#they make me feel kind of sick. lightheaded. like im going to pass out or throw up perhaps

[tallykale]

sorry i havent been drawing anything ive been exclusively thinking about ocs. caseybug be upon ye

casey belongs to @wiihtigo

#my art #ocs #nell #casey #caseybug #they make me feel kind of sick. lightheaded. like im going to pass out or throw up perhaps #i dont have many pix of them cuz i ummm have been in kind of an art drought recently #so going back thru dms for these images was like [1 million casey picrews] [posts that remind me of them] [another million picrews] #anyway. CASEYBUG NATION STAND UP FOR YURI

[midday0nightmares]

27 - pry on the weak (m).

Previous chapter in your arms (m).

m.list.

warnings: this series contains themes of yandere\mafia, blood, violence, mental health, drugs, non-con.

author note: this is pure fiction and it is not intended to romanticize any of the situations mentioned bellow.

The door was shut, it won’t open, it was cemented on every side expat for the small slit under it, you try knocking, shout for someone, anyone, but to no avail.

you try the window, it opens, but the sight is even scarier. The city is quiet, too quiet. No traffic in its usually busy streets, every window in the near buildings were closed, no birds in the sky, not a single sign of life, even the sun seems stuck in its place, time isn’t moving.

Outside the closed door, you can hear muffled sounds, you peak under the door and see the familiar white socks on a pair of feet moving around the room, it’s jaemin. you shout and scream for him, but he doesn’t even flinch, he just keeps going through his day. 

You were forgotten, lost forever in his room.

You jolt out of the claustrophobic nightmare, everything around you looks sound and in its right place, including jaemin, who’s sleeping next you, it was a nightmare.. you didn’t think that a nightmare would have the audacity to visit you while you were sleeping in his arms.

You snuggle closer to him, too close, not minding if he wakes up right now, it would be ideal if he can listen to you telling him about the rude nightmare and sho It away..  

.

.

.

He buckles under your pleads, 

“fine.. you can come too”  

The high pitched squeal you let out almost made him change his mind.

You wore a simple, body fitting black dress, a safe choice, you walked to the living room where jaemin was waiting for you, he was wearing a black suit, the black trousers making his long legs look extra inviting.

Jeno whistle from behind you when you spun to show jaemin your outfit, you roll your eyes at his ungentlemanly behavior, 

But the way jaemin’s eyes were shinning, and the compliment “you look beautiful” made your heart flutter, but the butterflies were shot dead when jeno’s hand landed on your ass in a sharp slap.

You link arms with jaemin and make the short trip to the door across the hallway to chenle apartment, the door was open, you were welcomed by upbeat classical music, not what you’ve expected.

Inside, the apartment looked like an entire house by itself, it was three times bigger than your apartment, the atmosphere was intimidating, everyone looked expensive and beautiful, there was three type of guests, men, gorgeous women, and you. 

Bite sized appetizers and trays of champion were being served along side an open bar at the corner, chandeliers were hanging off the ceiling and the big glass door opens to the terrace.

Your heart sunk and your stomach turned over inside of you. You cling to jaemin’s arm when you spot that face, haechan’s face.he approaches you and they all greeted each other, you keep looking else where, doing your best to ignore him. 

“Hey man! Long time no see.. what are you doing here? You know chenle?” Yes good question jaemin, what is he doing here?

“Yeah yeah..” He leans closer and lowers his voice “he’s one of my top clients” he gestures to the tens of girls around.. and it clicks in your head that they were all escorts, brought by haechan, they were his girls. you didn’t even try to hide the look of disgust that was showing on your face.

“Hey handsome” a tall, brunette, doll like girl throws her arms around jeno, “haven’t seen you in a while” she seamlessly pout. He giggles and turns into a harmless puppy in her hands, she must be one of haechan girls too, of course he will pay for company, who would want to spend time with him.

Your attention turns back to the hushed conversation between haechan and jaemin,

 “… no, his father is the of a one the leaders of the Chinese communist party, powerful man. and he’s the sole hire of multiple companies” haechan says.

“What is he doing here?” Jaemin asks. 

 “don’t know.. but based on what I have heard, he’s not staying for long..” haechan cuts himself as soon as he notice your interest in their conversation, “And how have you been doing sweet thing?”

oh the rage that went through you, you wished you could claw his eyes out, your distain is loud on your features. jaemin’s hand reach and hold yours, giving you a gentle squeeze, silently apologizing for breaking his promise of not having to see haechan again. 

And of course Hacehan is anything but dumb, he reads your mood and turns back to jaemin “come, I want you to meet someone” .. “haa you never stop working, don’t you?” Jaemin let go of your hand and slips deeper into the crowd, leaving you standing awkwardly next to jeno and his baby.

You stomp with no destination in mind. you look around, amazed by everything, but you feel misplaced, the looks that were thrown your way, you didn’t belong here and everyone knew it, there was an underlining screech the luxuries mood.

You catch the back of jaemin’s head through the crowd, an unsuspected punch of something was delivered to your heart, throwing your mood completely off. he’s with a group of giggly girls, practically drooling over them.  

you regret insisting on coming with him.. you should have known, but it’s too late now, you look else where and meet the sister eyes of haechan staring at you. he winks at you, you throw him the dirtiest look you have and move out of his sight line.

You pick a glass of champagne and lean against the wall, tipping the tall glass and drinking it in one go, and another.. starting to feel better. Chenle’s bright hair stands between the crowds, he gracefully moves around greeting everyone, you didn’t notice before but he’s quit charming.. he catches you staring at him and smile at you, rising his glass towards you, you fumble almost dropping your half empty glass.. when you mange to get a grip on yourself and rise your glass he had already return to his conversation. 

“Hello, mind if I join you?” The stranger man stands next to you even before you could’ve answered him, “what’s your name?” He looks like he was operating on twice the normal human energy, fidgeting and unable to stay still for more than three seconds, his smile twitches, the look in his eyes is frantic.. his pupils are blown, he’s on something. 

He speaks again before you can answer “hi Im yangyang, what’s your name?” why does his friends have wired names? 

You watch him like he was a train wreck happing in slow motion, “here try this” he hands you one of the two glass he was holding in his hands, a pink cocktail with raspberry, you smile politely and take the drink, he stares at you with his frozen smile.. but something behind you catches his attention, he kinda looks like a cat, just like that he leaves as fast as he came, he’s kinds cute.

You move to the open terrace for some fresh air, the breeze flowing through your hair, you zone out as you watch the city lights.. a hand graze the small of your back brings you back, you jump in surprise. “sorry didn’t mean to scare you” chenle apologize, placing a tall glass of champion in front of you, his round cheeks flushed, he looks breathtaking in this proximity, or maybe it’s just the alcohol in your system.. 

“To be honest sera, Im a little offended” he confess, your eyes grow double the size “offended.. why?”, 

he gives you sad puppy eyes and looks around “you don’t seems to enjoy my party”.. 

“oh no, I do. Your house is very beautiful and everything looks amazing” you try to convince him but he’s not buying it, you just give up and sigh, “im just tired” looking down to the busy streets..

He hums “tired or jealous?” Pointing at jeno who was too busy sucking that girl’s face, you roll your eyes and chenle laughs.

 “im not” you bring the glass to your lips, drinking more, a pathetic attempt to suppress whatever have been twisting your insides. 

Someone calls for him cutting your interaction short, “Alright.. well if you need anything come find me” he says before leaving you. You stay at your spot, distracting yourself with silly thoughts while the party behind you was growing wilder.

Your stomach growls, you feel sick and about to throw up.. heat rising through you, you sweat and feel lightheaded, you must have had too much to drink you are not used to it.

You stumble inside and through the crowded room, looking for the closest bathroom before it’s too late, haechan grabs your arm “sera.. are you ok?” His voice is far away although he’s standing next to you, you yanking your arm out of his hold “don’t touch me..”,

The room starts spinning, you hold the wall for support, after that it all went dark.

.

.

.

When you came back and opened your eyes, you were laid in a bed, the strong cologne filling your noise, upsetting your empty stomach. For a minute you don’t remember where you are or what had happened, the unfamiliar bedroom doesn’t ring any bills, your head is pounding, threatening to explode you move too much, you try to get up but a sharp pain shots through you, your hips feels like they were dislocated, your thighs bruised and had blood on them, your pulled up dress and torn underwear, it all indicates to one thing. 

You mange to hold yourself through the initial shock, not breaking down. With a plan to find jaemin you fix your dress to cover your exposed breast, you force yourself up, picking up your discarded heal off of the floor. You limb your way out of the room, the party has quite down, it has turned to something else.. 

everyone looked like a living zombie, you look for jaemin, you open every door on your way, you open a door to a bedroom, and you see group of men gathered over a passed out girl, watching them felt like an outside body experience, like you were rewatching yourself. They were unfazed by your presences as they continue their assult.. 

you close the door to the hellish scene, you keep looking for him but he’s nowhere to be found.

You reach the main area, being met by jeno and haechan snorting whit powder of the coffee table, surrounded by loopy girls.. jeno tries to grab you, to pull you down with them but you escape his claw like hand.

You can’t take this anymore, you were starting to crumble. you did’t feel safe anymore. you head to the door and walk out, you seek the comfort of a familiar surroundings, their apartment, a hot shower, clean clothes, your bed.. but you don’t have a key and you don’t know the passcode, you try random combinations but nothing works, the door stays closed, duff to your cries.

You break down, tears streaming your face, you give up on the door and slid to the ground, leaning against the wall you sit alone in the hallway waiting for jaemin’s return.

#nct dream #nct yandere #nct smut #nct mafia #nct imagines #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct blurbs #nct jeno #nct jaemin #nct angst #nct agnst

[ardett]

all dead hearts to you

Description: George and Dream have never met in person. It isn’t a problem until Dream calls George to tell him he’s going to kill himself.

check this out on Ao3 if you wanna be cool!

Author’s Note: Not me crashing recklessly into another fandom (also this is assuming sapnap went home to Texas after living with dream idk let me live)

title from Dead Hearts by Stars

also I'm new here, anyone wanna give me a welcome to the boys?

warnings: suicide warning (obviously) but no actual suicide, general anxiety and panic attacks

It’s 3am when George gets Dream’s call. 

Late, but only really for him. It’s still before midnight in Florida, right around 10pm. He’d like to say that he’s so practiced with converting time zones that he doesn’t even have to think about it but he still has to count backwards on his fingers, thinking on the jump between late late nights and early mornings.

He’s still awake but the leds in his room have been turned to red, set to the dimmest mode. He was streaming with Quackity up until about half an hour ago and his room has settled back into quiet again.

He feels the thrum of anxiety as he hears the ringtone. Dream usually only calls him when George is about to sleep through something important or if he’s on the road. George wonders if he forgot something today or maybe he let something slip on his call with Quackity.

Now that it’s on his mind, he realizes that he hasn’t heard from Dream all day. Or yesterday?

They’ve both been busy, though George has been busy with the usual things and Dream said something about needing to put his affairs in order or whatever that meant. They usually text at least but even that has been quieter.

George grabs his phone off his desk and picks up the call.

“Dream. What’s up?” he asks. George runs a quick hand through his hair, checking his screen quickly. It’s a real phone call, not even a discord call. “Hey, I’m putting you on speaker. I’m gonna put on my pajamas.”

He’s about to set the phone on his dresser when Dream says, “Oh, I probably shouldn’t be on speaker.”

There’s something off in his tone. Something flat. It sets George’s nerves on edge. 

“Yeah? Okay.” George tucks the phone back by his ear, slumping back on his bed. “Did you have something you had to tell me?”

“Yeah. George, I’m going to kill myself.”

Everything in George stills.

And then starts to spin.

“What?”

“I’m going to—”

“You’re not serious.” George jerks upright, ignoring the lightheaded feeling sinking its fingers into his skull. “Dream, this isn’t funny.”

“I don’t think it is. It’s just going to happen.” 

There’s not even a tremor in Dream’s voice. George can’t feel anything past the bone deep shock in his system.

All he can think of is Dream, wrists bloody and split open. Dream, fingertips dusted white with the residue of unnamed pills. Dream, rope burns fracturing the long line of his neck. 

Dream, dead.

How is he even going to do it? Is he actually going to do it? George wants to ask but then he realizes he doesn’t want to know.

He imagines the first time he sees Dream in person is when he attends his funeral.

He imagines all the words he’s held in for so long, waiting and waiting for the moment he could say them to Dream face to face, finally being said to dead air.

But George can’t say that so all he manages is an obstinate, “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Stop disagreeing with me.”

“George,” Dream laughs. Laughs.

George feels dizzy with the disbelief swirling inside him. Surely this can’t be happening. What reason would Dream have to make this up though? Dream would never joke about something like this. Why is he laughing? 

How can Dream be so casual when George’s world is shattering? 

He doesn’t know what a future without Dream looks like.

They’ve always lived miles apart but Dream has never felt so far away. George has never felt like this. Like he couldn’t reach him.

“Dream.” Dream’s laugh cuts off as soon as he hears the plea in George’s voice. “Is something wrong? Are you— I can come there. I can be with you tomorrow. Sapnap can stay with you again. You don’t have to do this—”

“I know. But I want to. So I’m going to.” Any trace of mirth is gone. Dream sounds the same way he did when he decided he was going to break a world record or make YouTube work for him.

