing. He snatches the gun back when I hear movement towards us, without looking I shout back “I can take him, just find the body!”

Sam straddles my lap, his knees pinning my hands to the floor with an incredible amount of pain, and I can not pull my hands free. He grabs my chin roughly forcing my gaze on him, my neck leaning up at a weird angle, “You feel the need to be with us, it’s the only thing that fills the gap of being left behind your whole life.”

Hurt and anger burn my eyes. I move my face out of his hold and he lets me, I lean my head back before slamming it into his. The resounding clash of our heads echoed through the air, an abrupt collision that sent shockwaves of discomfort rippling through my skull. He loses slight balance, his knees leave my hands the feeling rushing back into them but I do not leave time for feelings of victory. I shove him back, using more force than I probably should have.

I stand up swiftly, stumbling over myself slightly, my head throbbing severely. “You” I point, breathing heavily, “Have a hard head.” He tries to reach for the gun but I kick it out of reach before he’s able to.

I knew Dean was close by even with the room being so large and divided, but I didn’t know how close he was to finishing up. There was a strong sense of dread in my stomach, I don’t want to fight anymore, maybe curl up into a ball and contemplate life but not fight. “Please, stay down” I beg, my eyes still teary from a mix of a reaction to the pain and just being upset.

He leans up, that horrible anger still etched on his face. I hold my hand up at him, extending my force outwards pinning him down with an invisible force. He struggles against it, his arms shaking. I grit my teeth, disgust tangling itself in my gut. Yes this was out of self defense and necessity but this wasn’t me. He was my friend, to restrain him in such a way…with my abilities…when I’m meant to help people.

I force my face away, a lump tight in my throat when I catch my reflection on a piece of broken glass in the far edge of the room. It was if I was being teased by the devil himself, staring at a reflection I wasn’t sure I even recognized. My eyes were fierce yet brimmed with tears, my pupils glowing purple. Where did this lie in morality? It felt wrong. So disgustingly wrong even if it was meant to be helpful.

Only a little longer, only until the remains were burnt and Sam was fine. “Y/N”

“Y/N!” He begs.

I turned my head back to him, the anger previously on his face melted away. I immediately release my hold on him, dropping my hand down swiftly. For a moment there it seemed fear had crossed his eyes, I took a step back lifting my hand to my forehead, a thin line of sweat wetting my face. My chest heaves, complete overwhelm filling my senses. I feel it in my bones this need to move, to get out. It had not taken anything out of me to hold him down, and that is what scared me the most.

Dean shuffles back into view, coming over and helping this brother up. When had he walked over here? I take another step back, their voices meshing together in a blob of incoherent sounds. A strong familiar hand grasps my upper arm, I look up at Dean, his eyes scrunched together in concern. “You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, but his voice seems so far away. I look over at Sam, a bruise already forming on his jaw a reminder of what I had done. I find no fear in his eyes any longer, not even as he rubs at the forming mark. I nod absent-mindedly at Dean's question, though it wasn’t true and he had known that too.

He gives my arm a firm squeeze before sliding it down slowly to my hand, intertwining our fingers together. I look up at him again, but his face is turned away already walking towards the duffel bag bringing me along with him. He doesn't say anything about holding my hand, not even as he leans down to the bag swinging it over the shoulder that is opposite to where I stand.

He leads the way out of the basement, Sam following behind us silently. I let him lead me, just staring down at our intertwined hands. His sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, ‘must have done that when he left us before. Holding hands wasn’t totally uncommon for us and we both happened to be touchy people, even so butterflies danced in my stomach.

When we finally reached the exit, the early morning sun had begun to shine through the clouds. Every one of our movements was done in silence, he let go of my hand only until we climbed back over the fence. The second both our feet had hit the ground he claimed it once more.

Just a short distance away Kat and Gavin lean against their car, my eyes scrunch in confusion. I thought they left. “What are you guys still doing here?” I call out from a few feet away. They analyze us, probably noticing the clear sign of a fight and who I’m holding hands with but I do not let go of his hand, and he makes no move to do so either. “We wanted to make sure you got out” Kat answers, crossing her arms across her chest, “And to say thank you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Gavin adds in.

“No more haunted asylums, okay?” Dean replies. They nod and get in the car, this time starting it up.

“Hey, guys?” Sam says quietly as we begin to walk towards the Impala. He gets in front of us, walking backwards so we couldn’t ignore him, “I'm sorry. I said some awful things back there.”

I frown, not wanting to be reminded of something that happened only minutes ago. “You remember all that?” Dean scuffs.

“Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it.” He says making sure he directs it at both of us.

“You must believe it on some subconscious level…right?” I say. I do not mean to come off harsh or make him feel worse about himself, but he had to feel that way on some level. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and I suddenly feel bad for what I said, “No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?” He insists.

Reaching the Impala Dean unlocks the car, opening my door with his free hand but I make no moves of getting in just yet. He lets go of my hand, moving to the back of the car to throw in the duffel before rounding the rest of the car to the driver seat. Just before he gets in he answers his brother, venom clear on his tongue, “No. I'm not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” He slams the car door behind him.

I look over at Sam, total defeat written all over his face. I move past the car door moving right in front of Sam, he looked down at me expectantly. I wrap my arms around his middle and hug him. We will go to a motel and sleep the night off, and I don’t want to go to bed upset. His initial surprise wears off and he hugs me back, I pull away slightly. “You said mean things and I know you're sorry, but they still hurt… I’m not mad at you for thinking like that, I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt us.” I say softly, I don’t like being angry at someone or holding grudges.

His eyes are filled with desperate sorrow as he says, “I’m sorry.” He hugs me tightly adding a quiet, “thank you.” And I knew he had meant for just talking to him about it even if it was only a little and for not hating him. We pull away from each other, and he ruffles my hair like an annoying brother before getting in the Impala. I move past the open door again, this time getting in.

Even after a nice hot shower and being all cozied up in the motel bed, sleep still could not find me. I groan frustrated, switching positions for the upteenth time, glad that I had my own room so as to not wake anyone.

I shift again, moving onto my back, the memories of what happened earlier playing through my head on repeat. Whether Sam meant it or not he was right. They didn’t need me, they were more than capable by themselves. Maybe I should go back home.

I could call Adeline, ask her if she could pick me up from the airport and take me home. The plane ride wouldn’t be so bad, I just have to figure out how to get to the airport with no car of my own. But that thought upset me more. I’d go home and worry over the boys excessively, where they were, how they were doing, if they were safe or even alive, if they found their dad. Maybe I was a burden to them.

God. And what I did to Sam? To use my powers like that?! Though I guess before the whole fight the teleporting was quite impressive especially because I am not skilled in that.

I want to be the best, but I'm afraid of what that would mean. What I would become.

I shift again, my feet tangling under the heavy covers. I sit up letting the blankets fall to my waist, and without thinking I pick up my phone dialing in her number. I had no idea what time it was in New York City but I knew she didn’t care about that sort of thing, she would pick up regardless of time or what she was doing. The phone barely gets to ring for a third time when she answers, “Hey Addie…”

#supernatural #fanfiction #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester #john winchester #slow burn #witch reader #witchcraft #dean winchester x witch reader #the hunter and the witch update #the hunter and the witch #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester being a cutie #dean winchester x you

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xzaddyzanakinx · 17 days

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Part two thoughts on an ani x bpd reader? Like, when things get that bad, does either of them wake the fuck up and realize things need to change? Remorse or guilt? The reader leaving? Ani leaving or falling into a self loathing hole, doing bad stuff again and again whether to himself or reader) and not taking care of himself?

It’s interesting to read some of your takes on BPD relationships, because I obviously have no idea what that’s like, but you do. You can make it seem very addicting, but also very terrifying and unhealthy, depending on which way the pendulum swings (I hope you take that as a compliment. Tone is hard through text. Lol. 😅).

I personally do not believe abuse is justified in any situation, whether you have a disorder or not. There’s lots of ways to deal with feelings without taking it out on someone else. On the other hand, I know some BPD’s have described feeling horrified with themselves after an episode like that, and so I’ve never really known just how much ‘control’ someone has in that moment. Either way, I still believe it’s the person’s responsibility to find a way to deal with it. Nobody deserves to be miserable around them just because they can’t handle something.

Anyway, I kind of went off on a rant. Apologies. Lol. My main request was for a part two of Ani x BPD reader! ❤️🫶✨

Not offended at all bby.

I think after I’m done with stalker!ani I’ll write a fic on this. Just cause so many people have asked about it.

100% BPD X BPD would be a terrible pairing. Coming from me as a bpd gal.

Now, personally, I’ve never physically abused anyone during an episode. But I HAVE done lots of property damage and I also broke my hand when I used a concrete wall as a punching bag. I split a wooden bat at the tip from whacking a fence once.

When it gets that bad, I don’t really remember what I said or did. I just feel really jittery, almost like an extreme caffeine high you know? (Imagine old cartoon character drinking coffee and their whole body vibrates, eyeballs and all)

But if it doesn’t get to that point, which it rarely does now that I’m medicated correctly and have a good support system, I IMMEDIATELY feel regret. Like horrible sorrow. Bpd means big feelings and when I feel regret, which isn’t often, it feels like I’m grieving a death that I’m to blame for.

For the smaller, more snappy or short outbursts:

My mouth works faster than the logical part of my brain that tells me not to say something mean.

Sometimes I catch myself in the middle of saying something awful and then I just have to finish it because the damage is done and I may as well spit it out. Then I’ll lock myself in the bathroom for an hour until I’ve hyped myself up enough to apologize, then I’ll go back to the bathroom until the big feelings from my apology die down. I’ll be quiet, basically selectively mute for the rest of the day and be super irritable.

It’s exhausting. But it’s even more exhausting to have to continually remind myself not to spew the first thing that pops into my head or not to chuck the bag of shredded cheese at the wall because I can’t get the ziploc to open.

It’s so stupid that something so small as getting my hairbrush stuck on a knot in my hair could set me off into a teeth gritting, foot stomp and shriek. Like wtf? That’s embarrassing. But it happens before I can even think about what I’m doing.

The best way I can describe it is: I’m a bratty toddler when it comes to emotional regulation.

But you’re so right tho, your illness doesn’t give you an excuse to be an ass. It just proves the person doesn’t want to put in the work to get better if they use it as a justifying reason.

BPD might cause my reactions, but I’m in charge of my actual actions. Sometimes it takes a long time for them to recognize that though. I’m an adult now, I’m medicated, I’ve spent my fair share of days in the loony bin. Looking back at my teenage self? It’s horrific and sad. For me and everyone around me back then.

#anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #anakin smut #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #star wars #anakin x you #sw anakin #darth vader #darth vader smut #actually bpd #bpd vent

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ncteez · 1 year

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HI MEE AGAIN (i did the 5 member ranking question thingy BUT ANYWAYS) ima call myself - 🐻‍❄️ anon butttt rank all the members 1-13 on who would enjoy watching their partner get fucked by one of their members

ill put you on my anon list!!

just a heads up, i don't do these the same way others do. each member getting a whole paragraph explaing why they're at their spot.

warning: some member x member stuff is mentioned

MOST TO LEAST LIKELY TO ENJOY WATCHING ANOTHER MEMBER FUCK YOU:

most likely:

minghao: bro would want you to offer him to other ppl too, don't fucking lie. not only would he be the one suggesting you fuck around with another member who hasn't stopped looking at you, but he would be the one setting it up. Fr, asking if he can have cameras involved and everything for the personal spank bank. Would eventually get tired of cucking and snake his way into the situation. Would probably be a switch too, especially if the other guy is someone like mingyu.

jeonghan: balls to the walls into it. he loooooves cucking and feeling pathetic, all isolated in his corner with a neglected cock. loves seeing you getting railed from different angles, and obsesses over the fact that you're shameless about it.

soonyoung: hell yeah, the more the merrier. fr treats this shit like friendly competiton. Offering advice through pathetic moans as he tugs at himself like "she likes it when I do this, try it--". probably high fives the band member after they finish, wiggling his brows like "ain't ya jealous that i get to do this allll the timeeee?" 100% treats you and his bandmate to food after to discuss why he does it better.

joshua: never would've thought about it until one of his band members mentioned how he would feel about it. politely asks you if you wanna do it and isn't even mad when you immediately agree. Would watch timidly at first until it becomes a normal thing, obsessing over how hot you look with one of his friends. maybe suggesting doing it with another member, or even multiples of them at a time. He doesn't try to join though, he just likes watching his friends pleasure you.

mingyu: he's down but only if you say his name and make fun of his friends for not touching you the same way he does. like he would be fucking damned to let one of those little bitches get you off better than he does. Maybe at some point he actually jumps in when he notices you making a sound you've never made for him, finishing you off just so the other member can't say that they did it.

neutral:

vernon: wouldn't really be down for the idea at first, and for real would be FIGHTING you when you say you can tell he likes it. he gets jealous a lot but for some reason that gives him better orgasms, especially when you play off of his jealousy and look directly at him when you get off by a cock that isn't his.

wonwoo: it's either or for him. he wants to please you and if that's what does it, sure. he knows you love him and only him, and it's not like his bandmates are always involved. He timidly admits sometimes that you look good with [insert member here], or that he got a little jealous of cock sizes. Still, he's there to please and is confident in himself. plus, releasing on your face while your mouth is slack from whoever is pounding you into the next dimension is one of his favorite things ever now.

junhui: tries it once to check it off the sex bucket list the two of you made, doesn't enjoy it but knows you do. sets stuff up with his friends for special occasions like ur birthday. fr doesn't like jerking off all by himself but loves the way you look at him when he does it, so he doesn't entirely mind it sometimes.

chan: ehh, he knew you were a cock slut but that was supposed to only be for his eyes. still, he thinks it's hot to see you act out like that from time to time. doesn't really let it happen too often, but when it does you spend a good three days sexually praising him so he doesn't feel like there is competition.

ABSOLUTELY THE FUCK NOT

seungkwan: too technical when it happens. fr taking notes in his head on things he should be doing to you bc clearly his cock isn't enough if you asked him for this. he doesn't get off at all while watching, and needs hella reassurance after the single time he allowed it to happen. it doesn't really cause relationship issues, but he would have preferred you not like it as much as you did. Or at least like, talk a little shit about his friend after or something.

jihoon: he can be kinky but that's for you to see and experience. He doesn't mind that you find other men attractive but he will be damned if he actually let them touch you, let alone his own friends. one thing though, after the initial suggestion, he upped his game a lot in bed and is now a little more dominant. Also maybe obsessed with praise now.

seokmin: has an internal meltdown about it. needs constant reassurance now that your curiosity is out in the open about his friends. fr becomes the god of service tops thinking his relationship with you is on the line when it's really just that you were curious about trying, plus you think he would be hot getting off all alone. He ghosts his friends for like 3 days without explanation until you tell him "i was just joking, why would i wanna fuck [insert hot man] when I have you?"

seungcheol: he would be swinging at the mentioned friend the second it's even suggested. i like the idea of him being super protective to the point of possessiveness if someone tries to see or touch you the way he does. fr he would probably get his feelings hurt and take it out on whichever other member caught your attention.

#🐻‍❄️#[m]#[h.hours]#[mail]#[svt]#[mtl]#seventeen hard hours

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9leaguesofmirrors · 4 months

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The Pain:Pleasure Ratio (a Ross Gaines x Joseph Lisgoe fanfic)

I wanted to talk a bit about this one, you don't have to read it, I'm just oddly passionate about this fic hehe This started off as just another smutfic where they like pain, but then I decided that I wanted to do something that was more like a deep-dive into the Gainsgoe dynamic

Though I'm taking this in a slightly different direction to my other fics, I really hope you guys like it!

CONTENT WARNINGS: This fic does NOT intentionally romanticise abuse. The characters involved are a highly unconventional pairing, and the threats/violent content is completely consensual

The Pain:Pleasure Ratio contains mentions of blood, bruising, rough sex and threatening language

Pain (noun): A highly unpleasant physical sensation caused by illness or injury

Pleasure (noun): A feeling of happy satisfaction and enjoyment

Two different concepts in a head-in collision

*********************************************

Ross can tell whenever his partner needed an outlet, usually because it results in his back being slammed against the nearest surface: sometimes a wall or a door, other times a table or kitchen counter. The sting in his back creeping around his body until it feels like fizzing and bubbling. There's no talking, no asking questions, just the aggressive press of mouths and forceful, deliberate hands

This sort of contact is bruising, literally and metaphorically, and the sensations linger where their skin meets. Lisgoe doesn't just use his fingers, but his nails too. The claw, scratch and pull of them is prominent on every fibre of Ross' body and he can't stop his back from arching for them

A hand reaches Ross' throat and he's slammed back again, their eyes meeting as their breathing synchronise

"Need this..." Lisgoe's voice is coarse and breathy "fuck... need you..."

"Need me?" A smirk forms on Ross' lips "How badly, Joseph?"

"Been thinking about this all day." The hand around his throat tightens slightly "Went fucking mad thinking about how your body's gonna look when I'm done. You'll think your nerves are on fucking fire, that's how much I'm gonna put you through."

