#is it distressing? yes! one more to add to the ever-growing pile!

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

the artblock be hitteth Harder than normal, for tis not normal artblock. woe. Wally be upon ye

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Present Mic headcanon for u!! He’s a licensed quirk counselor (yes on top of his forty other jobs) because when he was a Tiny Child he had quirk troubles and thought it would be nice to help kids like people helped him! He talks about it on his radio show and it’s very sweet and nice and good

OH MY GODDDD I can absolutely see this, okay, whether it be specifically for the students or as a part of something government funded for kids in the system because of “unruly” quirks.

Personally, I feel like it’s really likely that Mic either only grew up with one parent/family member, or that he was in foster care himself at some point. Not necessarily because of fanon, but because I feel like it would explain a lot of his personality. Like, imagine that you had a kid and they blew your eardrums out the second they were born. Okay, so now both parents are deaf, whether it be completely or just mostly. If his parents had bounced back from that and been like, “Oh well, he’s our kid and he’s innocent and we’ll move on from this,” then I feel that the dynamic still would have been stressful and tense growing up, which could have caused him to be a lot more withdrawn. Any person with any kind of disability knows that sometimes, the days creep up on you when you’re just so fed up with things being difficult and other people not understanding, and all it would take is for them to take it out on him for ONE of those days to make him feel guilty for the rest of his life. Or maybe another incident happened where his quirk slipped and caused some kind of mass destruction.

So, like, I’m thinking, either being raised by a single parent or a foster family would make a lot of sense. As we know, Hizashi DIDN’T withdraw, he has that bright, sunny, goofy personality and loves to help others even at his own expense. That would make sense if one or both parents left him and he grew up constantly trying to be good and helpful and kind so that he could undo some of the hurt he’d caused, despite the fact that it wasn’t his fault. Or, even worse, just to make sure people wouldn’t leave him again. I feel like most people can agree that there are definitely times where his personality becomes a mask for whatever he’s really feeling underneath, and I feel like crafting that defense mechanism was a huge crutch for him growing up and he’s learned to lean on it almost entirely. I can’t see that happening without some family issues going on. At some point, he had to have been blamed.

Anyway, as far as the quirk counselor thing, I can see it super clearly BECAUSE of everything that happened to him as a child—he knows well that children with hard to control or destructive quirks aren’t often open about it, and he knows how to spot the signs of distress surrounding that kind of internal struggle.

At UA, it would be adorable to have the students come to him. But it wouldn’t necessarily be as anonymous, and I know kids tend to hold back when they talk to school counselors or mentors because they can worry about their thoughts and fears getting out into the school (despite the fact that the fear is irrational because Hizashi is so trustworthy and kind).

HOWEVER, if he used his certification to volunteer for kids that were dumped into the system because of their quirks? I think THAT would be a lot more wholesome. Whether he’d experienced it for himself or not, he has so much empathy, and I feel like he’d really be able to make a difference. He’s probably more equipped for the job than he thinks he is, too, whether he just doesn’t realize it or whether it’s due to self deprication. He’s a teacher, so he knows how to deal with kids. He’s a hero, which gives him the training that will allow him to calm a quirk outburst, as well as most other kinds of problems that might crop up during an emotional moment with a kid who already can’t control their quirk well. On top of that, he’s really approachable, and I’m sure he’d be able to get them to open up easily—especially once he shares his own stories and explains how destructive his quirk actually is.

Like, Hizashi’s capable of rupturing organs and collapsing buildings. If he loses control for even a moment, there could be catastrophic consequences. He’s got extremely impressive self control, and he’s brilliant on top of it. But still, he portrays himself as aloof and goofy, personable and ditsy—I feel like if he didn’t, then his hero career would suffer because people would be afraid of him.

Anyway, I can see the whole thing just warming his heart. He probably has notes and cards from all the kids taped all over his studio, or their drawings all over his fridge. Maybe even both. Bonus points if he shares an apartment with Shouta, who just silently watches them multiply over time, because Hizashi doesn’t have the heart to put a few away and make room for new ones.

On his show, I can absolutely see him doing a segment now and then to boost awareness for that particular issue, and sharing some of his own stories. It’s probably the most serious his listeners ever hear him—not because he’s upset, but because he’s so passionate about the subject and the children that he ends up rambling his way into an emotionally charged speech every time. He doesn’t use any identifiable information for the kids on air, obviously, but the children themselves can tell when an anecdote is about them, and they’re always thrilled. Not because they feel famous or anything, or because they’re super fans (though, after knowing Hizashi, some of them are)—but more so because when the positive comments and calls pour in to the radio station, it makes them feel less alone than they’ve ever felt in their lives.

Uh. Sorry to ramble like that. But I love this, and how in character it is for him. It’s another hc to add to the pile of the ones I’ve decided are canon whether anyone likes it or not.

[mrwinterr]

Who Do You Love?

Pairing: David Budd x Female Reader

Summary: After some months that David’s been working for the Home Secretary, you notice he’s been acting differently. Not wanting to overanalyze the situation, the signs are just too hard to ignore, so when it’s time to confront him there’s only one real question to ask.

Warnings: Bodyguard (2018) TV series spoilers! Adult themes. Explicit language. Light smut. Infidelity/cheating. Mentions of war, PTSD, political assassination, death, pregnancy/miscarriage, paranoia, and attempted suicide. Sad vibes, probably. We’re not gonna have a good time.

Disclaimer: This piece goes hand-in-hand with All For You. It’s not required to read beforehand, but it would be nice. As far as the TV series, yeah, don’t even read these if you’re still planning to watch the show. If you don’t care, you may proceed.

Title Inspiration: “Who Do You Love?” by The Chainsmokers ft. 5 Seconds of Summer

A/N: I want a happy David, I really do, but I’m a heartless writer. I took a break from the smut, so it’s not a huge bulk of the fic this time. I hope y’all still like it! Happy New Year! 

Another night alone was not unusual for you as of late, having grown accustomed to it ever since David had taken up the job of protecting Home Secretary, Julia Montague. Neither you nor David could’ve foreseen his courageous efforts in neutralizing the terrorist attack on the train back home would thrust him into his new position, furthermore the extent of its outcome in his personal life.

It wasn’t a hidden secret that David resented most politicians, and you knew of Julia from the news and her political ambitions in pushing a bill to increase security surveillance. David’s job put a big emphasis on confidentiality, so for his superiors to throw him into a public political warzone was a bit suspicious to you. There was something that didn’t add up, and you couldn’t just outright ask David whose side he was on in all this.

After neglecting the mountain of dirty laundry, tonight was dedicated to the domestic chore. It was nothing out of the ordinary mixing your batch with David’s, but he had a habit of leaving things in his clothes pockets, so it was routine for you to check everyone. You’d moved onto one of the costly tailored button-ups he wore to work and feel something protruding from the shirt pocket. You dig your hand in and fish out a tube of lipstick. Strange. You didn’t use this brand of cosmetics, and even more so the garment smelt different.

Under normal circumstances, this type of discovery would raise a red flag, but you recall one of David’s first days on the job as her bodyguard, the intern had clumsily spilt Julia’s coffee all over her outfit just before she was about to do a live interview, and David had offered her the shirt off his back, essentially saving the day. The man was just too dedicated to his job sometimes, so you shrug it off, but this wouldn’t be the first time you would notice something out of place.

It really started after the first assassination attempt that was made on Julia’s life. With the rate she was going at, her political status had made her a prime target to those opposed to RIPA-18. It was very frightening, you figured that much for her, David had seen worse in war. You just about had a heart attack when you reunited with him that night, the blood still stained on his clothes and missed splotches on his skin.

The both of you clung onto each other all night, lost within the throes of passion. It might as well have been one of the most intense nights yet, even then you could tell something changed by his movements. You didn’t think much about it at first because there’s already so much wrong with him, you’ve yet to learn all his mood swings.

Then one day you’d gotten sick, and discovered it was because you were pregnant with David’s child. One of the few things that made you forget about all the aches and pains that David unintentionally caused, was remembering the beautiful smile on his face when you revealed the news to him. You knew how much happiness Ella and Charlie brought him, you could only imagine what that would feel like, your own family with David.

He was so overjoyed in the beginning. He had quickly phoned his mother, who’d visited and even stayed a few days with you when David’s new position became more demanding of him, claiming she was worried about you being alone. You didn’t deserve to experience this alone, but it was sure heading that way.

Lately, you’ve found yourself occupying the Budd household quite more than often when David’s mom went back home. With David being on duty almost 24/7, you were completely alone, so the little family welcomed you.

Legally, on paper, David was still married to Vicky. It was something you weren't going to verbally admit bothered you, but oddly enough it did. What with the mood you’ve been in as of late, it ate at a part of you. They were separated and the divorce papers were well on track until David’s “promotion” paused the process.

There’s still not a hostile fiber in you towards Vicky. She’d moved on well, been on several dates with someone else, and things were looking great for her. It was lowkey, not even David knew about it, not that he even stuck around or bothered to care. It had to come out eventually because it would affect Ella and Charlie’s lives.

You watch as Vicky rounds the table after placing a cup of tea in front of you then sitting in the seat across and asking how you’re holding up.

You contemplate for a split second if you should be honest or not, but who else could you confine to at the moment? No one else could possibly understand. Vicky herself may not even, but she knew David more than most people did, so surely, she could see where you’re coming from to some degree, right?

Letting out a big sigh, you answer her truthfully, “I’m...not well, Vicky,” your eyes drop down to the cup in front of you, finger tracing the rim, the hot cloud of smoke of the concoction almost burns your skin.  

“Oh, poor thing,” she says, extending her hand over to place it on top of your other one on the table, “it’s the pregnancy. It has to be. It’s taking a toll on you. I can tell.” You look up at her and almost want to cry. No one noticed it was more than symptoms of pregnancy. You were bottling up so much.  

“Let me tell you, while I love Ella and Charlie, pregnancy was not a breeze…” she started to ramble, but you quickly cut her off, exhausted of people telling you the same thing over and over, unintentionally, blaming the innocent baby.

“No. I don’t think it’s that. I don’t want to blame anything on the pregnancy,” you say straight up. You got yourself into this mess, you went headfirst knowing the baggage David came with and you knew full well that protection wasn’t at the forefront in the affairs. Ready or not, you both went in this together and brought a baby into the picture.

Vicky stares, confused, but still genuinely concerned, “then what else could be wrong?” When you didn't immediately respond, she knew it had to be one other thing, or person, and you just didn’t want to admit, well out loud, “David?”

You only nod; you knew you were going to have to face the music sooner or later. So, you start listing things you’ve observed that have caused you to grow suspicious over the course of the last few months. You just hoped you didn’t sound like a mad woman in front of her.

The one time your phone had died, and he let you use his to place a food delivery. You couldn’t unlock his phone, trying every possible combined set of numbers close to David, only to come to a conclusion that the access code had changed. Visibly distressed, he realizes you were attempting to unlock his work phone. You knew that was his though. What work phone?

You didn’t even know he had one of those, let alone why did it have the same crack on the screen in the exact same spot as his personal one? You feigned stupidity and blamed it on exhaustion. Deep down David knew you were suspecting something was up, and he ended up placing the order for dinner that night himself.

The other time you confronted David about coming home smelling heavily of another woman. Whatever, whoever, her perfume was strong, and it made you nauseous. The pregnancy didn’t even do you any favors on this one with your senses heightened and overly sensitive.

Of course, he smelled of another woman, the person he was assigned to protect. You could see all the holes in his alibi. He was lying, and it hurt most when he indirectly admitted your mood swings were irritating him and then flipped it all on you, saying you were overthinking the situation and getting all paranoid for no reason. Accused you of not trusting him, when truth was you had the utmost faith in him, but not when the evidence was piling up.

There’s a solemn look that washed over Vicky’s face. She had expected more tales of David’s PTSD, but none of what you spilled alluded to it. This time David couldn’t blame the effects of war on your suspicions. However, Vicky knew that this was you and David, and if there was a pair that could survive love’s tumultuous doings then it was you two.

“There’s a lot of coincidences, yes, but this is you and David,” she says, grasping your hand for support because she could see the moisture in your eyes building up, “is it silly of me to admit I was always jealous of you,” she confesses, trying to steer the conversation a different route.

She didn’t want you to think she was brushing off your worries, but to remind you that everything you and David had been through to get to this point to be together, whatever you both were dealing now wasn’t anything you two couldn’t overcome. There were high hopes for you and David in Vicky’s mind.  

A small smile cracks your face, and you bring your vacant hand up to dab at the inner corner of your eyes, just before the tears start to race down, “jealous? Of what?” It was almost shocking to think you had something she was jealous of.  

“Every time you visited us,” she starts, “I could tell David held so much admiration for you,” and you know she’s not trying to hurt your feelings, but it’s taking a bit to figure out where she’s going with this.

“That’s silly,” you scoff lightly, “you both got married and had two kids, surely there was no doubt,” then bring the cup up to your lips for a small sip.  

“But there was and look where we ended up?” she says. Your lips cave in to form a tight line in response, and carefully place the cup back down on the dish, before she follows up, “you two are finally together.”

“Vicky,” you pipe up, not knowing where to begin. It was never your intention to steal David’s heart away from another.

“I’m not saying any of this because I’m mad at you. No. I’ve never truly hated you. You’re a good person and you’re finally getting your happily ever after. Don’t ever stop fighting for it,” she comes out wholeheartedly, and this time you make no attempt to keep the tears at bay. It stung to hold them back anyways.

Vicky gets up from her seat, walking the short steps to yours, to wrap her arounds around you. You immediately cling onto her arms and just cry, finally letting everything out.

“Seriously, don’t think of the worst,” she starts advising, while rubbing your back, “David will always come back to you,” she pulls you away from her before reminding you, “you knew going into this wasn’t going to be easy.”  

You feel so pathetic. What she said was completely true, you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. There’s no doubt you love David and want to be with him through the good, the bad, and the ugly, so you nod and try to keep your chin up. It wasn’t to appease her, you were going to get back up, because if not for David, then for the baby.

Suddenly, the front door busts open and Ella and Charlie are bustling into the kitchen, where you and Vicky were. Quickly wiping away the tears, you both noted that school had just let out.

They were ecstatic to see you, especially Charlie as he had currently been experiencing issues of his own adjusting to school. They lifted your spirits greatly; they were more fascinated by the baby growing in you and couldn’t wait to meet him or her. You absolutely adored them. They looked like David and the whole time they were talking your ear off; you wonder to yourself if your own kid will look more like you or David. 

David’s thrusts were deep and good; you made no attempt to hold it in, letting him know exactly how he was making you feel. Nails digging into his firm buttocks, pulling him closer to you, wanting him to just keep going and going; the chase proving to be almost just as good as the climax. You feel one of his hands run up your side and his large hand starts groping your breast, adding onto the pleasure he was plaguing your body with, while the other held onto the small of you back, bringing your hips up to his.

His face was buried in the crook of your neck, you could feel his hot breath fanning against your skin and hear his murmured swears and praises. The air in the room was thick, and for the majority of the intimate activity, the only sounds that travelled around the apartment consisted of heavy breathing, moans, gasps, whines and skin slapping, until the annoying distinct ringtone started screeching from a few feet away.

You’d learned to distinguish his work alarm since the supposed mix-up, and it pinged constantly, agitating you. David’s pace notably falters, and the rhythm you’d both built started dwindling, the needy side of you started to panic because he was going to stop and you desperately wanted to come, even more so come with him, but it looked like neither of you would be as you feel one of David’s hands leave your body and make an attempt to reach out to the device.