Determined. Steadfast. His voice has the steely confidence of knowing he won’t fail.

Usually it’s inspiring but now the familiarity of it just makes George sick. He’s never known Dream to be someone content with failure.

George's phone digs into his palm as his grip spasms. He tastes blood.

And he doesn’t even know why yet.

“What happened? Whatever it is, we can fix it.”

Dream sighs. “Nothing’s wrong, George.”

“There has to be something wrong. You can tell me,” George insists. Then he changes tactics and lies through his teeth. “I swear I won’t tell anyone else. We can work this out together, just the two of us. Just tell me what’s wrong.”

“I already told you nothing’s wrong,” Dream repeats.

“Then why would you… do that?” George trips over the word, rephrases it instead.

And then Dream rips that tiny defense to shreds.

“You can say it you know,” Dream says. “I’m going to kill myself. You should probably get used to it actually. People are going to ask you about it. I’m sorry about that,” he adds as an afterthought. 

The harsh, blunt words sting against George’s skin.

“Don’t apologize,” he strangles out. “Don’t apologize for that out of everything. Just don’t do it.”

“George,” Dream breathes, exasperated.

“I just don’t understand,” George begs. For the first time, his voice wavers.

Dream, cold gun in his cold hands. Dream, long limbs hanging over the railing of a bridge as he stares down. Dream, slumped over his table with a bottle of vodka nestled near his feet. 

Dream, dead.

Dead.

Dead.

“Don’t cry, okay?” Dream’s voice softens. George forgot how gentle Dream could be with him when he wanted. 

“I didn’t want to make you cry. Look, it’s just…” Dream trails off. Eventually, he continues even quieter. “This is it, you know? This is the top, this is the peak. It can’t go on like this forever, crazy numbers on videos and trending on twitter and all that shit. I’d rather go out like this than wait to hit the bottom. Doesn’t that make sense?” Dream persuades.

“No,” George insists, all the air leaving his lungs at once.

“Come on, George. Can you even picture yourself growing old? What happens when we’re 30, 40, and all of this is gone. Do you want that?”

The sick part of it all is that George has imagined the future. He imagines it lovingly, not viciously. Not like this.

He imagined a future with Sapnap and Bad and Karl and Quackity but most of all with Dream. He wants so badly to be with him. Sapnap talked about living together, how great parts of it had been, how he would have stayed if he hadn’t had to return home for family, and George so selfishly wants that for himself.

And he’s always known that’s not what Dream pictured. Dream doesn’t want what he wants. Dream doesn’t want to grow old with someone, much less George.

Can you even picture yourself growing old?

It hurts because George can and he always wanted it to be with Dream.

“What are you even saying? Do you want me to kill myself too?” George bites. He scrubs viciously at his eyes and stabs at the power button of his computer, teeth piercing into his lip as he waits for it to turn on.

“No, no, of course not. I would never— Come on, that’s obviously not what I’m saying.”

George fumbles with his keyboard, pulling up his discord messages with Sapnap.

He just needs someone else to help him, someone else to know. Someone who can do what he can’t. Someone who isn’t as fucking helpless as him, who doesn’t live an ocean away and who has never seen Dream in person and has never touched Dream, not once, has never known what the sun feels like in Florida.

Of course he was lying when he said this was going to stay between the two of them.

This isn’t the kind of thing he can do alone.

 George: Sapnap dream says hes going 

George: to kill himself

George: you have to get someone to him

George: call 999 

George: 911

 Sapnap: what

 George: please now sap Im on the phone with him

 Sapnap: are you joking

 George: no

George: do it

George: please fast now

 “Are you typing?” Dream questions, a note of warning in his tone.

George jerks. “No, I—”

He’s cut off by a beeping from his phone. 

His heart stops.

“What’s that sound?” Dream asks.

Sapnap is calling him.

George can picture him, knee jumping as he clutches his phone, hoping against hope that George is joking. He can practically hear the adrenaline trembling in Sapnap’s voice, can see the way Sapnap stands and paces.

He can’t answer though. He can’t leave Dream.

George declines the call, hand shaking.

“Who was that?” The question is flat.

“No one,” George says too quickly.

“No one?” Dream repeats. Only a second or two passes before George hears the same beep through his phone speaker, this time coming from Dream’s end. “Wow look who’s calling me. Sapnap. Wonder if he changed his name to No One,” Dream says without emotion.

 Sapnap: fck are you serious

 George bites his tongue, wincing.

“Dream—”

 George: y

 George can’t manage to type anything more before Dream snarls, “You’re such a fucking snitch, you know that? It’s fine though, I thought this might happen. I was gonna call him after you, for the record.” It almost sounds like Dream is smiling. George’s heart twists. Why is he smiling? “I know you have to try as a friend to save me, or whatever you want to call it, but you really don’t have to. I want to do this. I’m going to.

“It’s not like you could really stop me anyway,” Dream continues. “You don’t even know where I live. You barely know what I look like. What, are you going to ask the police to search the entire state of Florida?”

“Sapnap knows,” George whispers. 

He tries to shake off the savagery seeping into Dream’s voice. He tells himself Dream is defensive, Dream is nervous, Dream is scared. Dream isn’t thinking about what he’s really saying.

Though things have never mattered before, the fact George has never been to Florida, that George has never seen Dream in person. But now Dream is weaponizing them against him, forcing George to acknowledge that for everything their relationship is, it can never replace an in person friendship. And Dream has always been a better fighter than George.

“No, he doesn’t. Me and Sap rented a house, remember? We never went to my house. I never sent him my actual address, I checked.” And Dream sounds so smug. Like he won.

George’s gaze darts back to his computer. 

But he already knows Dream isn’t a liar.

 Sapnap: I dont know his address

Sapnap: fuck

Sapnap: Im calling bad

Sapnap: dont let him hang up

 “People are so dumb about it, you know? They tell all their friends and then they get caught before actually doing it,” Dream goes on, not paying attention to George’s disconsolate silence.

“But you’re telling me,” George mutters. Hopelessness strings through him.

Sapnap isn’t writing anything else. George can only hope Bad picked up.

“Yeah but you’re literally in another country. What are you going to do about it?” 

George can’t manage any words. He doesn’t even know if he remembers how to breathe. 

Dream is right, he always seems to be right. George just wishes it wasn’t about this. Anything but this. He has to believe that Sapnap and Bad will figure something out. He has to trust them.

“Just think about how many people are found before they actually do it,” Dream goes on in George’s quiet. “Because they can’t commit. Most people are cowards. It’s dumb honestly. Just do it or don’t.”

“Don’t then,” George whispers.

His eyes burn with unshed tears. His fingers spasm on his bedsheets.

He doesn’t know what Dream wants. Does he want George to beg? To get on his knees and plead with him to save his own life? Because he would in a heartbeat but he doubts it would make a difference. 

Dream sighs. “I feel like you’re not listening to me, George.”

“No, I am.” George’s voice rises with his wrath. Suddenly all his terror and frustration comes to a bursting point. “I’m listening. I’m listening to you talk about killing yourself. I just think you’re wrong. I think it would be a lot fucking braver to stay alive even if your views go down, even if you’re not fucking famous, Dream. What the fuck? You’re a fucking coward for trying to leave!” George’s breaths heave through the staticy phone microphone. His fear and anger wind him.

There’s a moment of emptiness.

Then, lip curling, Dream says, “Trying to leave you?”

George chokes.

“What?”

“Don’t try and pull this card, George. That’s what you’re trying to say, isn’t it? I’m a coward for leaving everyone behind? For leaving you?” 

Dream’s voice drowns out George’s. George flinches, though Dream can’t see it. 

“Don’t be so fucking selfish. I hate that, you know that?” Dream growls. “Everyone thinks they’re enough to save someone all by themselves. Wow, the sheer force of your love just fucking yanked me back from the edge of a cliff, give me a fucking break,” Dream scoffs. George’s ribs feel tight. “You can’t just reverse psychology or guilt me out of this.”

“Jesus, Dream, is it so hard to believe that maybe I care about you and I don’t want you to fucking die?” George grits out. 

The room swims before him. He can’t remember how to uncurl his fingers.

“Well it’s not up to you, is it?” Dream practically smirks.

And that’s it, isn’t it? The winning phrase. Because Dream’s right. 

It’s not up to George. 

George can only listen helplessly as Dream considers his own grave. He’s a constant witness to the storm that is Dream. He was always grateful to be dragged along in Dream’s hurricane winds and now he dreads the day they calm.

“You’re being cruel,” George murmurs. His aggression leaves him as soon as it came.

“I’m being honest,” Dream contends.

George sinks his head into his hands. “Why did you even call me then? To— to gloat?”

Dream’s voice goes low and quiet, vulnerable. George’s insides twist and melt and contort. “No, no, I just… I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you one more time.”

“Don’t say that,” George hisses. The words are half muffled into his palms.

“Don’t say what?” Dream asks defensively.

“Don’t say one more time. You can’t— you can’t—'' It all hits George at once. He’s going to lose him.

He’s going to lose Dream.

Before he knows it, he’s sobbing into the phone, loud ugly heaving sobs. “Don’t do it, Dream. I’m serious. Please— Just wait for one of us to get there. We can be with you. We can help.”

Dream’s voice hardens again. “You mean you can stop me.”

“Dream—” George starts to beg, trying to figure out how to lie without Dream catching him.

But Dream beats him to it. 

“I’m gonna hang up now—”

Panic rips through George. The shock of it physically hurts in his veins, in his heart.

“No!” he almost screams. “Dream, Dream, don’t hang up—”

“Oh my god, relax. I’m calling Sapnap. I’m not doing anything yet.” He can almost hear Dream rolling his eyes. It’s not comforting.

George sniffles. He knows it sounds pathetic. He’s not one for pity but if it gets Dream to keep talking with him, he’s willing to stoop to any low. He just doesn’t know if he can believe Dream.

“Can’t you just… stay on the phone with me?” 

“What, forever? Is that your plan? Just keep me on the line until someone inevitably finds me somehow?” Dream mocks.

Yes.

“No,” George says instead because he thinks it’s what Dream wants to hear.

Dream switches tactics. George recognizes the persuasion in his tone. 

“Don’t you want me to call Sapnap? Shouldn’t he also get the chance to talk with me?” Dream questions.

Guilts rests against George’s ribs. 

Of course he wants Sapnap to get the chance to talk to Dream. What if this is their last chance to talk? But George is too selfish to think about it much.

“That’s not what you’re asking me. Don’t try and pull that shit. You’re asking me to hang up. You’re asking for me to say goodbye and I’m…” George’s voice drops, almost inaudible. “I’m not ready.”

“George…” Dream’s voice trails off. His next words are nearly silent, something bitter and mournful about them. “You know I love you, right?”

“I know,” George mumbles.

“Are you gonna say it back to me?” Dream demands. George doesn’t know what holds him back now but something does.

“You know I do, Dream, why—”

The dial tone rings in George’s ears.

Dream hung up.

-

Not even 30 seconds pass, not nearly enough for the abrupt end of their call to sink in, when George’s phone is ringing again. He fumbles with his screen but manages to pick up.

“George?”

George’s heart sinks. It’s not the voice he wants to hear. That he needs to hear.

“Bad?”

“Yeah,” Bad affirms. “Are you okay?”

“Am I okay? Am I—” George scoffs and it feels like it rips his throat. He feels like he wants to scream. Like he wants to punch a wall. Like he would give anything to be somewhere warmer right now. “No, I’m obviously not okay, Bad. He’s going to— to—”

“I know. Sapnap told me.” 

Bad’s voice is collected, even. It just makes George more frustrated. How can everyone be so fucking calm about this? 

“George, just try to take some deep breaths, okay?” George ignores the suggestion. “Sapnap is on the phone with Dream. He just hung up on me to talk to him. I’m driving there right now, okay?”

George pauses. Something cold washes over him. He doesn’t know yet if it’s relief.

“You’re— you’re driving to Dream?”

“Yes,” Bad affirms. “We just have to keep him talking to someone for the next hour—”

“Hour? Are you serious? That’s too long!” George knows he’s screaming now. He doesn’t care.

“George—”

“We have to call an ambulance, the police. There has to be someone we can call.” 

George squeezes his eyes shut, trying to think of other ways they could possibly get there in time. He comes up blank. He can’t accept it. He can’t.

Dream, alone. Dream, bereft. Dream, dead.

“I know but I can’t— I was trying to tell you.” Bad’s words are muffled. It sounds like he’s biting the inside of his cheek. He confesses, “I don’t know his exact address. Sapnap is going to try and get it while he talks to him. I’m driving to Orlando and hopefully Sap knows it by the time I get there but we’re just—”

“No, no, no—”

George thinks of Bad arriving just in time to find Dream’s body still warm. He’s going to be sick. His chest hurts. His lungs burn.

“Try and take some deep breaths—” Bad placates as George speaks over him.

“I’m never going to talk to him again. He’s going to kill himself.” George is spiraling. He can’t stop himself.