Lisgoe has never been a gentle man, Ross knows that. He supposes he should also know that these were threats. Well, if anyone heard, they'd tell him they were threats. And he supposes that's how they sounded, but they aren't. They both know what will happen if either of them made a serious threat. Because of that, Ross knows there was no harm in answering back

"You wouldn't do anything to me," his tone drips with mockery "you're obsessed with me. I know full-well you couldn't bring yourself to hurt me."

"You mouthy little fuck." Lisgoe snarls "I could squeeze every. Last. Drop. Of breath out of you until all you can do is scream and beg." Finally, he takes off his hand to tear off the shirt Ross was wearing, dragging his nails down his torso "See this shite? It's mine. My own little canvas. And I'm gonna do whatever the fuck I want with it."

The dares, the danger: from an outsider's perspective, it's something volatile. A fire that needs water before it got out of hand. It's true, there's a blazing heat between them that seems to crash and collide, but there's also a mutuality. Whatever one gives, the other gives back. Likewise, neither gives what they couldn't take. It's unruly, and the inferno would've destroyed anyone else, but they can easily sit in amongst the flames without feeling suffocated by the smoke

They're protected by a simple, mutual, agreement - the limits are there to be pushed, not trampled

And Joseph Lisgoe? Well, he likes the infliction of pain

It's pretty simple to understand. He likes leaving his mark in as many ways as possible. Teeth sink into collarbones, hands grip so tightly to wrists and hips that they bruise a deep red, nails burrow and scratch deep into skin and produce little red beads

... OK, so maybe it isn't that simple. Lisgoe doesn't get his kicks in hurting Ross, it's the look on his partner's face. That mix of agony and pure euphoria, like somehow the pain was breaking through whatever barriers he'd built up, the image of a clean-up and respectable man being shattered - all because of him

And likewise, it isn't the pain that Ross likes, not entirely. But Lisgoe knows exactly what to say and how to say it in order to drive him crazy. The words leaving his mouth should been disgusting, they'd have disgust anyone else, but when Lisgoe coarsely whispers "that's it, bleed for me like a good boy" as his tongue drags up the trail of scarlet liquid he'd just created, or when Ross overhears the secret murmur of "does that hurt? Tell me how much it hurts" after his collarbone and neck have been painted with teeth marks and hickeys, it's clear that Ross is more than a little swayed by Lisgoe's voice

However, what he loves more was the side that few people saw. The give and the take. The mutuality. The metaphorical and physical switching of roles

There was something about seeing someone as commanding as Lisgoe up against the wall, panting softly with an excited smile on his face that made Ross think two things at the same time:

God, he's beautiful like this

I want to break him like a China doll

He watches as Lisgoe looks up at him through his eyelashes, breath escaping him in shallow puffs, his smile melting into a more playful smirk

"Be gentle with me," He whispers in a tone that could easily be read as mocking - probably because it was "won't you, Ross?"

"Do you want me to be?"

They both laugh, knowing damn well what the answer is

"Fuck no."

People don't know about this side of them. All they see is opposition, the testing of patience and the pushes to the edge. The marks on their bodies where the other had been, the poison in their words

What they never see, however, is the way they wait for each other's poisoned tongue with a mouth full of antidote, leaving no pain and keeping the delightful feeling of whirring and twisting in their guts. They don't see the way that the constant competition and battle stokes a fire within them that they long to feel dragging against their skin. They don't understand that, with every chunk of the other they hold in their hands, in their nails, in their jaws, it feels like too much and not enough. Nobody understands how desperately they want to consume the very essence of the other, to keep everything that makes the other theirs bound so tightly to them that there was no wedge that could separate them and no knife that could severe them

They want the pain, the pleasure and every single way those two opposing forces intertwine. That's just them. Messy, unorthodox and deadly. Sick-minded and volatile

However...

"You alright?"

... in the midst of this...

"Just need to breathe..."

... there's something else...

"Ross?"

"Hm?"

"You're staring at me."

... reserved only for them

"Because you look nice."

"Piss off with that sappy shite!"

"You don't believe me?"

"... Nobody calls me nice."

"Well, I am."

Nobody needs to see that

"Ross?"

"What is it?"

"... You're so fucking pretty."

#reece shearsmith #league of gentlemen #the league of gentlemen #joseph lisgoe #ross gaines #gainsgoe #gainesgoe

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steeb-stn · 3 months

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pls have 800 words of the inside of my head, featuring hurt/comfort, cee and her daddy issues, ezra and his daughter issues, and ezra and his issues with his daughter’s dead father

enjoy!

He should have known she was coming down with something - the jungle planet they’d been working on was a cesspool of every plague and malady known to fleshly bodies. Now they’re up here on this Keva-forsaken station, with barely half a first-aid kit that he could cobble together. Cee’s already burned through the half-dozen fever reducers he managed to kick up, and now all he can do is try to keep her cool with wet cloths, and try to get her to drink. Their tiny pod doesn’t even have a tub he can put her in.

She’s been speaking to him as if he were her father for the past hour. He’d tried halfheartedly to convince her otherwise, but had since given up, a little afraid that her preoccupation with Damon, in combination with reminders of his own person, might lead her fever-addled mind back to the last ill-fated encounter between the two men. That was the last thing either Ezra or Cee needed at the moment.

“I’m sorry, dad.” She said plaintively, pulling the wet cloth from her neck for the hundredth time. “I didn’t mean to. I’m really sorry.”

“You’re alright, birdy,” Ezra replied, replacing the cloth for the hundred-and-first time. “Just rest. There’s nothing you need to do right now. Just let this fever burn out.”

She pulled it off again immediately, throwing it across the room fitfully where it hit the opposite wall with a splat. She was getting more distressed as the fever wore her out. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, I promise. It was an accident. I’m sorry.” To his horror, little sobs followed this last apology. “I’m really sorry, dad. Don’t be mad.”

“It’s alright, birdy. No one’s mad at you. Everything’s okay.” He smooths her sweaty hair back from her temple, feeling physical pain in his chest at the tears on her flushed cheeks. Never had he felt so helpless as he did now. And of course the only person in the galaxy who could have possibly made it better was the same one he’d dispatched in the Green so long ago.

Even now, Damon still haunts him.

But Damon’s not here, only Ezra is. Cee has no one now but him. He scrambles for words that might set her at ease.

What did you call her in your more tender moments, Damon?

His limited acquaintance with the man, on top of what little he has garnered from awkward conversations with Cee, doesn’t lead him to imagine much. Nor does the way the man’s daughter feels compelled to entreat her father for forgiveness in the midst of her delirium.

If it was him, though. If it was him, father to a young girl. A younger, softer Cee, younger even then that little girl in the Green who forever changed his life. That he can imagine just fine.

“I’m not mad, honey. No harm done.”

“I promise I was being careful!” Tears and snot stream down her face. He wipes her nose gently with the cloth.

What did you say to your girl when she cried, Damon?

This Ezra doesn’t have trouble imagining, unfortunately. The impatience, the harsh rebuke. In his own imitation he tries to soften the words.

“Don’t cry, now, Cee. It’s alright.” At the command she stops sobbing immediately, as Ezra had suspected she might. As if she had practice at it.

Oh, Damon. Will you ever stop disappointing me?

Disappointing her?

“I’m sorry.” She swipes a hand under her nose. “Please don’t be mad.”

“It’s all right, honey. It’s nothin’ the two of us can’t fix, now, is it? It’s alright, now. I know you were being careful.” He smoothes his thumb over her forehead. “Will you drink some water for me? There you go. Good girl.”

She lets him pull the water bottle away, dropping her head against the pillow. She looks a little better. Eyes a little less glazed. ‘Dad?’

He breathes deep, continuing the stroking of her hair. It seems to calm her. ‘Yeah, honey.’

“I really am trying. I’ll get better, I promise. You don’t have to take the book away. I promise I’ll do better next time.’

‘That’s alright, Cee. I know you will. You’re my smart girl. I’m a lucky man, ‘you know that?” He cups her fevered cheek. “I’m lucky to have a girl like you.”

You were so much luckier than you deserved, Damon.

So am I.

He knows, he hopes, that she will forget this moment of near unbearable vulnerability between them, that it will melt away like a bizarre dream, like the fever that’s sweating off her. But there’s also a part of him that wants her to remember. Remember, at least, this bit.

Remember what she should have learned from her father, what should have embedded itself in her bones where no one and nothing could touch it, not a fever, not a dead man, not even a scoundrel like Ezra himself. Don’t forget, Cee. Don’t you forget how proud I am. There’s nobody in the whole galaxy who’s got a girl like mine.

Nobody.

#Prospect 2018 #ezra prospect #cee prospect #cee and ezra #writing

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wc-confessions · 4 months

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TPB is my favorite series like the basic ass mf I am but. BUT. It also contains one of my biggest personal pet peeves in all of Warrior Cats. Which is saying A Lot with how botched this series’s writing is is in places.

Nightpelt not getting his nine lives while Tigerstar does??? Make it make sense. Genuinely what the fuck Starclan. We know they knew exactly how Tiger would turn out but somehow decided that poor Nightpelt, who was just trying to guide his fractured and weak clan through Brokenstar’s wake, and through even more tragedy and misfortune afterwards, wasn’t worthy enough Apparently. What did Night even do for them to hold him in such contempt? Besides *checks notes* being middle-aged and having a chronic illness?

There’s the fact that Brokenstar was still alive and on his last life yeah, but so was Pinestar when he left Thunderclan and that didn’t seem to be an issue other than Sunstar only getting eight lives (which is still way better than no extra lives). Brokenstar also broke the Warrior Code seven ways to Sunday before being exiled so it feels weird for them to still have recognized his authority.

For a long time my headcanon was that Starclan didn’t *actually* give Tiger his nine lives, he lied about it when he became Shadowclan’s leader, and when Scourge killed him, it was his one single life ending in such a jarring and gory way that it just *looked like* he died nine times in a row. Even if it was kind of flimsy, it was still more acceptable than what canon said.

With what has been written since though, this headcanon falls apart pretty badly. First, Tiger’s destiny to be evil - even if there’s a strong argument to be made that it was a self-fulfilling prophecy by how adults like Pinestar, Goosefeather, Thistleclaw, etc acted around him or directly treated him as he came of age - has been known about from his birth to the point where they tried to get his own father to commit infanticide! Starclan has had plenty of time to communicate amongst themselves about it, let alone watch over what has been happening to all the living and recently-deceased cats.

Second, we see Tiger’s nine lives ceremony. While we only know the backstories and full motivations of a couple of these characters, there are at least nine named cats who support him being leader enough to grant him a life. Even though these lives are meant to symbolically help in areas he’s lacking, and could be read as just acting in the best interest of the living cats within the leadership decision already being made as opposed to meddling in it… why didn’t they offer Nightpelt the same chance? Why weren’t they like “here’s the areas you need to work on and the life lessons you need to learn, and we’ll respect the circumstances created by the living” to him, too?

The only answer that feels somewhat satisfactory to me is that Starclan isn’t a hivemind and that while many of the cats were cheering during Tiger’s ceremony, cats like Redtail and Goosefeather were in a corner somewhere bashing their heads against a metaphorical wall.

Content warning for US politics ahead.

This also relies on Starclan Tiger supporters to be the Warrior Cats equivalent of Trump voters. Maybe not all of them are bad people but they are at least very easily manipulated into the ideal image of making their nation “strong again,” and are emotionally pulled in by the idea of someone who isn’t going to take shit standing up for “normal people” who they perceive to be like themselves, and are willing to put a vocal bully with a history of opportunistic, shady, and malicious behavior in a seat of power to make that happen. I could see Badgerfang falling into this camp. We know he’s just a kid who was forced into combat too young and that he isn’t a dick but is a victim of circumstance and had his worldview colored by the adults around him. He could have a more optimistic view of Tiger as someone who isn’t going to take shit from another Brokenstar, while simultaneously having a blind patriotic streak because again he was just a child and doesn’t know better than to question the system even if it failed him (based on how he describes his own death as giving his life up for his clan). Someone like this could easily be sucked into wanting the “strong” leader over the one they perceive as “weak” even if the “weak” candidate is more qualified and responsible, or has a more appropriate personality for leadership. (Side tangent I wonder how much Starclan foresaw about how Tiger would die. “Beware small cats” is so… specific.)

Starclan isn’t just a handful of jingoistic Shadowclan cats (+ Pinestar), though. There still should have been enough vocal outcry to make it not seem so cut and dry with Nightstar/Tigerstar, with the information in canon that the reader does get.

I know I’m reading way too far into this silly series with its million plotholes and inconsistencies and retcons, but I just want some answers. Thank you if you endured my pet peeve Night/Tiger rant.

#text #anonymous #confession #warrior cats

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shsy7573 · 9 months

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Quiet

A Voltron fic by shsy7573

Description: Lance has always hated the quiet. It pulls him down, suffocating him in its grasp. He’s always trying to chase it away, but sometimes it’s power is just too much to bear. Sometimes, he just can’t get out of bed.

Info: Langst. Hurt/comfort. Original Paladins. Quiet as an analogy for depression. Depressed Lance. Lance and Blue bond.

Relationships: Klance. Not a focus but still there.

WARNING: depression, emotionally shutting down (it’s brief but it happens), cursing

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a kind of quiet.

Not the awkward kind that falls at the end of a conversation. Nor the comfortable kind that arises from being close to those you care about.

Not the kind bred by concentration, or the kind born from the fear that you are being watched.

It’s a heavy, solemn kind of quiet. One that settles deep, beyond the ordinary silence. One that reaches every crack and crevice in the wall. One that consumes the very space it takes up. One that makes the entire world feel like it’s made of jello. Like moving through it would drain every bit of energy in your body, and still leave you trapped in its woeful embrace.

Mostly it comes in the morning when you just wake up. Before you're ready to face the day with smiles and laughs and good humour. Often it comes when you're alone, away from all the distraction that the world can bring. Sometimes, it can come even when there’s noise. It can nestle in the back of your mind, pulling you away from the joy of sound. Back to the loneliness. Back to the quiet.

That kind of quiet… once it comes, it’s hard to shake.

But Lance tries. Every day he tries. Tries to ignore the numbing silence. To ignore the echoing in the back of his head, calling him back to the land without noise. He fights it with a struggle, the kind that only exists on the inside, and rarely ever leaks through to his outer features. And if it ever does, he’s careful to ensure that he’s entirely alone.

That’s where he is right now. It’s early morning, and he’s certain everyone else is already up. But he hasn’t quite found the strength yet. Hasn’t quite been able to will his limbs to move. To break free of the quiet.

He will. He always does. Sometimes it’s easy. Like brushing off dust. But there are days where it’s hard to even want to try. Days like today.

So he lays there, eyes open, body still, staring at the ceiling. Building his energy. Silently wishing that maybe today, despite the rough start, would be okay.

There’s a knock on his door, and though the quiet stirs, it does not dissipate. Not even as Allura begins to speak from the other side.

“Lance, are you awake?! You know the team is flight training today. You’d better get up soon or else you won’t be ready.”

Lance didn’t respond for a few moments. His brain didn’t want to fight today. Didn’t want to try.

But he had to. He always had to.

Counting down from five, he pushed himself up. Past the quiet. Past the emptiness.

“Yeah, I’m up.” He said, forcing his vocal cords to work. “I’ll be out in five!” He promised, forcing his body into motion.

He didn’t want to. Every movement left his body screaming in protest. Begging to go back to the quiet.

That was the thing. Despite all the ill will he felt towards it, the quiet was addicting. Intoxicating. Every day it taunted him with its existence, coaxing him with its easiness. How good would it feel to just let go? To just give in to the quiet? To not have to fight anymore?

But, Lance had a job to do, and he’d already put it off long enough today.

And just as promised, he emerged from his sleeping quarters in exactly five minutes. Skin exfoliated, clothes neat, and, most importantly, a smile on his face. After all, you’re never fully dressed without one.

When he made it to the kitchen, he was greeted with a snarky, but lighthearted remark from Pidge. “Looks like sleeping beauty decided to emerge.”

Lance grinned wider, “aw, Pidgeon, of you missed my presence that much you can just say so!”

His only reply was a playful eye roll from the Green Paladin. He took that as a good sign. If Pidge was in a good mood, maybe they’d have a good day.

He shovelled his breakfast down as quickly as possible, hating the idea of making the others wait for him.

“Lance, slow down. You’re gonna give yourself a stomach ache!” Hunk instructed, ever the worry wart.

“It’s fine, Hunk. All that sleep worked up my appetite.”

Coran poked his head into the kitchen. “Alright Paladins— oh, Lance, you’re awake! Good morning!”

“Morning Coran!”

The Altean smiled, then cleared his throat. “Anyways, as I was saying. Training room will be ready in ten minutes!”

Lance’s heart jolted. How long had he been in his room? They were supposed to start training at noon!

“Quiznak!” He spat, realising he was the only one out of uniform. He shoved the half eaten plate of food away, standing up abruptly and nearly tripping over the chair as he made to leave.

“Wh- Lance, you’re not done eating!” Hunk complained. Lance realised his mistake, Hunk had gone through the trouble of making him food and Lance hadn’t even finished it. But there wasn’t time. He had ten minutes to get changed.