You grab a hold of his wandering hand and lace your fingers together, hoping to keep him close and forget about the alert. You buck your hips forward, urging him to continue. His grip tightens and cock twitches inside of you in response. Your strategy almost deems successful when he picks up momentum, each swivel of his cock gradually bringing out the starved woman in you. Not to mention, your sex drive had heightened too, you’d longed and craved any affection he could give you.

“David, baby…” you whine, holding a hand to his face, forcing him to keep his gaze on you and only you, the ringtone almost drowning out, “...don’t. Don’t. Fucking. Stop...please,” you resort to begging and hook a leg over his body, the new angle allowing him to thrust deeper.

And just when you’re about to tip over the edge, the incessant ringing persists, and David’s halt unintentionally pulls you back down. He unwinds your sweaty clasped hands, no doubt in search of the phone once more, however, you had more leverage than he did, and your hand beats his hand to it. He wasn’t that far behind as his hand covers yours, and he tries to grab the phone to answer the call, but instead you swat it off the nightstand.  

“What the fuck?” David says aggravatedly, while attempting to reach his phone on the ground, all while he’s still inside of you, pressing your body deeper into the mattress, but careful to not crush you.

“No, fuck you, David,” you spit back, and shove his body off of yours. You scoot over to one side of the bed and try to level your breathing. You were both so close!

“What is wrong with you?” He asks, forgetting the phone on the ground.

“Do you really have to answer that?” You ask, attitude on full display.

“It could be an emergency at work,” he tries reasoning.

“You’re not on the clock, David!” You dispute, sitting up, clutching the sheets to your body to conceal yourself.

“That’s not the point! It could’ve been serious. Julia could be hurt,” he says, the words just coming out of his mouth, giving each excuse little thought. His mind was in a frenzy and you didn’t miss a single syllable.  

“You called her Julia,” you say just above a whisper, and suddenly you have an urge to vomit, but you do your best to control it.

“What?” he asks, not understanding what that meant at all to you.

It hurt more that he didn’t realize there was anything wrong and if he did, he was doing a good job at hiding something and making you look like the bad guy. You lightly shake your head, feeling defeated, and lie back down, settling on your side facing the opposite direction of him.

What was going on in David’s head? You tried so hard to understand him. It was like walking on eggshells, and even you had a breaking point. It was just sometimes too much because it felt like you were the only one putting in the effort to keep this relationship afloat.

The bed shifts significantly, letting you know that he’s gotten out of it. What felt like an hour, but were only a few seconds, the room was silent, tension still heavy in the room, and neither of you were willing to be the first to crack. You lie still, unmoving and making no attempt to stop him. It’s only when you hear the swing of the bedroom door creak, you allow yourself to blink the tears in your eyes away.

He didn’t leave the apartment that much you could rest assured of. Rest? That was what you were having trouble with. Things weren’t getting any easier with David and you even though you vowed to yourself that you’d go through Hell for him, the pressure was getting too heavy on your heart and in return, you knew the distress wouldn’t be good for the baby.

Maybe it was all just paranoia, the stress of pregnancy, and you were taking things too personal. You could be understanding about a lot of things in David’s life, his terms and PTSD, his kids, and his job, but was it too much to ask of him to be understanding of you? You suppose you were being selfish, and you were really tired. The only way to help you sleep was to swallow your pride and admit you were wrong.

The rush of the cold air instantly surrounds your bare legs the second you throw the covers off your body to get out of the bed. You throw on the discarded oversized shirt to be decent. Your steps are light, and you’re kind of nervous and, dare you admit, ashamed of how you overreacted that it drove David to the point of sleeping on the couch. After all, you made him feel unwanted in his own bed, and he certainly had enough respect to not steal yours.

Just when you’re ready to apologize and ask him to go back to bed with you, he’s already sound asleep, his legs sticking out from the mere blanket covering his upper body. You didn’t have the heart to wake him up for that. Sleep didn’t find him easy and he seemed just as stressed as you were, so you don’t disturb him. It can wait, right? You turn around and head to your room, shut the door and pray sleep finds you soon.  

It didn’t and neither did the conversation. 

News of the blast at St. Matthews College, where Julia was presenting a speech, rocked not only the political world, but it was the forefront of every news channel and medium. Tons left injured or dead, and as if that wasn’t bad, David was being told Julia had not survived the bombing.

He’s clearly distraught, believing he’s failed her, and on top of that, the weight of his lies started to suffocate him. He was going to have to come clean to you about everything he’s done behind closed doors with Julia. You wouldn’t forgive him, he was sure of that, and if by some chance you did, it would take a hell of a long time for him to regain your trust.

How many more lives does he have to ruin or lose under his watch? It was becoming too much, and it was sad, as he stared at the gun in his hands, that he’d contemplated his next actions more than once, but he really didn’t know what he had left to do anymore. There was a lot actually, he had his kids, a baby on the way, and a new life to build with you, but he was far too gone at that moment.

It’s Vicky that finds him back at the apartment, cleaning the brass fragments from the wound on the side of his head. She quickly puts the pieces together, the notes on the table addressed separately to her, the children and you, and the admission from David that these were brass fragments of a bullet casing.

“Dave, what the fuck? What about Ella and Charlie? What about-” she starts going on but stops when he visibly cracks because he knows your name is next to come out of her mouth, “I’m taking you to the hospital,” she decides and is quick to put away her tools.

“No. No one can know about this,” David says adamantly. They start to argue about his injuries and how David hadn’t been aware that he fired a blank round before he asks her to go back home to the kids.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” she says grabbing a jacket and tries to reason that he shouldn’t be alone right now and maybe being around the kids and seeing you will open his eyes and realize what he was leaving behind had he successfully ended his life.

He couldn’t pretend living like he was okay. What had happened to Julia was not his fault. All David ever did was do his best to protect, protect his country, his family and her.

“You need to tell her,” Vicky says while she hands David a cap for him to cover the wound on his head.

“I don’t even know where she’s been the last few days,” he admits pathetically. His own girlfriend, the mother of his unborn child, he can’t even keep tabs on where she’s been this whole time. It made him feel even terrible that he’d neglected you.

“She’s been staying with the kids and I,” she reveals.

“What? Why is she there?” He asks, and quickly puts the cap on and gets up from his seat.

She didn’t tell David of your whereabouts earlier because you’d asked her not to and she politely respected that, but she knew now was not the time to take sides anymore. You two had to deal with your issues now.

“She shouldn’t be alone, Dave. She’s pregnant with your child and yet she’s going through it all by herself,” Vicky tells him.

“I never meant to bring her into any of this mess,” he says heavily, full of grief. He brought you into the madness that was his world and now you’re trapped in it, bringing a new life along for the ride.

“She loves you, David, don’t sell yourself short. She just feels like she’s been left in the dark. You need to talk to her,” Vicky advises him, “it may not be pretty, but you have to hear her out.”

She knew you couldn’t stand being alone in the apartment without being reminded of David constantly. You weren’t in a good place either and she wanted to help you both before it was too late. 

You’d been left behind at the house with Ella and Charlie in the other room watching TV, while Vicky was out looking for David. He wasn’t answering any of the phone calls she’s made, even ones made on your cell phone, there was no form of contact or communication from him. You knew he was there at the college; he was Julia’s bodyguard after all.

When you heard more than two voices return, you knew she’d brought David back and had told him you’d be here. You weren’t mad at her for ratting you out, it was going to come out eventually. Nothing ever stays hidden.

“You don’t normally wear a hat indoors,” Ella points out the cap on David’s head that stuck out like a sore thumb.

“You said it’s silly,” Charlie reminds his father.

“Then I’m being silly,” David responds as he watches his children chomp away at the slices of pizza in their hands.

While Vicky was on the phone cancelling her date tonight, you faintly hear the end of the conversation he was having with Ella and Charlie over their dinner. He still hadn’t even seen you. Then you hear his quiet, controlled sobs, but he couldn’t detain them enough and be strong around his kids.

“I just did something silly today,” he tells them.

“Wearing a hat?” Charlie asks innocently.

“That, too,” he replies as he clings onto them both in a group hug.

Vicky had just revealed to you of David’s suicide attempt moments ago. You’re numb. Clearly, Julia’s death had affected him rather deeply, so much that he thought killing himself was a solution.

He didn’t care about you or the baby. You both weren’t enough to save him or have anything to look forward to. You can’t even cry anymore. You wanted to lash out and get mad. She advises you to keep calm and think rationally, but you’re tired of thinking about all of this.  

Without warning, David enters the room you’d been staying in. You’re like stone on the couch, arms crossed and starting straight ahead of you, mindlessly at whatever TV program the kids left it on before retreating to the dining area. Your eyes cast themselves on David’s demure stance. He cautiously steps forward and hesitantly takes a seat next to you.

“Is it true?” You ask, breaking the silence and finally turn to look at him. He only nods in response, his head hangs low, ashamed. You felt like your heart didn’t have any parts to break anymore. The confirmation alone just felt like him stomping on it for added measure.

“Ok,” is all you say, biting down on your lip to prevent you from saying anything else. It was petty, but you’d refused to show him any remorse or sorrow of any kind.

“Is this where you’ve been the past few nights?” He questions, rather awkwardly too.

“Oh, so you’ve noticed I haven’t been home?” You ask bitterly.

He was really going to push your buttons. You’re not sure if Vicky was right about you and David having to talk. This wasn’t going to go well at all. You were not in an ideal mental and physical state to be talking about your problems with him, but if not now then when?

“Of course, I have. Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, almost appalled by the accusation, and watching as you get up from the couch to stand in front of him.  

“I hardly see you and when I do I find out that you just tried to kill yourself, so forgive me for not assuming I even ran as a mere thought in your messed-up head,” it was harsh, poking at his mental state, but you were so fed up, your mind was just as clouded, “...you didn’t think about me when you held the gun to your head,” you said ripping off his hat.

Your heart tightens in your chest as you stare at the wound and tears threaten to fall, but you don’t let them, “...and you certainly didn’t think about our baby when you pulled the trigger,” then chuck the cap at him, he makes no attempt to catch it as it lightly bounces off his chest and fall onto his lap.

“I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely and making no attempt to hide his tears as they raced down, “I’m so fucking stupid,” and he gets up on his feet, ”...I need help.”

He’s not even going to use the excuse of work and you’re not expecting him to rat himself out and come clean about Julia just yet. David didn’t work like that and you were absolutely done with it. No, everything had to come out now.

“I know,” is all you say at first. He thinks it’s some form of forgiveness, him acknowledging his problem, until you follow up, “just admit it,” your voice changes in tone from anger and hurt to an icy one, “who do you love now, David?”

All while asking him that question, you’re trying to get his eyes to focus on you, but you simply cannot. He’s looking everywhere but, and it hurts.

“It’s Julia, isn’t it? Tell me!” You shout at his face. When he doesn’t answer immediately, your lips press down together and you don’t hold back the tears any longer, “I can’t believe you,” you say in disbelief, almost struggle to breathe right, “this shit has been keeping me up at night!”

You back away from him and cover your mouth, just to conceal your sobs so the rest of the family doesn’t hear you cry. They most definitely heard you yell, but you didn’t want to further trouble them anymore or cause a big enough scene for them to burst right through.

There hadn’t been a doubt in your mind that David loved you before, but just seeing how he couldn’t open up enough to tell you there was someone else during, filled you with more heartache. Maybe it would hurt less, you wouldn’t know unless it came straight from his mouth.

David starts crying as well and you honestly want to slap him, but instead you start saying nasty things, cutting him way worse than anything you could ever do physically, and you certainly don’t hold back. Claiming you two were never meant to be together, and the baby doesn’t mean anything especially in uniting you both.

“I’ll be surprised if this baby even survives,” you scoff thinking about a past experience, and how cruel life was gifting you this baby.

“What are you talking about? You’re not thinking about-“ David starts getting all frantic suddenly, and not thinking, he grabs both your arms in his hands, holding you in place.

“God no! I would never!” You say in disgust and pull away from him, “I can’t believe you’d think I would…”

“Then what did you mean?” He asks curiously.

“I never told you why I broke up with him,” you don’t really mention your ex’s name these days. While you’d both moved on as civil as the both of you could, it still pangs you to reminisce about the relationship and how it ended.

“He couldn’t handle the long distance,” he said thinking he knew.

“He only couldn’t after...” you pause, trying to decide if now was the time to reveal this secret. David had the right to know, after all, an incident like such could happen again.  

“After what? He was seeing someone else?” He grew increasingly anxious and almost ill towards the thought of another being unfaithful to you.

“No! It was my fault,” you don’t want to slander your ex at all. He couldn’t have prevented what happened to you across the other side of the world even if he tried. “I miscarried. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I woke up one day in my blood and the sharpest pain I’ve ever felt.”

You started reliving that day, how you were alone and the way your neighbors had to come to your aid. Your poor ex felt so helpless, he wanted nothing more than to drop everything for you, but the wave of depression afterwards had strained the relationship. It formally ended when you’d returned from studying abroad.

“I didn’t even know you were pregnant,” David says in shock. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, and if it was stupid to think all this time you could’ve easily had a life without him long before you two finally became a thing.

“It didn’t matter, David,” your voice finally regained strength, and wiped at the tears on your face of the memory, ”you and Vicky were so in love. There’s nothing you could’ve done for me.”

“That’s not true,” David persists.

“I would’ve turned you away, just like him,” you say so sure. David was your friend then, yes, but you didn’t need or owed him this before now.  

“You’re not going to lose this baby,” he promises.

“You don’t know that,” and you’re not trying to be a pessimist about this, you wanted this baby, but you were more than aware of the possibility it could happen again. Bad things just always seemed to be happening lately anyways.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’d protect you both with my last breath,” he vows, grabbing your hands, desperate to feel any part of you.

“I don’t need your protection, David,” your words continue to crush him, that was your subtle way of leaving him and he knew it, “I love you, David. I love you so much!” you say with plenty of emotion, and lightly squeeze his hands in yours, “...but you can’t even tell me who you love right now,” you point out, reluctantly removing your hands from his.

“You need to get help, David. If not for your family, me or the baby, please do it for yourself,” you say last, before placing a small kiss on his cheek.

“I’m going to get help...for you,” you hear David say determinedly just before you walk out of the room. It wasn’t all you wanted to hear, you wanted him to tell you he loved you back, but you wanted him to live easy once again even if that meant him not loving you.

You could manage on your own, and work something out when the baby arrives, but for now it was time for you to go home.

A/N: Nope. Sorry! Whenever Season 2 decides to come out, maybe we’ll get a happier David, so for now I don’t think I can let these two ride off into the sunset…but I can if you send 2020 off with giving this a like, reblog, comment or all of the above!

[thebestpersonherelovesbucky]

Venting 101

Ignore this I just need to write out frustrations 

I’m...exceptionally sad. and frustrated. I kind of wanna...give up? For lack of better term. Not in a you should be worried that I might hurt myself sort of way. Just in a...can we be done with this shit, please? In a...I really need something to go right sort of way. 

It’s a lot of little things mixed with a few big things, I guess? 

Like, I have a friend. I think they’re still my friend. Sometimes I’m not entirely sure bc one of the only reasons they ever get in touch with me anymore is to ask me for help. Which I’m happy to give but then when I express some distress about similar things it’s always responded with something along the lines of “yeah, but at least it’s not as bad for you as it is for me” and I’m paraphrasing there and I know they don’t mean in viciously but like. It just makes me feel worse. 