“George, I’m going to get there in time.” But Bad doesn’t sound sure of himself. George zeros in on the weakness.

“You don’t know that,” George hisses.

“This is hard for all of us, George!” George startles at Bad’s yell. He’s heard Bad raise his voice before but never at him, never seriously. “I’m sorry,” Bad apologizes, words quieting again. George hears a sniffle through the phone. 

Bad’s crying. 

God, George is a terrible person. He didn’t even think to check in on Bad. Bad’s the one who might find Dream halfway there or already committed. He’s the only one who’s even close to being able to do something and maybe that’s the worst position to be in.

To be so close and lose a friend anyway.

“You don’t have to apologize. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t… I know it’s hard for all of us. I know you’re doing everything you can. You’re doing more than me.” George tries to laugh but it gets stuck in his throat. It’s not funny anyway.

“It’s going to be okay,” but it doesn’t even sound like Bad believes himself.

“I don’t think I can talk about this anymore,” George murmurs. He feels exhausted. There’s so much adrenaline coursing through him that it hurts. “Can we just talk about something else just… just for a little?” he begs. Like anything could distract him from this.

“Yeah George.” George can hear the sympathy in Bad’s voice. He’s too far gone for the pity to bother him. “Let me— Let me tell you about what I did this weekend on the SMP.”

George sucks in a sharp inhale. “Not— not the SMP. Can you talk about something else?” 

“Of course,” Bad agrees easily. “So last Friday I went to visit my family…”

George lets Bad talk in the background. Every once in a while, one of them will sniffle or sob or take a breath that’s too shaky to be normal. Neither of them mentions it.

George listens to people walk past his window, their voices carrying up into the stars.

The noises of the highway drone on through his phone.

Bad drives.

-

George thinks about what it would be like to go on without Dream.

He’ll never be the same, he already knows. It will haunt him for years. For the rest of his life. The thought of being so close to someone and then losing them.

Death is natural. He knows that. But it’s the intentionality of it that aches the most. The idea that Dream would leave behind everything for something so painful and unknown.

And George just knows… part of him will die with Dream and never come back. 

George doesn’t know who he’ll be with that part missing.

part 1/3, though the next update won’t really be an update but it will be soon

#dreamnotfound #dnf #just gotta get those tags out of the way #dream smp #fanfiction #dream smp fanfiction #dnf fanfic #tw suicide #mcyt #mcyt fanfiction #thewar #dream team #pls just go to Ao3 I'm begging you

[official-michael-afton]

How do you write someone fainting? Asking for a friend...

Well I’m only writing from my experience, so I’m not sure if my experiences are universal or not! I’ve also never lost consciousness for more than a few seconds at a time, so like... just keep that in mind! This is only how it works for me

First off there’s almost always some kind of cause to fainting, including but not limited to:

being somewhere hot/stuffy and/or being in direct sunlight

exercising(ESPECIALLY if it’s hot and/or you’re dehydrated)

skipping breakfast or otherwise not having any fuel in you(especially if you’re doing numerous tasks that involve movement)

stress, typically immediately after a stressful situation(there’s been a couple times I’ve had to get a blood test and needles REALLY squick me, so I sometimes get close to fainting after they stick the needle in my arm. I always hate it because “HEY IM OKAY AND CALM NOW” but its just that release of stress)

medical: low blood sugar levels can cause you to feel dizzy or feint, among many other conditions

Anything having low oxygen, like idk if you’re on a mountain and you’re getting altitude sickness, you could faint if you’re not getting enough oxygen

That’s just a few, but there are plenty of reasons! As for what if FEELS like... well, again, this is just how I personally experience it, I can’t say what it’s like for others

I typically feel an odd difference in pressure around my ears. Like it starts to feel almost cold? ... Or maybe it’s hot, I don’t remember. No idea why this happens, but it does. Just feels like a difference in pressure.

You’re usually overcome by something before actually going into the process of passing out. You can feel lightheaded and dizzy. Truth be told though, it usually isn’t the dramatic “OH MY GOD EVERYTHING’S SPINNING *KER-THUNK”, usually you’re overcome by fatigue and get a very strong urge to sit down and catch your breath(tho this isnt always! I’ve witnessed people passing out standing up before!). Sometimes sitting or laying down for a while makes the feeling pass.

Your vision goes. Have you ever stood up too fast and gotten dark spots in your vision? It’s exactly like that. Dark spots start forming until you can’t see anything, even when your eyes are open. It’s scary if you don’t know what’s going on! First time it happened to me I thought I was going blind!

Your hearing is next. Voices and sounds become increasingly muffled and sounding distant, as if they’re getting farther and farther away. Sometimes you hear ringing, but honestly I think that’s more your ears reacting to a sudden lack of sound

At this point you’re very disoriented. You can communicate, but it’s really hard to(almost like you’re barely conscious or something XD) 

You are out, it feels just like being asleep. I’ve never been out for more than a few seconds at a time, but coming back to full consciousness feels like the reverse of all these steps I just listed. Your hearing and vision slowly clear, you become more awake/alert per sec, etc. You probably feel really shaky on your feet and it’s a good idea to have someone nearby to make sure you don’t faint again

Oh and 2 more things:

It’s very scary if you don’t know what’s happening. I legit thought I was going blind when my vision went and in a panic- somehow i was able to get to a bathroom until my vision returned to normal

I’m always described as being very pale whenever I pass out or get close to it

I think I was told my pupils expanded a lot one time? Don’t hold me to that tho-

If you DO know what’s happening... it’s funny because you think of it as an inconvenience. Once I was getting blood drawn and I felt my vision start to go and I went “... Ah shit not now, maybe it’ll pass, I don’t wanna bother the nurse...” and hoped it would pass... it did not and eventually I had to go “Heyyyyy, I’m sorry but I feel pretty dizzy... and by that I mean I like can’t see.” and like I was so calm when she pulled the needle out and reclined and got me something to drink but like- i was just “wHOOPS” jkbdjkvbjkf

But yeah this is what it’s like for me at least! Feel free to use these on your charas XD

#fainting tw #writing advice #Nonnies

[tokyoghoose]

forgive these bastards ➤ prologue

summary ➣ when detective akaashi comes across a rather complicated case, he is faced with many challenges along the way. In his attempt to solve the murder of a young woman and a string crimes, he must work beside the reader to learn more about the victim. ( detective au )

theme song ➢ im not a good person - pat the bunny, sleep is for the weak - the dreadnoughts, the quittin kind - eleisha eagle, how do you sleep - himalayas, blow my brains out - tikkle me, when i was done dying - dan deacon, stalkers tango - autoheart, youre nobody until somebody wants you dead - saint motel, kitchen fork - john conte, distant past - everything everything, cough cough - everything everything

warnings ➢ mentions of murder and death, description of blood and gore.

announcements!

here it is! the prologue of ftb! :) I'm super excited to start this series! this is a little shorter than i wanted it to be, but I'm still pretty happy with it.

feedback is appreciated and welcome! requests are open!

—————

"Keiji, it's getting dark. Why not come inside for the night?"

The sun was just over the horizon, the moon coming up to replace it. It's bright—the orange and pink colors. The image is burned into young Akaashi's memory when he looks over. He waves at his mother with a nod before passing the volleyball back to his friends and running over. The scrapes on his palm sting and the bruises on his legs hurt a little, but he doesn't mind the sensation. It feels like freedom—even if he doesn't really understand the full meaning of the moon. This is what he imagines it feels like.

Games to be played with friends and laughter. If this is what life holds then he is more than willing to live it. His naivety holds firm when he grabs his mother hand at the door, being pulled into a brisk hug. She laughs and pats his hair and he thinks it's the kindest gesture in the world. He snuggles closer before pulling away to see dinner on the table. His mother locks up, looking quietly into the city with concerned eyes. She wasn't going to let anyone hurt him, the smile that she cherishes wasn't going to fade as long as she could help it. She turns with a smile, passing him a plastic fork before listening to the adventures Akaashi had gone on that day.

Childhood seems so far now.

———

If you were to tell Akaashi's five year old self that seventeen years later everything he thought about freedom and life was a lie and he would become a detective who took away other's freedom, he'd probably laugh and then cry and cry some more. If you were to tell him that his mother would die so he'd have to be raised by his aunt at the age of thirteen, he'd probably punch you in face in attempt to break your nose—and if you then told him that's the reason he became a detective and went through five grueling years of internships and having to learn how to stomach crime scenes in the first place, he'd make sure to add a swift kick to the shin with it. Even at twenty, if someone—anyone—would have told him that he'd never get sleep again because of the things he'd see day to day, eventually becoming desensitized, but still having nightmares that kept him up all hours of the night—well, he'd probably just brush it off because he thought he'd be different.

News flash: he's not different.

In attempt to rub sleep from his eyes (ironic considering he got maybe an hour), Akaashi yawns, triggering a chain reaction from his assistant. The city is bustling with talk of the latest murder—a social media personality. Twitter is blowing up with the hashtags 'rip' and 'always & forever.' Yet, hardly any of the people tweeting and saying things like: 'always in our hearts, never forget,' didn't know her personally. They knew the internet version of her, the side she showed to the world and not the side she was personally. To the world she is known as an idol—a hero to some.

But everyone has their dark secrets.

The car stops along the house's pavement, the driveway a large circle with a statue in the middle. His first thought is someone was in it for the money, maybe a robbery gone wrong. Stepping out the car, he snaps on some gloves and looks around before being handle the case file from an officer on duty, being caught up to speed.

The house is pristine except for the blood that has dried up on the tiled floor. It's a stark contrast from all the white and gold. Minimalist; he notes. Akaashi skims the file before looking at the body and watching it get zipped up into a black bag before being carried away. All that's left is half an outline and some splatter across the floor.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Just what he needs—more nightmare fuel. But a job is a job no matter how tired he is.

"Alright, let's start at the entrances. Check the windows and doors."

———

Red. Why is there so much red? Whose breathing is that? And why is it so loud?

Your eyes finally focus on the hand outstretched in front of you, widening at the sight. A silent scream escapes past your lips and shakes your body, making you stumble backwards. The shaking hand blocks the view, forcing your eyes away from the scene. The thumping of your heart and blood in your eyes is so deafening that it makes you lightheaded. You felt sick. You were going to vomit, pushing down a gag and covering your mouth.

You look at your hands, willing them to stop shaking in tight fists before looking at the body below you. Blonde hair dyed red from the puddle. A sob wracks through you.

Heaving a heavy breath you weren't aware you were holding and gripping your phone tightly, you dial the police. Your voice shakes when speaking:

"H-help, please. She's dead! "

———

Akaashi rubs at his temple in attempt to soothe an oncoming headache, the dim yellow light at his desk straining his eyes. He looks at the file, nibbling on his lip in irritation. The pictures of the scene and the overall file and personal file just swarms his head with mixed up information and he honestly isn't sure where to start. With a soft sigh he leans back into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest.

The case is gruesome, a red massacre. Victim was stabbed six times in the abdominal, close to gutted even, but the blunt truama to her head shows she was dead before hitting floor. The door hadn't been broken in, the wood and hinges still in place like they hadn't been shaken—perhaps she let them in. The window had been forced open from the inside, the paint that previously sealed it being chipped aggressively against the pane. It could've been some loopy stalker, but the more he looks at the case it's less likely.

His head hurts and he can't focus and it's getting late.

He begins to nipple of his thumb nail, bringing it up to his lips in deep thought. The red strings in his brain trying to connect the dots sooner than it's actually possible. He's smart, but not that smart. His eyes slowly shift to the post-it note beside the biege file, a number scribbled down messily. They had sent you home with an officer to calm down from the shock. It had been about two days now as they waited for the autopsies and inspected, but time was running short and he needed your statement before the case runs cold and slips through his fingers. He'd have to interrogate you, ask you to speak on behalf of your friend. It seems you would know the most about her and her true identity as her emergency contact. Maybe‐ hopefully, you'd help provide answers.

But he hates this part. The part where he has to call traumatized homicide victims and witnesses. He doesn't do well at comforting people, especially when he's the type to cut straight to the point. He doesn't know how to stop someone from crying (because someone always does) and he can never stop himself from saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. He's blunt and yet, he's like a double edged sword. And he knows what they feel because he's been there and he sees it every day, even if he wasn't involved directly. If it haunts him at night, then it must taunt them all day. It's a hard push to get over, and even then the wounds never really heal. Suppose that's why Akaashi keeps pushing to solve cases, even cold ones, because he knows how it feels to be hopeless with a dark mentality. Nothing else matters until the killer is at the mercy of law.

He goes back to gnawing on his abused bottom lip, leaning forward to grab the black office phone before dialing the number. He lets it ring, twice before he hears the line click and a soft, weak 'hello?' He clears his throat, picking up his pen to write down anything he may need. This isn't his first rodeo, afterall.

"Hello, is this l/n y/n? Yes, this is the detective on case. Would you mind coming in to answer a few questions about your friend, Michiko?"