“Sorry Hunk, food was great, but I’m not super hungry right now.”

“You just said you were starving!” Hunk argued.

Quiznak! “Well I- I’m not now! I gotta get ready.”

“Lance, we can wait for you to finish eating. We’re not in that big a hurry to train.” Pidge said, her tone dry, but her words comforting. Typical Pidge.

Lance paused for a moment, gaze flickering back to the plate. He was still hungry, but… making them wait? He couldn’t. He was late getting up, he had to deal with the consequences.

“It’s fine. I won’t be long, promise!” He said, before turning and bolting out of his room.

“Paladin should eat,” A voice echoed in his mind. Blue. Lance smiled.

It’s fine Bluey, I can eat after training.

“Hungry now. Can wait.”

No, no waiting. Besides, hunger can be my motivation.

There was no response, but he could tell Blue was not happy with that answer. Still, he was happy she wasn’t arguing. He’d take the win.

—

Nine and a half minutes later, Lance was bolting from his room to the training deck.

I’m gonna be late, I’m gonna be late, I’m gonna be late—

His panic was disrupted as he ran full speed into something, falling head over heels and landing in a heap on the floor. Something shifted underneath him, and Lance quickly moved, trying to see what he’d run into.

Or rather, who. His heart stopped as he saw none other than Keith Kogane, one hand cradling his head where Lance’s elbow had landed, and one pushing himself into a sitting position. His black mullet draped over his face and his eyes blazed with anger.

“Fuck, Lance, watch where you’re going!” The Half-Galran spat.

The Blue Paladin shot to his feet, grabbing Keith and helping him to his feet. “Shit! Sorry!”

“What the hell were you running that fast for anyway?” The Red Paladin asked anger subsiding as he recovered from the shock of being barreled into.

Lance’s eyes widened and he looked at the time displayed on the inside of his helmet. “I’m- we’re late for training! What are you doing? Shouldn’t you already be there?!”

“I was on my way when someone ran into me!”

Lance was hardly listening.

“Quiznak!” He hissed, grabbing Keith’s wrist and practically yanking him down the hall. He was running a little slower than before, but not much.

“Hey, what gives!”

“We’re late! Allura’s gonna give me so much shit if she finds out we’re both late ‘cause of me!”

Keith regained his footing and began to run more comfortably beside Lance, falling just a little bit behind. Lance’s hand was still around his wrist, but the Blue Paladin seemed to be too distracted to notice.

“Lance, chill the fuck out! It’s one minute, I don’t think anyone’s gonna care!”

Once again, the Blue Paladin didn’t respond as they burst through the doors of the training deck.

“Sorry we’re late!” Lance exclaimed as he yanked a very confused, mildly irritated Keith through the door.

Shiro, Pidge and Hunk all looked over, startled by the abrupt entrance.

Shiro smiled, “it’s fine Lance, you’re not late. But, now that you’re both here, we can get started.”

Lance begged to differ, but Shiro’s words brought his heart rate down to a semi-regular level.

“Be calm, Cub.”

He took a deep breath, and allowed his shoulders to relax. He felt a slight weight in his grip, and looked down to realise he was still holding Keith by the wrist. Turning red, Lance let go and pulled his hand away. “Sorry!” He said.

The Red Paladin rubbed his wrist, but for the most part didn’t seem too upset. “It’s fine.”

If Lance didn’t know any better, he’d say he saw a bit of pink flush in Keith’s ears.

Before Lance could linger on it, Shiro started talking, drawing both Paladin’s attention to the centre of the training deck.

“Alright guys, regular warm-up routine. Coran’s set the training levels back to the appropriate mode from yesterday’s training so we don’t have to worry about that. Once we’re done we’ll head to our Lions for some flight training.”

Everyone nodded, and they fell into the familiar pattern of their warm-up routine.

Lance sighed as the rest of his panic slowly ebbed.

Maybe today wouldn’t be so bad afterall.

They finished flight training at about 13:50 Lion Castle Time (Lance was dubbing it LCT). So, considering they’d begun warmups at 12:00, they’d been going pretty hard for just under two hours.

Lance was feeling it. As comfy as the pilot seat in Blue was, sitting there with his hands clamped over the controls for that long would make anyone’s joints cramp up.

It didn’t help that halfway through his hunger began making itself extremely obvious. The distractor nearly sent them all into a tailspin multiple times.

By now, his body was just… numb. He was aware of the aches, but he couldn’t feel them.

Once again the quiet crept into his brain. Intruding on the fringes, threatening to take over completely.

Lance pushed himself out of the pilot’s seat.

Can’t believe I fucked that up. What the fuck is wrong with me!

“Cub is distressed.”

Lance sighed as he pulled his helmet off. “It’s okay Blue, I’m fine.”

The Blue Lion grumbled in response. A show of disbelief.

“Need help. Sad.”

“I don’t need help, Bluey. Promise. I’m fine. I can handle it.”

He knew she didn’t believe him but he kept walking, and she didn’t push.

Lance had planned to go back to his room. To take off his armour, lay in his bed and rest.

But… he knew if he did that the quiet would come back. It would feed on his failure and coax him deeper into its hold. It would bury inside him like a parasite, latching on so tight it would be hard to shake.

He didn’t think he could bear that right now.

So, once he changed out of his armour, he went in search of someone to keep him company. Someone to keep his mind active. Some sound to keep the quiet at bay.

First he went to Hunk. He always went to Hunk. Hunk was always down to hang out, to talk. Hunk was easy and big-hearted and he was Lance’s best friend. Hunk cared more about Lance than what Lance had to offer.

But, as it turns out, Hunk was preoccupied.

Lance had checked the Yellow Paladin’s sleeping chambers and the kitchen before he finally made his way down to the engine room.

And there was Hunk. But… there also was Pidge and Coran.

But hey, maybe they could use an extra hand. Or just someone to fire ideas at. Lance wasn’t a tech wizz, but he prided himself on being creative.

Besides, the more voices to keep the quiet at bay, the better. Right?

“Hey guys!” He said, walking over, “need any help?”

Hunk smiled. That made Lance happy. Hunk was always glad to see him. “Oh, hey Lance! No, I think we’re good, but you can stay here if you want.”

Lance inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Being around his friends always made the quiet easier to bear.

“Just don't touch anything. This is a very important process and I don’t need you messing anything else up today.” Pidge said. Immediately she regretted her word choice.

The Green Paladin swung around in her chair just in time to see Lance force the look of hurt off his face.

“I- I mean… I didn’t mean it like—“ she tried, starting to apologise.

But Lance smiled and cut her off, “it’s fine Pidge, I understand. Don’t worry, I’m aware of how particular you are about people touching your little projects.”

Pidge furrowed her eyebrows for a moment, but she couldn’t resist. Lance smiled as she took the bait.

“They’re not little projects! They are important scientific inventions!”

Hook, line and sinker.

Lance raised his hands in surrender. “Right, right. Sorry. Your important scientific inventions.”

Inside, they hurt. Pidge’s words. It was like a punch in the gut. But… seeing Pidge looking so guilty almost hurt worse. He hated it when his friends were upset.

Besides, seeing Pidge being so characteristically Pidge made the hurt go away as quickly as it had come. The quiet roared in protest, but it couldn’t do shit to fight against the endearing nerdish-ness that was Pidge Holt.

He stayed with them for a while. Asking questions about what they were doing, and asking Coran specifically about how the project would help them. He knew it was something they were making in regards to a diplomatic mission, and Coran always knew best about those types of things.

Eventually, though, when he leaned a little too close and fell off the unstable stool he was sitting on, Pidge shooed him out. They were getting to the delicate part of the project, and if Lance’s body was in the mood for being a wrecking ball she didn’t want him anywhere near the project.

He understood. He really did. Last thing he wanted was to trip and ruin the whole thing and make everyone upset.

But the second the door to the engine room closed, the quiet returned. Thick and suffocating. And with it, a tiny voice in the back of his mind.

They just don’t want your bothersome ass around. Asking dumb questions and distracting them from getting anything done.

Lance told his brain to shove off.

Still though, he wasn't sure he was in the mood to have some quality time with the quiet. And he didn’t think he could hold it off on his own. So he went in search of someone else.

At first he’d planned to go find Shiro. At the very least their leader would have a good story or two to share about his time at the Garrison. Or maybe some tips on how Lance could improve. Shiro loved to teach.

But, fate had other plans as he ran into Allura with her hands spilling over with a mass of books and scrolls.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, reaching forward and catching the top of the pile as it threatened to fall over.

Lance peered behind the Altean Princess to see a trail of paper and books leading down the hallway. He smiled and looked back to Allura, “need some help?”

“Yes! Thank you, Lance.” She gasped, all but shoving some of the pile into his hands. The Blue Paladin stumbled slightly, before regaining his footing and holding the books more securely. He could see that Allura looked a lot more comfortable.

Lance walked beside her as they headed for the Castle’s library. “What exactly are you doing with all this stuff anyways?”

Allura sighed, “you know we’re going to Smagdul tomorrow to try and get their planet incorporated into the Alliance. I was just trying to catch up a bit on all their customs, specifically how they expect royalty to act…” Her voice trailed off as she looked at the stacks of information in both her and Lance’s hands, before looked back down the hall where she’d dropped things.

“I… had not been aware there was so much.”

Lance laughed, and Allura let out a reluctant chuckle, before they continued down the hall.

“Listen, Princess. If we want these people to trust us, you should be acting more like Altean royalty, than Smagdulian royalty. Sure knowing their customs is good, but at the end of the day it’s an alliance. That means both sides are learning from and accepting of each other. How can they trust us if we’re not being ourselves?”

Allura was silent for a moment, and Lance quickly filled in nervously. “Of course, that’s just my opinion. You’re the expert though, being the princess and all.”

She shook her head, “no, you make a good point. Relationships go both ways, it can’t just be us trying to win their favour. We must show them who Voltron is, not what Voltron they may like.”

Lanc smiled, he’d actually said something right.

“Though, maybe do some work on your flying skills before we go. If today’s training was anything to go by,” Allura teased. Despite the lighthearted nature, Lance’s heart twisted.

He did not reply, and the two carried on in silence the rest of the way to the library. Despite the princess being right there, the quiet felt even more prevalent in the depths of his mind.

Once they’d slotted everything away, Allura sent him off.

Still fearing the idea of being alone right now, he continued on looking for his original target. It wasn’t long until he found the leader of Voltron down in Black’s hanger, sitting there in contemplation.

“Shiro?” He asked, standing by the entrance. He didn’t want to just walk in if Shiro was busy. Had it been anyone else, sure. But Shiro? His hero? He’d show a little more class.

Not that it matters after the training debacle.

“Lance,” Shiro said, looking at The Blue Paladin, “is something wrong?”

Lance realised his thoughts must have shown on his face, and he quickly steeled himself with a smile.

“Nope, everything’s fine. Just wondering what you’re up to…” Lance said, still standing by the entrance, albeit a little awkwardly.

Shiro smiled, and gestured for Lance to come over. He spoke as the Blue Paladin made his way towards him. “I was just trying to connect more with Black. I find our bond easier to tune into when I’m closer to her.” He explained, watching as Lance sat down next to him.

“Really?” Lance asked. Suddenly he was aware of Blue purring in the back of his mind. “You can’t just… feel her, all the time?”

Shiro shrugged, “A little, if I really concentrate.” He replied, pausing for a moment before continuing curiously. “Why? Can you?”

Lance turned red at the question and looked away. He didn’t want to make Shiro look bad, but he also didn’t want to lie.

“Oh, I- uh- I mean… kinda?” His voice was riddled with uncertainty, but when he looked back at Shiro, the man looked… proud.

“That’s really impressive, Lance. You and her must be really close then.”

Lance blushed and turned his eyes to his hands, which had begun fidgeting. “I uh… I guess.”

Shiro shifted, turning his body so that it was facing Lance more. Apparently this conversation had seriously peaked the man’s interest.

“What else?”

Lance looked up again, tilting his head in confusion. “What else… what?”

“What else can your bond do? What’s it like?”

Lance stared at Shiro for a moment, trying to think, before shrugging. “I dunno… She's nice, really nice. I can tell she cares about me. And… I can tell our connection has grown a lot since I first met her. At least, I think it has. She’s always telling me to take care of myself, and she’s always making sure I’m okay. She calls me her Cub.”

Blue’s purring grew louder the more he spoke, and a warm smile broke across his face. Brighter and happier than his usual one.

Shiro looked impressed, and surprised. “Wait, she can talk to you? With actual words?”

Lance smiled wider and nodded, “mhm. It started a couple of weeks ago. At first our communication was just flashes and images and feelings, but recently I’ve been able to hear her voice. It's deep, motherly. It feels warm and sunny, like the beach. And it’s always calm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her raise her voice. It feels like…” he paused for a moment, trying to find the word to describe her, “it feels like home.”

Shiro listened deeply to Lance’s words. The Blue Paladin could tell. He’d seen the same look in his eyes whenever he listened to Keith, or Pidge or Allura. When they explained missions or reasoning, or when they told him their concerns or doubts. But never, not in a million years, had that look ever been reserved for Lance.

Probably because he never shut up. Probably because he was annoyed by Lance. Probably because Lance never had anything worthwhile to say.

The quiet hummed, but Lance pushed it away.

Because right now… right now Shiro was paying attention. Shiro cared about him. Shiro was impressed by him.

“That’s amazing, Lance. I don’t think any of the others have as close a bond with their lions that you have with Blue. That took a lot of work, and I’m proud of you.”

Lance beamed at the praise. Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god

This was the moment he’d always dreamed about. His moment with Shiro.

And then Lance’s stomach rumbled.

And he was reminded of the fact that he had barely eaten anything all day.

And Shiro’s expression changed. Lance didn’t look long enough to see what it changed to, but he saw that it changed.

“Have you eaten? Since before training?”

Lance bit his lip, and he began to fidget with his hands again. He wasn’t aware that he’d stopped, but he started again.

“I… not… in theory.” He murmured. Shiro put his hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“You should eat something. You barely had half of your breakfast this morning. If the Galra attack we’ll need you at full strength.”

Lance sighed. The quiet in his brain returned as the pride dissipated. For a moment, for one glorious moment, he’d been important. He’d been Lance: the one with an unrivalled bond with his lion. Lance: the person the others could look up to for something.

But he should have known it wouldn’t last. Now he was back to Lance: the fuck up. Lance: the one who can’t do anything right. Lance: the one holding them back. Lance: the disappointment.

The Blue Paladin stood up, not bothering to look at Shiro as he came down from the momentary high. His brain crashing down into the grasping hands of the quiet, faster than he had time to fight it. Faster that he had time to push it away.

“Right,” he murmured softly as he turned away, “sorry.”

And with that, Lance walked away. Away from his hero. Away from the hangar. Away from the disappointment.

And try as he might to shake it, as he walked away, the quiet clung tight. Wrapping its arms around him, and making his whole body feel like it was made of lead. It dragged him down, trying to pull him to his knees. Trying to get him to stop fighting.

And Lance didn’t feel hungry anymore. He didn’t feel anything.

He didn’t feel anything other than numb. Numb. Cold. And quiet.

He didn’t go to the kitchen. If someone was there, he’d only spread his misery to them. They didn’t need to deal with his problems. They didn’t need the quiet too.

So he went to his room, closed the door, and collapsed onto his bed.

He wouldn’t emerge until the next morning.

—It was 12:46. Lance had been awake for three hours, but he had not moved from his bed. If yesterday’s quiet had been jello, then today’s was fucking tar pitch.

He knew they landed on Smagdul in less than an hour. He knew all of Voltron had to be present. He knew they had to strengthen the alliance.

But he just… couldn’t get out of bed. Couldn’t force himself past the quiet. Hunk had come knocking at 9:00. Then again at 10:30. Then Pidge slammed her fist on the door at 11:00 and yelled at him to get up. Then Allura had swung by at 12:00. Shiro had just been by about twenty minutes ago. Telling him that he had to get up soon. That they had to prepare. That they needed his help.

And he felt horrible. He felt so fucking horrible that he was leaving them to make all the preparations themselves. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t do it. His body refused to respond. His brain felt slow and suffocated and oxygen deprived. And he just wanted to lay there forever, to let the quiet take him. Let it consume him because no way he’d be able to fight it off this time.

He knew his lack of strength, in part, was due to the fact that he hadn’t eaten in over twenty four hours. He didn’t care. He could stay here a little longer.

Apparently, though, Keith was tired of waiting.

He burst through the door with no regards to the privacy of the Paladin inside and stalked over to the bed with a purpose.

Very aggressively, he grabbed Lance by the collar, and yanked him up.

“That’s it, you’re getting your ass out of bed right now! I don’t care if I have to drag you to the kitchen, it’s time to wake up!”

The action and close proximity to Keith seemed to be what finally spurred Lance into motion. And by spurred, I mean he found the energy to slowly and lethargically pull himself away from Keith.

“Okay, okay. Fucking Quiznak, keep your shirt on.” He muttered, rubbing his eyes as his body struggled to fight off the rest of the quiet.