I currently have seven tabs open with seven different WIPs but I literally cannot concentrate on one long enough to actually make any progress. Writing has been so hard for, like, two years but whenever I try to express this to someone they basically try to tell me i’m exaggerating or making it up or something. Yes, I’ve finished a few things here and there but writing has always been a source of joy for me, even when it’s difficult, which it always has its ups and downs bc that’s art, but I feel like it’s broken right now and no one believes me. 

My husband has been gone for 5 weeks so I’ve gotten literally zero time to myself. He comes home tomorrow which is good but he’ll probably be leaving again next week. 

The move we’re trying to make to gtfo of where we live is on hold because of that. And yet at the same time I’m so mad that we have to move away. My husband and I work so hard and have been through so much in our years together and the only way out of this toxic environment is to move 6 hours away from our friends and family. I probably sound like a freaking baby, but it’s just not fair when people like my brother in law got to live rent free for years here with his son and baby-mama and then rent free when he got married so they could save up and buy a nice little house in a nice neighborhood with a big backyard and room to grow. It’s stupid and I know I shouldn’t concern myself with shit like that but sometimes it just really gets to me. 

To top it all off I’m still in so much freaking pain. My lower back hurts so much that I can’t stand for more that fifteen minutes at most. Just washing the damn dishes makes me have to crawl to the couch to sit down. People keep on telling me, “well, just try exercising more and little by little it’ll hurt less.” Like...  no, you don’t get it. I go from 0 to 100. There’s no gradually working up to the pain so that I know, okay, i have to start slowing down so it doesn’t get too bad. It’s just BAM! BAD!

Everyone keeps on telling me it’s bc i’m fat. Which, hey that’s awesome to be told. Yes, i’m plus size, without a doubt, but the pains started before i gained this much weight. In fact, that’s one of the reasons why i gained more weight so something there doesn’t add up. 

I actually thought to bring it up to my neurologist who treats my migraines bc she’s also a pain management doctor but it never occurred to me to ask her and she was with me for about 5 minutes and suggested something that literally no one brought up before. That it might be sacroiliac joint dysfunction. Which, okay, cool, that’s something to go on. We’re gonna try steroid injections to help with it. I just had this done on my foot to help with some pain I was feeling there and the pain pretty much vanished overnight. I s2g if this works for my lower back...I’m going to be so fucking pissed. 

I mean, it’ll be great that the pain is gone. Final-fucking-ly. But these past 2 years I’ve been piling on so much guilt thinking this pain is my own doing bc I let myself get so fat and I deserve the pain. I know that’s completely irrational but my brain doesn’t always like to be rational. Fingers crossed that this works bc idk what i’m going to do if this pain doesn’t go away. 

Idk. 

This is all stupid lol. I’m just particularly down tonight. It’s been a weird few days. 

[aro-of-artemis]

Will They Won't They

number two! this one is inspired by Jeremy Shada’s banger by the same name. it can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28626231 Julie and Luke have been dancing around each other but will they finally admit their feelings?

AKA 3 times they won't and 1 time they will. ----

(1)

The California-bright sun hangs high in the sky, casting its brilliant rays on the milling group of teenagers below. If one were to look at these teenagers - four in all - they would notice nothing amiss, each one leaving hazy shadows on the boardwalk. Their bodies seem to be moved about by the sea breeze, constantly colliding in joyful embraces with one another as they sing snatches of songs to one another.

Julie drops back from the boys a little bit, watching with a soft, almost painfully fond smile on her face. She closes her eyes a moment, lifting her face to catch the warmth of the sun.

"Hey, Julie." Luke had fallen back too, noticing her pause. The other two continue on, Reggie spinning Alex in a little twirl beneath his raised arm and Alex reciprocating with a broad grin. "You all good?"

When Julie opens her eyes, she is met with a small curling smile.

"Yeah, Luke. I'm good," she says, her smile growing toothy. "Just … appreciating my environment." She wouldn't of course mention that Luke was a key part of that environment that she was appreciating but the slightly mischievous look on Luke's face told her that he had an inkling.

"Good," Luke says, tucking his hands into his pockets and scuffing his shoes on the ground as he begins to slowly walk again. Julie joins him, matching his strides.

They walk together quietly, smiling and laughing at the other boys' antics up ahead. Julie's chest feels so incredibly warm, buoyed by contentment, making her feel as though she is merely floating. As they walk, Julie gently bumps her shoulder into Luke's and he reciprocates, causing his hands to drop from his pockets and start swinging gently by his side. Julie can feel his fingers next to hers, like an electric current. His presence next to her is so warm. Like the hearth of a fire. Comforting and homey but brimming with energy so close to being set loose.

She feels their fingers brush. Once, twice, three times. Until their pinkie fingers hook together. She feels as though the whole world is contained within that one point of contact. The Big Bang and the inevitable heat death of the universe pinned in one spot.

Neither of them look at each other or otherwise acknowledge their linked hands swinging between them but Julie can't help the broad grin forcefully tugging on the corners of her mouth.

After a while - Julie's not sure she could pinpoint the amount of time passed with any kind of accuracy - she tangles the rest of their fingers together, brushing her thumb along the back of his hand. She hears him take a sharp breath in and her own heart stutters in her chest. She can now feel the soft contours of his palm, the hard-won calluses on his fingertips now rubbing gently across her knuckles. She is filled by a sudden wish to study his hands as if they are precious artefacts detailing each moment of his life. However, that line of thinking is promptly cut off.

In their exuberance, Alex and Reggie had gotten quite far ahead. They double back, re-joining Julie and Luke, unknowingly interrupting something that felt indescribably intimate. Julie couldn't be mad at them though.

They had yet to stop singing - currently doing their best rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody possible with two voices. When Alex tugs on her free hand to pull her into some vague, chest-clutching choreography to emphasise his very serious position as just a poor boy, nobody loves me, she sings back in her best operatics, he's just a poor boy from a poor family. Reggie chimes in to add that they should spare him his life from this monstrosity.

They all dissolve into delirious giggles, hanging off one another. But Julie's hand still burns with all the energy of the Big Bang and all the potential contained within.

(2)

Julie's fingers flit along the keys of the music room piano, plucking out the notes to a song. The song, really. The one she had dreamt up in dance class. The one that wouldn't leave her head or her heart. She begins to hum along, adding lyrics as her voice rises in intensity.

By the last chorus, she is belting with the force of all the pent-up emotions pushing their corners into her ribcage. She pulls back, softening for the final lines, ending on a breathy reiteration of the words perfect harmony.

Julie lurches to her feet, whirling around when the ringing quiet is interrupted by a voice. Luke's voice.

"That was beautiful, Julie." He says her name in that way of his, softening the j, tongue curling around the l as if it's a precious thing. He's leaning against the door frame, hands bracketing his own biceps looking at her with an impossibly tender smile. Julie can feel her face heating up, her eyes widening to comic proportions.

"Luke!" she chokes out past the invisible hand that seems to be strangling her. "What are you doing here?"

Luke shrugs his shoulders, dropping his hands to his pockets and meandering towards her.

"Ah, y'know," he glances at her a little sheepishly, "Got a little bored at home." Julie feels her chest warm a couple degrees at him calling her home his home but she pushes that down, raising her eyebrow slightly instead and folding her arms.

"Is that so?" she challenges. "And what kind of entertainment do you think I could provide you?”

Luke shrugs again. He's still shuffling his feet. This boy can never stay still.

A moment of silence stretches long between them until Luke clears his throat, scratching the back of his head.

"So, what was that song you were working on?"

"Oh!" Julie feels her eyes widen again and her face feels like a hot stove, "That? Pfft nothing. It's nothing. Just- ah - just a song. Don't worry about it."

Luke quirks the corner of his mouth and looks up at her through his lashes, seeing through her terrible cover-up. "Can you play it for me again? Maybe we can work on it together."

Julie feels her mouth drop open as she desperately tries to formulate a response that gets her out of baring her soul to her crush and his boy band hair and his pink lips and those expressive fucking eyebrows that she wants to kiss just to see how they would move and she-

"It's okay if you don't wanna," Luke says, looking a little dejected but clearly sees her distress.

"No - well - I - fuck - I -," Julie forces herself to stop. Take a breath.

Luke laughed at her, loud and bright. "Julie Molina! Did you just cuss?"

Julie scowls at him, the slight irritation of being made fun of by Luke allowing her to catch her breath. "Yes," she said tersely. "I cuss!"

"Sorry, sorry," he says, still chuckling, hands up in a mock defensive gesture, "It's just that I've never heard you swear before."

Julie huffs. "I contain multitudes." She sits back down at the piano, straight-backed. But then she softens. Looking back at him, she pats next to herself on the piano stool in tacit invitation. "Do you wanna hear it or not?"

Luke scrambles over to her, settling his incandescent warmth next to her. She can feel energy radiating off his skin, causing her heart to flutter into her windpipe. Julie clears her throat, pushing it back to its rightful position, takes a deep breath and starts playing.

As she plays, she can feel each spot where their bodies touch. (The front of his leg to the back of her calf, his shoulder brushing against hers as she breaths in and out, their hips where they meet on the piano stool). She can feel as Luke leans progressively closer and closer until there's barely any breathing room between them. She feels the vibration of his chest as he begins to join in singing the lyrics. The press of his chest to her shoulder blade. The wild beating of his heart.

When the song draws to an end once more, she only needs to turn her head just slightly to be breathing the same air as him. She looks quickly between his shining eyes and his lips that are hanging open as if he'd forgotten to close them. When she glances back into his eyes, she notices him having a similar struggle. The air feels thick between them, the weight of the unsaid and the sung hanging like a veil over their heads, wrapping them within their own private world.

And then the sharp trill of the period bell rings, jolting them apart, flustered and uncertain.

"I - I've got to get to class."

"I better get back to the boys."

They say these things at the same time, both feeling the disappointment of their broken moment.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay," Luke says, eyes still catching on hers like they can't bear to look anywhere else. "I'll, um, see you at home." And with that he poofs out.

(3)

The end of the movie playing on Julie's laptop gives way to the scroll of credits, softly illuminating the pile of tangled limbs on the pull-out couch. Reggie's head lays cushioned on the softness of Alex's stomach, rising and falling with each breath. Julie's legs are tangled with Reggie's, her head on Luke's chest, forming a V between Luke and Alex.

Alex and Reggie are snoring softly as the credit music quietens. Julie can feel the gentle breeze of Luke's breath shifting her curls ever so slightly. She twists slightly to look at him, careful not to disturb Reggie's legs. When she looks up at him, she is startled to find his warm eyes fixed on her face, brimming with something she couldn't put a name to.

"Did you enjoy the movie?" she asks softly.

Luke huffs out a somewhat rueful chuckle, as if sharing a private joke with himself. "Yeah, it was good." (If one were to ask Luke, he’d say he could barely remember the movie. He’d been distracted).

Julie gives him a bemused look but doesn't push. She can feel him playing with the ends of her hair, tugging on the curls and watching with fascination as they spring back. The slight tugging sensation causes a shiver to reach cool fingers down the whole length of her spine. And Luke clearly notices because his (soft, pink) mouth pulls into a mischievous grin. God, she is so gone on this boy.

"You cold?" he asks, clearly knowing the answer but unable to prevent himself from teasing her.

Julie bumps his chest lightly with the flat of her hand, intending to scold him but instead finding she doesn't want to move it from where it landed. She sucks in a sharp breath when she looks up into his eyes, feeling her pounding heartbeat in the tips of her ears, the pads of her fingers, the flesh of her lips.

She still scowls at him slightly, even as her hand traces along the slight dip and rise of his chest, warm through the thin fabric of his irritatingly (amazingly, fantastically) sleeveless shirt. "Shut up," she finally says, unable to come up with an adequate response.

Luke scoffs a little but the curl of his lip is affectionate. He jerks his chin slightly at the other boys. "I guess it's time for bed."

"I guess so," Julie returns, nestling in closer to the softness of his chest instead of getting up and taking herself to her room. She couldn't imagine being anywhere but here, encompassed by an overwhelming feeling of safety and warmth and love for her boys.

"G'night, Julie," Luke says, his voice low and a little rough around the edges.

"Night, Luke," Julie says, his name delicate and precious in her mouth.

And then. Then. He darts forward (a mere few inches) to place on peck on the end of her nose.

Julie's mouth doesn’t have to go very far to tug into a broad grin, eyebrows pulling together slightly as she looks up at Luke's reddening face. She replaces her head on his chest, right over his heart, feeling how it races against her cheek. She feels his muscles relax slightly as she does so and his hand returns to playing gently with her hair. She falls to sleep with a smile on her face.

(+1)

Luke can't sleep. It's not unusual, exactly. He's often plagued by memories or filled up with ideas, making him feel as though he'll jitter right out of his skin if he doesn't keep moving in one way or another. He prefers the latter, obviously, even if Reggie and Alex make fun of him for practically vibrating when he sings sometimes. He just can't help it.

At the moment, he is filled to the brim with snatches of songs, some his and some not. Carlos had been showing him some of those TikToks the young boy was so fond of. There was one particular song that had gotten stuck in his head, causing him to borrow Carlos' laptop to listen to the full thing.

"Oh, she's a she's a lady and I am just a boy," he mumbles under his breath as he wanders (twirls) around the kitchen looking for a snack (he can do that now, much to his delight). "She's a she's a lady and I am just a line without a - oh baby I am a wreck when I'm without you-"

He cuts himself off abruptly as he catches sight of Julie out of the corner of his eye, mid-twirl between the fridge and the pantry.

She stands in the doorway, amused expression set over folded arms. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail and she is swamped in a warm-looking jumper that Luke is 95% sure belongs to Alex.

"Julie!" he says, mouth hanging open.

"Luke!" she responds teasingly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you - I'll keep it down."

Julie shakes her head and moves towards him. "No, it's fine. I couldn't sleep. I came down to get a drink but -" she gestures vaguely at the space in which Luke had been dancing.

"Oh," Luke breathes, a little embarrassed.

"Yeah," Julie says and there's a long moment of silence that feels anything but empty as they look at one another.

Julie finally breaks it. "I like that song you were singing. Line Without a Hook, right? It's a good song."

Luke smiles at her, bright eyed. "Yeah? You know it?"

Julie nods and starts singing the chorus. "Oh, baby I am a wreck when I'm without you."

Luke joins in, "I need you here to stay, I broke all of my bones that day I found you."

He grabs her hand and pulls her into a little dance as they sing, moving with the rhythm of the song.

When they reach the bridge, they stop moving, standing chest to chest in the middle of the kitchen. Julie voice halts in her throat as she stares up into Luke's hazel blue eyes.

He sings softly once again, his voice mostly breath, "She's a she's a lady and I am just a boy, She's a she's a lady and I am just a line without a -"

He trails off, sucked into the burbling warmth of her eyes, right hand coming up to trace the gentle curve of her cheekbone, her jaw. His thumb brushes along the tail of her eyebrow, fingers curling behind her ear. He can feel both their chests heaving, not with exertion but with some unnameable something. He feels as though if he were to speak right now, everything building up inside him would come tumbling violently out. He shouldn't, he can't, he won't --

She will. She does. She presses her lips to his, her lips soft and slightly chapped, stealing every bit of breath from his lungs. He presses back, his left hand coming up to cup the other side of her face, impossibly gentle. Her hands rise to bracket the back of his neck, fingers digging into the gentle waves at the nape of his neck.

