#inkdropfox

Thank you!!! Please scream!! Your icon is adorable! Doggo prom!! i love werewolves so much <:3 can’t help wolfing up my boys! here’s one more for the road!

dude i have fallen hard into this fandom

its so fun

its like a boy band but there are swords and shit i love everything about it

hey. hey I was havin a good day. don't do this

@inkdropfox oh i’m sorry...i was just feeling a bit depressed&lonely so i wrote it. sorry if i ruined your day. here is a pic of one of the cats as a compensation 

Lance wouldn’t describe himself as sensitive. If ever asked to pick out three words that ‘best represent you’, sensitive isn’t top on his list at all. If ever mentioned, he’d shake his head, because it’s not ‘sensitive’, it’s just that sometimes things stick with you even when you don’t want them to. Sometimes all you remember is that aching gut feeling like you’re gonna throw up, but can’t. Sometimes, it’s not sensitive, it’s just memory.

It’s nothing really new to him, being the youngest and all. His sisters are years ahead with their own lives and own friends, but still Lance never likes being left out or left behind.

He clings to their legs like the child he is when he’s still only five, six. He chases after them and looks up to them because they’re his heroes, his sisters, who he fights and bickers with, but they love him and he loves them.

But sometimes, he figures now, he was wrong to follow; wrong to cling so much. Because he babbled and talked none stop and when they had friends over, when they sat around in the living room painting their nails and watching tv and all Lance wanted to do was talk, be part of the group, be included in any way he could, one of the friends snaps gum and says:

“Can you just shut up?”

The other girls laugh.

“Yeah, Lance, just shut up for once.”

His sisters laugh.

Lance doesn’t want to talk anymore. He feels his cheeks go red with embarrassment as the ache starts to settle in his stomach. Soon after he slides down from the couch and runs out the door because the room is suddenly too small to breathe in.

It happens more when he’s older, when he’s going into school, making his own friends, and it’s not his fault he likes to talk– he likes to fill the silence, likes to make people laugh, likes to learn everything he can.

Except he’s not supposed to. His friends dwindle from his first years in school, from elementary to middle, and if given reason he’s told he’s ‘annoying’ or he hears it whispered and laughed at behind his back. Teachers call conferences because Lance doesn’t stop talking during class, he’s told he needs to stop acting out, told he just needs to learn how to keep quiet, but he doesn’t understand until his mother snaps and it’s the first time in a long time that he remembers her doing so. 

When he makes jokes, people laugh. They pay attention to him, they act as though they want to be his friend. It’s enough for now, for the time, until high school and he’s used to being the clown; used to being the joke; used to still being alone.

And than Hunk came along. Hunk who didn’t mind the constant chatter, who saw a comfort in Lance’s clinging presence while doing homework or working on a project. Hunk who never told him to shut up or keep quiet.

So, Lance grew. He didn’t think he was sensitive.

—

His eyes burn with too much emotion; his hands gripping the control’s of Blue are shaking as it builds up in his chest, in his stomach, and spills out to the rest of his limbs. He’s not breathing, he realizes, but does nothing to fix it.

“Lance?”

“What the hell– Lance come in!”

“Now he’s decided to knock it off and shut up?!”

Lance winces in his seat, squeezing his eyes closed to keep the sudden burst of ‘too much’ inside of him, but the words keep playing over and over in his head with Shiro’s voice now attached to them and his cheeks are wet before he can attempt to stop them.

He’s trying. He’s trying really hard. He knows it’s frustration, it’s always frustration. He pushes people to it, they need to make their point, because after all this he still hasn’t learned how to keep his damned mouth shut.

There’s soft dripping sounds at his feet. Little plops of wet every few seconds. When Lance manages to open his eyes again, the floor is speckled with tears and the red drops of blood. It’s only than that he realizes he’s been biting his lip so hard he’s torn into it, so hard he’s not yet let it go from his teeth, and still with the realization he pulls at it, making it larger, deeper, and the pain finally registers with his mind, bursting through his mouth and up, adding to the headache building pressure at his temple.

“Lance!”

Shut up shut up shut up

“Damnit, Lance, you’re scaring us!”

Shut up shut up shut up shut up shut up

“Lance!”