Keith stood back, arms crossed as Lance gathered himself. The Paladin in question ran a hand through brunette hair and blinked multiple times before he seemed to gather himself. His posture grew straighter, and he placed a suggestive hand on his hip, looking Keith up and down questioningly.

“So… you just gonna watch me get dressed, or…?”

Keith stiffened immediately, his cheeks growing red. “I- Wh- no! Just- of course I’m not! I just- fucking-“

Lance started laughing, and it only made Keith grow angrier. “You’re the worst! Just get dressed!”

The Red Paladin stormed out of the room, leaving Lance alone again with the quiet.

Making his limbs move to dress and undress took more effort than Lance would like to admit, and it took him twenty minutes to do the bare minimum of his usual morning care routine. When he finally emerged, eyes glazed and shoulder slumped, Keith cocked an eyebrow.

“What took you so long? Did you fall asleep again? It doesn’t look like you did shit!”

Lance hardly heard him. “You… waited out here?”

Once again, Lance could swear he saw Keith’s ears turn pink.

“Yeah, so what?”

Lance shrugged, he could feel his face flushing a little. “I- n- nothing I guess.”

Keith nodded before turning, “come on, let’s get you fed.”

Lance was too tired to argue that he could feed himself. He was half afraid that if he pushed Keith away he’d find himself back in bed, unable to move.

As opposed to right now where I can barely move? He asked himself.

“Paladin okay?” The soft, comforting voice of Blue spoke in his mind. He smiled, even though he knew she couldn’t see him and it wouldn’t do shit to dispel her worry.

I’m fine, Blue. Just a little tired.

“My Cub. Sad. I’m here.”

Lance sighed, thanks Blue. But I’m okay.

He forced himself to tune back into reality as he and Keith reached the kitchen. There was already a bowl waiting for him. Nothing fancy like the other day, just space goo.

Lance sat down, pulling the bowl closer and staring at it for a moment. Despite the knowing hunger in his chest, he had no appetite. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stomach eating anything.

“Eat, Cub.”

Slowly, he lowered his spoon to the bowl. Small bites, he told himself. He began to slowly and mechanically lift the spoon from the bowl to his mouth. Swallow. Repeat. His stomach turned as he forced the food inside him, yet at the same time it thanked him. After about the third repetition of the cycle, Keith interrupted his mantra of I got this.

“Are you okay, Lance?”

The Blue Paladin looked up to see Keith’s brows knitted with concern. Lance looked back down to find his hands shaking slightly. That coupled with the slow movements probably didn’t help his case as he grinned.

“Yeah, I’m good. Just… I think it’s a little too early for space goo.”

“It’s 13:00.”

“Early for me.”

“You’ve been awake for like, twenty minutes now.”

“So what?”

“We have to get going, we’ll be arriving soon.” Keith’s voice rose an octave

“Nobody ever said you had to stay here.” Lance matched his tone.

Keith sighed in exasperation. Still though, it seemed he refused to leave. Lance took it as a win.

After a few more minutes of forceful mouthfuls, he gave up. He’d finished about a quarter of the bowl, and he figured that was plenty for now.

“Alright, that’s enough of that. Let’s get to the control room.”

Keith glared, “but you didn’t finish.”

“I finished enough,” Lance replied, dumping the rest of the space goo into the garbage, before discarding the dishes in the sink.

“Lance—“ the Red Paladin started, reaching out a halting hand.

“It’s fine, Keith. The others are probably all waiting for us.” The sharpshooter insisted, pushing past Keith and starting down the hall. After a few moments of resistance, the boy followed.

The team arrived on Smagdul at exactly 13:27. Lance was not anyone’s favourite person, but they had decided to put their irritations aside in the face of diplomacy. Lance figured that the best way to get through the day without much trouble would be for him to sit down, shut up, and smile.

So that’s what he did. He only spoke when spoken to. When they were invited into the town hall by the Smagduns, he didn’t comment that the place looked like an overly glorified tennis court. When one of the aliens complimented him on his looks, he didn’t try to flirt with them.

Lance was being good. He was being agreeable.

But every moment he stayed silent was a moment the quiet spent spreading through his veins. His smiles at the citizens became less joyful. His laughter at their jokes became less contagious. His retelling of Voltron’s stories of grandeur (which he only gave at the request of the Smagduns) became less passionate.

By the time Voltron was invited outside into the town square for more festivities, Lance could feel himself starting to drown. He was losing his edge. Losing his grip on the joy. Sinking deeper and deeper into the quiet despite the exploding sounds of joy echoing around him.

And then the music started playing.

Bright, lively, and loud music. Music that breathed energy into all those who listened. Music whose vibrations sent a shockwave of life into the bodies of those who felt it.

And even though they were a million light years away, it reminded him of home.

It wasn’t the same, not by a long shot. It didn’t have the beat of the bongo drums or the rhythm of the claves. But it had energy. It had life. It had meaning. It wasn’t just sound, it was alive.

Even as he felt the quiet lift, the life returned to his body, he was careful not to cross any lines. He believed himself still to be on thin ice with his comrades, and even though this music made him want to dance more than anything. Even though he wanted to just let loose and embrace the Cuban heritage that he’d been missing so much, he held himself back.

He watched and participated as the Smagduns showed Voltron their way of dancing. He allowed them to spin him and guide him and show him their ways and held back every fibre of his being that wanted to embrace the music in his own way.

Somehow, he found himself in a group with the other Paladins, Allura and Coran. Trapped in the middle of the eccentric chaos.

“Hey, Lance!” Hunk called over the noise, he seemed to be having the time of his life. “This kinda sounds like the stuff you’re always listening to, doesn’t it!”

“It does!” Lance responded, happy that at least he wasn’t going crazy in thinking the aliens’ music was similar.

“Paladin has music?” Said a voice from beside Lance. He looked down to see a young Smagdun looking up at him curiously, squished between him and Hunk’s legs. He backed up a little to let the alien have some room. Which, apparently, was an invitation for a couple other Smagduns to join the circle.

Hunk smiled, “oh yeah! Lance was always trying to show me how to dance to Cuban music back home.”

This seemed to peak the aliens’ interest. “You dance?!” Asked the child. “Show!”

Lance suddenly grew awkward as everyone stared at him. “I- uh- I couldn’t.”

“Dance! Show us!” Said another Smagdun, pulling his arm towards an empty space in the crowd.

Lance tried to shake them off. “I- I wouldn’t want to impose,” he said, looking back at the Paladins. He didn’t want to make them angry. He’d done that enough today.

“No impose! Want to see!”

“Dance!”

“Please!”

“Show!”

Lance looked around frantically as different aliens tried to coax him to do what he so desperately wanted to do. Sweat formed on his forehead, and he felt his heart rate increasing.

“Yeah, come on Lance! Show us what you got!” Pidge said.

He looked at her, really looked at her. At all of them. They looked curious, happy. Like they wanted him to.

“I… are you sure?” He asked. “I wouldn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.”

Allura smiled. “It’s alright, Lance. Remember, these relationships go both ways.”

Lance stared for a moment, before cracking a reluctant smile. “Oh… okay then.” He looked around, then grabbed the little Smagdun child.

All night he’d been holding back. Keeping it in. Forcing his feet to stay the course of ‘good little Lance who won’t get in anyone’s way.’

But now, finally, Lance had permission to let go.

And it felt so good!

His feet fell into motion and he flung the Smagdun child around in the traditional way of his heritage. She screamed and laughed in delight as he helped her through the motions. She was beaming, he was smiling. When he dared look around he saw small crowd gathering, clearly intrigued by the unfamiliar movements and patterns. But they didn’t seem angry, so Lance kept on. It felt so natural, so right. And Lance felt happier than he had in days. For the first time, the quiet was nothing but a mild itch at the corners of his mind. Drowned out by the life of the party, and the soul of the music.

When the song finally ended, Lance broke away, laughing and smiling and oh so happy.

He saw the small Smagdun running around and talking in excited sentences about how she had got to do the Paladin’s Dance.

His joy was only lifted as a lanky, grey skinned Smagdun stood atop a podium at the far end of the square, projecting his voice for all to hear.

“Paladins of Voltron and citizens of Smagdun. It is with the greatest honour that I, King Julxi of Smagdul, declare that our planet will join the fight against the Galra. We see the true passion for a cause and the goodness in the hearts of you visitors, and we vow to assist you in any way we can!”

An eruption of cheers sounded from the crowd. It moved in waves as Smagduns began embracing each other, and the Paladins.

“And now, in celebration of our alliance, let us all head to the Sun Hall! It’s time to feast!”

The inside, though, was even more spectacular. The ground was a mix of soft grass on the outside and around the tables, and soft white sand creating pathways for the citizens to set their feet. Big, glowing vines draped down the walls and under the tables, and the ceiling the was made up of a clear, glass substance, allowing the sunlight to filter in and scatter the hall with rainbow lighting.

The tables were long, with rounded ends and intricate carvings etched into their dark wooden surfaces. Clear, glistening tablecloths draped over them, decorated with the most beautifully coloured stones Lance had ever seen. Pots of small, glowing trees were placed evenly along the centre of each table, and white polished stones sat on each table, indicating where everyone was to sit.

A smaller table sat at the far end of the hall, and Lance soon found out that it was a spot reserved for the royal family of Smagdul, and the inhabitants of the Castle of Lions.

The Blue Paladin was seated between Keith and Shiro, Pidge sitting across from him. Hunk was across from Keith, Coran was across from Shiro, and Allura sat next to Coran.

Dinner was served, and Lance had to refrain himself from gorging too much. He definitely was not about to give away that he’d hardly eaten anything in the past two days, but he could feel Keith’s eyes on him curiously. He hoped that his desire to eat now quelled any worry the Red Paladin may have had for him.

The last thing he needed was to worry anyone.

Lance chose to forgo his earlier status of ‘sit down, shut up.” The others seemed to have moved past this morning’s close call to lateness, and he was grateful for the chance to really loosen his tongue.

He remained respectful but he also joked and teased and just tried to live in the moment.

Nobody seemed to mind.

The quiet receded further. It had no place here.

They partied until the late hours of the night. It would have gone longer, but Allura insisted they get to bed and get some rest before the next day arrived. Paladins couldn’t afford to have sleepless nights.

The next morning, Lance woke up easily, the quiet barely a mist. He pushed himself out of bed, performed his full morning routine, and headed to breakfast.

“Paladin happy. Good.” Blue purred, and Lance was glad she wasn’t worrying for once.

“You’re up early. I’d have thought you’d be sleeping in again after being up so late,” Shiro commented as Lance entered the kitchen, a pip in his stem.

Lance shrugged, “guess my body’s still excited from everything. I couldn’t make it sleep anymore if I wanted to!”

And it was true. He’d woken up tired, tried to fall back to sleep, only to find his mind buzzing too much for it to do any good.

“That’s good to hear. We’re doing hand-to-hand training today, so I figure you’ll need the extra boost.”

Lance faltered. Hand-to-hand? I suck at hand-to-hand.

“Paladin Okay?”

Lance shook his thoughts aside. He was not gonna let a little training wreck his mood.

I’m good Blue. Only one way to get better, right?

He smiled and winked at Shiro, “guess I better fuel up then!” He commented, dispensing a bowl of food goo for himself, and eating it with none of the qualms he experienced yesterday.

The others filed in, each looking shocked to see Lance up before them. It seemed everyone was in a better mood than usual thanks to last night. Even Keith, who Lance was half sure was allergic to mornings.

They had a nice breakfast, went to get changed, then started training. They finished the warm up, and paired off into sparring partners.

Lance was paired with Keith. Shiro with Pidge. Hunk watched and would tag in once someone got tired.

It went okay for the first half an hour or so. Pidge tagged out after the first ten minutes, and Lance waited for her to catch her breath fully before he decided to take a water break as well.

Lance had just felt his heart rate begin to normalise when Keith tapped out.

He walked up to the Pidgeon, feeling rested enough. They fell into an even sparring pace. Each getting a fairly even amount of hits and blocks in. He was glad for that. Keith had been nowhere near Lance’s skill level, and he hated watching the Red Paladin force himself to slow down for Lance's sake.

They were just getting into their grove when something went wrong.

Something always went wrong.

Lance stepped forward to send a strike to Pidge’s chin. She stepped back, but stumbled. Lance tried to catch her but instead he just pushed her more aggressively onto the floor, and Pidge screamed.

Okay, maybe not screamed. It was more of a yelp of pain. But Lance recoiled from the sound all the same.

“What happened?!” Shiro asked, coming over from where he’d been resting near the bench.

“I- I don’t, I didn’t- she-“ Lance was panicking. He’d hurt her. He’d fucking hurt her.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

“My footing was poor and I fell. I think I hurt my ankle.” Pidge explained, sitting up and pulling her knee up to her chest so she could get a better look at the ankle in question.

“I’m sorry!” Lance exclaimed, “I didn’t mean to.”

“Its okay, Lance. It wasn’t your fault. But we should probably get you to a healing pod, Pidge. Even if it’s just a sprain, I’d rather you at full strength.”

Lance, guilt-ridden, terrified Lance, offered his support instantly. “I’ll carry you!” He exclaimed, scooping up the little Gremlin before she had time to protest.

Which she did anyway.

“What the- hey! Lance! It’s not that bad! I can walk by myself! Put me down!”

Lance did no such thing as he carted her out of the training room bridal style, Pidge very obviously struggling to find her way to the ground. Lance gripped tighter.

This was his fault. If she’d been with someone more experienced maybe they would have seen her poor footing. Maybe they would have corrected her before she had a chance to hurt herself. Maybe they would have been able to catch her and not push her and make the whole thing worse!

But no, she’d been stuck with Lance. Stupid, clumsy, incompetent Lance, and she’d gotten hurt.

He had to fix her.

“It’s okay Pidge, just a couple minutes in here and you’ll be fine!” He assured, setting Pidge down outside the pod and starting to push her in.

“I could’ve walked here myse—“ she was cut off as the pod closed.

Coran had joined them, and he quickly typed the scan commands into the pod, before standing back and waiting. When the results popped up, he smiled.

“Only a sprain, and not even a bad one. You were right, it should only take about ten minutes.”

Lance was glad. Glad it wasn’t serious. Glad he hadn’t fucked up too badly.

“Not your fault.” Blue said. But her stubborn Paladin wouldn’t listen. He never did.

“Why don’t you head back to the training deck and tell everyone.” Coran asked, but it was less of a request and more of a prompting.

“Sure… okay,” Lance murmured. But he didn’t move for a couple seconds. He felt heavy again. But Coran had told him to do something, so he pushed past it. He turned and headed out of the med bay and completely missed the look of concern the older Altean man was giving him.

The quiet stayed. It found its holding again and pushed in, clinging like a stubborn eyelash.

A couple hours of sweet relief, but now it was back to the norm.

Lance hated the norm.

Once training wrapped up about half an hour later, Lance went to Pidge’s room. Even a short amount of time in the healing pod had side-effects on the body, and he had no doubt she’d retreated to her room to recover from the cold sleepiness it brought.

Willing the castle to be quiet, Lance opened the door. Instead of with a wish, the door rolled slowly open to allow Lance inside.

The room was dimly lit, and Lance began to scour the floor for loose, dirty clothes. Pidge didn’t always clean up after herself, she oftentimes got busy with projects. So, Lance figured doing her laundry for her would be a nice way to make it up to her.

Sadly, though, she wasn’t asleep like he’d anticipated.

“What are you doing?” Pidge asked, and Lance nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Pidge! Y-you’re awake?”

“Yeah, I wasn’t in the pod that long. Now answer my question, dummy. What the fuck are you doing with my clothes.”

Lance bit his lip, setting the basket he’d been putting them in on the floor.

“I… I thought I’d do your laundry for you.”

Pidge cocked an eyebrow, “why?”

“T- uh- you know. To make up for hurting you.” He said, nodding at her ankle.

The Green Paladin sat up, adjusting her glasses on her face as her expression changed from sceptical to soft.

“You didn’t hurt me, dumbass. I tripped.”

“I pushed you though! I pushed you and that’s what got your ankle all screwed up.”

Pidge narrowed her eyes. She always was one to rise to the challenge of an argument. She spat back, voice raising, “it’s not like you meant to do that! You were trying to help me!”

“Yeah and I just made it worse!”

“Why are you so hung up over this? it was just an accident!” Pidge questioned, throwing her hands in the air.

Lance was silent for a moment before he murmured: “I don’t like seeing you hurt because of me.”

Pidge sighed. “Lance...” she replied, standing up and walking over to the Blue Paladin. She wrapped her arms around his body, pulling him into a hug, “it’s not because of you. I don’t blame you, okay? And I’m fine now. You don’t have to worry.”

Lance stiffened for a moment, before relaxing and returning the embrace. “Thanks Pidgeon.”

For a beat, there was quiet. Not the quiet, though it was still there. A comfortable, silent, and happy quiet.

And then: “I’m still gonna do your laundry, though.”

“Oh, fuck yeah you are, ‘cause I’m sure not gonna do it.”

They laughed and pulled out of the hug.

Lance gathered up the rest of her clothing as Pidge returned to her bed. As he was going to leave, Pidge called out, “hey Lance!”