He feels euphoric. Every part of skin is alive and buzzing, trying to gather as much sensation as physically possible. Julie presses back harder, deepening the kiss for a moment and Luke feels a new thrill shoot through him.

When she pulls back to breathe, she rests her forehead against his, their panting breaths mingling between them. Luke can feel a smile curling at the edges of his mouth and Julie can't bear to look away from it.

"Hi," he says, his voice husky.

"Hi," she says, and it sounds like an entirely new word in her kiss-roughened voice. A word that belongs only to them.

Luke leans down, burying his face in the crook of her neck, still breathing heavily, causing goose bumps to raise on Julie's skin where it skates across.

"You're amazing." His words sound a whole lot like a confession. Julie's hands continue to comb through the short hair at that tickles the back of his neck.

"Luke," she says. He lifts his head to meet her intense gaze. "I --" she drops her eyes for a moment but looks up again, a fire seemingly lit behind them. "I love you."

He can't help the smile that splits his face in two, looking for all the world like the sun had taken residence upon his face.

"Julie," his tongue curling around each syllable, "I love you, too."

[eatsleepandsupernatural]

Saved - Chapter Two

Pairings: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader,

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1570ish

A/N: Hello my ladies, lads and potatoes! I’m sorry this took so long to get up. I was having trouble writing it because I’m still new to abo dynamics. I don’t feel too confident with this, but I will keep it going one of two more chapters depending on the response this gets! Hope you all like it more than I do! Keep Safe, Stay Healthy and Be Smart! 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

   You rub the sleep away from your eyes as you sit up in bed, unsure of the time and of what to do. You have never been in this sort of situation before, and you could feel your heart racing inside your chest as you wipe your sweaty palms against your pants. Despite your instincts to hide, you are driven by an unknown need to open the door, to fill an emptiness that as appeared inside your chest. You follow the sound of a coffee machine down a narrow hallway and find yourself peering into an industrial-like kitchen. To your right, is a small dining table that has been bolted to the ground, six-round stools surrounding it. What really grabs your attention though, is the sight of Dean leaning his hip against the bench mug in hand, impatiently waiting for the coffee machine to finish brewing. He is freshly showered, dressed in a black t-shirt and old jeans, water droplets clinging to the tips of his hair. 

   ‘(Y/N), you're awake.’ Dean's deep voice jolts you back to reality, and you feel a warmth spreading across your cheeks from having been caught staring. ‘Do you drink coffee?’ 

   You smile shyly and shake your head, ‘It's too bitter, I prefer tea.’ 

   The Alpha looks somewhat taken aback, and you can't hold back the laughter at his look of genuine distress. He cracks a smile at you and makes his way over to one of the cupboards. ‘I think Sammy might have some Herbal shit in here, but I'll add normal stuff to the shopping list.’ He rifles through the cupboard before pulling out a box of green tea bags and opens it. 

   ‘Empty, sorry.’ He grimaces and throws the box over his shoulder. All you can do is watch in amusement as Dean starts to get flustered. 

   ‘Juice! I think we have some juice.’ His eyes widen, and he runs to the fridge and releases a frustrated groan when he comes up empty.

   ‘I guess we'll add that to the list too,’  he mutters before closing the fridge and turning to face you. ‘I'm really sorry, all we ever really drink is coffee and alcohol.’ He admits, rubbing the back of his neck. 

   You laugh at his sudden shy behaviour, ‘It's fine, really, I'm not that thirsty.’ It has been so long since you have experienced a typical morning, that you don't really understand Dean's need to give you something to drink. 

   ‘Well then, how about breakfast? I can fix you something. Why don't you have a seat.’ Dean gestures towards the table and turns to start cooking before you can protest. You sit down on one of the stools and watch as your Alpha pulls some things out of the fridge and turns on the stove, your eyes never leaving his back as his muscles move beneath his shirt. You feel a strange, but welcome calm as you sit and observe the Alpha fry up some eggs, and you realise that this is your life now. Dean didn't kick you out this morning, so he probably isn't planning to after breakfast, and you certainly have no reason to leave. 

   Dean places a plate loaded with hot, fatty food in front of you, a proud smile resting on his face. ‘Eat up,’ he orders, before turning around and piling two more plates with food. He sits down opposite you and starts shovelling food into his mouth. You are trying to think of something funny to say to embarrass him when Sam enters the kitchen, pushing his long hair out of his face. 

   ‘Mornin'’, Sam mutters, and you watch as he stumbles over to the coffee machine. These boys clearly love their coffee, you think to yourself. 

   ‘Breakfast over here for you sleeping beauty,’ Dean says through a mouthful of bacon gesturing at the plate he has placed on the table. Your eyes follow the movement, and you frown at the plate, noticing for the first time the two small lonely pieces of bacon sitting there.

   ‘Ah, thanks,’ Sam responds, a little clearer this time as he approaches the table with his coffee. ‘What... Dean? What the hell is this?’ He stops short at the sight of the plate on the table, turning to glare at Dean who is trying very hard to look innocent and keep a straight face. 

   ‘What's the matter, Sam?’ Dean questions indifferently, continuing to chew on a piece of bacon. 

   ‘What's the matter? You know what's the matter, Dean! I don't eat bacon.’ Sam rolls his eyes at his brother and turns his back on us. 

   Dean finally snaps and chuckles loudly to which you raised your eyebrows with a smirk. ‘Do you do that often?’  

   ‘Only on Tuesday's’. 

   You bite your lips together to keep from laughing, ‘It's Thursday.’ 

   ‘Whoops,’ He replies with no remorse, winking at you as he clears off the rest of his plate. 

   ‘Yo Sam, bring me some more bacon.’  You reign in a scoff at Dean's demand and turn your focus back to your food. Sam sits down next to him a few minutes later with a freshly made omelette and more bacon for Dean. 

   The three of you sit quietly at the table while you and Sam ate, Dean occupying his time with something on a laptop. It is incredibly peaceful, and you feel completely at home.

   ‘Didn't you say two other people lived here with you? Do they not eat breakfast with you?’ You ask, recalling the Alpha and Beta Sam had mentioned yesterday. 

   ‘The answer to that question is more complicated than you would think. Jack tends to sleep in a bit, I'm sure he will be around soon. Cas is a little trickier to explain.’ Dean says, leaning forward on the table.

   ‘Cas?’ You raise your eyebrows at the unfamiliar name, hoping for an explanation.

   ‘Do you believe in ghosts?’ Sam questions, intervening. 

    ‘I'm sorry, what?’ You blanch at the same time that Dean cries out in protest. 

   ‘Sam, what the hell?’

   ‘I was just trying to move the conversation along.’ 

   ‘I'm sorry, what is happening?’ You feel your anxiety grow as the men across from you stare at each other. 

   Dean inhales deeply before meeting your gaze. ‘What Sam is trying to say, is that this world is full of monsters; ghosts, vampires, werewolves, demons you name it. Sam and I kill these monsters to keep people safe. You following?’ 

   You nod your head in response, although you aren't sure if you believe him.

   ‘Now Angels are a thing too, most of them are dicks, but every now and then we come across one who's decent. Our friend, Castiel, is an Angel. He's probably in the library, researching, he doesn't need to eat or sleep.’

   ‘Right, so you're telling me that all the things that I had nightmares about as a kid are real? And you're friends with an Angel?’

   ‘Yes.’  Sam pushed his hair back, looking at you with the same cautious expression he used the previous night. 

   ‘Okay.’ You shrug your shoulders, accepting that your Alpha wouldn't make up a lie like that. ‘Will you teach me? How to fight the monsters?’ 

   The growl that erupts through the room is like no other you have heard before, and you quickly regret asking, despite your curiosity. Dean looks livid, and his whole body has tensed. 

   ‘Sam, Dean? What's wrong?’ You turn your eyes from Dean long enough to identify the owner of the new voice. Two men stand in the doorway to the kitchen, confusion and wariness emanating off them in waves. One of the men, the owner of the voice, you assume, was much taller than the other, oddly dressed in formal attire and a trenchcoat. The second man is most definitely the smallest of the three that occupy the bunker. You realise that these two men are Jack and Cas. 

   ‘Everything is fine, (Y/N) just told a funny joke is all, isn't' that right (Y/N),’ Sam speaks up. 

   You glance at Sam, narrowing your eyes in question. You hadn't made a joke at all, but Sam is giving you a look that says play along. 

   ‘That's right, yeah.’ 

   ‘So funny that you made Dean angrier than I have ever seen him, and that's saying something.’ The young kid pipes up. 

   ‘Jack, not now.’ Sam chastises, his eyes on Dean who still hasn't calmed down. 

   You realise that the idea of killing these monsters is clearly off the table, and had upset your Alpha dramatically. 

   ‘You know what, I don't think I want to learn how to do what you do after all, much rather stay here, read some books. Oh! Maybe I can catch up on some of the TV that I have missed while living on the streets. You guys do have a TV, right? And I could do some cooking if that's okay? I'm not sure if I'm any good, I'd have to learn. Do you like chicken? I could try cooking chicken? Or baking? Who doesn’t love cake? Ooh I had a really good pie once. I might try making pie.’ You ramble calmly, letting Dean know that you understand, your eyes never leaving the slowly calming Alpha. 

   ‘That all sounds great (Y/N), don't you think, Dean?’ Sam jumps in, relieved that the conversation is changing direction. 

    ‘What just happened, and who is she?’ Jack asks, still frozen in the doorway. 

   Dean breaks eye contact with you and turns towards Cas and Jack. ‘This is (Y/N), my true mate.’

Chapter 3

[voltage-fanfictions]

One Time Too Many

Anonymous request: Can you do angst with BMP 2 Ivan where MC leaves him for being unaffectionate/insensitive?

“Ivan, it’s late. You should really come and get some sleep.”

“Not now.”

“But Ivan-“

“I said not now.” His voice was sharp, leaving no room for argument. His eyes only leaving the papers in front of him for a second when he didn’t hear the door close. “Go to bed, you have no need to still be awake.”

His harsh stare didn’t leave your form, watching as your face fell, hands clenching into your nightshirt over your chest. For a moment it looked as if you were going to speak again, but your lips fell closed softly, eyes dropping to the floor as a look of defeat came over your face.

“Alright…” Your voice trailed off, hesitating momentarily before turning around and leaving the room, shuttling the door with a gentle click behind you.

With you gone, he shut his eyes. Both the pen in his hand and his head dropped, his interlaced hands becoming the resting place of his forehead. Yes he was tired but he had no time to consider that. Cracking open an eye he glanced to the pile of documents to the side that seemed to be ever growing. Although he had yet to be crowned King of Sanct Sybil, about six months prior his father had begun to struggle with ill health and was slowly starting to deteriorate in terms of his capabilities, meaning more and more of his responsibilities were beginning to fall into his hands.

For months there had been rumours circulating about his father, from the absurdity of him having abdicated or passing away in secret to the more correct guesses of him no longer being able to handle public appearances, and with no-one stepping in to say what was actually happening the unrest was beginning to be felt across the kingdom, and civil unrest was never a good thing when dealing with trade in other countries. However, his father had yet to express the want to back down from his position nor did he want the public to know of his state, very much believing in remaining a strong figurehead until the end, meaning he had to take on all of his responsibilities in secret. Of course, with him having so much more to deal with now, he was appearing in public himself much less with most of his day being spent in his office dealing with various stacks of paperwork and that in itself was causing even more rumours. With neither royal having been seen for a while he had heard the whispers of resistance groups wanting to overthrow them and take the nation in the name of one of the previously merged countries. Such extremist groups had always existed, but naturally around times of leadership changes or distress their causes became more supported, their venom reached further than normal.

You had offered to help, to take his place during royal summons to try and reduce some of the stress on him no doubt, but he and advisors had quickly rejected the notion. Technically you weren’t yet a part of the royal family, being neither his fiancée or wife, meaning politically you didn’t hold the position to be representing them alone, only being allowed to do so when with Ivan, but he also didn’t want you going out alone as a royal whilst the kingdom was as unstable as it currently was. Doing that would make you a prime target of extremists as a way to try and display their own power and conviction and also make the royals seem weak. He couldn’t let that happen. Shaking his head and heaving a sigh, he returned to work once more.

It wasn’t until his vision blurred to the point of being physically unable to read that he stopped, rubbing his eyes no longer clearing them. Knowing he had reached his daily limit he rose to his feet, placing away the documents securely for him to start on again when he had rested. The halls were silent apart from the echo of his own footsteps as he made his way back to his room.

He didn’t turn on the light, the curtains were cracked illuminating your sleeping form, walking to you, he rested a hand on your cheek when he noticed the furrow in your brow, clearly troubled even in your sleep. Even with his presence your expression didn’t soften. Stripping off his normal clothes he took his place in bed beside you, facing out the window he continued to gaze at the full moon. His back was cold, you were as far away from him as the bed would allow, curled up at the very edge. When this had first started, no matter the time he would return to the room you would greet him with a tired smile, he would admonish you for it each time, and when you thought he had finally fallen asleep you would hug him from behind, your warmth helping to lull him into slumber. How long had it been since that stopped?

Back in his office the next day he wasn’t given time to dwell on the thoughts from the previous night as he was straight back into work. Hours merged as paper after paper was taken, read, analysed, commented on, accepted, declines or sent back for more information. It was a knock on the door that once again drew his attention away. Sighing, he gave a call for them to enter and Mikhail did so followed by you.

“What are you doing here?” His tone came out far more clipped than he meant it to be, and he noticed you shrink back slightly from him, before he looked to your hands. In them lay a tray, a plate on top with steam rolling off the meal.

“I made you lunch.” He turned away, time spent with you was easy, it was far too easy to lose track and end up having lost hours of the day when he promised himself he would only take half an hour out. The insinuation of the meal was clear, you wanted to eat with him. He wanted to indulge you and himself, but there just wasn’t the time in his day.

“Thank you, leave it there and I’ll get to it shortly.”

“Can’t we-“

“Mikhail, in future please deliver meals yourself, she doesn’t need to waste time on such errands when she still has training to complete.” The butler’s expression fell somewhere between shock and a frown.

“Your Highness-“

“Ivan I can take a short while out of my day to give you lunch, and you should take time out as well!”

“You don’t know, as a matter of fact I don’t have time to take out.” He didn’t bother to add on that it was that way no matter his own desires. “Please leave now, I don’t have time to argue about this.” He raised his hand and motioned to Mikhail, the silver haired man sighed, stepping forward and resting a hand on your back.

“Please allow me to escort you out my lady.” The sympathy in his voice was clear as he began to gently guide you from the room.

“Wait a moment.” Your head snapped around the moment his voice reached your ears, expectation shining brightly in your eyes. “Friday next week the National Museum of Sanct Sybil is re-opening after major renovations, I will be going to the opening ceremony and you will join me.”

“Next Friday?”

“Yes, I said next Friday.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m sorry?” He glared. “You can’t?”

“I have something I have to do that day.” His patience wearing thin and ignoring the warning stare from Mikhail he stood from his desk, striding over to you.

“Something to do? You will one day be queen of Sanct Sybil, you will be a symbol of power and unity to this country. I’m sorry, but your personal errands can and will be carried out another time! This museum has been a national treasure for decades and you will be there to celebrate its reopening, not being there would be an insult to those who work there and the history of Sanct Sybil itself! Your attendance is non negotiable! Do I make myself clear?” His frustration leaked into his voice clearly, spoken so loudly is nearly echoed in the room. Any argument you had died in your throat, the unshed tears shone in your eyes and you didn’t respond, turning on your heels and fleeing from the office. Mikhail seemed conflicted, eyes flitting between the door you just exited through and back to him. He sighed, seating himself back in his chair.