—————

taglist ➣

@izzyphantomgamer @callmeignorance @kenmagi @sawasmura @kagsblueberrymilk

#ive had to rewrite this three times 😔 #tumblr connection sucks #forgive these bastards #akaashi x reader #akaashi oneshot #akaashi imagine #akaashi headcanons #akaashi keiji #hq akaashi #akaashi haikyuu #akaashi keiji imagine #akaashi keiji x reader #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu fanfiction #haikyuu!! imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu smau #haikyuu!! #haikyuu au #haikyuu x reader au #mickie writes

[husky-boi]

It’s Always Been You ~ Chapter 4

Summary: Husk grew up with the casinos of Vegas, and made his living there. This is the story of how he found the joy in life, and a reminder that sometimes true love transcends worlds

Ships: Huskniss (Husk x Arackniss)

Ao3 Link

...they'll always find a way back together. 

Husk lost track of how long it had been since Angel's family started hanging out at the hotel. In all honesty, he hadn't expected them to be around more than a few days, a week tops. He hadn't expected Charlie to let them stay, considering neither Molly or Arackniss were remotely interested in the concept of redemption. The more energetic of the two spent most of her time running around and introducing herself to everyone that came through the front doors, talking a particular interest in Cherri for who knows what reason. Husk didn't care about that. What he cared about was the short, black spider that insisted on spending every evening taking up a seat at the bar.

Arackniss was rarely talkative, and for the first few weeks, their routine was the same. He would sit down at the bar, Husk would slide him a bottle of something he pointed at (usually red wine, sangria, or just straight vodka), take down at minimum five bottles, and push Husk a stack of cash without asking for the price. It was almost always double the actual cost, but by the time he finished counting it out, Arackniss was gone. And that really pissed him off some days.

His voice sounded so damn familiar, and Husk just couldn't figure out why. It was impossible to try and understand it when the spider didn't talk to anyone besides Angel most of the time. So he had to take some kind of action, that much was obvious.

On this particular night, something had obviously been bothering Niss much more than usual, because he about drank the entire stash of wine, vodka, and a few other types that they had. Husk panicked when he watched the other reach into his pocket as typically to pull out the money, he had to say something now or never.

"Don't bother. S'on the house."

Arackniss immediately froze, glancing up to the bartender and quickly searching his eyes for any sign of a trick. "How much of it was poisoned?"

Husk took a few seconds to process the phrase before scoffing. "None of it, I'd lose my fuckin' job if I did that. Can't I just give a loyal customer a discount without it bein' suspicious?"

Apparently not, because the glare of Niss' golden eyes didn't stop. Not when he took the cash out anyway and put it on the table, not when Husk pushed it back at him, not when he reluctantly took the money back and pocketed it again. Somehow despite the anger, Husk was able to see the pain present in them had faded, if only a small bit. And though it hadn't happened in many years, Husk felt the side of his mouth curl into a smile.

"…thanks." Then Arackniss was gone again, and Husk was once again left alone wondering what the hell happened to his heart for it to start beating this fast.

-----

From that point on, the routine changed slightly. Arackniss was slightly more talkative, and though it was rare he said more than one sentence at a time, it was clear that he wasn't quite as standoffish as before. That's progress, and at least when he was talking Husk could focus on his voice more. Though, by this point, he wasn't sure if he was trying to figure out where he'd heard it from, or if he just liked the sound of Niss' voice. Maybe a bit of both.

"Y'ever had Michter's whiskey?" Husk was given a skeptical look. "I know, it's an American brand, but I swear it's good shit. Kinda expensive, but managed to snag a bottle from the black market demons that sneak it from the surface. So you want some?"

Arackniss was really only fond of brands coming from his home country of Italy, with a preference for those in Rome. Still, it didn't stop him from pushing out a glass for it to be poured. Husk knew him better than that, and knocked it aside, reaching under the counter to pick out a bottle for each of them to drink from directly.

"Best shit I ever had, I swear. Couldn't afford it all that much while I was alive, but the good stuff gets you drink twice as fast as cheap booze. Probably somethin' to do with havin' a good opinion on it swaying your thoughts, I don't know."

By the time Husk finished talking, Niss had already taken the top of the bottle off with his teeth (and damn, that was eye-catching everytime it happened), and he was already about halfway done with it. And still drinking. Fuck, this guy could really hold his liquor.

Only once the bottle was finished did Arackniss give a slight shrug, sitting the bottle down. Another few seconds, and Husk swore he nearly passed out when Niss smiled at him.

"Yeah, not bad… For an' American brand."

Husk couldn't help it; he laughed. He actually laughed, for the first time in who knows how many decades. With his eyes closed and wiping tears from them, he missed the way Niss' fur fluffed up at the sound or how the spider's eyes were on him up until Husk was looking back again.

"S-shit.. Next time show me your favorite, and we'll compare then. How about that?"

"Fair 'nough."

-----

It had to have been at least a few months now, of Husk trying to make enough money during the day to cover the free drinks Arackniss would have that evening, of them talking more each night, topics shifting from the hotel, to its patrons, and finally to each other. Stories of how they were during life, their childhood, their hobbies and jobs. Anything, really, but the subject of tonight's discussion was family. Apparently a sensitive topic for both of them.

"I didn't really have much family growin' up. Started off in the foster system, and no matter how much I ran away from all the fucking pricks, they kept dragging me back. I'm telling you, couldn't wait for the day I turned eighteen and they couldn't hold me there anymore."

Arackniss nodded in response, taking some sips of his bottle of wine. Red, obviously, white wine was an abomination. "Wish I could'a done the same. I mean, siblings weren't too bad, Tony and Molls were just as stuck as I was. But my fathe' was pretty damn shit. For about a dozen reasons."

Silence for a few seconds, it was clear he hadn't planned on elaborating. "How's that, then? What'd he do, kill some fuckers?"

The bottle of red wine was sat down in favor of Arackniss scratching nervously at his wrist. "…yeah, you could say that. Bein' part'a the Italian mafia, s'kinda part of the job." Husk raised an eyebrow at that, but made no move to interrupt otherwise. "Had this big casino we ran as a front for the whole business, real easy to hide how much money you're earnin' when everyone spends thousands a day there. Much as I liked runnin' the bar there or playing the games, woulda been better if all that wasn't the reason for it."

Husk nodded in response, and it seemed for the first time he was actually intently listening to a story. He couldn't really help that, anything with gambling drew his interest. "Actually was kinda raised by casinos, sneaking in the back doors and all that. Made a pretty good fuckin' name in poker and craps for myself back then. That’s pretty much how I made my living for a good for years."

It seemed Niss was still too lost in thought to process those words, so Husk gave a gentle shove to his shoulder. He'd already learned he was allowed to do things like that, they were at least sort of close enough. "Alright, you're overthinkin' shit. Spill."

"…Mafia thing was kinda the shittiest family to be born into. And it ain't just killing people and all that, it's that you're not allowed to trust fuckin' anyone.." He sighed, running a hand through his hair, another gesture that made Husk's heart jump into his throat everytime he saw it. "Already told y'about Harold a while ago, but… There was another guy back then, met 'im at the casino. And fuck, he knew the game, was good at it without explanation. Henry kicked 'im out once he found out we… Talked. Banned 'im from the casino completely. Never got to see 'im again. Sometimes wonder what happened to the fucker…"

Husk took a few seconds to process that story. It sounded really, really fucking familiar. "…wouldn' happen to be the Rose D'Oro Casino in Vegas, would it?"

"Yeah, why'd y'ask?"

Suddenly, that familiar voice made a little bit more sense.

He nearly knocked the wine bottle off the table on accident, scrambling to hold it steady as he reached into his pocket with one hand. With a shaking hand, Husk pulled out a very old and faded black and gold die, with a rose in place of the one, placing inbetween them on the table. Naturally, Niss' eyes widened.

"…I think.. This is yours?"

More silence. Uncomfortable silence as they both just stared at the object on the table. And then Husk felt his bowtie being pulled on and, contrary to the feeling he was about to receive a punch, lips were crashing into his and holy shit fucking Arackniss was kissing him-

Husk swore he blacked out for a few seconds, because when he was coherent enough to know what was going on, the kiss was already over and he was lightheaded with both of them grabbing onto each other's shirts.

"…oh my god, it's fucking you-" It took a monumental amount of effort for Husk to just say that at the moment. He was pretty sure every bit of fur on his body was standing up straight in the air, his ears were pressed flat against his head, and damn his tail was moving happily, wasn't it?

Husk could feel his soul leaving his body as Niss smiled at him, truly and openly smiled. "…it's always been you…"

-----

 Soulmates are connected through time and space.

 Sometimes a distance can grow between the two.

 But no matter how far apart they become…

 …they'll always find a way back together.

 For better or worse

 Through sickness and in health

 Two souls were made for each other

 And when they come together

 All the broken pieces find their other halves

 And they are whole once again

-----

Taglist: @lunar-trash @silver-crowned-king @incorrect-hazbin-quotes @im-not-an-alcaholicokmolly @tophattippin @grape-scapegoat

#huskniss #hazbin hotel #husker #husk #arackniss #original post #fic #fluff #its always been you

[dynamic-instability]

In one of my classes we have to write weekly personal narratives about an experience with illness. This week, mine turned into this. It’s probably too personal, and too... immediate?? to turn in to a professor without cutting out a lot of stuff, but not too personal to post online I guess lol

_____________________________

It’s November again.

In 2009 the lights were too bright. Mid-October one morning I woke up to my dad turning on my lights and it was like having to look into the sun while posing for a photo—my eyes wouldn’t stay open, if I forced them to, they couldn’t stay pointed in one direction, they spasmed and hurt. When the light was dimmed, I still saw double. That morning, I showered in the dark, and I remember being scared. They gave me eyedrops that paralyzed my accommodative muscles. In November my pupils were giant discs and I wore reading glasses over sunglasses to look at the computer, and when it was all said and done, the lights were still too bright, and I still saw double.

In 2011 I was tired. There’s fatigue and then there’s fatigue, I learned that Fall. In May of that year I had pulled two all-nighters in a week, and that was the only other time I’d felt this kind of tired, a sensation in about the 30th hour of the second time where it’s like my brain itched. I once saw someone else online describe it as “nausea, but in your head and eyes instead of in your throat and stomach” and that’s the closest anyone else has come to describing it. By November this was happening more and more often. I remember laying down in the corner of the room during a break of Citywide choir and thinking what the hell is wrong with me? I got a cold the next week, and I thought that maybe that was all it was. It wasn’t.

In 2013 I went to the ER for the fifth time in three months of college, and when I wanted to leave before waiting another couple of hours to eventually see a doctor who would tell me once again that they couldn���t do anything to help me, the woman from student life who was there to drive me back to campus made me call my parents on speaker phone and get their permission to leave before she would turn on the car. I had missed more chemistry labs than I could afford to miss without failing, passed out in a voice lesson, was asked by the director to drop out of choir because watching me was distraction when I looked like I was in pain, and if I passed out it would have ruined the concert for everyone. I remember leaving calculus in the mornings mid-class to go to the bathroom and lay on the floor and cry. I remember not being able to lift my hand off the mattress of my dorm room bed. I withdrew from half of my classes on the Tuesday after Thanksgiving, and took the Spring semester off.

In 2014 I had made a promise to myself that I would come back to college full time for that Fall semester just to see if I could do it, and then if I couldn’t I would drop out for good. There was one week where I thought that might be happening. Mid-November. The girls in my dorm had made a fort in the lounge out of sheets and blankets and colorful scarves and I remember laying on the couch through the green-filtered light and feeling the world spin and thinking oh god I still can’t do this. The door opened with a rush of cold air and my friends came in with food for me, since I’d been too sick to go to dinner. They sat with me and helped me with chemistry, offered to type up a paper if I dictated it, told jokes and made me laugh. I took an incomplete in one class, but I passed everything else, just barely scraped through, and came back in January.

In 2015 I just wanted to sleep. I passed out in an elevator and heard familiar voices, concerned voices, as I came to, and I stayed there laying motionless for another minute longer, because as long as I wasn’t awake I didn’t have to keep pushing. I wrote whole pages of completely unreadable ochem notes because my hand wasn’t working any better than my brain, and woke up on the floor and was wheeled out on a stretcher crying. It was dark all the time. My cane slipped on wet leaves and I felt my wrist crunch and there it was, one too many missed organic chemistry labs. I couldn’t stand for an entire choir rehearsal because breathing to sing made me lightheaded. I slept for 16 hours a day. The week before Thanksgiving, I called my mother to tell her I had decided to take another hardship withdrawal, and she sighed. I had applied to transfer schools during my much more optimistic Spring semester and Summer, and the week I left was also the week I found out I’d been accepted.

And so okay now it’s 2019, and it’s October and now November again, semester plan again, dark again. My reading is piling up again, feeling overwhelmed again, laying on my kitchen floor again. But here’s the thing—my health is… fine? Midterm week I didn’t sleep, and yes I passed out twice, but no ER. For the past 18 months, I can count on one hand the number of mornings I’ve been unable to get out of bed because of fatigue. My heart still pounds too hard but my head doesn’t swim every time I sit up. I walk the streets of New York City like mobility has never been a problem. I always take the stairs. My brain doesn’t itch until it’s been 30 hours no sleep.