He turned back, curious.

“Thanks… for checking on me.”

Lance smiled. “Anytime, Pidgeon.”

And then he was gone, the door closing behind him.

That morning the quiet was back. Not to the extent it had been the night before Smagdul, but also not nearly as light as the night after it.

It was 9:00 when Lance first opened his eyes, and 9:30 when he managed to finally pull himself out of bed.

It was 10:00 when he felt presentable enough to make his way down to breakfast. The sound of laughter echoed through the hallway as he approached the kitchen, and the quiet tightened its grip.

“Cub sad. Lonely. I’m here.” Blue prompted, her soft, sandy tone swishing through his head.

I’m fine, Blue. Thanks anyway. I love you.

“Don’t hide. Love you.”

Despite the advice, Lance plastered a smile on his face as he entered the kitchen.

Everything seemed… normal. Happy. Content. But Lance suddenly felt out of place. Sometimes the quiet made him feel a crushing sense of separation that kept him from connecting with the moment. This… wasn’t that, but it wasn’t too far off.

He sat down and joked, and laughed, and teased. But it was as if his body was on autopilot as his mind found it difficult to care.

They didn’t have anything planned for the day. So when breakfast was finished, Lance found himself drifting back into the quiet.

So, like always, when the quiet loomed too close for comfort, Lance went out in search of some noise.

Hunk first, as usual. He found the boy in the pantry, even though they’d just had breakfast he was looking for supplies so he could bake. Lance liked to help Hunk bake, so he offered up his services.

Hunk, as always, agreed.

They worked in silence, but the clattering of pots and pans kept the quiet at bay.

And then Lance dropped a whole packet of some sort of pale yellow altean powder on the counter.

“Quiznak, sorry!”

But Hunk said it was fine. There was more.

And then Lance knocked the empty mixer on the floor with his elbow.

But Hunk told it it wasn’t a big deal, there was nothing in it.

And then Lance nearly dropped the pan with all the batter in it, just barely saving it in time before it splattered all over the kitchen.

And Hunk told him it was probably best he find something else to do. Nothing against Lance, but with the stuff in the oven there wasn’t much for Lance to do.

The Blue Paladin saw right through the lie. Shoulders slumping, he sighed. “Okay, sorry about all that. See you around man.”

He left the kitchen, and the quiet of the hallway was too much to bear. It sunk into his skin and threatened to drag him to his knees. It made him want to gasp for air despite the fact that he was on land and breathing just fine.

So he sought out Pidge.

They had a nice moment last night. Maybe she was in the mood to talk.

When he found Pidge, she was in the control room, doing something on her computer. Allura was there too.

“Hey guys, what’re you up to?”

Allura turned to him as Pidge kept working. “Pidge is trying to get through the firewalls on a nearby Galra base.”

Lance blinked, “oh… I don’t suppose I could help with that?”

“Afraid not, even I’m not much help right now.”

Lance nodded, and he stood there awkwardly for a moment as Allura turned back to Pidge. “How long have you been at it?”

“A few hours.” Allura responded.

“Have you taken any breaks?”

“Not really, there hasn’t been time.”

“Do you want me to go get you guys some water?”

“No, Lance, it’s fine. I can get some when we need it.” Allura assured.

“You sure, because I—“

“Lance, look, we’re very busy right now. Can you go annoy someone else!” Allura snapped, apparently whatever patience she’d been maintaining running thin.

Lance’s heart sunk, and the silence that followed stretched dug into his heart like a thorn.

“Come on, Allura, he’s just trying to help.” Pidge said, turning away from her work for the first time to look at Lance with sympathetic eyes.

Lance shook his head and smiled. “No, it’s fine, you’re busy and I’m being a nuisance. Allura’s right, I’ll go.”

Without another word, he turned and left the room. Acutely aware of Pidge calling after him.

He continued down the hall. The quiet mounting was even thicker than it had been this morning. He had to do something. He had to stop it. He didn’t want it lingering around. What could he do? Who hadn’t he seen today?

Coran! He decided happily. Coran’s always in the mood to chat! I’ll go find him!

When he found the Altean, though, he was in the middle of a rather heated game of cards. His opponent: Shiro.

“You’re lying! I know you’re lying! I can- I can see it in your eyes! Give me that four!” The Altean screeched, and Lance could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

Lance looked at the pairs of cards littered across the ground, then back to Coran’s heated expression.

“Are… you guys playing ‘Go Fish’?”

“Yes we are! And Shiro won’t give me his four!”

“That’s because I don’t have a four, Coran. Go Fish.” Shiro commented, seeming exasperated. Like this had already happened multiple times.

Lance smiled, “you guys mind if I watch?”

Shiro shook his head. “Better not. Coran might throw something at you for ‘sneezing bad luck all over his cards’”

Lance frowned, but neither man noticed as they got into another spat.

It would be entertaining if he wasn’t certain that that had been Shiro’s way of telling him to shove off.

He sighed, hung his head and left.

He’d have to find his sound somewhere else.

But the only other person who either wasn’t busy (to his knowledge), or that he hadn’t annoyed yet today was…

Keith.

Lance’s face flushed. Spending alone time with Keith? The idea sent butterflies through his stomach.

But, as fate would have it, just as the idea of the Red Paladin popped into his head, he heard a yell of frustration coming from the training deck.

Curiously, Lance opened the door to find Keith sparring with the gladiator. Deciding it was as good a distraction as any, he silently slipped inside.

Lance sat on the viewing deck, watching as Keith exchanged blow after blow with the gladiator. When Lance walked in Keith appeared to be losing, but as the fight went on he quickly gained the upper hand. It wasn’t long until the robot had been immobilised, and the training sequence ended.

Deciding to be nice, Lance grabbed Keith’s water bottle, where he had left it with the rest of his stuff on the viewing deck, and made his way down.

“That was pretty good, especially for you, mullet.” He commented, tossing the water bottle at the Half-Galran, who promptly caught it.

“What’s that supposed to mean, ‘especially for me,’” Kieth questioned, unscrewing the bottle and taking a few sips.

“Come on, you and I both know swordplay isn’t your strong suit,” Lance teased. He was very obviously being sarcastic.

Luckily, in their time in space, Keith had learned how to pick up on Lance’s sarcasm. He rolled his eyes. “What do you want, Lance?”

His tone was sharp. Impatient. It made the quiet in between the words all the more unbearable to experience.

“I… I dunno. Just heard you in here and figured I’d see what you’re doin’.” He said. His voice was less certain as it had been a few moments ago. Not a lot, but Keith noticed.

“Oh.. well, did you wanna join me?” He offered.

Lance shrugged, “I’m not in uniform.”

Keith nodded, looking Lance up and down. “Well… we don’t have to do any of the drone stuff. We can just spar.”

Lance scoffed, “you sure you wanna do that? Last time I sparred I broke Pidge’s ankle.”

And held you back.

Keith rolled his eyes, “you didn’t break Pidge’s ankle. It was a sprain, and it was an accident.”

“Still means I’m dangerous,” Lance quipped, and Keith laughed, shrinking his bayard back to its normal form before removing his helmet, and setting both items down.

“I think I’ll manage.”

He beckoned Lance forward, and the sharpshooter figured that was the end of him having any say in the matter. He approached Keith, and the two raised their fists, getting into starting position.

Lance felt awkward as they began. He could feel Keith holding back, and he tried not to let that distract him. It wasn’t a mandatory training session, he didn’t have to match pace with anyone. Not that he ever did match pace with Keith, but—

His train of thought was distracted as his feet were swept from under him.

“You’re distracted,” Keith panted, pulling him back up, “what’re you thinking about.”

They started in on each other again, and Lance huffed, “nothing! I’m not distracted.”

And yet he felt his mind drifting. The quiet pulling him down.

“Really?” Keith questioned, and within a second he had Lance on the ground again.

“Usually you can put up a little more of a fight than that. Something’s bothering you,” the Red Paladin stated, holding Lance on the ground for a second. Forcing him to gaze up into his deep violet eyes.

Lance shook his head, manoeuvring himself so that he worked out of Keith’s grip, and back to his feet. “It's nothing. I’m fine.”

“Lance-“ the Half-Galra prompted, standing up, but Lance went back in close and whatever Keith was about to say got lost as he went on the defensive.

A few seconds later, Keith judo flipped Lance over his shoulder. So much for being on the defensive.

“It’s like you’re not even trying!” Keith commented, looking down to where Lance laid flat on his back, huffing.

The quiet returned. He’d tried to expel it through movement, through sound, through battle.

But it always came back. And suddenly he didn’t feel like fighting anymore. He didn’t feel like forcing Keith to go easy, to pull himself back. He didn’t feel like disappointing him with his lacklustre performance.

He pulled himself to his feet.

“Sorry, you came here to train and I’m not giving you much of a challenge. I’ll get out of your hair, mullet,” Lance sighed, turning and walking away as he did so.

“Lance, I’m not—“

But Lance wasn’t listening to him, and he was out the door before Keith could even finish what he was trying to say.

“Come, My Cub. You are troubled. Let me in.”

Lance shook his head.

I’m fine, Blue.

“Not fine. I’m here. Help you.”

No, you deal with me enough, I don’t need to bother you with this too.

“Not a bother, My Cub. I want to.”

It’s okay, Blue. I can handle this on my own. I just need to be alone for a bit.

“No alone. Need friends.”

I’ll be fine, Blue. You don’t have to worry.

“Worry.”

Don’t. I just need to let this pass.

She purred, her worry and warmth a comfort against the cold, bitter quiet.

But even she couldn’t stop it as Lance allowed it to drag him to his room. To drop him onto his bed, and to curl around him like campfire smoke. Tainting him with its smog.

It called to him, and this time he let it. Wrapping his blankets tightly around him and allowing the quiet to take hold.

He couldn’t shake it. And eventually, it guided him to sleep.

Lance was woken up by a rapping on his door, “time for supper, Lance!”

He didn’t move, and quiet settled back into the emptiness of the room. Reaching to the deepest corners and holding the area in an encasement of its own design.

“Lance?”

The boy in question was faintly aware of the door swishing open. He closed his eyes, feigning sleep. It wasn’t hard, considering he’d barely just woken up, and his body still felt like bricks.

“Oh…” he heard the small, quiet voice of Hunk. “Sorry buddy.” The door slid closed again, and Lance didn’t move. He just opened his eyes and stared at the blankness of his room.

The quiet settled deeper, and Lance didn’t even try to shake it.

“Where’s Lance?” Allura asked as she sat down.

“I went to go get him, but he was asleep. I didn’t want to wake him up.”

Shiro nodded, “that was smart. This is probably the very little amount of sleep he got on Smagdul catching up to him. We can bring him something later.”

They all nodded, and settled in to eat.

It was weird how quiet their meals were without the Blue Paladin to break the silence.

-The next time they saw Lance was 12:00 the next day. He dragged himself from his room after much prompting from the team that it was really time for him to wake up.

He didn’t look like he’d slept for seven hours. In fact, he looked like he’d barely even slept one. But when they asked him if he was feeling alright he smiled and insisted he was fine.

Because he was. Totally and completely fine. He’d gotten out of bed, and he was only feeling slightly weighed down by the quiet that followed every sound. That roared in his ears every time he stopped to take a breath.

And sure, it’d taken him three hours to pull himself out of bed. But he was still feeling just fine.

They didn’t have to worry about him. He never wanted them to worry about him. These were Lance’ problems and he could deal with them on his own.

He was fine. Even though he could only stomach two mouthfuls of food goo. Even though he could barely focus during team training. Even though his body willed him to do anything but be a contributing member of society. Even as he felt the quiet creeping up, and up, and up through his veins. He was fine.

He was always fine.

It was 15:30 when Lance went in search of something to drown out the quiet. He made the usual rounds.

First Hunk. But Hunk was busy, and Lance didn’t want to bother him. He didn’t even ask.

Then Pidge. But Pidge was crabby and he didn’t want to annoy her. He slipped out as she cursed insults at her game.

Then he found Coran and Allura. But they were reminiscing about Altea and Lance didn’t want to intrude.

Then he spotted Shiro and Keith. They were having one of their teaching, bonding, brotherly moments. Lance didn’t even announce his presence.

And through it all Blue called out to him. Begging him to talk to her. To let her in. To tell someone about the heaviness, the despair, the loneliness. To talk to her about the quiet.

But Lance refused. It was one thing to find others to distract him from it. It was another to tell them about it. To spread it to them like a disease. To bring them down with his own stupid bullshit.

And Blue would have it even worse, because they shared a mind.