“Your Highness-“

“Don’t lecture me Mikhail. No matter what she had planned, this is a huge reflection on her character. The people of Sanct Sybil support her, but if they think she’s starting to shirk her duties she could lose that favour. If she loses public support she could be in even more danger, we might be forbidden from being together.”

“Ivan.” The use of his first name drew his eyes up to the silver haired man. “I hold a lot of respect for you, and I tell you this not just as your butler, but as a friend. I know you do and say what you do to her to protect her, but she doesn’t. You should listen to what she has to say.”

“Are you deliberately ignoring my orders? I told you not to lecture me yet you do so anyway. Our relationship is none of your concern, and you will not interfere.” There was a tense moment of silence before Mikhail sighed.

“Very well, I’ll leave you be and go and check on her.”

Silence filled the room as he left, soon to be overtaken by the scratch of pen on paper, he needed to get as much done before he had to go to this opening ceremony. Perhaps the two of you could talk then.

The next week passed uneventfully for the most part, only the inclusion of talks around the security of the trip for the two of you and a rather tense conversation around the rise of extremist activities. Of course he was worried, but it was a dangerous balancing act between safety and public image, there were suggestion of brining the military out to the public to act as a deterrent, but doing so too early could also reflect badly on them. The last thing they needed at this point was the public saying that they were only doing this to show their power or that it was an overreaction. Not only that, what if this was part of a bigger plan in which the military was a target? He didn’t want to put lives in danger unnecessarily, be they solider or civilian.

Having finalised the security detail of today, he stared in the mirror, straightening out his collar. You had gone to change in another room leaving him alone with his even stoic butler who ran a lint roller over the back of his suit.

“Are you sure you would like no-one else with you today?”

“No, any more people would make security more difficult and unpredictable, it will just be the two of us, please just prepare for our return and make sure those documents get to where they need to be.” Meeting his eye in the mirror he gave a prompt nod before stepping to the side, allowing him to pass by and leave the room to meet you in the limo.

Making his way down, he didn’t have to wait long for you to appear. In a modest dress you emerged at the end of the hallway with a maid, the woman beside you pulling you into a gentle hug upon noticing your forlorn expression. You seemed to take comfort in the gesture, leaning into the hug and wrapping your arms around the older woman’s back as if trying to use her to hold yourself together. He couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the odd behaviour. You soon pulled yourself from the hug, taking a breath before walking out to join him. He went to open the door for you, but you got there before him, pulling the handle and sliding in. He sighed, climbing into the car and noticing you were sat at the other window refusing to meet his eye. He shook his head, simply assuming you were still upset about the fact he had made you attend over your errand so the two of you simply sat in a tense silence. He waited for you to break it, but after ten minutes of you ignoring his presence he decided this silence had gone on for too long.

“Don’t you think enough is enough?” You glanced out the corner of your eye to him, but shut your eyes and turned your face away slightly. “I know you’re upset about your plans, but you mustn’t let it show. You mustn’t let it look like it’s a chore for you to be there.” You still didn’t respond, so with a sigh he conceded. “Fine, act as you like for now. But the moment you’re in public view you need to smile.”

The two of you sunk back into the silence for the remainder of the journey. Upon reaching the museum he automatically put his guard up, exiting the limo first and scanning the surroundings for any sign of trouble as one of the guards offered you his hand and helped you out. He stepped away from the car, holding out his arm in a clear invite for you to take it. Slowly you joined him from your side of the car, guards lining the streets either side of the two of you. As asked, you were smiling, it didn’t reach your eyes, but it was no longer something that could be mentioned, so making do with your loose grip on him he escorted you up the marble stairs to the grand entrance of the museum that was covered by a thick red ribbon that stretched the width of the entryway. The claps and cheers of the audience rung in his ears as he walked you back to the ribbon, pecking you on the cheek, briefly tightening his hand around yours before taking his place at the podium and allowing the crowd to settle before he spoke.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,

It is with much appreciation that myself and the Princess stand here today to commemorate the re-opening of the Sanct Sybil National Museum after two years of hard and dedicated work from skilled craftsmen to restore this iconic monument. The effort put forth by them shines through every part of this structure, and serves as a fitting home for the history once again housed within its wall.

Sanct Sybil has come a long way from where it started, but we must never forget where we came from, or those who made it possible for us to live as we do. Therefore I would like for all of you to join me in celebrating this re-opening, for us to hold dear to our hearts the history that has led us to where we are, and to carry on their legacy of fighting for a better Sanct Sybil so the generations that follow ours can look back on us with the same thankfulness.”

The end of his speech was met with applauds and cheers as he turned and motioned you to his side. You did so obediently, plastering a smile on your face as he took your hand, each of you taking on side of the large scissors he had been given you posed for a moment at the ribbon, allowing the press to get their photos before finally cutting it.

Security stayed barely out of site as he guided you to the side, out of the way of the people entering the museum, nodding and greeting those who spoke to him as they entered.

“Are we not going in ourselves?”

“No, it’s too dangerous at the moment, the security may be the latest but our attendance has been broadcast nationwide. We can’t be sure of who might be waiting for a us.”

“Were you actually going to tell me we were only going to be here to cut the ribbon?”

“It may ‘just’ be ribbon cutting for you, but people can latch onto the smallest things. Crowd mentality could be used against you if you’re seen to be disrespecting Sanct Sybil.”

“Is missing one event all it takes to be seen as disrespectful around here?”

“Times are tense, and the tabloids will jump on anything they can to get a sale, even if it’s discrediting honest people and lying. They don’t care about the damage they do.”

Noticing that the security detail had begun to move, and that everyone had entered the museum, he took your hand in his. “Come now, we should head back to the palace. It’s safer there.”

You looked like you wanted to say something, but bit your tongue no doubt remembering you were still in public, he gently pulled you along, but soon noticed noise and commotion up ahead. Motioning to the closest security guard, he approached looking mildly nervous.

“What’s happening?”

“Your highness, there are protesters. They’ve surrounded the limo.”

“What?” He managed to cloak his panic with just a slight widening of his eyes. “Is there any violence yet?”

“Not as of yet, but they’re riling each other up rather quickly, I don’t imagine it’ll be long.”

He frowned, crowd mentality was a dangerous thing. He had to get you out of there, and fast. He wasn’t going to risk your safety.

“There’s a spare unmarked car around the back of the museum, take her there and get her back to the palace as soon as possible. Let myself and my security detail know as soon as she’s there.”

“Ivan! I’m not leaving you-“

“You are.” He motioned to some of the security force. “You’ll guide her there, make sure no one is following you. Stay on high alert until she’s back within the palace gates, do you understand me? If anything happens to her, you will be held responsible.” They nodded, quickly taking your arm despite your protests and taking you around the side of the museum. He turned his back on you, walking away as he heard you calling out his name. “Be safe.”

It took many stressful hours to subdue the crowd. He had spoken to and made arrangements with more people than he care to count, from liaising with the museum staff to ensure the safe exit of their guests, to the police to get them working together with the royal security to contain the riot and to make sure those who started it were identified and arrested, and then contacting the department of information to pass on the identities of those involved to be investigated. Of course, he hadn’t let the stress show on his face, how could he as the symbol of Sanct Sybil? So by the time he returned to the palace himself, he was thoroughly exhausted.

He went to head to his room, but the hurried footsteps in his direction caused him to pause.

“What the hell are you playing at Ivan?!” Your angry voice reached his ears, and he had to hold back a sigh of exhaustion as he turned to face you.

“This isn’t personal. You needed to be removed from the area for your own safety.”

“Oh no no. You don’t get to make this about me Ivan. I have been trying so hard to be understanding, but I’m reaching my limit here! We promised to stay together! How could you just throw me in a car and send me off like I’m some kind of nuisance?! No explanation, no apology, no reassurance, NOTHING! For eight hours I’ve been wondering if you’re alive, injured, I had no idea! Do you know how helpless you’ve been making me feel recently?!” Your yelling rung around his skull, he needed to talk to you. Tell you of what had been happening, but he couldn’t now. He was far too tired, he couldn’t have such a straining conversation with you in the state he was currently in.

“Look, we can discuss this tomorrow. I’m tired and wish to go to bed now, I’ll be meeting with a number of governors tomorrow, so can we please postpone this until tomorrow evening?”

You seemed frozen in place, eyes wide, limbs shaking with pent up rage as you desperately bit your tongue. That was until you stalked past him.

“I’m staying in a guest room tonight. Don’t disturb me.” Your clipped warning was all he received before you disappeared down the corridor. Something about your tone unsettled him, he had seen you angry before, but to have it directed at him was not a pleasant experience. With another sigh, he trudged back to your shared bedroom, allowing a maid in to take you enough for the night from your wardrobe and vanity, before he changed and slid into bed, hoping the two of you would be able to fully discuss this tomorrow.

The next day was plain, he brushed off Mikhail’s suggestion of having a small talk with you before he left for the day, informing him that he was extremely busy and wouldn’t be free, but he also felt that perhaps it would be better to give you some more time to cool down. When he spoke with you, he wanted the both of you to be calm, he also advised Mikhail to return the items you had taken to the guest room back to your bedroom, he wouldn’t allow this discussion to fail, there was no need for you to sleep in the guest room and cause more work for the maids. His royal duties were easy to deal with, mainly consisting of discussing new potential policies with governors, and deciding whether they make logistical and financial sense, and collecting the paperwork of those that might be for further review. He made quick work of it all, deciding to take some of them home with him, he couldn’t break his plans for tonight.

It was seven in the evening upon his return. The sun had begun to set, dyeing the inside of the palace a beautiful orange. But something was wrong, he could tell. The staff were slow, sullen. The smiles they greeted him with seemed forced.

“Mikhail!” His butler appeared before him as if expecting his call.

“Yes, Your Highness?” He held the papers in his hand out to him.

“Please place these in my office. I need to go and find her.” He obviously knew who the ‘her’ he was referring to was. “Do you know where she is?”

“No, Sir.” He gave a sharp nod to confirm he had heard. There were a few places he thought you could be. The gardens, the library, the guest room you had stayed in. He was confused to find you in none of them, the last place he could think of. The bedroom. Perhaps you hadn’t had a good night sleep, was all he could consider. He knocked on the door, gently calling your name. When he got no response, his brow furrowed. Opening the door the check, his heart dropped. Something was definitely wrong.

The room was bare of any sign of you. The vanity missing your products, your nightstand devoid of framed photos, he checked the wardrobe, half empty. All of your clothes gone. His heart was drumming in his chest, ringing loudly in his ears as the possibilities crowded his thoughts, so he did the only thing he could think to do, and called one of the few people he could trust.

“You called, Your Highness?”

“Mikhail, what’s going on here? Where are her things? Where is she?”

“I don’t know.”

“HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW?!”

“Because the last time I saw her is when she asked for a car to be brought to the front to take her to the airport.” His world seemed to freeze along with his panicked thoughts.

“…What?”

“She left for the airport early this morning.”

“Where was she going?!”

“I don’t know, Sir. I didn’t ask. But I assume she’s gone home.”

“YOU LET HER LEAVE?!”

“Your Highness, it is my job to assist the royals in any request given to me. It is not my job to question and speculate. She asked for a car, I provided her with one. She also asked for me to give you this.” His gloved hand drew an envelope from his blazer pocket, which he then held out to him.

Ivan looked at the crisp white envelope, before carefully plucking it from his butler’s hand. He was furious at him, but he handled it with extreme care, gently running his fingers over his name that was etched in black ink in that familiar handwriting.

“I assumed had has something to do with the funeral.”

“Funeral?”

“Did she not tell you? Her father passed away a few weeks ago, his funeral was yesterday. She was devastated that she couldn’t attend.

The conversation you had had crossed his mind, and he suddenly felt the guilt consume him, he had called something so personal little more than an errand, dismissed it outright. His anger at you felt so misplaced after he realised the reason behind your sadness. Had he truly been so distant from you that you felt unable to tell him something so important?

“Leave, Mikhail. I don’t want to see you for a while.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” He gave a bow, before exiting the room.

Silence enveloped him, and he didn’t want to disturb it, taking slow, quiet steps towards the bed, he turned and sat himself down. Simply staring at the envelope for a while. It felt as if the moment he opened it, he would regret it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to read what you had written. But in the end the concern for your wellbeing being won over his nerves, and he opened the envelope, unfolding the letter inside.

Dear Ivan,

I’m sorry, I can’t do this anymore. I wish I were someone stronger, someone you felt you could rely on, someone you felt safe in sharing your troubles with. But these past months have showed me that this isn’t the case. I’ve tried so hard to reach out to you, so many times I’ve tried to give you even a moment’s rest, but you just won’t hear of it. I’m sorry it took me until yesterday to see it.

It’s become clear to me that we can’t stay together, not like this. It feels as if there’s a mountain between us, and that’s not what a marriage should be built on. I’m not even sure if you’ll care that I’ve left, it certainly doesn’t feel like you’ve cared about much at all, not recently at least. Somewhere along the way, the mutual trust between us has been lost. You seem so far out of my reach, and it breaks my heart to even look at you. I’m sorry I’m not someone you could rely on. I wish you well, Ivan, and I truly do wish you are able to find that person, whoever they may be.

I am sad to go, and I have no doubt this will hurt me for a while, but I don’t hold malice towards you. Your job is an important one, I know this, and I’m sorry that I didn’t notice sooner that there was something stopping you from confiding in me as you did. Time changes people, and it appears to have changed us. There can’t be happiness in such a relationship.

I love you Ivan, and I wish you the very best, as the future ruler of Sanct Sybil, and as a person. From the bottom of my heart. I’ve learnt so much at your side, and grown as a person, and I will be forever thankful for that. Goodbye, and may the very best of luck be with you.

Love,

[Y/N]

He stared at the words, reading over them again and again, nearly burning them into his brain. You were gone. He had never realised how large this palace, how large this room felt to be in alone. Your infectious smile and optimism seemed to coat the walls, and with it gone the place felt hollow and empty. Looking up, he placed the letter on his bedside and in its place picked up a simple framed picture of the two of you. It was taken by one of the princes when they all came over simply because they could. The two of you had taken them all to the field you often took Snieg and Urey , the photo had been snapped there.

It was one of your favourite places, and as he thought back on all the time you two had spent there, he recalled a particular conversation he had had with you whilst there on a picnic.

“You look tired Ivan.”

“I’m alright.”

“You don’t need to lie to me, it’s written clear as day on your face.”

“Alright, I am a little tired.”

“I knew it.”

“It’s to be expected. One day I will carry the responsibility of this whole country.”

“The whole country?” The smile you had given him shone bright in his mind. “Isn’t that stressful?”

“…It can be.”

“Well, if that ever becomes too much to think about, try to think about it in terms of those closest to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, trying to see a whole country isn’t easy. So see it as doing the best thing by those close to you! You know, Mikhail, the staff at the palace. To do the best by them, their families need to be happy as well, do by narrowing it down to the individual level it can be less daunting, you know? See it as not the whole country, but as a few people who are close to your heart. That way, you know you wouldn’t do wrong by them.”

The words you had spoken that day rung in his mind, and he pressed his forehead against the glass of the frame and shut his eyes. He hadn’t done what was best for you, too concerned about everything else and assuming how you would react, and only now did he realise he had done so, too late to make amends.