I couldn’t go to class last week. I lay on the floor of my kitchen and stared up at the ceiling and tried to get up, tried to type out an email to my professors, and I couldn’t do it. I was not too tired. I was not too weak. I was not in pain. I could not move. I try to write and try to write and try to write and the words don’t come. I eat instant oatmeal at 9 PM because I haven’t been to the store in a month. I have lost nearly 15 pounds since moving to New York. I clean the stove for two and a half hours but can’t bring myself to take the dead spider off the side of the bathtub. I check the door lock one-two-three times, pace the floor, sit back down. I do not read Austerlitz. I write a Canvas post for Self and Other but it’s nonsense. I do not write a Canvas post for Accounts of Self. I do not write a Canvas post for Applied Writing. I write a Canvas post for Illness and Disability and somehow forget to post it, the one thing I’ve actually done, because I’m too busy feeling sick at everything I haven’t. I shadow a doctor for the clinical witnessing assignment and everything is fine but when I try to write it up I have a panic attack that leaves me sobbing on my couch and the assignment nine days late and counting. It takes me eight hours to write two pages. I watch 18 hours of YouTube video essays discussing drama about creators I don’t even watch and play a stupid game on my phone for an entire weekend until I’ve spent $25+ in a labyrinth of microtransations and every time I close my eyes I see the moving dots.

In November of 2015 I had three overdue essays for Global Literature, and two more due in the next two weeks. More than half were on books I had not read. My pre-lab wasn’t done for organic chemistry, and I wondered for a moment, if I pretended to pass out, if that would be easier. I stayed up until 4 AM laying on my floor and listening to Hamilton. I was sick, that much is true, but when I felt okay I still sat at my computer and could not bring myself to write.

In 2011 I had so many unfinished assignments for my college-level English class that I resigned myself to failing and I went to school the morning of the final class, but I hid in the stairwell by the choir room until I heard the bell, and I never went back to that class.

2009 was the year my dad stopped being able to yell at me for not doing my homework, because no one, including me, could tell whether it was actually my eyes stopping me.

In 2008 I wrote 6 essays in the 5 days of Thanksgiving break because I had not done any work for Intro to Lit all semester. I pulled it off, somehow, even aced the class because of an unusually lenient late work policy, but what I most remember is the sick feeling of dread as I lay on the floor in the living room staring up at the Christmas tree and feeling invisible sand slip through an invisible hourglass and a vice tightening in my chest.

In 2006 I stayed up almost all night writing a paper and crying my eyes out because I couldn’t find the words to explain to anyone why it had been so impossible for me to get the work done, that I wasn’t being lazy or distracted, I just couldn’t do it. I wasn’t necessarily reading YA novels or watching TV or IMing my friends instead of working, I could sit and stare at a blank word document for 6 hours straight and still it would not get done. Everyone talked about potential, talked about how smart I was, but a gradebook that is half 100’s and half 0’s still averages out to an F. No one, including me, could explain the discrepancy. The logic of that simple math was not lost on me, the knowledge that turning in half-finished or not very good work was mathematically better than not doing it, but that didn’t mean I could do it. Words failed me when I tried to explain the illogic of my particular suffering.

I didn’t hear the term executive dysfunction until I was in my 20s. In retrospect I was tentatively told at 16 that I had “probably some ADHD and OCD”, but that psychiatrist was someone I’d been sent to by a neurologist because he thought she could fix my eyes, and when she said she couldn’t, I stopped making appointments. After I got sick, physically sick, the lines blurred between what was causing what, to the point where even I have no idea. Two of the Novembers missing here are ones I spent at CC, on the block plan where I only took one class at a time. My physical health arguably improved a little after transferring in January of 2016, but mostly it didn’t, not until Spring of 2018 at least. And you can see that evidence in dropped blocks, concussions from passing out onto hard surfaces, a couple of incompletes taken when viral illnesses (or concussions) compounded my other problems. What the block plan changed was the way things pile up, lessened the struggle of constant task switching between classes. (Admittedly, I also had fewer papers when taking mostly science classes. Writing takes much more energy, and it’s much harder to convince myself it doesn’t have to be perfect to be worth submitting.) At CC nothing ever really reached the level of catastrophe. Some of that is purely the ability to drop a single block, meaning when it was my physical health that was the problem, I didn’t lose a whole semester, just one class, then reset. But I should have realized sooner that the block plan wouldn’t account for the level of improvement if my physical health had really been the only barrier.

So we’re back to now. Grad school. November again. Dark again. Semester plan again. Too much writing again. Crushing dread again. Dysfunction again. Panic attack in the middle of the night increasingly elaborate organizing rituals scream of the subway tracks in my mind can’t stop can’t start can’t breathe can’t move burnout again. This time without the explanation of chronic fatigue to fall back on.

I have my tricks, have actually learned somewhat to cope in the past 18 years. Schedules help, break tasks into pieces that are as small as possible. Mindfulness meditation. Forgive yourself when it’s not perfect. Get started with something easy, set a timer for 20 minutes and only work for those 20 minutes and then let yourself stop if you want to (and surprisingly often, you won’t want to, sometimes that momentum is all it takes). If you work better in the night, work in the night, who cares what society says your sleep schedule should be. When switching tasks, physically get up and move to a different location. Allow yourself to procrastinate on work with other work if that’s what you have to do. Delete the stupid games from your phone. One or two missed assignments are not actually the end of the world, if you let yourself view it as piling up, you won’t be able to get anything done, so if you absolutely have to, just move through and move on.

It’s not a catastrophe, this November. It’s a fight, but it’s not a catastrophe. I read Austerlitz and forgive myself for skimming it. I write a Canvas post and forgive myself when it’s only 500 words and doesn’t make complete sense. I read Toni Morrison and Édouard Louis and classmates’ discussion posts about Deaf culture and identity and remember why this matters in the first place, that it’s not just a series of assignments to overwhelm me, it’s a series of interesting complicated exhausting important thoughts and questions. I get it done. Some of it. Most of it. I let myself sleep. I breathe. I remember to be grateful because I can get out of bed in the mornings and take the stairs. I am okay.

#chronic illness #executive dysfunction #chronic fatigue #College and chronic illness #personal lol

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

BLESSED OKAY! SO! After Shiro is brought back to life and everyone returns to earth, reuniting with their families, Lance continues to be wracked with guilt every time he looks at Shiro. He is beating himself up over the fact that he couldn’t help Shiro in the astral plane and if it wasn’t for Allura, it would’ve been too late. He struggles to look Keith and Shiro in the eye and the guilt starts to have negative effect on him, to the point where it makes him ill. Cue Keith taking care of him (1)

(Anon, great ass prompt?? I loved writing this! i havent written voltron in a while, so please forgive any rustiness but aaa!! I’m back in vld hell lol)

He’d dreamt of this moment for so long.

He dreamt about leaping into his mama’s arms as they reunited, cuddling with his hermanos and hermana and his tios and tias and his sobrinos and sobrinas and his abuelo and abuela. He dreams about the moment he feels while again. Lance fantasises about this moment and the absolute sunshine that would reign upon him as it happened. But when it does actually happen he feels so empty and broken and it feels so wrong.

He shouldn’t be celebrated. He’s no hero.

Lance has caused so much pain. When he walks into his living room he sees his abuela’s altar with his picture next to his papa’s. When he looks into his family’s eyes he knows that there’s something in them that has been broken and it can’t be fixed. It can be taped back together but the damage has been done. It can never be quite whole.

Lance did this to the family who worked to the bone, all scraping just enough cash to send him to the Garrison. He looks at his beloved mama who left her entire life behind for him, moving to America for the sake of her precious mijo. She looks much older, and her eyes are heavy.

Lance is at his breaking point.

His heart can’t take much more.  In fact, he was surprised that it took as much as it did. Lance had definitely felt extreme lows before, there’s no denial in that, but this has to be the lowest he’s ever felt in a while. His first heartbreak, feeling incompetent, feeling left out and unwanted, feeling so so alone, especially with Keith gone for so long, a near death experience he hadn’t quite processed and most of all, a tremendous feeling of guilt that seems to plague his brain.

Every time he so much as moves he can feel the guilt rushing through him. He can’t pour himself a glass of water, because his hand is shaking so much. He feels a little bit sick every time he so much as glimpses over at Keith or Shiro.

He’s always known he wasn’t the brightest; and especially next to super geniuses like Pidge or Hunk. But he never thought he was this stupid, so stupid as to not even piece together what Shiro was trying to say to him. It was so painstakingly obvious when he thought about it, and it nearly cost his dear friend his life. And he hates himself for it.

In his dreams he sees a world where it was too late. He watches Shiro cease to move, he can hear Keith’s agonising screams as his leader is hauntingly still. Void of life. He can vividly see his friends’ tears and wails in grief for their friend. All because of him. And when he wakes his pillow is wet and the room is dark and it’s nowhere near time to get up, but he can’t fall back asleep, and all he can do is fall deeper and deeper into the swirling abyss of guilt he finds himself further and further entangled in.

He’s numb. He doesn’t sleep, he doesn’t eat. Lance had been most vocal about missing home, but now that it’s finally here he cannot feel a thing.

He’s so angry. He doesn’t understand why he can’t just feel happy. Lance told himself he would finally feel happy when he got home; and why is it that he still feels so blue? Was there any hope for him? Maybe this was all there was for him.

Lance woke up on an air mattress on his bedroom floor, and momentarily he felt warmth. He feels the sunshine basking on his face coming through his window, and he looks up to see the glow in the dark stars plastered onto his ceiling. He saw his Star Wars and Star Trek posters still perfectly in tack. No one touched his room since his disappearance. And that’s when the warmth began to conduct away from him and he’s filled with that cold feeling again.

He got up slowly, looking if Keith was awake–finding his bed empty. As he had no family to reunite with on Earth, he decided to come with Lance–besides, he wanted to finally try out the Varadero beach Lance kept on raving about. Then Lance became aware of a pounding headache and the hot and cold tidal waves swashing up and down his bloodstream. He shivered violently, feeling absolutely miserable. He knew it was bound to happen sooner or later, considering the maximum two hours of sleep he was getting per night.

Lance forced himself up slowly, coughing harshly into the crook of his arm. He shuffled into his kitchen to find his Abuela hovering over Keith and continuously offering him more and more food, to which Keith was trying to politely refuse. It had been their fourth day now, and his Abuela had already fallen in love with Keith.

“Ay, mijo! You are so skinny! You need more food in you, no?” She insisted, a plateful of eggs in her hand.

“O-oh, no m'am, I’m really fine..Thank you so much though–”

“Abuela, él está lleno!” Lance chimed in, trying to rescue Keith, cringing at how raspy his voice was, as he sat himself down in the chair next to Keith.

Keith blinked at the croaky nature of his voice, and the two semitones his voice seemed to drop.

“Oh, fine!” His Abuela gave in, giggling a little as she leaned in to give Lance a quick kiss on the to of his head.

“Uh, Gracias,” Keith piped up as she began to walk away.

He raised an eyebrow, “..So..you’re not going to poke fun at my pronunciation?”

Lance jolted a little, having zoned out and looked at Keith, before a pang of guilt hit him and he couldn’t look at him, only being able to see the sorrowful Keith in his dreams, “U-uh, yeah, crappy accent, Keith–hh–wait, sorry..”

Lance turned away from Keith, cupping two hands around his face to four ticklish, soft yet harsh sneezes.

“Salud!” His mother called out as she placed bacon on her son’s plate, booping him on the nose as she did.

“Gracias,” Lance smiled half heartedly, missing his mother and abuela’s cooking dearly but feeling so sick he didn’t have an appetite.

Keith looked suspicious, but also concerned, “You alright, man?”

He nodded, trying to stay calm and avoid any worry over him, it’d just make him feel worse, “Yeah, yeah–my nose is just bothered by sleeping with you all night. Well uh, next to you–near you–in..in the same room as you.”

Keith rolled his eyes playfully, but looked away from Lance with a slight blush on his face, a silence falling between them as they continued to eat.

“Mijo, you’ve barely touched your food!” His mother exclaimed, “Is there something wrong with it?”

Lance shook his head, smiling weakly, “No, mama, of course not–I’m just taking it slow because I know I’ll eat too much too quickly!”

“We don’t want a repeat of Marco’s birthday dinner,” Veronica giggled as she passed by the kitchen, starting to get ready for their planned beach day.

His mother seemed to be happy with that, and left to get ready too, leaving just him and Keith. Lance could feel Keith trying to sneakily eye him up, and he could feel the anxiousness creep up, fearing that Keith was starting to resent him for not realising what he had nearly done to Shiro.

“You sure you’re okay, buddy? You look..kind of pale, you get much sleep?” Keith asked quietly.

“Yeah, I slept like a log!” He lied.

“Look..Lance, you haven’t been able to last two seconds without zoning out, look at me, please?” He asked gently.

Lance began to fiddle with his hands nervously, “Im fin–”

He burst into a sudden coughing fit, whipping away from him quickly and doubled over into his arm, the coughs hurting his chest. He began to feel a little lightheaded from the lack of oxygen entering his body.