So he refused, and he retreated back to bed.

~~~~~~~~~

AAAND I hit the word limit, click here for part 2

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cat-esper · 2 months

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Past/Current/Next Tag

Hey, thanks for the tag, @pb-dot!

Rules: Write about three WIPs, past is a WIP you stopped working on/finished; current is a WIP you're currently working on; next is a WIP you want to write.

Tagging (no pressure): @awleeofficial, @writeouswriter, and @chiefwritesbook

Past: None of my WIPs that I intend to publish are technically complete due to procrastination (editing my beloathed) so I'll dredge up an old WIP that has been shelved permanently, The Void Drums. This one is sort of Jackaby meets Pirates of the Caribbean with dark, gothic horror vibes. Calixto, a young man from another dimension, is tasked by the villainous Lord Governor with retrieving the Fractal Glaive, an artifact of great value and power. In exchange, he will not be sentenced to a fate worse than death for his crimes. He has no choice but to accept, though of course, he plans on finding the weapon and running off with it the first chance he gets. Meanwhile, in our world in the late 19th century, Emily, the daughter of a forensics expert recently fallen ill, investigates gruesome murders that leave very little of the body behind. Their paths cross and it becomes evident that the murders are caused by creatures from Calixto's home and that they have something to do with the Glaive. There's body horror, there's layers of betrayal, and since this story will never see the light of day, I don't see why I shouldn't reveal that this whole plot is a trap, the key to finding the Glaive involves realizing that Calixto's memories were erased and he was the one who hid it in the first place, and everything ends horribly with the villain winning, yay.

Anywho, here's a snippet (cw: body horror):

He shut the door and Emily bristled. She knocked again but there was no answer. “Detective Harkins, please!” She huffed, pounded harder but it made no difference. He was being ridiculously stubborn and she couldn’t believe this was happening. “Damn it,” she muttered under her breath. Calixto sighed. “What does it look like?” Emily glared at him. He could have helped instead of standing there looking like a vagabond. “What?” Calixto pushed himself off the wall. “The journal. What does it look like?” “Like a journal,” Emily said bluntly. And then she sighed. It was Harkins she was mad at, not Calixto. He was just easier to get at at the moment. “It’s black leather, a bit worn and it’s got a red ribbon tucked into the pages.” “I’ll get it for you.” Emily narrowed her eyes. “And how are you going to do that?” As satisfying as it would be to break down the door, she’d probably get arrested. Calixto smirked. “You’ll want to look away.” “Why?” Calixto didn’t wait for her to turn her back. At first she couldn’t tell what was wrong with him, only that something was. He seemed to go just slightly out of focus and trying to watch him gave her a headache which pulsed softly at her temples. She was staring straight into his eyes when it happened. They seemed almost to unfold into a blossom of fractals, eyes within eyes within eyes, an infinite regression that made her lose her balance. But it wasn’t just his eyes. It was every part of him. She caught glimpses of muscle superimposed over skin and bone on top of that but under it at the same time. Nausea swept through her and she doubled over, afraid she was going to be sick right there on the floor. “I told you not to look,” the voice came from so many miles away but she stayed hunched over, her head hurting, her pulse pounding, putting all her concentration into breathing slowly and steadily, praying for the feeling to pass. A journal fell to the floor at her feet, the piece of ribbon sticking out of it. She refused to look up. “You can get up now. You’ll be fine.” Emily was already starting to get her nausea under control and she carefully looked up, afraid she would once again see all those impossible angles and planes and they’d make her sick for real this time. But when she looked up, it was just Calixto standing there, as human-looking as anyone else, staring down at her with sharp, albeit normal, eyes. She winced and stooped to pick up the journal. “What are you?” she managed to get out. “Oh, I'm as human as you," Calixto replied. "Just from...elsewhere." What a lie. “And the journal?” A quick check inside assured her it was the right one. But Harkins would have kept it in his desk. “Nothing in your dimension is hidden from me,” Calixto said. “I simply took a detour through 5-Space and plucked the journal out from inside the desk. Harkins was there but he could not see me. He won’t realize it’s missing until he checks for it.”

Current: I'm working on so many WIPs at once, but my absolute favorite is Project Paladin, a 12 book YA science fantasy series. Chelsea Seaver watched her parents being abducted by aliens and she's determined to get them back. Her investigation quickly leads her through a portal to an alien world where she falls in with a group of characters at odds with the Syndicate responsible for her parents' abduction for reasons unknown. She becomes a student of the last remaining Paladin, Shay Finnegan, and the series follows her adventures through space (and occasionally time). She collects many friends along the way as well as some powerful enemies.

Here's a snippet from Book 2:

“They’re kinda like puppies,” Alexos relented, laughing. “The poor little guys. We should name them.” “Name them?” Alexos put the paper bag of wrapped fish meat on the counter. “Do we cook this stuff or what?” “No, they eat it raw,” Kovna said. “Yeah.” Chelsea put their newly acquired plates down next to the fish. “Drat. Forgot to get a knife. That way we’ll have something to call them. Since we’re babysitting them and all. There’s three of them and three of us so we each get to name one.” “Mine’s Hieronymus Bosch,” Alexos said promptly. Chelsea raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you even know who that is?” “Yeah. A guy with a ridiculous name. Your turn.” “Well which one’s Hieronymus?” Alexos thought for a moment and then pointed to the dragon that was currently trying to chew on its sibling’s tail. “That guy.” “That one’s the female,” Kovna corrected. “How do you know?” Chelsea snickered. “How do you think?” “Well. Hieronymus is a gender-neutral name.” “Whatever.” Chelsea picked up the dragon that was having its tail chewed on. He was still warm from the oven. He kicked his feet a couple of times until she had her arms under him and then he stared at her with his snake-like face framed by bristling feathers. His eyes were dark and round and she could see her reflection in them. He would need a good name. Something majestic. “This one’s Falkor,” she announced. “Falkor who?” Chelsea cradled the dragon against her chest. “From The Neverending Story. Plus they’ve both got feathers.” “Okay, nerd. 612, what are you naming yours?” Kovna looked at the last remaining baby, who was sniffing around the water bowls. “You can name him.” “Come on,” Chelsea said. “If it weren’t for you, they’d be sick. It’s fair.” “I wasn’t programmed to have an imagination.” Chelsea placed Falkor back on the floor and scooped up the third dragon, bringing him over to Kovna. “Come on, look at him. He’s so cute but so sad. Look at his eyes. What do his eyes tell you?” She held the dragon so it was staring in Kovna’s direction. “Um.” Kovna looked as if he’d just been called on in class and didn’t have an answer to the teacher’s question. He stared at the dragon in bafflement and then said, “Ben?” Chelsea grinned. “Ben it is.” “Hieronymus, Falkor, and Ben. What a trio,” Alexos said.

Future: This one is so hard to choose because I have a million ideas and I want to write them all and it doesn't help that the line between WIP I'm sorta kinda working on in the background and Future Project is very wibbly.

One I'm really excited about is a 4-part horror fantasy series that's sort of urban fantasy inspired by the Left Right Game. The premise is that every so often, the Road to Avalon opens and all those who brave it and reach its end will have a wish granted. But the Road is fraught with danger and haunted by 4 eldritch gatekeepers. No one has ever returned. Our main players are Leslie, a vampire who once braved the Road in a failed attempt to rid himself of his vampirism and is the only person to have ever returned; Ticua, a sprite from the West Rattlesnake Clan who tries to convince Leslie to be the caravan's guide now that the Road is about to open again; Bug, a fox wilding (that's like a reverse shapeshifter; she was born a fox but has the ability to transform into a human due to being born on a leyline), who unknowingly absorbed the map Leslie buried because he stupidly buried it on said leyline and it got washed "downstream"; and Dauntless, a Luminary (that's a sentient hologram projected by a swarm of drones) hired to kill Leslie, but decides that braving the Road is much more interesting.

#past current next tag game #tag games #the void drums #project avalon #the last paladin

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delirious-donna · 2 years

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Hello there,

I just read your Obito NSFW Alphabet and it was simply… breathtaking 😳 Furthermore your writing style is amazing 💕

Could I ask for another alphabet with either Tobirama or Itachi? 🥹

Thank you and have a wonderful weekend 🥹

NSFW Alphabet [Itachi Uchiha]

an: hi sweetie! Thank you so much for the kind words, it means more than you could ever know. ^^ I decided on Itachi, I hope you don't mind? I have quite the soft spot for the Uchiha men with Itachi being number one by a country mile!! (2023 update - no longer correct! Obi is my man)

Masterlist

A - After Care

Itachi is the softest man, he is just all kinds of sweet once he has well and truly satisfied both you and him.

Would you believe he owns an entire range of aromatherapy oils? Well, he does…

“How are you feeling my beloved? Would prefer peppermint or sandalwood?”

His eyes light up as he gazes at his collection, already rubbing his hands to warm them in anticipation of the smooth glide across your velvet skin.

Itachi will work out every knot and stress point on your back, shoulders, and thighs - wherever you ask. You will be a boneless puddle on the bed while he hums happily.

B - Body Part

This is a touchy subject for Itachi.

Without hesitation, it’s his eyes, but as well as being his favourite body part, they are also his most hated.

A constant reminder of the hardships that his clan has faced, an identifying marker that means he could never be considered as anything but an Uchiha.

However, there is also a deep reverence in his eyes, especially as he was gifted one by his most trusted friend - awakening his Mangekyō Sharingan in the process.

For this reason, he values his eyes extremely highly despite the price he and others have had to pay for their unique abilities.

To lighten the mood a little, he does enjoy putting you under genjutsu - willingly, of course - to indulge in the pleasures of your flesh endlessly.

C - Cum

Itachi is quiet when he cums, you’ll know he has found his release as every muscle stiffens, his teeth gritted and the searing heat that coats the walls of your cunt.

Uchiha cum is sacred, not a drop is to be wasted so you best believe that it is either ending deep in your pussy or down your throat.

Let even a single drop fall from your lips and he’ll tsk softly.

“So wasteful, my beloved. I’m wounded, how do you plan on making it up to me?”

You’ll spend the next thirty minutes bringing him to orgasm again, simply so you can demonstrate that you won’t make the same mistake twice.

D - Dirty Secret

It only happens when he is sick, but he still doesn’t want anyone to know. Itachi loves to be babied.

This strong Uchiha male just wants to be rocked in your embrace when he isn’t feeling too good. He wants sweet forehead kisses, cooing melodies and no control.

He doesn’t do well when he is ill, pouting and whining that his throat is sore, his head hurts and he needs a tissue every ten seconds.

Considering how much pain this man has gone through, you’d be surprised by how easily he is floored by a common cold.

The man is close to sucking his damn thumb as he rests his head in your lap, nudging you gently to play with his hair.

How could you deny him when he looks this adorable and dependent on you.

E - Experienced

People seem to think that Itachi has bedded his fair share of women, but it’s not true.

He is far from a virgin, but he had little time for distractions such as sex.

Now that he has you, he is making up for lost time.

Itachi wants to experience everything and is very open to trying new things - well, he won’t know what he likes and dislikes if he doesn’t try everything once.

He’s a quick learner though and has never failed to make you a quivering mess.

The notches on his bedpost might be very low, but to say he is inexperienced would be an injustice to your man.

F - Favourite Position

He has to be in a certain mood for this position, but nothing beats how it makes Itachi feel as well as giving him the best view of your beautiful body.

He knows that you sometimes feel self-conscious about yourself, and it is completely unfounded in his eyes - he adores every inch of you.

What’s better than sitting with you on his lap at the edge of the bed, your back pressed to his chest as you both face the standing mirror that rests in the corner.

In this position he can caress you, narrating the journey his hands make before lifting you to slide his aching cock in your tight cunt - what a sight.

His whispered words are like magic, his lips feather light as he kisses your neck and shoulders. Itachi makes sure you watch the sinful image reflected in the mirror, forces you to recognise how fucking sexy you are and uses his hands to play with your tits and clit until you cream around his cock.

Nothing beats this position - nothing.

G - Goofy

Itachi will look at you with the most bemused expression when you try to make jokes. He doesn’t necessarily find them funny but he laughs because he finds you adorable.

He has a sense of humour but it is wickedly dark, like the most razor-sharp sarcasm - you will feel physical pain from his burns.

Goofy isn’t quite his thing, he has no interest in looking silly so he simply steers away from it. He can be lighthearted in other ways that suit his nature better.

H - Hair

Boy, does that man have good hair. His long hair is silken black gold spun by the Gods themselves.

He uses expensive hair care products, the price tag is enough to make your eyes bulge but he just laughs and waves you away. His shampoo smells like exotic orchids and it only heightens the mysterious air that surrounds him like a cloak.

Only you know the true Itachi and you love that he trusts you so implicitly.

He likes to let you comb out his lengthy locks, enjoying the gentle tune you hum whilst you work and now and then he will indulge your pleas to let you braid it.

Itachi is so pretty for you.

As for the rest of his body, the man is smooth and silky all the way down to his happy area. Short hairs nestle around the base of his dick, neatly maintained for your pleasure.

I - Intimacy

Intimacy with Itachi is unlike any other kind you have experienced. It can be either intense and soulful or light and irreverent.

He understands his emotions well, and although they may be very complex, he shows every facet of his soul.

Used to concealing his thoughts and intentions, it is cathartic that he does not need to hide anything from you. Itachi can bear his soul and still find unconditional love in your arms.

On the other end of the scale; he loves to spend hours in bed with you, chatting about nonsense, comparing hand sizes whilst you giggle at his reaction to how much smaller your hands are in his own and sharing hopes about the future.

Intimacy is an important part of your relationship, not a day goes by where he doesn’t let you know how cherished you are - make sure to return the gesture.

J - Jerk Off

There are times when Itachi finds himself parted from you, missions that mean nights spent alone.

He hasn’t told you, a little embarrassed by the ritual that has become a part of his nightly routine when away, but he strokes himself to the thought of you.

Itachi has so many moments of you and he stored away in his memory that it is like his own personal porn collection. It’s his way of feeling close to you even when the distance might be great.

The Uchiha is also a fan of fisting his long cock whilst he watches you get ready for the day ahead. You look so irresistible as you fasten your earrings. He knows you are watching him through the mirror and if the way you’re chewing your lip is any indication, he is about to find you crawling onto his lap.

“Am I doing it wrong beloved? Show me how to stroke it just right.”

K - Kink

We have to talk about the well-known breeding kink of the Uchiha men, and although Itachi is fairly unique amongst his clan, he is not unaffected by this trait.

He tried to hide it from you at first, he was pretty ashamed to already be obsessed with the idea of making you round with his child early in the relationship.

The way he would stare at your cunt once he had cum deep inside, his cock jerking and twitching was the biggest clue to his thoughts. He would practically growl if any creamy seed would dare to try to push out, pulling himself out just to gather it all up and press his cock back in to stuff you full. It was arousing, watching him so determined in his mission.

You’re on birth control, it was an agreement you made with Itachi so he could fuck you raw - nothing compares to the feeling of his naked cock dragging against your clenching walls.

Feeling especially bold one night, Itachi has you held tightly in a mating press, his mouth planting open-mouthed kisses on your shoulder as he ruts into you, and you decide to toy with him.

“Tachi, mmm. Wanna make you a daddy.”

He stops.

Blazing orbs of crimson stare into your soul, tightness lines his jaw and he looks absolutely feral. Perhaps you’ve made a mistake…

“Is that so?”

Itachi bends you even further in half, a hand flying to grip your chin as he resumes his thrusts.

“Get comfy beloved, you’re not moving even an inch until I’ve filled you to the brim.”

He is true to his word, pounding you into the mattress until you are sweat-soaked and delirious.

“You’ll look so beautiful carrying my child… when the time comes,” he says, stroking your belly gently.

He knows it was a game, but he will follow through when the time is right.

L - Location

Anywhere.

Itachi is down for fucking literally anywhere.

He’ll whisk you deep into the forest to brace you against a tree and take you furiously. He’d happily let you suck his cock in the shadowy recesses of Konoha, ever vigilant for prying eyes and teasing you about it.

“So hungry for my cock beloved? Couldn’t wait til we got home? I hope no one finds you looking so desperate.”

Itachi especially likes to fuck you in the kitchen. Slipping his hands around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder whilst you prepare food.

You already know what’s gonna happen, it is inevitable. He’s eaten you out on the kitchen island and now you’re bent over it with his cock drilling into your mess of a cunt, the lewd squelching making you blush like a ripened tomato.

“Stop squirming.”

M - Motivation

Itachi is a complex man. He has a lot on his mind, what feels like the weight of his clan on his shoulders and a rather pesky little brother to keep an eye on.

This means that every now and then, he isn’t in the mood and it’s down to you to change his mind.

So what sends this sinfully sexy man into feral beast mode?

He really gets a kick out of domesticity, add in a sexy twist as you slink around him completing chores in outfits that are best described as lingerie and he’ll be a slobbering mess in no time.

Did you really just bend over right in front of his face wearing that skirt, and fuck, are you wearing a garter belt and stockings?

You won’t make it to the bedroom, there is no time for that. Not when he could lift you against the nearest wall and slide straight into that needy little pussy.

“Am I neglecting you, beloved? Let me make it up to you.”

N - No

He won’t hurt you - and this includes emotionally and mentally, as well as physically.

Mind games are his speciality, but this is not something he would even contemplate with you. He couldn’t bear to see your face twisted in any kind of pain.

A few spanks to your butt are different, same with making you cry as he brings you orgasm after orgasm, but he’ll never cause you any kind of anguish.

He’d have no hesitation in slaughtering anyone that dared to even look at you in the wrong way.

O - Oral

Pleaseeeee, Itachi lives and breathes to bury himself between your soft thighs. He’d worship every inch of your juicy pussy for hours on end, pushing you closer into the realms of overstimulation.

You’d think the man was starving and you were the only thing that could slack his voracious hunger.

Itachi has serious oral game, he is packing a punch when he plays so sweetly with your aching clit. Rolling the nub between his lips in search of more of your nectar.

He is practically making out with your cunt and he won’t stop until you’ve gushed all over his mouth at least twice.

Why does he have to be so damn pretty? Thick black lashes fanning softly as he stares at you with those blazing carmine eyes, and the knowing smirk is enough to make you huff.

He’d rather give than receive, although he does enjoy you sucking him off. It’s more that he knows he can be a little rough when you wrap your cute lips around his cock. It’s such a sinful sight.

It will end in him face-fucking you, fat tears rolling down your cheeks as he grips your hair and makes you deepthroat him. His hips thrust up with every bob of your head.

Itachi can’t bear wasting cum, get ready for a hot load right down your throat.

P - Pace