[into-crazy]

Man Under the Makeup Pt. 3

Arthur Fleck/Joker x Female Reader series

Warnings- Cursing, mention of carrying a weapon for protection, sad conversation

You can find the other parts RIGHT HERE and through the “Man Under the Makeup” tag lovelies!💘

Come 6pm, you were strolling to meet up with Arthur. Around this time, the sun normally sets, allowing you to walk just before the darkness of the night hits. How thoughtful of him not to have you roaming around too late. He of anyone would know these streets, after all. Although you can handle yourself, never leaving your home without your blade and some mase.

Few people seem to be making their way home after a grind filled day. Also those, who for a fact are heading straight to the bar. Judging by their distressed faces, they're in for a large amount of drinks throughout the night.

You're going through the route you normally take for work, keeping an eye out. Walking around the large piles of garbage scattered on some parts of the side walk. Covering your nose from the wretched odors which littered the air. These streets were disgusting! No wonder everyone in the city is pissed.

As you're nearing the spot you and Arthur encountered, you find him standing there waiting. Still dressed and with make on, Joker stands there with a flower bouquet. You find it quite cute how he's patiently awaiting your arrival.

"Y/n, you made it!" He starts excitedly.

"Of course I have," you reply, "why wouldn't I? Hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

He offers you the flowers. "Not at all."

"For me? Why, thank you." Taking the bouquet made of various roses and lilies, you catch glimpse over at the crew he has behind him. About 15 members, gathered a few feet back. "You brought your men, I see."

"I did," he nods in their direction, "they're just for precaution. I got a lot a heat on me these days." He states anxiously shifting the weight between his slender legs.

"So I've heard." You reply waving at the crew who acknowledge your arrival. It's only polite to greet those who would be joining you, even if it's from a stretch away.

"I'll have them keep their distance. They won't interfere with our time." He assures pushing his green hair back.

"Oh no worries," you assure, "I have no issues with it."

The place wasn't far from where you'd met. It was a nice, quiet bistro. Well, maybe it was peaceful right now considering everyone left spooked when you and Joker walked in. His men also made sure the staff wouldn't try to leave or call the cops. So you weren't surprised when your waiter was practically trembling coming over to your table every now and then.

"So, Joker," you emphasize the name, "seems like you've made quite the image for yourself."

He chuckles, "It appears so. Ya know you don't have to call me that, right? We're by ourselves over here." Hinting towards his crew behind him- sat on the complete opposite side of the small eatery. They were doing their own thing, giving you both your respective privacy. Seated directly across him in the corner of the place. So you felt comfortable no one was eavesdropping in on your conversation.

"I'm aware," you tell him, "I'm simply addressing your new persona." Smiling, you take a sip of your drink.

"Right," he adds, "I've got so much to tell you."

"Hm, clearly." You reply removing your large coat, as it was increasingly warmer indoors. Revealing a red satin dress that hugged your body nicely.

"Wow." He was momentarily at a loss for words. "I gotta say, you look amazing my dear." Taking your sight in, admiring the beauty beaming off you. Not eyeing you like a hungry dog waiting for a treat- but genuinely appreciating what he's seeing. You're gorgeous inside and out, he couldn't help but think why you had agreed to dinner with him. Dressed up all so nicely, for him. "Red is definitely your color."

"I'm flattered," you accept his admiration, cheeks growing hot with delight. "You're quite charming yourself, Mr. J."

"Charming? Me?" He questions the word, seemingly confused. Unable to grasp the concept of anyone ever thinking such. He's been deemed the worst insults, in addition to horrifying and intimidating. But charming? And what about.. Mr. J? Oh, he can't deny loving the sound of that.

"Yes, you are. It's- you're different and I like it." You tell him. "But I have to ask, what happened since the last time I saw you?"

He sighs placing his hand on the table. "See before, I've got tired of being pushed around and stepped on. People are so awful, I finally hit my breaking point. This city's lost it's way. So I decided to do something.. differently."

"And what is that?" You give him your full attention as the topic becomes more serious.

"To show the people of this city what life really is." He amusingly states. "See, most haven't quite gotten it yet. They believe I'm doing it for a change in who's running the city. That I'm going to fix everything that's wrong." The sarcasm in his tone may try to sound amusing, but his eyes show something else. His eyes are dark with that last statement. Cold and dark.

"And you're not?" Briefly pondering his words. "No. No, you aren't." You say, shaking your head slightly.

"W-what was that?" He asks scanning your face.

"Of course that's what they believe. It's what they want, right? Some bold new guy comes around to make a difference. But from my perspective, that's not your intention."

He taps his fingers on the table, fighting the urge of a laughing fit. Rising up from the pit of his stomach- catching it in his throat, before it has a chance to emerge. "And m-may I ask what you think?"

"I haven't figured it out yet," you start, "but I know fixing the city isn't the case. The riots, the mobs, the brutality- which happen to be chaos you helped reign. I understand that the wealthy politicians and citizens have their fair part in it, too. But one does not simply seek for so called better change, when that's how they choose to take a course of action."

Joker adjusts himself so now he's leaning forward on the table. Closer to you, trying to show he's not intimidated. "That's a good observation," he acknowledges, "and it's got you wondering the real reason, right?"

"Yes," you reply softly. "Look, I'm not judging. I'm interested is all."

He embraces your curiosity. "I want to show them the funny side of the bigger picture. The world.. this terrible city, this life we're living-" he pauses, "It's a joke. And the sooner people realize that, the happier they could be. It's all simply for laughs, my dear." Shrugging his shoulders at the last statement.

All for laughs? Somehow you thought that wasn't entirely it.

Something else had to have happened. How could a man's eyes that once carried so much emotion go completely dark? Grasping the fact he wasn't telling you entirely why. Maybe it was this "Joker" persona, currently preventing him from letting you in. You'd have to ask these questions when you're speaking entirely to Arthur.

"And to make that work, you had to change?" You recall. "Adopt a new identity?"

"Yeah," he confirms. "As Arthur, I could never have it off. They wouldn't take me seriously and use everything to their knowledge against me- Gotham PD, politicians, those that disagree. But not with the Joker."

"No one knows who the Joker is," you almost whisper looking down at the table. If only the rest of the world could see him as you've seen him- still see him. Maybe if everyone wasn't so shitty with sticks fully up their asses, then perhaps they could've seen the man you thought him to be. Could things have turned out differently? Honestly, who knows.

"No one," he adds, "accept you." He brings your face back up to his- which is intensely close. The heat of his body enticing you further into him. The scent of cigarette smoke and soap strong on him. Gazing onto his bright red lips, you thought he was going to kiss you.

Only to be left surprised when he quickly shys back, leaving you in a bit of a haze. He sits completely back in his seat- seemingly entertained with your response to his withdrawal. You scold him for it.

"Nice to see you're so interested." He implies with a short laugh, flashing a killer grin.

Embarrassed, you lean back into the bar seat. Damn him. How could he make you feel so vulnerable when you'd least expect it? Along with the audacity to gloat about it with his ridiculously gorgeous smile. He knows. He knows exactly what he's doing.

"What makes you so sure of that?" You playfully question him crossing your arms.

"Well for one," he states, "you agreed to meet up with me."

"Yeah, and I was half expecting a man with a lot less makeup on then myself." You tease leaning onto the table.

"And yet, here you are. Sitting across, having dinner with me." He winks putting a cigarette in his mouth. "See the point I'm getting at?"

You huff at the remark. He's toying with you, he's gotta be. "Alright then, fair enough. I'll give you that. But don't sit there and act like I'm the only one."

"I didn't say that," he sneers flicking the lighter until it lights the stick. "I know you're wondering what it is about you that's captivating me."

You hum waiting for a response, "I am."

"I like how you're not afraid to say what you need to say. Mindful for others, but you don't take shit from anyone. I admire that. And also- don't mind me saying- your fascination with a freakish man like myself."

"I don't think you're freakish," you interject. "Different yes.. But I don't perceive you as a freak."

"You don't?" His reply comes out softly. His whole demeanor eases- relaxing his shoulders. It reminds you of that shy man he's holding inside. What a shame to think he might not fully come out anytime soon. Joker could not be seen as too much of a "softie" by the public or his loyal crew. Noo. It wouldn't be good for his image. You need to be completely alone with him if that were to happen. For now, your quiet corner conversation will have to do.

"I never have." You make it very clear to him. "I never thought of you as a freak Arthur. Not before. And not now." You lay both of your hands above the table. He melts with you calling him by his name for the first time tonight. Even more so when he's started coming out of it. He puts the cigarette butt out in a small ashtray by the side.

You take his speechless silence as a sign to continue. "I've noticed you were absent lately.. As I walked by that same spot everyday, and not seeing you there- it concerned me."

He moves his hands closer to yours atop the table. Hesitant in getting too close. "You.. looked for me?" Arthur's heart flutters at your caring words. The fact you noticed that he was gone. No one has ever paid attention to his existence like such- before the Joker that is.

"I did," you continue, "and I grew even more nervous after seeing that clip they played of you on the television.. with Murray making fun of your stand up performance.."

He gently lays his rough hands on top of yours, lightly squeezing with awe. Needing to feel that you were real. To know you are really here, and not an illusion of his mind.

You need a second, looking off to the side briefly before continuing. "I had hoped that it didn't destroy you."

"Y/n.." Realizing he doesn't have to put on this persona to impress you. You look past the clown- past the makeup. Because you've already admired him from the beginning, as Arthur. Heck, even as Carnival, because that's how he'd met you. You care for his well being and feelings. He cherishes your shared moment of silent intimacy. Which is he hasn't had the chance to experience before. It feels nice, refreshing. Like he's finally being seen.

He's the first one to break the stillness. "Well, let's not make this evening all about me," he rests back comfortably. "Please, y/n. How about we talk about you?"

He is all questions and ears for you over the next hour. You inform that you're an office secretary, often working the usual 9 to 5. Which is the only thing going on in your life right now. Having moved here some time ago on your own- no friends or even family. Needing to get away from your life before. However, you'd be lying if you claimed to love it here. You feel alone, trapped. Not just in Gotham, but trapped in your own state of mind. There was nothing in your life, you were simply existing. Only staying because you felt you were part of the few inhabitants that brought some form of color into this cold grey city. But things have only gotten worse for you since. Until now it seems.

"What about you, have you got any family here Arthur?" You ask him curiously.

His smile slowly drops while he thinks of an answer. "No.." he shakes his head, "no one." How? How is he supposed to tell you he killed the woman he grew up thinking was his mother? Who only turned out to be an enabler of his previous ongoing abuse.

No. Bringing her into discussion will only put a damper on such a great night. Eventually he might indeed tell you, but not at the moment. He's having an amazing time with you. Listening to the way you talk, hearing your sweet laugh. Why ruin it?

Towards the end of dinner, you notice Arthur has hardly touched his food. His plate looks as if he picked at it a couple times. Not that it was particularly strange. Perhaps he was too caught in conversation to eat.

"Hey, what do you say we get out of here?" He suggests needing a change of atmosphere. "One of my men over there could drive us. We'll get away from the rest of the crowd. Ride through the town?"

"Sure," you freely agree.

Before you leave, Joker pays the check. Actually pays. Leaving an overly generous tip for the waiter who served you both. Criminal or not, he feels that a gentleman should pay for a first date. Mean, come on, you know the money's stolen. But hey, it's the thought that counts, right?

End of part 3.

[clarabosswald]

yo so it’s the middle of the night (almost morning actually) and i’ve been laying wide awake for at least an hour thinking about how y’all have been doing my main girl lyra the dirty i was trying to actively avoid the discourse in the his dark materials tag but i’ve just finished reading lyra’s oxford for the first time and i can’t just stay quite while you’ve been getting my All Time Favorite Female Character so damn wrong 

so let’s start with the basics who is lyra by the beginning of book 1?

arrogant, extremely self assured

emotional, with a wild personality

HIGHLY impressionable

most importantly - she grew up almost her entire life in an extremely sheltered environment, protected by jordan’s scholars and servants alike

fucking 11 years old. a Child

then you (or a certain philip pullman) take this lovable little prick and drag her through an utterly ridiculous plethora of traumatic events let’s make a list, shall we? just... some highlights. because this list got so ridiculously long as i was writing it, i literally cannot include all of the traumatic events in this kid’s life

her best friend gets kidnapped by notorious child kidnappers - probably the first truly big blow to lyra’s sheltered world, imo bigger than the attempt on asriel’s life (being herself, she vows to save him, which as we all know is crucial for future events)

she learns the real identity of her parents. the man she thought was her uncle her whole life is actually her father. and the woman who so deeply betrayed her trust, whom she learned to hate, is her mother. that’s fucked up

almost by herself, she finds a boy without his daemon, his soul, a half-boy, an inhuman boy, a ghost, a nightmare - then she shows him compassion because the entire world had turned its back to the poor thing and because she’s just that good - and she brings him to safety only to have him die a few hours later while she was sleeping. what the fuck

she finds out the truth about the operation her own mother’s leading. cutting away the souls of children. and she sees all of them. in cages.

then some men casually grab her and pan - with their human hands - and almost cut them apart. that was clearly a breezy, fun experience 

then, of course, comes the best part, where her father kidnaps her best friend - the one she just saved, the one she was just reunited with after a long and dangerous journey - and cold-bloodedly kills him right before her eyes - she held his body as he died - such a massive betrayal of trust i’ve barely got words to describe it. and after all of that she decides to follow him into a different goddamn world?????

and hey that’s just book 1 the next 2 books only add and add and add to this already impressive pile, here are some highlights:

remember how the alethiometer - her trusted guide, the one thing making her feel special and safe - was stolen by a powerful evil man

and how she and will were hunted by a mob of crazed children who were wholly intending to murder them

and oh that nice bit when lyra spent what was probably weeks drugged to sleep in a cave up some mountains, and that whole time she had a continuous dream about the same best friend she vowed to save and blamed herself for his death - seeing him in the world of the dead, begging her to come help him. lovely experience for any child

a lot of people forget this bit but this kid faced the personification of her own death................. and followed it

a lot of people don’t forget this bit, probably one of the single most traumatic experiences so far if not the most traumatic, when this child forced herself to leave her soul, her closest friend, literally half of herself, on some foggy beach without knowing how she’ll ever find him again. remember how hard she fought two books ago to escape a similar fate? now she’s willingly doing this to herself? how fucking fucked up is that

then comes another underrated event which i think changed her forever. when she failed lying to the harpies. lying. the one thing she was best at. that defined her. that she relied on in so many dangerous situations. failed. this child is in the world of death and torn apart and terrified and now stripped of her power of lying her way out of danger. god

she fights against doubt and her own weakness to lead uncountable trillions of souls out of the world of the dead. then she nearly falls to her death in the hole created by an interdimensional bomb designed to kill her. you know. another casual day for us all

she fights her way through a battlefield full of soul-eating monsters looking for her lost soul what the sHIT

and here i’m gonna stop before the next major trauma and say something. as a kid i didn’t understand lyra’s and will’s romance. couldn’t see the point. as an adult i do. these two children have been through so. goddamn. much. by themselves. learning to trust each other. then protecting each other. being each other’s only ally, only friendly face, only hand to grab. saving each other so many times. they proved themselves, their friendship, to each other for so long. helped each other. believed in each other. two fucked up children in a fucked up situation. honestly? no wonder they fell in love.  and when you read the books and see how it evolved... yeah. so you take that - these two kids finally finding peace and comfort in each other, having that blissful experience of falling in love for the first time - and you rip it away from them. suddenly. violently. they can’t anymore. so you consider all these things i’ve listed above and some things should seem to make sense. 1. lyra cannot possibly be the same person she was in the beginning of book 1. remember how impressionable she is. how protected she grew up. then you drag her through the minefield of everything she’s been through. yes, she will be broken. she will not be exactly as fierce and confident and she was before. she cannot possibly retain that.  you know why?  because she’s not a caricature of a ~strong female character~. she’s human. and amazingly written as such. 2. considering the above while making the next point - will made a huge imapct on lyra and her personality. she learned from him. she admired him. she drew strength and confidence from him. remember again - she’s impressionable. then there’s this quote from the end of book 3:

They looked at her: her eyes were glittering more than usual, her chin was held high with a look she'd learned from Will without knowing it. She looked defiant as well as lost, Dame Hannah thought, and admired her for it; and the Master saw something else--he saw how the child's unconscious grace had gone, and how she was awkward in her growing body. But he loved the girl dearly, and he felt half-proud and half in awe of the beautiful adult she would be, so soon.

and this one soon after:

Once they were in the Botanic Garden, Pan ran away over the grass chasing a mouse toward the wall, and then let it go and sprang up into the huge pine tree nearby. It was delightful to see him leaping through the branches so far from her, but they had to be careful not to do it when anyone was looking; their painfully acquired witch power of separating had to stay a secret. Once she would have reveled in showing it off to all her urchin friends, and making them goggle with fear, but Will had taught her the value of silence and discretion.

and then there’s one from lyra’s oxford:

The poor thing looked so wretched, huddled there in the cold shadow; and the thought of his witch, waiting in the north in the faint hope that he’d bring back something to heal her, made tears come to Lyra’s eyes. Pan had told her she was too soft and too and too warm-hearted, but it was no good telling her about it. Since she and Will had parted two years before, the slightest thing had the power to move her to pity and distress; it felt as if her heart were bruised for ever. 

and this bit a little after that seals the deal:

Lyra’s mind was whirling. They’d nearly walked into a trap - and now Lyra, weaponless, would have to fight to stay alive. She thought, “Will - Will - be like Will - “

and god i just [inhales]

points made: 1. lyra is a growing child  2. lyra’s life circumstances and personality made her vulnerable to trauma 3. she’s then gone through an extremely prolonged chain of highly traumatic events 4. her relationship with will was unusually strong and impactful on her life and personality and feeling of safety and security, being violently forced to be away from him hurt her profoundly 5. she’s a young human being, she grows and changes 6. LEAVE MY CHILD ALONE

[yogaadvise]

A guide to Ujjayi breath

Ujjayi Pranayama (breath regulating method) is a soft, whispering breath which you'll additionally hear called successful breath, or possibly ocean breath. It's contrasted to the noise of the wind via the trees or the waves coming to shore.

Below are the Sanskrit terms crucial to Ujjayi Pranayama:

Ujjayi: Victory over

Pranayama: Prana - life force, breath; Yama - control, restraint, regulation

The mechanics of Ujjayi breath

With Ujjayi breath you take a breath in as well as out of the nose with the lips secured - no breath passes the lips. This also serves to develop heat in the body. The lips carefully close and also although the breath is travelling through the nostrils the emphasis remains in your throat.

You create a constraint in the throat as if breathing in as well as out of a slim straw. Whilst maintaining a shut mouth placement be mindful of held tension in the teeth, jaw, throat and/or neck - allow it go. You can really feel the breath stroke the rear of your throat as you inhale and exhale. This comes together with the audibility of the breath, contrasted commonly to the sound of waves, Darth Vader and my other half in deep sleep. The tone, the audibility is smooth as well as constant, continual undisturbed cycles of inhales as well as breathes out, often you can not tell the distinction in audio in between the exchange of in and also out breath cycles.

Sama Vritti

Sama: same Vritti: whirlings, variations, modifications

Along with the even tone of breath, the length of the breath coincides on the inhale as it gets on the exhale. You complete a full in-breath within the very same time as you finish your out-breath. Making use of a metronome is a great practice, if you are a musician you may have one already however otherwise there are some excellent online/phone applications that I've made use of with my students prior to. Establish your metronome at 75 bpm, breathe in for 4 beats, exhale for 4. An app that highlights/ stresses the beginning of each brand-new cycle of breath is preferable.

With an even tone and length of breath, the last improvement is to take a breath fully, deeply as well as completely (air quantity of breath). Within each cycle you spend the whole inhale filling up and whole exhale launching breath - at no point do you hold the breath - seamless and smooth, attempt not allow the breath gone out.

A Beginners' Guide to Ujjayi Breath

I have a tendency to advise trainees that are newbies to breathe with their mouths open to get made use of to the physical feeling at their throats and sound of breath.

Sit in a comfortable seat, where your sit bones are grounded and bearing even weight on both sides. Knees no greater than hips. Piling head over neck, neck over shoulders, 4 edges of ribs stacking 4 corners of hips. View equivalent size in both sides of your body, back really feels raised and tall. Chin is alongside earth.

Rest one hand on your lap/ upper leg, Palm encountering up or down and also the other hand at the very same height as well as before your mouth, Hand dealing with towards you.

With your mouth open breathe out right into your palm, picturing you are steaming up a mirror/ glass and really feeling the warm breath on your palm. On your next inhale maintain the hand where it is, take in making that same noise. Practise this for as much as 10 cycles (4 matter in, 4 matter out, x10). Notice if you discover the inhale or exhale more difficult.

When you really feel comfy right here go on to closing your mouth on the inhale yet opening up mouth on the exhale. See if you can maintain the noise despite the lips are secured. Following inhale with mouth open and exhale with mouth closed, keeping experience in your throat and the audio of breath the same. Do each for 5-10 cycles.

When you feel you wish to relocate on from below, relax your hand as well as begin Ujjayi Pranayama. You might time yourself with a stop-watch for 2 minutes or chose just how many cycles of breath you wish to aim for (do not hesitate to utilize the metronome here).

Again notification where resistance exists in the breath. Maybe you discover the audibility awkward, equalising the volume of breath on both breathe in and also exhale hard, or you notice the disparity of convenience between in-breath and out-breath. Notification where you need to focus and also what you need to practise on. I advise that my students shorten the longer breath to meet the shorter breath if they are not able to stretch the breath equally on both sides. You don't desire to feel out of breath or wheezing at any type of factor. There is definitely NO RETENTION, it's like a constant sea of waves, no holding, completely liquid and seamless. Equanimous.

When to use Ujjayi breath

You can practice Ujjayi breath any kind of time you desire. You don't need to get on your yoga mat. If you are on your yoga mat, recognize that the breath develops warmth in the body. If you are doing a Yin or Restorative yoga exercise class you might not desire to add this element of heat in the body. Instead you might intend to maintain a soft and also fluid breath without audio. There likewise may be times in your practice where including warmth is inappropriate (e.g some expecting specialists find Ujjayi breath as well heating to maintain for an entire practice) or where breathing in and out of the nose is impossible (e.g. obstructed sinuses). Sometimes such as this you may intend to maintain the objective of Ujjayi breath in mind without practicing it.

When you have your breath, nobody can steal your peace - Anonymous

When I initially heard my instructor Cat Alip-Douglas describe the breath as 'non-preferential' the breath tackled a deeper degree of definition as well as objective. Ujjayi breath is a practical teaching of equanimity, non-attachment, not being persuaded by the pulls of our need to really feel great (Raga) and repulsion when we really feel bad (Dvesha).

Ujjayi in practice

Utkatasana (Chair pose)Notice when you're following holding Utkatasana (chair position) for 5 breaths, you're doing your tenth Surya Namaskar B (sunlight salutation B), or you're holding pigeon posture for 20 breaths ... Your breath shows you where you are holding, where you are finding it hard to allow go, where you are over exerting.

Not only does Ujjayi hold a mirror up to your existing unconscious routines but it soon ends up being a new habit, one that can soothe, time-out as well as seduce your mind and body into a state of enhanced as well as progressive ease. You can being in the fire of a position (or an emotion), really feel the warm yet really feel substantially tranquil and undisturbed. Currently take that off your mat into your following evaluation with your employer, when managing your toddler's temper tantrums, or a debate with your partner.

Your yoga tool box

Your victory and triumph is the composure you find out to maintain by sticking with it, grounding on your own in your thought about and calm breath. Unwavering. I keep in mind being especially distressed early last year and also after a heated discussion with a loved one, stood up, banged the door (yes, yoga exercise educators do it sometimes too!) as well as sat outside hyperventilating.

FACT - you can not hyperventilate or even cry as well as take a breath Ujjayi breath at the exact same time.

I heard a mild voice urging me to take a breath Ujjayi breath. [TRUTH - you can not hyperventilate or perhaps weep as well as breathe Ujjayi breath at the same time.] Pretty instantaneously my whole system reduced and a sense of calm came me. In your yoga exercise tool box you've got this breath strategy, this remedy, wherever you go. I discover it so encouraging to be able to grow these inner resources whereby I can discover to tune in and also switch over from a responsive state to a proactive state of experiencing. This is the magic of breath.

EkhartYoga participants - put this right into practice

Breathing with sound - Explore the noise of the Ujjayi breath in this 10 min class with Joey Miles

Ujjayi breath as well as the worried system

From our extremely initial breath till our final exhale we are, with no purposeful effort, continuously taken a breath by our Autonomic Nerves (ANS). Unlike various other ANS activities in the body (like pupil dilation) we have the ability to take voluntary control over our breathing and therefore, critically, can affect our Considerate and Parasympathetic Nerves.

When we take a breath Ujjayi breath we transform the automatic into the deliberate and also therefore become the master of our internal landscape, we can favorably influence just how we feel by regulating the size, air volume and noise of our inhales and exhales.

Ujjayi Pranayama is another device to include to our box, another method which motivates the mind to relax its awareness on the here and now moment, and relate to our immediate experience.

Yoga is a method of integration and purposeful identification. Ujjayi Pranayama is an additional tool to add to our box, one more technique which motivates the mind to relax its understanding on the present moment, and relate to our prompt experience. This procedure of mindfulness can be one of our largest conquests. Mastery of the conscious mind. We end up being absorbed as we synchronise our motion with our breath. Our degree of anxiety clears up, the variations of our mind (chitta vritti) decrease and for glances of a moment we are 'all in'. As we learn to manage the gross body via different yogic practices consisting of pranayama, we can access as well as affect our refined bodies.

Alchemy of breath

Many people never ever found out Ujjayi breath formally prior to shaking as much as course, rolling out our mats and also being instructed to utilize the breath throughout our practice. We heard fellow students around us making an amusing noise and felt slightly awkward when trying to replicate them, feeling sure that we would obtain it incorrect, which would certainly expose us as newbies as well as charlatans - oh the shame!

It is not uncommon to really feel uneasy when initial making sound with breath, and afterwards you tweeze up the guts to try and a large grunting sound appears. Like all points Yoga it takes practise and a forfeiture of self-identified restraint - which likewise takes practice!

Like all points Yoga exercise, Ujjayi breath takes technique and a forfeiture of self-identified restraint (which additionally takes practise!) ... yet it's a secret that opens many doors and can transform your practice.

Which breath, which style?

Some styles of yoga exercise (e.g. Ashtanga as well as Jivamukti) and specific instructors are a lot more breath-focused than others, suggesting they call/instruct each and also every inhale as well as exhale throughout the class. They become a human metronome setting the rhythm which you start to internalise. In various other courses you will certainly be not be breath led by doing this which as an amateur to Ujjayi may mean you invest a great deal of time practicing asana without breathing efficiently. Several pupils have actually shown me 'ah-ha' minutes when experiencing a breath led method for the initial time. It is a key that opens many doors and can change your practice.

[blood-and-cigars]

More alutegra angst pls

Integra slipped the door closed behind her with a light click. She should have noticed the icy chill in the air, how the shadows clung darker to the corners of her room despite the first rays of dawn filtering inside. But she was hazy on terrible vodka. (It wasn’t even cheap, just bad) It took her a moment to register the figure standing by the window, silhouetted by the bruise purple sky. Of course Alucard was still awake.

She ignored him, instead she dropped her handbag on a chair and wrestled out of her coat— still in the dark. Ghostly fingers reached out for it, and she let them slip it from her shoulders. He was clearly trying to get some sort of rise out of her; she didn’t intend to let him.

Integra had stopped staying at the manor past sundown and so he’d taken to waking early in the day. He anticipated her return, she thought, like some trapped damsel in a tale. No, like a dog watching the driveway. Waiting always waiting with a blind devotion that she knew was unearned, and shuddered to consider how it had come about.

“My Master.” He turned to her with what she thought to be a smile playing at his lips. “You must be trying to put Walter in an early grave.”

Only then did she remember the briefing she’d missed, scheduled hours ago.

It wasn’t the first time either, she’d taken to staying away, to drinking late and working remotely in the evenings. She preferred to avoid the manor at night, and more specifically the vampire waiting in the basement for her return.

How could she have simply forgotten? She wanted to think it wasn’t like her to be so scatterbrained. Well, she supposed there’d be other briefings.

She shrugged. “He hasn’t said anything yet.” She slipped her shoes off letting them fall where they may. There was the not entirely unpleasant echo of a song stuck in her head. Whatever had just been playing on the radio. Oh, she was more than a little tipsy.

Sometimes she wondered what his hands would look like on her skin. If she rested her head on his shoulder and listened to him breathe—

No. That was the opposite of where her mind should be wandering.

“He won’t. You’re his employer.” It took a bewildered moment for her to remember what he was replying to. Right. They were still talking about Walter.

He had to be grinning. It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but she heard the mirth in his voice.

As if on cue, the lights flipped on. She blinked as her eyes adjusted. If she turned to look over her shoulder, no doubt she would see a disembodied hand— or if he was feeling exceptionally dramatic, maybe some inky half liquid mass—lingering on the light switch. She didn’t give him the satisfaction of checking either way.

“And I am your Master. Does that stop you?” She walked past him— just a touch too close, the fabric of his coat grazed her sleeve— and collapsed onto a pile of pillows on her bed.

“I wouldn’t dream of questioning you,” he said, just solemnly enough to be comical. “I merely… suggest that you be more upfront about your excursions. You don’t need to pretend you’re sneaking out.”

She scoffed. “I wasn’t. And Walter’s fairly advanced in age already. I’d say he’s had a good life.”

He laughed at that before taking a seat next to her. “I’ll let him know you think so.” His hair lifted and swayed around him in an invisible breeze, a few locks reached out to brush her cheek. Presumptuous as always.

Yes she’d been avoiding him— the curve of his lip when he spoke to her. The way, among his ever changing forms, his eyes were always the same.

Alucard was her vampire, and though he seemed casually affectionate of her, though he sought her out even when she ignored him, she couldn’t help but think that every time she indulged him she was somehow exploiting this magic that tied them together, and the various ways a mind could twist after nearly a century of captivity.

However, for this moment the tension had fallen away by the graces of exhaustion and drunkenness and she remembered how easy it was to be around him, when she didn’t consider the blood on his hands, or what it meant to be the one that controlled him.

“Why are you still awake?”

“I’d ask you the same thing. You did not sleep the night, did you?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said.

“Now tell me Integra,” he said, grin acerbic. “Is this how you intend to lead? Sneaking back inside your own home stumbling and drunk? You’re setting such an example.”

“Says the man infamous for impaling his victims.”