Keith patted his back firmly, until the coughing eventually subsided. Lance had been so drained and exhausted by the fit he leaned against the kitchen chair, panting and trying to regain a steady tempo with his breath. Whilst Lance was weakened Keith placed a cool hand on his forehead, “Quiznack, Lance–you’re burning up! You need to head right to bed!”

“No!” Lance hissed–sharp as a knife, causing Keith to retreat just a little.

Lance looked at his hurt expression, and sighed, feeling his heart fill with self loathing and regret. “I’m..I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, Keith–I didn’t mean to..to yell at you like that. I just..”

He pressed his lips together to try and suppress any emotion. “We’ve only..got a week together and I can’t ruin this. I ruin everything and I promised Sara and Geronimo that I’d build a sandcastle with them and I cannot stand to hurt anyone anymore,” He said quietly, a stark contrast to the lively and bubbly Lance that Keith knew. This Lance was deflated. And tired.

Keith softened a little, feeling very torn. Lance did only have a week with his family. It was precious time. But he was genuinely so sick, and he was worried. “God dammit Lance..Fine. But if you get worse..we have to come home, okay?”

“I’ve gotta get dressed,” Lance said hurriedly, speaking with Keith only making him feel worse and worse. Keith’s concern was not warranted, he didn’t deserve to be cared for and worried over, after everything he had done.

“Wh–wait, Lance, I was gonna ask–” Keith tried uselessly, but he was gone.

“..what you meant by ‘I can’t hurt anyone anymore’”, Keith finished to himself, sighing, unable to hide the concern etched onto his face.

Lance had barely heard Keith walk into his bedroom, all dressed for the beach.

“You should take something, at least,” Keith suggested, completely taking Lance off guard and breaking his trance.

He jolted a little, “Huh? No–I’m fine.”

He twisted and angled his body away from Keith, three ticklish sneezes into his hands.

“Bless you–look, Lance, uh..”

Suddenly the door busted right open, revealing two excited and bubbly children.

“Lance!” They squealed with delight, bouncing up to him and giving him a tight hug.

“Hey you guys!” Lance beamed, a sudden shift from his more solemn, dull exterior just then, suddenly back to the bright and bubbly self he usually was. But Keith knew there was something not quite right. Something was missing. He wasn’t really whole.

Lance began to push them off him gently, stifling a cough against his sleeve, “C'mon, guys, we’re wasting precious sunlight! Let’s go!”

The two children took a hand each, skipping merrily out of the house, one of them grabbing for Keith’s hand.

Sara smiled brightly at him, “Are you Tio’s friend?”

Keith managed a small smile back, “Yeah, yeah I am.”

He wished he could be. He seemed to be drifting away.

Lance could feel the rippling of the ocean. He felt light. He felt graceful as he swam across, feeling the oceans warm embrsce against his fingertips. It hugged gently at his legs as he threaded, looking upon the vivid blue sky. He finally felt at peace, where he finally belonged at last. All he could hear was the sweet swirling of the water, and all he could see was the light sparkling on its beautiful blue entirety. For a second he felt whole.

He let himself relax, for the first time in weeks, floating upon the surface of the ocean and blue and letting his burdens fall away for a second. He felt nothing but tranquility.

And suddenly a sudden tickle at the back of his throat and he forced himself upright, the water splashing against his face as he doubled over into a forceful, violent coughing fit that seemed to stab knives into his chest every time he coughed.

He felt a pair of hands holding him steady, the one of the hands left him to rub up and down his back soothingly.

“Lance, are you okay? Maybe you should sit down..” Keith suggested softly, his eyes so kind that Lance wanted to cry.

He didn’t understand this. He didn’t understand how because of him Keith nearly lost one of the most important people in his life, and yet he still showed him so much kindness. He wondered that maybe this is some twisted joke life is playing on him, tugging at his heart strings and causing that deep hole of guilt to only widen more. Lance didn’t deserve this.

“I’m fine–” He sneezed twice. “I just..drank some sea water.”

“Lance! Come here please!” Geronimo called out, waving over to him, having built the foundations to their sandcastle.

“Coming!” Lance replied, giving Keith a small smile as he began to swim towards them, and began to help them build their sand castle.

As he sat next to them, he was overcome by another two ticklish, forceful sneezes he directed away from them and into his arm.

“Salud! Are you okay Lance?” Geronimo asked.

He managed a weak smile. “Yeah! Someone here just reeks!” He joked, reaching in to tickle his nephew.

Despite his feigned brightness, he felt absolutely miserable, on a physical sense and a mental sense. He was angry that he couldn’t just suck it up just for a little while, devote himself to his family and just have a good time. He had started to wonder if he ever could again, or if it was too late for him.

But he was given some sense of hope when his niece grabbed for his hand in the sweetest way imaginable, and he felt some warmth ignite within his heart and he knew maybe, just maybe, there was still hope for him.

Time had begun to pass and a fiery lustre began to cascade down onto Veradero beach. It was quiet, save for the sound of seagulls and the tides coming in and occasionally the sound of his family’s laughter.

As the day began to fade so did Lance’s energy, and while he could feel like his blood was boiling it was like his skin was covered by a layer of bitter ice. He watched the sunset, and the way its blazing hues rippled against the ocean. It was magnificent.

He could feel the warm rays of the sun soaking into his skin, and he felt at home again. He felt safe. Secure.

Then his mind took a turn and he wondered what Shiro felt like trapped in that astral plane. Perhaps he felt unsafe. Insecure. Trapped in this dark, dark place. Maybe it was cold. And bitter. And he was all alone.

A wave of anxiety and guilt crashed against his heart, causing him to tense up and claw at the material of his shorts. He bit his lip, his breath beginning to pick up as that blanket of guilt began to engulf him once again.

“Hey man,” Keith greeted as he sat down next to Lance. “Quiznack, that sunset is really something, huh?”

Lance looked up to see him, and his nose was so sensitive the slight shift in pressure caused his breath to hitch. He had been sitting with his knees up, so he buried his face into his knees and sneezed harshly four times, a very forceful and sickly sounding fit compared to his usual tickly, soft fits.

Keith frowned, “Bless you. That doesn’t sound too good, Lance.”

Lance glanced over at him, but he couldn’t bare to look at his kind, warm gaze. It made him feel like he was deceiving him.

Keith tensed a little, and sighed, looking away from Lance and into the sunset, “Alright. Just tell me, what did I do?”

Lance blinked, “What?”

He shifted to face him, “Tell me what I did, Lance. You can’t even look at me. You’ve been so odd around me lately. What’s going on? Look, if you’re mad, you’re mad–and I’m sorry. But I can’t fix things if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“I’m not..I’m not mad. And..it’s not your duty to fix,” Lance murmured, feeling uncomfortable now he was on the verge of revealing the more vulnerable side to him.

“What do you mean? Of course it is. If there’s something that’s bothering you about me then I have to fix it.”

Lance bit his lip hard as tears began to well up in his eyes, beginning to cloud his vision, “I..It’s me. It’s all me. It’s all, stupid me who can do nothing but mess everything up. You can’t..can’t fix this.”

A few tears managed to spill from his eyes, which he aggressively wiped away with humiliation.

Keith was alarmed, “Wait..what? What are you even talking about, Lance?”

Lance didn’t even know what came over him, but the waters had been pushing the dam too long and it was about time it burst.

And it all came crashing through.

The tears couldn’t seem to stop falling down his cheeks, “Shiro. He tried telling me. Only I was too stupid to see. Pidge and Hunk are out here cracking and creating algorithms daily and i can’t even figure out a message that is point blank in front of me. We are meant to be saving lives and I nearly lost Shiro his because I was too stupid.”

“God, I don’t even know why I’m here half the time, in this seventh wheel that nobody asked for–I have nothing to offer and the only thing I have ever contributed to the team seems to be mistakes everyone has to go and clean up.”

“Every time I see you or Shiro I feel like my heart is being stabbed because every time I’m reminded by what I nearly did to you and him. And yet you’re still so so nice to me and you’re so soft and so gentle and every time I look at you I feel sick to the stomach because you don’t even realise what you’re looking at.”

Keith couldn’t do anything else but just stare at him for a good minute. There was so much just said and it needed a little while to process. Keith was in a state of disbelief, unable to comprehend how he had never known. How he had never even realised that this is how he felt. How someone like Lance could feel this way.

His brain was an absolute storm of clashing thoughts but eventually it calmed down, so he could finally collect himself, “I know what I’m looking at, Lance.”

Lance still couldn’t look at him.

“I’m looking at a guy who loves so deeply and cares so much for his team mates. I look at a guy who works so hard, goes the extra mile and achieves more than anyone ever expected from him. I see the heart of Voltron, who we certainly don’t deserve, but desperately need.”

He looked away with a slight flush on his cheeks, “I see a guy who I’ve grown to care about. Maybe a lot more than I thought my heart was capable of.”

Lance couldn’t really say much because he was still crying, and all he was capable of was pulling Keith close to him into this hug, burying himself into his warmth and clinging on to him to make himself feel safe.

“I’m cradling you in my arms,” Keith joked weakly, “You better not forget this time.”

“I never did,” Lance whispered softly.

Keith blinked, incredulous, both feeling kind of annoyed, but also moved at the same time.

But he couldn’t dwell on that feeling because he had just become aware of the intense heat his friend was radiating.

He pulled Lance away slightly, enough so that he could lay a hand on his forehead, “Quiznack! Lance, we need to get you home..”

Lance’s mother came plodding along the beach, towards them, “Are you boys alright?”

Keith shook his head, “Lance has a fever, I think–he hasn’t been feeling well all day and I think it’s just gotten so much worse.”

His mother’s eyes widened in alarm, placing a hand on her son’s cheek, worry etched on her face, “Ay, mijo, you’re so sick! You always do this..”

“I just..didn’t want to disappoint anyone again, mama,” Lance whispered softly, voice croaky and weak.

“Mi amor, you never did. There has never been a day where I have never been proud of you, now, let’s go home,” She reassured, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead as Keith guided Lance to his feet, beginning their journey home.

Keith tucked Lance into his covers (after much fighting over Lance taking the bed, there was no way Lance would let his guest take the floor, and there was no way that Keith would let his sick friend take the floor–and one of them was currently stringer and healthier than the other, and they won) he laid over a cool cloth over his head.

“That feel better?” He asked softly.

“Much,” Lance muttered.

Keith absentmindedly ran his hands through Lance’s soft, messy hair, making a map in his mind of all the features of his face, gazing at him with all his attention focused on him.

“Lance?”

“Mm?”

“You know there was nothing you could have done, right? That Shiro would not want you to make yourself this sick worrying and guilting over something that was not your fault?”

“It doesn’t make it not my fault, though.”

“But it wasn’t. You put this burden on yourself.”

Keith smiled softly, “Lance, you love the universe so much you would much rather blame yourself for its horrors. It’s what makes you a hero. But you can’t save everybody, Lance. It sucks. It does, but you can’t. You’ve got so much hope and you’ve got to hang on to that, because sometimes it’s all we really have, and we can’t lose that. You need to guide us through the dark.”

“You gotta look after yourself too, buddy.”

Lance smiled feverishly, “I feel a lot lighter.”

He fell asleep shortly after that. Keith did too eventually, a few hours later they woke to a harmonious melody. The lively and bright timbre of a traditional Cuban folk song.

Keith wrapped Lance up in a blanket and slowly walked him out to the family backyard where they joined in on the music. The night was alive with the sound of Marco’s maracas and Veronica’s guiro and Lance’s guitar. It finally felt like the moment he had fantasised about in his dreams. There was a milky twilight above them but Lance could feel the sunshine reigning upon them. And when he looked at Keith he didn’t feel sick, he felt so alive.

And for the first time in a few weeks he felt free.