Itachi prefers a combination when it comes to pace.

He wants every stroke of his cock to be impactful, therefore he is gonna set a rhythm that is powerful but languid.

Even if you are on top, he is dictating the pace with his steely grip on your hips. Making every descent mind-numbing, lustful groans escaping both your throats and enough to make your eyes roll to the back of your head.

This is a marathon, not a sprint so expect this to be drawn out until your muscles have dissolved into pure jelly.

Q - Quickie

He can take them or leave them.

If it’s a choice then he’d rather spend hours lost in the comfort and solace of your body, nothing quite takes the edge of his anxieties than making you blissfully happy.

Urgent mission? He needs to leave like ten minutes ago? Get ready for some steamy quick fucking.

Itachi makes it his personal mission to leave you adorned with his marks all over your throat and shoulders, just a reminder of who you belong to.

Losing himself in a bubble of pure lust that can only last minutes if he doesn’t want to be late.

“Be good, my beloved. I love you.”

R - Risk

Itachi Uchiha is not risk averse, in fact, he gets quite a kick out of seeing how far you’ll go with him.

Can he get you to bend to his lustful will in this crowded cafe?

His hand slips beneath the pretty tablecloth, resting gently on your knee. He feels you tense so he waits, Itachi is patient.

As soon as you relax he’ll be easing that hand up your thigh, tsking softly as you try to deny him entry. He can feel the heat radiating from you, he knows you are aching for him but you’re shy.

Not this time, but soon.

Itachi continues this game every time you visit this spot, and soon enough he is knuckles deep in your cunt as he tells you to be quiet.

“Aren’t you going to order, beloved? What would you like most?”

You almost say him, he says it’s flash through your eyes and he smirks - yeah, these are the risks he likes to take.

S - Stamina

When it comes to foreplay and building the tension, Itachi’s stamina is limitless. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, he can spend hours drinking your nectar. Making your lips puffy and swollen from his kisses, your clit far too sensitive.

If he is in the mood to put you under genjutsu, which is a rare treat, it’ll feel like he has spent hours with his hot wet mouth claiming your cunt. In reality it’s been five minutes, and you’ve much more to endure before he is willing to release you.

Itachi is good for a few rounds of sex before he is truly spent, and even once he knows he has no more to give, he is still so hard for you.

Before he pads away to grab a washcloth, he sinks into you for a final time, holding you still as he peppers your face with such sweet kisses.

T - Toys

Nope.

Hard pass from Itachi.

Why would he have something else bring you pleasure when he can do it himself?

His fingers are long and slender, perfect for reaching into your depths and coaxing the most delicious sounding moans from you. He’ll concentrate his chakra into the pads of his digits and stroke the energy straight into your g-spot.

A hand clamps on your thigh as you try to close them, your nails scrambling at his wrist but he refuses.

“C’mon my gorgeous girl, cum on my fingers. I can feel you clenching them, so needy.”

He can take care of your every need, no extras required.

U - Unfair

This really divides him.

On the one hand he loves you dearly. Itachi wants to lavish you with his time and attention, to make sure you truly know just how cherished you are.

But he really enjoys winding you up, it is like cat nip to an especially playful kitty.

He taps into his predator instincts, ready to pounce when you least suspect it.

Itachi will kindle your fires for what feels like an eternity before he give in, and sometimes he’ll even leave you to go to sleep entirely frustrated and furious with your lover.

The pretty yet smug smile that decorates his beautiful face is so infuriating. You’ll whimper, you’ll beg, make the cutest faces at him and he’ll still only kiss your forehead and wish you a good night.

He wants you raw, a tigress ready to bring down your prey and in the morning, he is more than happy to be your victim.

Is Itachi unfair? Yes.

Always? No, definitely not.

V - Volume

Itachi is not loud, not by any stretch of the imagination. He is softly spoken at the best of times, his tone low and laced with authority.

He’ll for sure groan as he sheathes himself in you for the first time, he’ll moan quietly against your sopping folds - the vibrations only heightening his actions - and he’ll hum appreciatively in his throat.

What he will do is narrates his actions, praise your heavenly body and make you feel like the most attractive girl in the whole damn world.

Itachi has an innate way of zoning in on the areas you hate the most, and loving them for what they are - they make you unique.

Stretch marks on your thighs? He is nuzzling them with his cheeks. Feel like your tummy is too soft? Itachi is lightly biting your velvet flesh. He is telling you how wonderful you are at all times whilst you lose your sanity to this man you love just as equally.

“I’m lucky to have found you, you saved my soul, my beloved.”

W - Wild Card

Has and will continue to fuck you in any onsen, at every opportunity he gets.

How mysterious that every other patron within the gently steaming waters all decide to leave or return to their rooms at the same time. It’s almost like some kind of spell has been cast. True enough, Itachi appears with glowing coals for eyes and the intent is clear.

He loves to play with you in the water, your pebbled nipples slick and delicious as they graze against his own chest.

Itachi will take you with your legs wrapped around his hips and then again with your upper half against the tiled edge. One hand on the small of your back as he arches you just right.

Don’t accept an invitation to the bathhouse from Itachi unless you are ready to get railed.

X - X-Ray

You’ve managed to find yourself sat atop your absolutely gorgeous man, Itachi’s head rests against the pillows with his raven hair fanning him like a dark halo.

His smile is cunning, knowing of your intent as you look down on him. His dark eyes shine with humour, sparking to scarlet when your nail grazes against his nipple. Itachi’s jaw is angular, with cheekbones many would kill for and you enjoy tracing it with your tongue. His lips are as soft as petals and simply perfect for kissing you soundly.

Itachi is lithe; strong but not in a bulky way. His strength is honed to perfection and it shows through the small muscles that define his stomach.

You could spend an age caressing his pale skin, committing every inch to memory. He is hairless right until you reach the happy zone, short black hair nestles around his cock.

Now this is an area you know intimately. He’ll groan as your dainty fingers grasp his base, he is thick but it’s length that really makes him stand out of the crowd - he is big in a “I’m gonna pound your cervix” way.

The shaft is fairly smooth except for the prominent vein that wraps around the underside to curve his left side.

“You like what you see?”

You nod fervently, and he crooks his finger until you are draped over his chest, shifting his hips and a hand curls around your ass to part you. Before you realise, he is spearing into you with a soft growl.

“Thought so.”

Y - Yearning

Itachi wants you, but he can be secretive.

Often he will make himself wait patiently, driving himself slowly insane by denying him your tantalising taste and feel.

It is almost as if he uses it as a form of training his mental defences, this man is practising torture on himself and there is no need.

He knows you’d be down for his loving as often as he wanted to give you it, but good things come to those who wait - words that Itachi lives by.

Why give in so readily when he can wait until you are both coiled springs ready to pop from the tension?

Z - Zzz

Itachi loves to sleep, sadly it doesn’t always love him in return.

He finds solace by wrapping a protective arm around your stomach, his hand resting over your heart and one leg draped over your waist.

To make up for the sleep that alludes him at night, he is more than willing to nap with you during the day.

“Come here,” he purrs, patting his lap.

You curl up like the cutest kitten and Itachi slowly sinks back until you are both cocooned on the bed and asleep in minutes.

#delirious writes #uchiha smut #itachi #itachi uchiha #itachi smut #ask game #itachi x reader #itachi fluff

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gatalentan · 1 year

Text

I'm 32 years old now, sitting on a bench.

Inside me is a 20 year old sitting on a windowsill.

I developed myalgic encephalomyelitis (m.e. or "chronic fatigue syndrome") when I was around 14. It's post-viral, like long-covid, and has much of the same symptoms (though overwhelming fatigue from small actions and muscular pain, predominantly), in varying degrees from person to person. I don't know exactly when it happened. I had a lot of infections as a kid, it could have been any one of them.

What I do know is that it snowballed in a slow way that felt like my body was being dismantled bit by bit. Over time, I lost the ability to walk. And then stand. And then sit, until eventually I became almost completely bedbound, but certainly housebound, roombound. I was in pain all the time. I had a migraine all the time. I was sick all the time.

In the gaps between, on the good days, where the symptoms were manageable, I could go to school, go to class, see friends, make bad choices, get bullied, finish my exams, normal teenage things, good and bad. But the good days became scanter and scanter, until by the tail end of my teens all I knew was my four walls and my bed.

I cannot express to you how being trapped in one room makes you into a fundamentally weird person. And I don't just mean psychologically, because, obviously, duh. But people talk about depression making you numb, and it does, but I was very literally numbed.

It was the sensory deprivation. The only time I left the house, my room, for about 4 years was for hospital appointments. I went weeks or months without feeling so much as a breeze, or even a draught from a door opening. No sun, no cold bite, no rain. Just the same dead air, absolutely stagnant, day in and day out, for years. It was like if you put a blindfold over my senses. The only real sensory input I had was the physical pain of my disability, whatever food I was given (shelf stable, room temperature, packaged), and whatever I listened to on my headphones. For years.

And I mean only too, because what the illness also did was fuck up my sleep. On a bad day, I'd sleep over 24 hours. My record was 32. And when I was awake, it was for maybe 5 hours at a push. When you sleep that much, statistically, I woke up to the rest of the house already asleep, the world outside asleep, for those five small hours, more often than not.

So for months, years, I was alone in a dark, silent room with dead air, lit by the only lamp I could reach from my bed, eating food left on a tray on the floor for me by my parents, in excruciating pain. I would sometimes go weeks without our clocks aligning. Just my own head, looping the same thoughts, because nothing happened, so nothing was new. Talking to no-one, seeing no-one, touching no-one, but knowing life was going on around me.

My school friends were growing up, going to college, university, getting married, having children. I'd see their posts on Facebook, like I was looking through a window. I deleted my Facebook.

I was in suspended animation.

I got sent to inpatient physio in my early 20s, for three months, five hours from home. I got specialised treatments. I learned to walk again. I could do things again. I could see people again. I could go outside again. I could live a mostly normal life. I got therapy. It helped.

But I was still in suspended animation.

I'm still in suspended animation.

I'm walking around, and living my life, but I'm still in that room.

I know that whenever I go walk the dog and it's cold or it's windy or it starts raining and I just start crying, and crying because I can feel.

For a lot of years, after being freed, I pressed everything down, refused to live, because everything was too new, too much. I developed depression that was worse than when I was locked up, because I was grieving what I'd lost. I'll always be grieving what I lost. But I have to live now, because she couldn't.

When I say I'm happy to be alive it sounds like a platitude. But I'm not talking about getting to experience life and opportunities, I mean on a very physical, fundamental, biological level, I am happy to be alive.

I get to stand by the water and watch the sea come in - I can hear it, smell it, taste it, see it, feel it. Being fully aware of your own sensory experiences and the absolute miracle they are is what I've been left with. It's hard for me to do things without full commitment, anymore, because everything is so much and I want to feel all of it. I take so many photos, all the time. If I go for a walk somewhere nice, it's like I almost can't take it all in at once. Like I'm Bruce Bogtrotter trying to eat that chocolate cake in Matilda. I want to experience it and hold onto it and remember it and take all of it in and lick the plate clean, too.

It's all the time, even in the small, everyday things. I don't look for it, it's just there. The rattle of a poorly maintained bus engine under my seat. The smell of bakery section at the supermarket. Hot toast with half melted butter sticking to my lips. The jingle of ice cubes on glass. Birds calling to each other. Other peoples' cigarette smoke on my clothes. The dog smacking his tail against my leg under the table. Making a joke and getting a laugh.

You're always being touched, but until it was taken from me, I had no quantifiable concept of how much, how often, and how much I was missing. I just knew that it was missing.

I wasn't alive, I wasn't living, but now I am.

I'm a 20 year old who painfully climbed up on the windowsill in the middle of the night to feel the breeze on her face for the first time in months, who is crying, and crying.

I'm a 32 year old sitting on a bench under a tree in the rain and giving it to her.

#this isnt a vent post or anything at all. i'm very much ok.#this is just a thought. and i'm acknowledging it and letting it pass.#just a very long very wordy thought lol #i'll probably delete this but for now it's written and it's in the ether

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whumpinggrounds · 2 years

Text

Proof of Life

CW: male whumpee, male whumper, hero whumper, sidekick whumpee, death, grief, guilt, depression, angst

He tells them he’s sick. August lies in bed and won’t get up and turns his face to the wall. He says his head hurts, his stomach hurts, and he really is dizzy every time he stands. He puts no particular effort into making any of this believable, but his monotone in itself is apparently concerning enough.

All the symptoms are more or less true, anyhow. It’s just grief and guilt, not a chest infection. Whoop-de-fuckin-do.

Valerie comes in to see him, apologizing that her magic hands can only heal injuries, not illness. August tells her its fine, in a dead, colorless voice that makes her back away. When she leaves, August knows she’s going to get Beck, to tell their leader that something is truly wrong with the youngest member of their team. August can’t bring himself to care, especially when all Beck does is come in to stare at him with a creased brow.

Donovan’s visit is, at least, exciting. He threatens August with expulsion from the team, saying that if he’s “sick” longer than three days, Don will convince Beck to drop him. August snorts. He doesn’t bother to reply. When Don takes a threatening step towards his bed, August just lies there, staring at him.

“What’s wrong with you?” Don demands, looking disgusted. “What’s actually wrong with you?”

August turns his face into the pillow, not wanting to face Donovan’s wrath. The words are muffled when they come, but he knows Don still hears them. “You killed an innocent person.”

“Innocent?”

Don clearly has more to say, but August cuts him off. “Yes, innocent. And…it’s my fault as well as yours.”

“You don’t have the balls to kill anyone.”

“You know what I mean.”

Don throws a couple more insults at his sidekick, but apparently, depressed August is no fun. When he doesn’t respond to Donovan’s jabs, the hero stalks out the door, no doubt still sneering at August’s weakness. August still doesn’t care. All of this feels very far away. Nothing reaches him through the thick, muffling, cold layer of unreality, not even the guilt and sorrow and helpless rage he can feel waiting on the other side of that wall. Lying in bed all day feeling sorry for himself isn’t helping either, but when August tries to move, his limbs feel like they weigh as much as buildings. He stares at the ceiling and feels numb.

After hours of this, night comes and August can’t sleep. He’s still staring at the ceiling, still tangled in sweaty sheets. He just wants to feel something, whether it’s anger or self-hatred or misery. This cotton cloud of disbelief is suffocating him. And it’s real. Under the denial, August knows that. This is real, and he needs to feel that.

He pictures the supervillain’s mask. Their teasing tone. The way they called him kid, sounding just like an older sibling, like Dahlia when she’s exasperated. The gentle way they asked him questions; the way they tried to get him to see…what? That what he was doing was pointless? That he was throwing his life into the service of a monster?

Yeah. Well. August must have a little monster in him, too.

Still feeling nothing, still numb as he’d be under anesthesia, August finds himself swinging open his closet door. There, in the back corner, next to rows of new shoes waiting to be used up, is a single worn-out pair. Usually, August throws them out as soon as he burns through the soles. If something significant happened while he was wearing them, he’ll save the laces. This pair, though, has nothing special about them. They’re the shoes he was wearing when he was kidnapped, but that’s not something he truly wants to remember.

The thing he wants is tucked under the sole. A phone number, scrawled in a big block numbers.

That almost breaks him. The numerals, written in thick, clear strokes, like there’s a possibility August might misunderstand, might think the seven is a one and dial the wrong number. They cared about him. They cared about August.

Now, maybe because of that, they’re dead.

August sits cross-legged on the floor of his closet, staring at the note. Shirts and jackets brush his forehead, but he doesn’t care. He stares, in the dim light from his window, at the creased piece of paper, and then he pulls out his phone. He’s not sure what he’ll get, not even sure what he wants. Maybe the villain has an answering machine. Maybe hearing their voice will make it real.

The phone rings in August’s hand, loud in the dead silence of the room. One ring. Two. Three.

And then someone picks up. “How did you get this number?”

Speechless, August stares at his phone for a long minute.

“Hey. Who are you, and how did you get this number?”

The voice is mean, almost a snarl. August swallows hard. “S-sorry. A…a friend of mine…gave it to me, it must be, um, wrong, or…or reassigned, or something, I’m…sorry.”

The shock of hearing a voice is wearing off, and the reality is setting in. The faint hope of somehow hearing the villain’s voice on the line – extinguished. This is some random stranger he’s woken in the middle of the night – a random angry stranger – and August moves to hang up, grief finally waking up within him.

Then the voice on the line stops him cold.

“Oh my god. Kid? Is that you?”

@whatwasmyprevioususername, @princess-poopsicle, @snowshower, @whumpywritings, @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump, and @junoswhumpdrawer

@whumptober, @whumptober-archive

#whumptober #whumptober2022 #no.6 #oc #fic #proof of life #male whumpee #male whumper #hero whumper #sidekick whumpee #grief #guilt #angst #mention of major character death #depression #august the blur

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angria · 2 years

Text

Yesterday’s session ended up being pretty helpful based on the analogy T used regarding my feelings of emptiness and not knowing who I am without trauma.

He was curious about the empty feeling and I described how, ever since partial and switching my meds, I no longer have the intense, all-consuming intrusive thoughts, misery, or suicidality. It’s like there is all this space in my head now and so I just feel empty. Is this what regulation is supposed to feel like? I’m so used to the intensity of emotion and rapid swinging on top of the heavy weight of suicidality. T mentioned how socially active I have been lately and I said those are just distractions. When I am in my apartment alone with nothing to do? Just this constant emptiness. He then pointed out I still need time to recharge, how that is not empty. And yes, that is not empty, but the empty feels separate from self-care or resting. I started on my whole people-will-stop-caring because oh she’s fine now and we don’t have to worry about her. T shook his head, saying that people will care more now. There is no longer as much stigma or avoidance around me. And this time gives me the opportunity to focus on my relationships with friends, eventually a partner, when I am not entirely consumed with putting out the fires (or crises). On top of parts of me that want to get better…I go to therapy, I go to a supportive and loving community, I seek out treatment, I take medication, I choose to live in the city (vs. my home-state). I didn’t have anything to say to that because it is technically true, as much as I don’t want to admit it.