#lance mcclain #keith kogane #langst #klance #klangst #vld lance #vld keith #voltron #whump #voltron s6 spoilers #voltron spoilers #sickfic #vld #voltron legendary defender #prompts #lance's family

[rayomz]

to elaborate two weekends ago i was playing spla2n during the splatfest and after a while the players' names were getting harder and harder to read and everything was mushing together. it was kind of blurry, kind of doubled, and the lights would glare really bad especially in my peripheral vision, i thought maybe i should eat something and take a nap so i made a sandwich and it was kind of "dreamy"? very slow and unreal. i felt better afterwards and my vision eventually came back. last weekend it was pretty much the same but i also had a tension headache (which isnt unusual, ive had tension headaches for years, always on saturdays) stayed in bed all day, had some eggs for lunch, and went back to bed.i woke up from a nap my headache was still there and i was very shaky. i ate dinner and took a shower but midway through i was getting dizzy again and my vision was going blurry so i got out and got dressed which required WAY too much movement which made me even dizzier and at this point i couldnt see at ALL, during "the splatfest" i could still see well enough to make a sandwich but here i couldn't see ANYTHING, i had to touch the walls to find where the couch was along with vague shapes of colours and then i pased out. after that i was 100% back to normal, albeit drenched in sweat, even my headache completely went away. i had passed out once before in middle school and it felt exactly as it did last week. didn't get it checked out then either lmao

@bombcollar i was told it might be myblood sugar too, and then it was an isolated incident, like yeah, maybe i was feeling sick in those two instances bc of whatever but now every single day since saturday, thats five days, ive been dizzy and idk when ill be able to see a doctor,i dont even have a doctor, last time i was still seeing my pediatrician lmao. 

nothing lately has been terrible, im not nauseous or blind, no headaches, just dizzy and lightheaded. but today ive been a bit disoriented, i couldn't draw today and didn't know what to do so i just grinded in the fr coliseum bc thats nice, brainless, and autonomous so i did that while watching st on twitch (or i guess kept it as background noise) and after a while i just zoned out and i kept zoning out on absolutely nothing which is st i never do. and also this morning i was logging into twitter and at first i typed in my pw incorrectly like, ok, ill retype it but as i was typing it i was stuck for like a minute bc i forgot. i forgot my password to a site i use daily that i have memorized through muscle memory. i did manage to remember it ("uhh lets try this this sounds right maybe i think. i hope") but ive been uncharacteristically spacey today

im hoping its some sort of deficiency bc i have an awful diet but ive come to realization that it could very well be diabetes but i obviously hope not lmao

also when i DO eat its very very very brief relief. im lightheaded, eat something , feel normal for five seconds, then go back to being lightheaded

#my grandma thinks it sounds like vertigo but its definitely food based i think #if i misspell anything im still kinda spaced out rn i can see fine but im not paying attention to anything ??? #everything is done thru muscle memory which is tricky w a uhhhh on-screen keyboard

[writidk-blog]

there’s nothing you can do;

anonymous requested:

Could you do one where Justin has problems with Seth again and reader is pretty hot headed so she storms into there and Justin tries to stop her but since she's black belt in taekwondo she beats Seth up and when she turns her back he attacks her? Thanks!! I love your writing so so muchhhh

author’s note: honestly. oh my god. I am sorry it’s a bit late? hopefully it was worth the wait man but it was a real experience writing this one!! AAAAAA i don’t think i will babble much on this note buT THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS! also is this long idk im sorry

I knew today wouldn’t be any different. People passing by and greeting others, classes where I can barely keep my eyes a little bit open, and of course, like the past week, Justin not making an appearance even on the last period.

I knew very well where he was. Knowing him like I do, I probably know as well what he is doing currently. The only thing I didn’t know, was the reason behind of the disappearance.

Walking down the hall I noticed the group of people I was aiming at since the start of the day. Not missing a second, I immediately walked over there and saw how Dempsey spotted me right away, the look on his face was a mix of worry and tiredness.

“Where is he?” I asked the whole group and they stared at me, not wanting to expose their friend’s hiding place. Waiting a little while before letting my temper get over me, I clenched my fists and sighed, “Okay, knowing where he is, why is he not here?” Monty was opening his mouth until Bryce shushed him out.

“Don’t play dumb Y/N, if you know where he is there is no way you don’t know the reason he’s been playing dead.” The chuckle coming out of Bryce’s mouth made me shiver, though I was still holding myself from doing anything that would get me suspended to that creep. He also is the only way I get to communicate with Justin or just being updated with his situation, as much as I hate to admit that.

“I seriously don’t.”

“Not my problem then.” Bryce played a small smirk on mouth and I felt my whole body tensing, I hate that guy. Zach probably noticed the way I suddenly acted and shifted his body so he was standing in front of me, taking Bryce out of my point of view.

“He’s having problems at home.” He breathed out and I looked at him, needing to raise my head up a bit. Shaking my head, I raised my voice “Not possible, Justin told me Seth le-“

“He didn’t. Justin told you that only for you stop worrying so much.” Feeling my body burning with anger, I looked at Zach and had nothing to say. It wasn’t his fault Justin was acting that way, and it also wasn’t Justin’s fault that he didn’t know what else to do.

Exhaling loudly, I thanked Zach and left as quickly as I can the school territory, every inch of my body was aching and burning, wanting only to punch something, or someone specifically.

Driving to Bryce’s, it was no surprise that Justin was the one to open the door for me.

“How could you hide that from me?!” I pushed him backwards, yelling at him frustratingly. He took my arms in his hands, trying to stop my movements but of course not succeeding in doing so as I continued to throw little slaps and punches across his chest.

“I didn’t want you involved.” He said so calmly so I would listen to him and focus on his words, making me sigh in defeat and take a step back from him, turning around. “What did he do?” I wasn’t able to look at him, too ashamed from getting so angry easily.

“Nothi-“

“Don’t fucking lie Foley!” I turned around and pointed at him, calling him out for his bluff. He looked pissed, that wasn’t something I’m going to deny, but I was hurt. Hurt that the person I cared for couldn’t trust me enough in sharing his deepest problems and secrets, hurt that he felt more secure in this unfamiliar place managed by probably the cruelest people, rather than me.

Hurt that the person I loved, was hurt. And I knew nothing about it.

“He threatened me, saying if my foot stomped anywhere near his property, he is going to bash my head on the floor.” His voice was so stern and cold, but his eyes were watering at the thought of those events, and I hated every bit of that. “My mother did nothing, sat on the couch and sniffed another line.” Tiny voice cracks were heard and I boiled. Not at him, definitely not mad at him anymore, but at that meth head and his so called mother.

Stepping closer, I locked him in my embrace. Hugging him tightly as I felt his right hand stroking my hair while his left one keeping me close to his figure. He wasn’t crying, maybe tearing up, but not crying. He had nothing to cry for, not like he wasn’t used to that kind of attention, or that it overwhelmed him. The only thing that made him really observe the situation is how much the person he was holding cared, like no one else did, not even his own birth giver.

I shifted backwards a little, letting myself look into his face, while his face hasn’t moved an inch. “They can’t treat you like that,” He looked down at me and did nothing but look deep into my eyes, “I won’t let them.” A soft sigh escaped his lips as I have seen him put the saddest smile on his face. He caressed my cheek with his hand, “There’s nothing you can do.”

Remembering all the moments he had went through because of them, all the times he suffered because they were only thinking about their own ass and about the fastest way to get high, all the times he was sitting on my porch crying because all he wanted was the pure love of a mother and for god’s sake some normal family attention and care, like every kid deserves.

Letting go of him I felt myself slowly losing it again, sighing. I turned around and walked towards the door, “Where are you going?” His voice was filled with a sprinkle of concern.

“Doing something.”

“How the hell will you do that?” He raised his voice and I heard his steps coming closer as I went through the door and looked for my car keys. “Having a black belt in taekwondo must have its own perks in this case.” Yelling back at him, leaving him stunned as I entered my car and drove away from the Walker’s mansion.

I felt the rush of adrenaline and knocked harshly on the door, feeling my knuckles already turning red and getting scratched a bit. ‘COMING! COMING YOU FUCKERS CALM DOWN!’ Was heard on the other side of the door, and I was trying to calm myself down but there was no luck in that. The moment Seth opened the door I couldn’t help but punch him hard right in the face. “Ow! What the fuck?!” He groaned as he almost fell and started stumbling backwards.

Entering further to the house, I kicked him right in between his legs and he fell down on two, yelling out in pain. “Who the fuck are you?!” He said, still not being able to open his eyes as his hands covered his face, focusing on the agonizing pain he must felt.

“You think you can threat Justin? A boy that isn’t even your own in a place you do nothing but jack off and snort some lines?!” Yelling at him I noticed a figure coming out of room, his mother covering her own mouth as she just stood there. I turned to look at her as she was doing the best thing she could, which was nothing.

“Are you his little girlfriend? Is that it?” I didn’t notice he was looking at me through a nose bleed and one black eye, too swollen to even open it. Chuckling with his raspy voice he tried to stand up but I pushed him down with my leg, leaving it on his chest. “Whether I am or not, you have no right to treat him like that.” I whispered it getting as close as I can to his face and pushing my leg forward into his chest, putting all my weight on that leg.

“Y/N,” I heard a panting voice behind me, “Stop.” But I didn’t. I know it was Justin who was begging me to stop, he probably went on saying that but I didn’t hear him as I was raising my foot to his neck, choking him a bit. “You’re,” Seth coughed out as he was struggling to breathe, “a fucking psycho.”

Kicking his face harshly, Justin came up behind me and took me far away from Seth’s lying figure. I released myself from his grip and standing right in front his mother. “And you,” she let out a tiny cry as tears kept streaming down her face, “how dare you keeping that meth head around anywhere near your son?” She walked backwards, not looking at me until her back hit the wall, mumbling sorry for over twenty times. “Your sorry isn’t worth anything,” I walked back to Justin, going away from there, “it’s unbelievable that you even feel worthy of being someone’s mother.”

As I walked towards Justin, I felt a sharp hand on my ankle, making me fall down, letting out a loud yell as seconds later Seth was tackling me down with a sick smile. Justin was coming at us until his mother pushed him outside and closed the door on him, while Seth lowered his head towards my own, pushing his whole body weight on me as I struggled beneath him, yelling. “You weak little bitch,” I felt a harsh slap as my head turned to the right, my instincts immediately noticing the bottle so close to my right hand. “You think you can come here,” another slap, I yelled out in pain, throwing my right hand forward to get close to the bottle but no luck, “and do whatever the fuck you please?” He laughed out as he held my head in a tight grip and hit it on the floor. Feeling lightheaded, I didn’t care about the other hits I took, only noticing a figure walking behind him, raising an object and hitting Seth’s head with it.

Justin’s mother let out a loud yell as she was touching my body, her hands shaking. Hearing the endless knocks on the door, I felt my body being dragged towards the sound, a soft click. Justin was in a second right next to me, his mother telling him to leave fast before Seth woke up. Maybe I was quite of out of it, but I still felt nothing for couple of seconds, figuring it was Justin who was worried about his mother, not knowing how she is going to survive it, not knowing what to do.

I felt my body being carried away and put back in the backseat of a car, and everything was blurry.

Waking up, the first thing I saw was the clear white ceiling. Grunting, I looked to the side, noticing a chocolate ruffled hair lying beside my bed, using his arm as a probably-not-comfortable pillow. Taking in the fact I was in the hospital, I took my hand and played with his hair. The moment he was fully awake he suddenly lifted himself up, eyes red and open wide with surprise. I smiled at him softly and he just looked at me, not doing anything, not changing his hard expression.

“It was really stupid what you did there Y/N.” I didn’t let a word, letting him speak for once and accepting everything he thought, respecting his anger and worry. “You could’ve been hurt even way worse, the doctors were like ‘Oh, she’s going to make it with some mild concussion’ but there’s nothing ‘Oh, quite sweet’ about it?”

He stood up and paced around the room, hands moving with every word that came out of his mouth. Eventually, he looked back at me, scared and worried, also angry and upset with my actions. “I know I was reckless, but he deserved it.”

“You weren’t supposed to be the one to do something about it.”

“But I did, and I would do it again if it meant keeping you safe.” He sighed, sitting next to the bed again and looked at me with a soft expression. Looking at him, “Don’t think for a moment I didn’t think you could handle it,” I whispered and he looked at me, confusion coming up softly to his face, “but that doesn’t mean I am not going to help you handle it. And I did, we did.” He laughed, raising my own hand to his lips and kissing it so softly, as if a swift move and it was going to melt under his delicate touch.

“How are you feeling?” His voice was gentle, his warm breath against my hand making me feel warm and relieved, smiling tenderly at him. “I would feel better with some cuddles?” Chuckling a little at my comment, he stood up and moved himself to the bed, lying next to me. I giggled a little as he struggled to make himself feel comfortable and shifted my body so half of it was leaning on him, resting my head on the crook of his neck.

I felt his long dainty fingers playing with the ends of my hair, his mouth kissing my forehead and resting his cheek on my head. “I’m still not fine with what you’ve done.”

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“But I’m glad you’re okay,” he softly whispered, “even more thankful to have you.”

#justin foley imagine #justin foley #zach dempsey imagine #zach dempsey #13rw #13rw imagine #13 reasons why #13 reasons why imagine #thirteen reasons why #thirteen reasons why imagine #th1rteen r3asons why #jf x r

[noxrynne]

im doing my best in school but tbh ive gotten to the point where if i dont meet the grade average the actual school wants me to have in order to accept me ive kind of just accepted that i’ll be kinda fucked and try to push through stuff until i give up

idk a lot of it feels like im being set up for failure pretty often. i have a schedule to check things that meets the req to check x times a week but stuff is being assigned on the inbetween days to be due on the days i check and i jsut dont have the time to do it (or there’s a bunch of new guidelines introduced after the posted assignment by four days and by then i already turned in what i did and i get marked down b/c of the late addendum) i regret taking 4 courses and wish i took 3 or 2 but i couldnt do that since the deal was i take a full course load with this school and make a 2.5 minimum to be accepted to the actual, real school. maybe i shouldnt have cowered out of the arrangement i couldve had where i got to the physical school and have physical classes and live in an apartment. b/c. i think if i did that id be doing a lot better in them. i just freaked out b/c i dont do well alone (i get extremely paranoid/scared and with where my mind was going i didnt want to be alone). online just feels really difficult for me. its hard to keep track of everything. its hard to remember where x, y, or z is ‘cuz they’re all buried under seven different links that are different between the classes. sometimes the textbook fails and crashes and you lose all your progress in terms of it keeping track that you’re reading and doing the dumb 30 question quizzes inside of it. so then it’s like another four hours down the drain.   then it’s like “oh this is an easy assignment” and im struggling witht hose and im like “what the fuck is a hard assignment b/c im gonna fail it” i feel like im either going to barely squeak by with the 2.5 or im gonna fail too many things and not make it and then it’s basically kind of well, either i finish the book i have almost done-ish and i get lucky and get to live my actual childhood dream or i take on multiple minimum wage jobs and just hope for the best or make it as far as i can before i give up i want to say i really hate myself for dropping out so much and barely being able to function so many times but sometimes it feels unfair to my own self since it’s mostly depression/anxiety and not having any resources or help. or i get fucked over on something that’s really important to my own mental health and sense of safety. like UWGB: 0 access to counseling or therapy resources until after the allowed drop-out date. Also there, i got singled out and mocked by a professor and i basically started to cry. Also there, i had a class that ended at midnight and had to walk across an unfamiliar campus at night to try and find my dorm and usually was up walking and looking for it until 2AM while being terrified and paranoid the entire time. Also there, dorms weren’t heated or had A/C so i kept overheating in my room and could barely sleep, and nearly collapsed three or four times. then UCD: request a single room for myself or with 1 other roommate, was uncomfortable with the idea of roommates mostly because of me having transgender feelings and the inability to process them properly. i also just like my space and i get worn down and break down when just dealing with too much all the time. instead i was promised a 2 person max room and got the two person max room but with 4 other people (including me there were 6 of us living in a one bedroom... room). i couldnt sleep b/c roommates wouldn’t sleep (they basically drank and yelled all night, or they’d get high at 3AM and 5AM). one of them touched me a lot and got into my space a lot and it made me feel incredibly uncomfortable. i never felt like i had any space and just felt overwhelmed the entire time and got told to fuck off by the housing people multiple times while eating cold tortillas with cold cheese that was melted over it at one point for their lunches/dinners b/c apparently that’s what the meal plan was. i got pretty sick there a couple times. the coffee place basically never gave me soy milk which i kind of need b/c otherwise i might throw up or have incredibly painful stomach pains. i nearly passed out in a class because it was so bad and i started crying at my desk which was when the professor told me to leave b/c it looked like i had the flu. so i stopped drinking coffee there, which made me feel like shit in the morning and completely unaware of everything (almost got hit by two cars trying to get to my 6AM class that was a mile walk away from the dorm, since it was clear across and off the campus). and then from there i became extremely suicidal and told my counselor that every time i stood in front of the train tracks that early up, i considered stepping in front of the train passing through and almost did it once (someone behind me tugged me back b/c they thought i was in the process of tripping). but i got basically no sleep there, most of my memories are really messy and hazy and i barely register what happened a lot of the time b/c i just legitimately couldn’t process things at the time. i went a week where i didnt eat anything and probably got 4 hours of sleep those entire 7 days. all i really remember is feeling dizzy and lightheaded all the time and really hating sunny days because it hurt my eyes and i’d get bad headaches. well and my counselor giving me six dollars to go to the mcdonalds downstairs b/c she wanted me to eat something then online stuff is just... everything is put in gods knows where, the textbooks crash, the website sometimes won’t work, the assignments are put up randomly without notice, everything is a 3,000 word commitment from just the discussions to the papers and it’s jsut overwhelming and tbh a lot of the time i feel unsure if i can even keep up or do it all. and i know if i pass it all then i can go to UC Boulder and hope i have a better experience than the other two universities, or it’s just as bad and i suffer through it until i have a degree so i can actually have a career that lets me actually live. or i fail it all and die in my mid twenties probably.

#negative #kit stuff

[sicklylittlesnowflake]

Prompt: "I’m really feverish and I haven’t noticed you and this sneeze just won’t come out and I’m pulling the most ridiculous build up you’ve ever seen and shit now I’ve noticed you this is fucking awkward sorry" (I can imagine this with Klance and them being roommates or somthing. Lance coming home a finding Keith in miserable sneezy limbo and Lance just teasing him about it until he decides to help him out.)

(I lowkey love when posts I make come back to me omg!!! Also this is my first time ever writing voltron au!! I’ve always written canon verse!! So forgive me, and I have no time, so here’s a ficlet!Also great timing bc Keith’s vlog has me dead tbh)

Keith had a lot of pride.

He was fairly confident in his abilities, he had worked hard for them, and he was happy with the outcome. There were a few things about himself that he held dearly to his heart and was determined to not let them go, and with good reason. Some things, however, were slightly irrational.

Keith held pride for the fact that without fail he would always miss and avoid the annoying bout of sickness that seemed to plague everyone in school for the first while back. The plague skipped over Keith religiously every year. He’d missed it on his  first day on his last year in middle school, he’d missed it on his freshman year of high school, and he had done so on his first day of college.

He would never admit it, but deep down he knew how ridiculous this was. It was something Keith wasn’t embarrassed to show off, and boasted about constantly whenever it came up in conversation. Shiro and Lance were very close to jamming their ears out every year, without a fail, with how much Keith prided himself in this meticulous thing.

But Karma was a bitch.

He had supposed his constant teasing of Lance since they met their first day of high school finally came back to haunt him. Keith wouldn’t admit it, but he kinda deserved it.

He went through a denial to begin with, telling himself he’d just suddenly developed some allergy, and that was why he had woken up sneezing all over the place. It had left him breathless, monstrous sneezing ripping out of his throat, echoing off the thin walls of his and Lance’s dorm room.

He was a mess. Hair all over the place, sticking up in places where it shouldn’t, horribly reddened and chapped nose and the most bloodshot eyes he’d ever had. Keith was just glad Lance had a morning class that day, and that Keith didn’t have any classes until 4:30 later that day.

Keith coughed harshly, dragging himself out of bed and staggering over to Lance’s part of the room and grabbing the box of tissues he always kept on his bedside table. He resented the fact he needed them, and he was still kind of in denial. He was not sick. Not at all.

Keith blew his nose furiously into the tissue, hating the way the tissue felt soggy and all sorts of disgusting afterwards. He loathed it, and wished the cold virus had fucked off and gone to someone else. The cold virus didn’t look too bad on Lance, but the little shit never looked bad. Keith blushed furiously as he caught himself in his thoughts. He finished his trail of thoughts with the conclusion that it was not a good look on him.

Once he finished, he felt a little lightheaded and woozy. The world spun slightly, and everything in the universe was telling him to sit still and wait for it to steady again, but he was Keith, and everything was a challenge.

Keith forced himself to stand up, but the moment he did he was hit by a tidal wave of nausea that hit him in the gut, and an astounding shot of pain induced tremors throughout his head. The intense pain caused his knees to buckle, and Keith tried to find something to hold onto but the attempt was futile, because  he was tipping over and collapsing onto the floor.

“Oh for fucks sake,” Keith hissed to himself, trying to pick up his heavy and weak bones from the floor but to no avail. Keith coughed, the sound resonating from his chest as a wave of pain rang through his chest as he coughed. His chest ached horribly against the floor as he coughed.

Keith somehow managed to drag his heavy body up, only for an insistent tickling in his nose to make his breath hitch wildly. He snapped forward with a harsh, unrestrained sneeze that sprayed Lance’s bed, the force so strong he toppled over onto the bed.

“..Not sick..” He mumbled to himself, wanting to get off the bed and be productive to prove it to himself, but Lance’s bed was so soft and welcoming. His sheets were pleasantly crisp and cool, perfectly made. His pillow smelt of him, that flowery scent of his shampoo, the clean scent of his hand cream and moisturiser. So perfectly Lance that Keith was melting into it.

Keith hugged the pillow, letting its warmth engulf him into a heaven of softness. The thought of Lance made him go a deeper shade of pink, and thinking about him lifted his heavy head towards a better place filled with singing birds and swaying trees.

Then he was lulled back to sleep.

Keith woke a bit later, not quite knowing when, he’d lost his sense of time, to an annoying tickle in his nose. His chest heaved as his body began to succumb to the sneeze, breath hitching as his nostrils flared irritably. Keith tried to stubbornly scrub vigorously at his nose, still in denial of the state he was in.

But to no avail, his body was winning over him, as much as Keith hated to admit it. He managed to lift himself up with his elbows, gasping for air until he took one shaky inhale and fell into an intense sneezing fit that left him breathless.

Keith let out monstrous sneeze that sprayed across Lance’s bed, a brief, very short moment of clarity and relief coming to him before another round of intense prickling flooded his sinuses. Immediately he launched into yet another harsh and powerful sneeze that doubled him over.

Keith managed to clasp his two hands over his reddened face, feeling his nose tremble as it built up for another round of harsh sneezes. His body was racked by the new wave of sneezes, by the force of it. He kept sneezing, feeling a bit tired and couldn’t hold his hands to his face as they shook too much and went into another uncovered fit.

He felt absolutely miserable, his nose running and eyes red with irritated tears. All he could really concentrate on was the sound of his intense sneezing and the ticklish feeling in his sinuses. Everything else faded. Keith geared up for his next sneeze, but was left hanging in an awfully unsatisfying crescendo that had been building up to this very moment, the peak of the music, but it never came.

And just a little bit ago Keith would have done anything to deny his illness, but now more than anything Keith just wanted it to happen. He just needed to get this sneeze out, and he looked plain ridiculous, looking up with one side of his nose scrunches up and twitching with anticipation, his breath continuing to hitch as itchy tears threatened to fall from his irritated eyes.

“..What the fuck?” Lance gaped.

“N..n..” Keith tries to respond, but he can’t speak, too preoccupied with this tortuous sneezy limbo and the absolute shame flooding him. He doesn’t want to admit the truth, it’s deflating his pride way too much, which is so ridiculous, he knows that, but he can’t help how pathetic he feels for being sick.

“I’m uh..uh..tryi..trying to..sn..sn!!” Keith tried to make out through his hitchy, dazed voice, beginning to fan at his face desperately.

A victorious smirk crept onto Lance’s face. He crossed his arms and flashed him a grin, suddenly straightening in pride and amusement.

“So, you’re sick, huh?” Lance taunted playfully, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous light.

“No !!..im…not!” Keith protested breathily.

“Hmm,” Lance chuckles, “sure thing, Jan.”

“I just..need to..” Keith tried his best to speak, but was still overtaken by the insistent, incoming sneeze that just wouldn’t come out.

“Well well well, Keith fucking Kogane has finally caught the Fresher’s Flu. A bit late, sure, but it’s happened!” Lance exclaimed with gusto, extremely pleased with himself.

Keith could only squint as he tried to get the sneeze out of his system, nostrils flaring in a manner he believed to be horrendous and embarrassing.

“Now you’re in this sneezy limbo, like I have every single year on the first day, and now you have to suffer through it as a punishment for your relentless teasing! Karma truly is a bitch, ain’t she, Kogane?” Lance giggled, slightly bouncing from his excitement.

Lance kept rambling about his amusement, but Keith couldn’t concentrate on him as the intense tickling in his sinuses was way too much anyway. This limbo was too much, and Keith couldn’t bare one more second of it. The sneeze was right there, just at the end of the floodgates, waiting for the key to turn and unlock so it could just release.

Keith grew impatient, and he snapped.

“Lance, I’m sick! J..just shut up and help me sneeze!”

Lance grinned with victory and nodded, “Alright, sick boy!”

Lance approached Keith and tapped him on the nose, “Boop!~”

Keith finally took in a shaky inhale and when the sneeze finally came out of the floodgates, Keith had never felt more satisfied and complete in his life.

“Bless you!” Lance offered as he passed Keith a tissue to blow his nose with.

“Now, will you let me take care of you?” Lance asked gently, the softest smile framing his face.

Keith blushed hard, “W-what?”

“..I mean..you have to be sitting on my bed for a reason, Keith,” Lance stated, a little awkwardly.

Keith turned a deeper shade of red as he was hit by the sudden realisation of what he had just been doing.

“U-uh..I-I can explain–”

Lance could only smile softly, “You..don’t have to say anything. Just..let me take care of you?”

Keith had a lot of pride. It took over him sometimes, and it stopped him from doing many things, and often held him back from experiences. But somehow against all odds Keith was able to put it aside. For Lance.

He nodded shyly, as Lance climbed onto bed with him and wrapped his warm body around Keith’s shivering frame. Lance draped the blanket over the both of them, running his hands through Keith’s hair soothingly. Everything about Keith’s DNA would’ve made this moment awkward, but something felt so right. So in place.

“Are you really here, or am I dreaming..I can’t tell dreams from truth…” Lance sang softly, his lyrical tenor voice so sweet and comforting to his ears, lulling him into a peaceful rest.

Fresher’s Flu wasn’t as bad as Keith had anticipated, with Lance by his side. Lance took care of him well, so well that Keith wondered why he was so against the idea of getting sick when he had Lance to be there for him. It was almost like he had missed out.

And while Lance complained three days later when he woke up sneezing, he did not regret a thing.

#keith kogane #lance mcclain #klance #voltron #whump #voltron sickfic #sick keith #voltron college au #roommate klance #vld #vld keith #vld lance #voltron lance #voltron keith #sneezing #snz #coughing #sickfic #prompts