This is when T came up with the analogy of a house and furniture, explaining how I have built the house and now that I am no longer hyper-focused on the fires, I can figure out which furniture to fill the house with. Then T said something that went right through me: “You are not just your illness. You are not just a trauma survivor.” As I was looking off the screen, he continued, “It won’t always feel this empty. You will fill the house with furniture, one by one, and you are already starting to do that. Look at this new job. You made that happen! Filling the house will take awhile; there is no timeline as Fisher and van der Kolk say. But, the emptiness will gradually lessen. It’s not all or nothing, like this flip of the switch and the light comes on. It’s a gradation and it will dip at times, but you will fill the house.”

T went on to describe how I now have the time to learn what I want, what my values are, and who I am since I am no longer fighting the fires. Going back to the analogy, he said I have the time to figure out what kinds of furniture I want–the type of paint color, the art on the wall, the books in the bookcase. However, I am at the point where I am just trying to fill the house with what I need–sofa, fridge, bed, etc. Whereas the details of what I want will come later. T explained further by reminding me I am making progress. I have a job now and so a daily structure. I continue to expand my social circle. I will learn what I want in a partner, especially by changing perspective from “not good enough” to asking “does this person deserve me for who I am.” I will learn to recognize my values and connect them to my everyday life.

I don’t know, the house/furniture example really seemed to make connections for me (on top of being a visual person). Even though I feel like my house’s foundation is built on sand (which comes from a previous session), to which T immediately challenges me. This will probably come up again since I need time to process. Plus, I just really like decorating my actual place and making it my own, so maybe this will shift some perspectives? To actually want to improve and reach the point where I am doing things I want to do, not having to constantly put out fires? Not sure I’m ready to admit that yet...

#cptsd #bpd #trauma #abuse #therapy #terrified of recovery #who am i without trauma?#dbt #act #values #interpersonal relationships #so incredibly thankful for T #intrusive thoughts #suicidal ideation #emotional dysregulation #angriadm

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four-loose-screws · 2 years

Text

FE7 Novelization Translation - Chapter 2 Section 1

If you would like to start from the beginning, read a missed part, etc., click here!

FE Game Script Translations - FE Novel Translations - Original FE Support Conversations

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———————————

Chapter 2: The Small Band of Mercenaries (Section 1)

"What!? Madelyn's daughter is still alive!?" Lundgren was in his personal study at Caelin Castle when one of his subordinates gave him the report. He furrowed his brows and his face, already beginning to show signs of old age, creased with displeasure.

"Yes sir, Lord Lundgren! The girl is acting together with Kent and Sain. How shall we proceed? At this rate, she might…"

"Hmph. I’ve heard that the northern region of Bern is a land where bandits run rampant. She is just a girl, so there is no way she can make it this far.” Lundgren cackled, then broached what he was actually currently concerned about. “What’s more important is that my brother… must quickly draw his last breath. The poison we administer… we cannot make any mistakes with it.”

“Yes, m’lord! He is drinking it and does not suspect a thing. His death by illness is only a matter of time…”

“Muah ha ha! So it will be soon, then. Soon, Caelin will be mine!” His deeply wrinkled face twisted with a cruel grin.

☆

Lyn and her companions would travel towards Caelin, where Lyn’s grandfather was.

After she had made her decision, she prayed for a safe journey at the altar located on the eastern outskirts of Bulgar. Then, she traveled the road heading west with Kent and Sain.

At the altar, they were pulled into a conflict unlike any they would have ever expected.

A corrupt mercenary tried to steal the Mani Katti, argued to be the most or second-most sacred blade in all of Sacae. They made quick work of the mercenary and his men, but it was after that when the most unexpected event of all happened.

A spirit resided within the Mani Katti, so only its chosen one could wield the sword, and it chose Lyn.

'Why did the spirit choose me?' It made Lyn fear many things, and she hesitated at first.

"How about you think of it like this? Whether a weapon is easy or difficult to wield depends on one's compatibility with it, and Mani Katti fits you very well. That’s the best way to consider it, don’t you agree?” Sain said to her.

She agreed with his words, and graciously accepted the sword. “A sword that fits me, and only I can use. Yeah… if you put it that way, then I do understand it.”

After that, they left Sacae, and ten days passed.

The three were now traveling Taliver Mountain, located between Sacae and the Kingdom of Bern. There, they arrived at a village on the mountain.

ー

“Bandits… they…” At the sight of the sad state of the village, Lyn could only utter those two words.

“They ravaged this place as they pleased. What is the marquess of this area doing?” As Sain’s words indicated, the village was entirely destroyed, as if a storm had just blown through.

The brick walls had crumbled, broken barrels rolled around, and they could see countless areas of damage on the roofs of the rows of houses. It was clear to anyone that nature had not caused this destruction. It was a man-made disaster for which bandits were responsible.

It was the marquess’ duty to protect the citizens of their territory.

Common knowledge dictated that the marquess would quickly dispatch an army meant to stop bandit attacks, and help restore the village, but it was hard to argue that this village was under its marquess’ protection. Though it was afternoon, not a single person doing any farm work could be seen. The people seemed to be hiding, holding their breath and holed up inside their homes. It was a very serious question to wonder what the marquess was doing.

Lyn answered him in a way that explained the suspicion Sain had. “...This mountain, Taliver Mountain, is home to an especially cruel group of bandits that even the marquesses can do nothing about.”

The settlement where Lyn lived had been on the opposite side of Taliver Mountain.

It was the land of her childhood, where she lived together with her family and those of her tribe. It was the place where the Lorca tribe had lived each day safe and happy, but was also the place where those peaceful days came to an end.

“My tribe was also… attacked in the night by the Taliver Bandits, and they destroyed it in that one night… Including me, there was less than ten people lucky enough to survive… The bandits shed neither blood nor tears… I will never… forgive them…”

“...Lady Lyndis.”

“...”

Kent saw that her shoulders shook softly as she spoke, and he could not bring himself to say anything more than that.

Sain looked at her in silence.

“I am not running away from them… I… will come back one day. I’ll get stronger… so strong they won’t even know what hit them… and avenge everyone! I will do anything to accomplish that goal!" Lyn looked up and shouted to the now cleared sky.

And as she did so, there were two figures that walked up to her.

“When that time comes… please take me with you!”

“Sain!”

“And do not forget me, either.”

“Kent… Both of you, thank you…”

Was it because she was the granddaughter of the lord they served?

Or was it simply because they sympathized with her?

Lyn did not understand what they were thinking, and why they would help her as she risked her own life for revenge. But them saying without hesitation that they would help made her very happy. After losing her family, and then her entire tribe, and having to live and train to take revenge all on her own, their kindness moved her.

Kent, seeming to have noticed something, looked towards the inside of the village. "Lady Lyndis, please be careful. Something appears to be happening there."

Because Kent pointed it out, she looked in that direction, and saw a single white horse with large white wings.

“...That’s… a pegasus? Could it be…?!”

For a moment, the memory of a girl flashed through the back of her mind.

There was no reason why she would be here.

But even knowing that, Lyn still found her legs rushing over to the pegasus.

ー

#fire emblem #fire emblem 7 #the blazing sword #fe #fe7 #lyn #lyndis #eliwood #hector #gba #game boy advance #japan #japanese #translation #novel #light novel #fe7 novelization translation

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

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I don’t know if this’ll make the cut, but brothers with an MC wearing their (the brothers) clothes, and I’m talking full ensemble not just a random jacket or accessory (you can delete if you’re not comfortable of course)

So when left with the question of whether this was a full on clothing theft or a cosplay of some kind, I'm going with theft because that's just funnier to me. Just a little MC marching around in Beel's tent of an outfit… Hilarious. 🤭

MC Steals the Brothers’ Outfits

Lucifer

It started out like any other morning, Lucifer woke up early in bed - as he always does - but when he rolled onto his side to stir the MC, he found their side of the bed empty…

Normally, he’d have thrown up the alarm in an instant, but his mind was still groggy as he tried to recall what happened the night before… He could have sworn the MC slept over… unless…

MC: “Good morning, love.”

Their voice was enough to get him sitting up again and he uh… well he was not prepared for what he saw. The MC was sitting with their legs crossed at his desk, attempting to imitate his “I’m-in-Complete-Control-Here” energy as much as they possibly could, but with an added detail…

They were wearing his clothes. His favorite suit to be specific which was tailored to his much bigger frame, resulting in a frankly ridiculously ill-fitting look on their smaller human body...

MC: *picks up a poisoned apple off the desk, continuing their very best Lucifer-impression* “You should get up, love. We have an early meeting today and we can’t keep Lord Diavolo waiting.”

The MC appeared to polish the apple with his sleeve for a moment before taking a bite, looking pleased with themselves before their eyes widened in complete horror. It only took a split second for them to spit the unchewed hunk of apple into a nearby waste basket and toss the apple away in panic.

MC: “Ah FUCK!! I forgot I can’t eat these!!! SHIT!!”

Their panic only grew as Lucifer could no longer hold in his laughter, the booming volume of which is enough to wake up all his brothers throughout the House.

MC: “Lucifer, don’t just sit there laughing!! Bring me some water or something!!! LUCIFER!!!”

Mammon

Look, Mammon always gets up late so not being able to find, like, any of his normal clothes was a serious problem! He’d already dug through half his closest and still couldn’t find anything!!

He had a photoshoot that he had to get to in less than hour and he still needed to take a shower, get dressed, get his stuff together, then bolt halfway across town before-

MC: *literally kicks open his door Kuzco-style* “Yo, yo, yo!! What’s up, Mammon??”

First off, the sudden loud bang of his door hitting the wall nearly scared him out of his skin, but before he could even yell at the MC for their weird entrance his brain had to process what they were wearing….

Good news! He found his missing clothes, the MC had thrown them on while he was sleeping - sunglasses and all - and now stood before him with a toothy grin on their face.

MC: “What's the problem, Mams? Lucifer got your tongu-EEEK!”

Apparently, they weren't expecting Mammon to literally lunge at them and capture them in a tight hug, practically lifting them off their feet with a laugh.

Mammon: “What'cha think your doin', MC?? I'm gonna need those back ya know?”

MC: *laughs loud and bright, throwing their arms around his neck* “I know, I know... But I wanted to surprise you!” *stops laughing suddenly and blinks* “Huh…”

Mammon watched the MC experimentally lift his glasses off their nose then put them back down, repeating the action several times before snickering.

Mammon: *frowns* “What's so funny?”

MC: “Nothing really but… Mammon, do you wear these just to make everything look like gold?”

Mammon actually had to pause before responding, pulling the MC closer with a devilish grin.

Mammon: “Nah… I ‘cause got all the gold I need right here~”

MC: *chuckles and nuzzles his cheek* “Nice save...”

Mammon: *his cheeks flush and he frowns* “I dunno what your talkin’ about... But could ya go put on a t-shirt or somethin’? They’re paying me big for this shoot and I really gotta go!”

Leviathan

Another convention, another cosplay far too complex to ever hope to peel out of… Though Levi would never regret wearing his five piece Lord of Shadow cosplay, it’s a heavy thing and certainly not something he can change out of in a bathroom stall…

When he finally got back to the House, he wasn’t looking to do anything but drag his tired body back to his room and change into some more manageable clothes… but… well…

When Levi opened his door, he saw the MC sitting alone at his computer desk playing a game by themselves. That was all well and good but… WHY IN DIAVOLO’S BLACK HELL ARE THEY WEARING HIS CLOTHES???

When they heard the door, the MC whipped their head back and they both stared at each other in an awkward silence… His clothes didn’t even fit them right!-or maybe they did?? His mind was panicking because they had the collar of his shirt covering their mouth and it looked so moe it was actually ridiculous!

Levi: ……….

MC: ………….

MC: …. “I can explain.”

Levi: ……. “Y-yea?”

MC: “I was having trouble on this one level and you wouldn’t pick up the phone… so I thought ‘What would Levi do?’... and it escalated…”

Levi: “You think??”

Levi felt like he could die right there, but he wasn’t entirely sure if it was from embarrassment or happiness… On the one hand, the MC was literally trying to be him in order to get better at video games - which was flatteringly adorable… And on the other, the MC is pretty much cosplaying as him, right in front of him… and looked so damn cute doing it too…

MC: “Is this weird…? This is weird. I’m sorry, I’ll go change-”

Levi: NO-agh! *he throws a hand over his own mouth, surprised by how loud he just shouted* … “U-uh… no it’s fine…”

MC: “Okay...?”

MC: “But could you put your phone down? I think you’ve been taking pictures for the past two minutes…”

Levi looked down at his hand and sure enough he unconsciously pulled out his phone in camera mode and has been spamming the “Capture” button long enough to have his thumb cramping...

Levi: “Oh.” *stops for a moment, then seems to second guess himself*

Levi: “Uh… just one more?”

Satan

When you share a house with Mammon, you grow accustomed to not being able to find things from time to time, but an entire outfit??

When he woke up one morning to find that he couldn't find any of his normal clothes, he blamed Mammon right off the bat…

I guess in hindsight, what would Mammon want with his jacket? But anger doesn't always jump to the most rational conclusion, you know?

After searching for "long enough," Satan stormed out of his bedroom on a warpath. He didn't stop his march until he was banging on Mammon’s door with a closed fist!

Satan: “Mammon!! What did you do with my clothes you useless, money-grubbing asshole!?”

When he didn’t get a reply, likely because Mammon was hiding in his closet or something, he was about to kick the door in when he felt a tap on his shoulder...

When he turned his head, much to his surprise, he found his missing clothes!... They were on the MC - right down to the single sleeve - and the MC met his eyes with a mischievous grin…

They had a book in their hands he recalled seeing once at the library: "101 Ways to Prank Your Partner," open like they'd been reading down the hallway.

MC: … Page 47.

They winked at him before bolting back down the hallway in a fit of giggles and oooh, it was on now.

Satan spent the morning chasing the MC through the House, both laughing and dashing around in reckless abandon. He really needed his clothes back and he wouldn’t mind an extra hour or two with the MC when he got them… 😏

Asmodeus

Asmo isn’t exactly a morning person… Though he forces himself awake so he can perform his wake-up routine, by the time he comes to the table it’s a hit-or-miss on how irritable he’s going to be...

Of course, his favorite outfit suddenly disappearing from his massive closet did not help his mood in the slightest!

Who would take his clothes?? Well, that’s not even a question - surely plenty of his devoted, adoring stans would kill to even have his scarf, so maybe the better question was, “How??” Lucifer keeps all the doors and windows magically sealed at night! (He would know, having been locked out on numerous occasions)

Asmo was tearing through his closet, wracking his brain for any place he might have left his beloved outfit, before he heard someone clear their throat by his bedroom door.

What greeted him was a lovely look at the MC wearing the missing clothing in question, even with all the grace and style he would himself!

Asmo: *jaw-drops* “MC???”

MC: *smirks at his delight and winks at him* “Looking for something?”

They strutted into the room with the confidence of a mock fashion model and took a silly vogue pose in front of the closet, barely holding in a fit of laughter from their actions.

MC: “… Or just at me?”

Asmo, of course, snatched them right up in his arms with a delighted squeal.

Asmo: “Oh. My. Diavolo!! MC, you look just gorgeous!!!- Because you look like me, of course.” 🤭

MC: *laughs and cups his cheeks to pull him closer* “Who wouldn't want to be you, Asmo?”

Asmo: “So true… But you’re already perfect, my love~” 😘

And he went on to prove that to them all morning long...

Beelzebub

Beel didn't even get the chance to notice his clothes were missing. He had a tournament the night before and was sleeping even harder than Belphie that morning...

What woke him up was the smell of food: scrambled shadowhawk eggs, hellboar bacon, pancakes with nightshade syrup….

Beel's stomach had him sitting up long before his eyes ever opened, drawn in by his nose alone.

MC: “Beeeeel. Wake up!”

Beel's eyes dragged open at their request and what he found had his mouth watering... The MC had brought him a dining cart with a complete breakfast spread, brimming with portions only Beel could ever finish, but for once he wasn’t looking at the food.

The MC, for whatever reason, had decided to put on his clothes… And keep in mind that Beel's built like an ox compared to almost anybody. They were absolutely swimming under all that fabric (thank the Devil for his suspenders…)

MC: “Congratulations!!!”

They throw their arms up excitedly, making the unzipped jacket balloon out like a parachute behind them… It's a remarkably cute image.

Beel: *blinks* “Oh.” *he gets a little pink, still very confused* “What did I do exactly…?”

MC: “You won the championship last night, remember? Or did you forget already??”

The MC takes a step to the side and begins pointing at the plates on the cart.

MC: “I thought we'd celebrate with some breakfast! I brought you eggs, bacon, pancakes, toast, cereal-”

As they continued their list, Beel's hand naturally reached out towards the cart eagerly, before something finally clicked in his head. WHY were they wearing his clothes??

Beel: “Wait. MC, why are you wearing-...?”

MC *holds their hand up* “Hold on!”

MC: “-oatmeal, muffins, banana bread, annnd…” *they get onto the bed and plop down onto his lap with a grin*

MC: “Me! Congratulations, Beel!!”

They lean up to peck his cheek while his arms automatically wind around their waist. The combination of their scents already bringing out a different sort of hunger in him…

Let’s say if this is his reward, he'll never lose a game again. 😏

Belphegor

Belphie was in the middle of his afterschool nap in the library. The day was exhausting, so he didn’t even bother changing uniforms… The couches there were comfortable and the space was quiet, really nothing should have woken him up...

But somehow, for whatever reason, something did. A tug… Something was chasing away his dreams by tugging on the cow pillow in his arms.

MC: “Beeelllppphie….”

The tugging did not cease and he half growled in response, still keeping his eyes firmly closed.

Belphie: “What now...?”

MC: “I need this…” *they tug on the corner of the pillow a little harder* “Can you let go please…?”

What kind of question is that?? No one takes away his favorite pillow!

Belphie: *hugs the pillow tighter* “Go away, I'm trying to nap…”

MC: “Noooo please…! I need it for something right now…!!”

They started really pulling on his pillow now and he only held on tighter in annoyance. Since they wouldn’t leave him alone, he finally opened his eyes.

Belphie: “MC! Why are… you..?”

His voice trailed off as he finally saw the MC standing there in his usual outfit. His cardigan was so long over their arms that they had to grasp his pillow through its sleeves...

While his drowsy mind tried to catch up, the MC snatched the pillow from his grasp with one swift yank.

MC: *grins* “Mine now!”

They turned to bolt out of the library, but Belphie snatched them by the waist and dragged them back to the couch with him.

Belphie: “Fine, but then I get a new pillow.” 😏

The MC yelped as he flopped on top of them, pulling them close like a body pillow and resting his head into the crook of their neck to enjoy the soothing smell of their scent mixed with his.

MC: “W-wait Belphie…!” *tries to wiggle out from under his surprisingly heavy deadweight* “I was just playing around…! Please don't fall asleep on me!!”

Belphie: *yawns and settles in, already drifting off* “Too late… G'night, MC…”

MC: “Belphie!!!” 😫

They could complain all they liked, he wasn’t going to let them go for a few hours. Cute or not, MC, nobody takes his pillow!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me requests

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