“Am I the moral standard you set yourself to? That’s going to end very well.” His mouth twitched but he didn’t show any other sign of displeasure at the mention of his human life. “Oh and everyone’s half convinced you’re dead, might I add.”

“Of course they’re panicking.” She sighed. “I took the car, what did they think happened?”

He shrugged. “We are so accustomed to our Sir Hellsing being married to her work. Surely only disaster would keep her away from responsibility.”

“I was tired and… I forgot. Surely you can carry on for a single day without me?”

“Night,” he said. “It’s the question of whether we can carry on without you for a single night. And I’m not sure, can we?”

“Well apparently not.” She stared at the room not quite seeing it, wondering how she could clean up this mess. The worst part was that he was right, she knew no one else would ever say a word about this.

“Integra, as far as vices go, this isn’t the worst. But it isn’t the healthiest either. Will you consider… ”

“Consider what?” She turned to him, waiting. In certain conversations with her, he always chose his words very carefully. Yet another thing she didn’t want to think about; the list was ever growing.

For better or worse she liked his presence, he’d been a constant in her life these last few years. And she suspected there was genuine fondness in the way he gazed at her sometimes; perhaps even now.

He’d doted on her since she was a young girl in a way she liked to think he didn’t have to.

“I watched your father take on this very same mantle, and I saw how your grandfather shaped it. They both struggled. Hellsing suffocates its leaders, it’s a cloying thing. When you run from it, it only becomes hungrier in your absence. ”

“Are you sure you’re talking about the organization?”

“You might balk at the sheer burden resting upon your shoulders,” he said, ignoring her half hearted attempt at a joke. “However, your time is yours, and so are the decisions. Should you choose to leave, should you choose to work, should you choose to have me disembowel anyone who earns your ire.”

He was beautiful, in his own way. So beautiful that sometimes when he knelt at her feet to gaze up at her, her heart would hurt with it. And when he did not grin and show those teeth, his face was soft and almost kind.

Their faces lingered too close for a moment and she just knew he heard her breath catch. Of course he smirked.

“What are you getting at with this, Alucard?”

“I mean, my Master, that all of us bend to your will. If you do not wish to sit in for a briefing, all you’d need to do is speak the words and there is no briefing. It’s far simpler than making yourself sick with drink. You may hold my leash more literally than most, but do not forget we are all of us at your beck and call.”

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “And, if I don’t want this power? If I don’t know what to do with it?”

There was no denying the fact that she was a teenage girl saddled with responsibilities and decisions she could hardly comprehend and each morning and night she wondered at her own inadequacy at handling them. She was so young, brimming with it. She nursed the slow growing wounds in her heart with more bad choices and staggered back to the manor— no it was not home— every time, feeling even more hollow than before.

“Contrary to what might often be said, there is more pain in youth. More suffering, and it will only reflect on your future. Set yourself up for unhappiness now and you’ll have a lifetime of it waiting for you. You may not want your power, but it has you. And it will consume you, if given the chance.”

She looked away, to the creeping dawn outside, and the daylight that did not reach inside her room. She didn’t know what to make of this conversation.The first year, the very first year, she’d decided that her father simply hadn’t known. Alucard was clearly a good vampire (whatever that meant) and Arthur must have been tricked into thinking otherwise.There was a mistake, somewhere along the line. There were many mistakes and misunderstandings but that didn’t matter anymore, she’d thought, because she knew now and things would be better.She’d been a foolish child. She thought she probably still was, in many ways. Unfortunately while hindsight is 20/20 it isn’t as easy to discern one’s current failings. Sometimes she liked to think of herself as a memory, as something far away. She’d sit and pretend she was watching herself from ten, twenty years in the future, which of her present choices would she be ashamed of then? Nothing? Everything?

She hadn’t noticed that he’d been searching her face, with varying signs of distress. Likely checking if he’d offended her somehow.

He’d told her before that while she’d forbidden him to take liberties with her mind, he did catch snippets of her thoughts here and there. That he could sense high emotions, even if he couldn’t unravel what exactly they were.

She smiled wanly in assurance.  “That was unnecessarily long winded, you know.”

He shrugged. “I wasn’t certain you were sober enough to keep up. Walter rescheduled the briefing for this evening. Will you attend?”

“Going out is much more fun though, don’t you think? If I’m staying in, then you must entertain me instead.” The change was subtle. She wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t close enough to touch. He went very still for a moment, and she could see something about his relaxed posture was now forced. She could’ve blinked and missed the look of sheer horror cross his face before he smoothed out his features.  

Integra watched him, confused. Had something happened? Had he sensed some disaster somewhere else? It’d just been a joke, she’d expected a half hearted smile. Another one of his silly responses. Really the question was nothing compared to the outrageous things he’d said to her before.

“If that’s what you wish, Master.” And the hollow, too steady tone to his voice made her understand.

“No.” She jumped to her feet, as if putting more distance between them would prove her point. “Absolutely not—  I’d never expect anything like— it was a joke. I was making a joke.”

He did not move for too long, that falsely pleasant expression frozen on his face.  “Are you running from me little Master? I thought you wanted entertainment. Come here, let me entertain you.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“If my Master desires my bloody embrace, who am I to deny it?” He crossed over to where she stood in a flurry of shadow. His voice turned raw, barely human. “Does it thrill you to think of all the lives I’ve taken? The bones I’ve snapped between my teeth? Or is the appeal in fucking a glorified corpse? Tell me Integra, do you aspire to necrophilia?” She flinched away from him, knocking into the wall behind her. From her eye level all she could see were his teeth. “Stop,” she hissed. “That is enough of this. Get away from me. Sit down.” “Is that an order?” He did not back away just yet, but he straightened, putting some distance between them.

“It is.”

And so he had to obey. She thought she saw his hands tremble, but then he folded them neatly in his lap. “Any other instructions for me, my Master?” Of course his tone was mocking. She raked her fingers through her hair. God knew she wasn’t sober enough for whatever this travesty was. “I have cigars in the nightstand. Give them to me.” He did as she said, but not before a disapproving look. “You’re too young to smoke.” “I thought I’d give myself a head start.” She lit one of the  cigars with an unsteady hand. It didn’t do much to calm her, she hadn’t expected it to, but at least it was something to focus on. She couldn’t quite bring herself to peel herself off the wall yet. “Well that explains the smell.”

“I was joking,” she said again.  It was not lost on her how quickly he’d jumped to that particular conclusion. “So that is Hellsing’s great legacy, is it?”

He did not respond at first, only watched her. She could tell the stillness was a thin veneer, ready to collapse at any moment. Underneath there was a depth of hysterical restlessness, or perhaps that was just how she felt herself.

“I have nothing,” he said. “Yet you Hellsings always want. ”

She thought of her father and his calm reassuring voice. Of the portrait of Van Helsing hanging in the foyer, of the stories Arthur had told her about the legendary grandfather she’d never met.

She took a deep pull from the cigar, let it out in a puff of smoke. She counted heart beats until her breath was sufficiently even before she asked, “Even my father?” But still her voice came out small, frightened.

“You mustn’t ask questions you don’t want answered.”

“Are you trying to spare my feelings?” She asked, incredulous.

Again that thin calm broke. “Fine. What would you like to know, Integra?” He all but snarled. “Your father liked his alcohol, just as much as you, and Abraham now that I think of it. It must run in the family.” His smile twisted. “ He expected drinks before bed, several. He preferred his top shelf scotch, but really he’d down an entire bottle of dessert wine if that’s all there was on hand.

“Do you know what else he liked? Young girls. Very young girls. Have I shown you my other forms before? It took some time before we settled on his favorite.”

“I’ve heard enough.”

“He was also very fond of rope, and chains. For himself ironically. And surprisingly enough that was the worst part, for me. You see I’m loathe to cause a Hellsing pain, I think it’s part of the seal. But Arthur—“

“Stop it, stop it. You were right I don’t want to know.”

“ Did you want to hear about Abraham instead? He had two identical medical kits— modified for vampires of course. One was for research, the other for—”

“Just shut up, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Is that an order?”

“Yes it bloody well is.” She shut her eyes for a moment, forced herself to calm down in the ensuing silence. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.  

“The iniquity of the father is indeed visited upon the children, Integra. You meet the eyes of your forefathers’ sin every day. Does that upset you?”

“What do you think?” She put out the forgotten cigar in her ashtray. Not much of it was left anyway, it had all but burned out.

“It isn’t my place to make assumptions, is it?”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, because really that’s all she could say. “I’m sorry for my family’s past actions, and that I made you recount them.”

“May I stand?”

She looked at him, confused for a moment before she remembered her orders. “Yes, of course. You may leave, if you wish.”

He did not stand. Instead it seemed he was slowly dissolving into thin air.

“Alucard, wait.”

“You are indecisive today, my Master.” He paused, more silhouette than person at that point.

“I will never use my power over you in such a way. And if I ever do, you have free reign to slit my throat.”

“And kill the last Hellsing? Who then will hunt the creatures of the night? Who will keep me in check? Do you intend to release me upon an unsuspecting world, Integra?”

She was silent.

“While I appreciate the sentiment, the seal wouldn’t allow anything so drastic, in any case.” He hadn’t appeared to move, but he was closer now, on his knees before her. “My first Master was far too clever for that, he thought of everything.”

“You don’t sound displeased by that.”

“He was an extraordinary man; I loved him. I loved Arthur too.” He laughed bitterly. He did not look at her as he spoke, “I embrace that which destroys me. I adore it. Do you intend to destroy me Integra?”

“No,” she said softly. Her throat was hoarse, as if she’d wept, as if she’d screamed. And maybe it was because she was still a little drunk, but she reached out, tentatively, to cup his cheek.

He tensed for a moment, before leaning into the touch. “Is that a promise?”

“It is.”

“No, it’s a pretty lie.” And with that he disappeared, leaving her alone in the morning sun, still reaching out for nothing in particular. 

For awhile after, all she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears. Unsteadily she changed into a fresh set of clothes.

Walter would be preparing breakfast, she best go down to apologize.

[softhaos]

SQUARE ONE

pairing – lee jihoon x reader  genre – fluff + humor + romance + demon!au description – he should be helping you take over the world but does the exact opposite instead. alternatively, he’s internally cringing at your evil plans and should get over it as fast as possible but decides to prolong his company, even if it ends up with even more cringing and banging heads against the wall. warning – includes my usual borderline crack stuff, this time in the form of aspiring villain!reader as tragic + petty as dr. doofenschmirtz and jihoon being the male counterpart of vanessa song rec – turtle | twice word count – 1,911 words author’s note – i swear the fic isn’t as much of a crack fest as the summary makes it out to be

When you presented your aim of world domination to him, Jihoon didn’t need to listen to your proposal twice to say yes.

He regrets it.

Jihoon doesn’t know himself what went through him when he sealed the contract with you. All he knows is that he was rash and dumb and not in his right mind at that time. Usually, he takes his time, weighs his options and ponders whether it’s worth it assisting the petty person who summoned him. Even though you were just one out of many petty humans who wanted a deal with a demon, it only took Jihoon those two simple words, world domination,  to make up his mind on a whim.

Before you, Jihoon had to keep up with blatantly idiotic teenagers who thought summoning wasn’t possible and middle-aged single people who wished for the downfall of their neighbor who happened to live a glorious life. What they wanted to achieve was quite saddening; saddening in a sense that they really needed to rely on somebody else to commit the deed. From causing their snobby classmate to end up in a scandal to vandalizing the rich neighbor’s mansion, everything was mere child’s play for Jihoon. Though it was his job to cause a ruckus on Earth, he wanted to wreak much greater havoc than just shaving off someone’s ex-girlfriend’s hair. If he could, he would’ve done something by himself, but there was this one tiny, ridiculous thing that prevented him from doing so: demons are only able to assist people, not execute the plan with their own hands.

Jihoon was so done with the childish and belittling goals he had to do; sometimes he had to do the same petty thing even more than once. So naturally, when you made him appear in front of your eyes and desperately raved about wanting to take over the world, Jihoon didn’t bat an eyelash with his immediate agreement. You even had proof showing that you tried overthrowing the world by yourself. (Those were some inventions that didn’t seem too miserable but backfired when you switched them on.)

After a few days of somewhat getting a grasp of you, he utmostly regrets his decision.

Though your plans sound like music to his ears, you surely aren’t. Because you don’t have what it takes to be an evil mastermind. Okay, Jihoon admits, your ideas are actually brilliant, but that’s just it. You don’t have the skills to be villain nor do you have the personality to be a proper one. Sometimes, Jihoon wonders whether your parents dropped you when you were an infant or else because wow, Jihoon has never thought he’d ever meet a person as clumsy and idiotic as you. Your type of idiotic is on a whole different level than the idiots Jihoon has ever met. Somehow, you always manage to get the most obvious and easiest things done in the wrong way and your mishaps on the dumbest motions make Jihoon want to return back to hell (or at least, make him bang his head against the wall and it hurts).

What physically pains him the most is how much sooner you would’ve fulfilled your world domination plan if it weren’t for your mishaps while tweaking on your inventions. Much to Jihoon’s dismay, you had to mess up during the most critical tasks even though the critical tasks were easy to do. The routine once you completed building the prototype of your newest invention goes like this: Jihoon figures out why it doesn’t work yet (assuming you didn’t switch it on and the machine didn’t blow up), tells you the faults and how to fix it (he would do it himself but sadly, he’s a demon and can only give you instructions) and then you do the exact opposite of what Jihoon tells you to do.

And lastly, the prototype explodes and Jihoon saves your ass before he a) screams at you, b) tries to contain his frustration and cringe it off or c) bangs his head against the wall.

It stings his non-beating heart even more when he figures the root of your mistake.

“I told you to cut off the red wire, y/n, not the black one!”

“I know! But the red and the black one were so close to each other I accidentally cut off the wrong one! It- hey, I’m not done yet. Jihoon, where are you going?!”

Another prime example, and frankly, probably the moment that takes the cake is the time you mixed up left and right: “What was so hard to get under left and not right? I said left a dozen times!”

“Well… I thought you meant the other left!”

“There is only one left, you dimwit! Besides, I even drew you a picture so you wouldn’t make this mistake and- how in the world did you manage to place the instructions upside down, y/n? The words are upside down the way you read this!”

Honestly, it’s a miracle that your house hasn’t broken down yet for some unfathomable reason and Jihoon doesn’t complain about that. Nonetheless, it doesn’t help his unease. The fact that you add the suffix ‘-inator’ to a random word to name the creation certainly doesn’t help either.

With time, he still winces at your fatal mistakes, still cringes and goes through an internal debate and still bangs his head against the wall when things don’t run smoothly, which is basically every single day. But when he cools down, he suddenly isn’t too affected by it and though he sighs because wow, another day of cleaning up the mess hooray, there lies an undertone of amusement in those things.

He finds himself rolling his eyes at you in a playful manner when you whine around and indirectly apologize for ruining your own invention and therefore, also postponing your ultimate goal of world domination as well as prolonging Jihoon’s attachment to you as your demon assistant. He lets out a snort whenever you refer to your machines as ‘lazer-inator’, ‘fogblast-inator’ and various other inators due to the stupidity of those names, but also because it was hilarious and softening and bewitching seeing your eyes glimmer with expectation and hope.

Long story short: You don’t physically ache him as much as before (because Jihoon refuses to admit that he is in the process of becoming a lovesick demon crushing on a wannabe villain).

Much to his dismay – he’s pretty sure some angel or so is responsible for this – you started learning how to get things right. It worried him when he saw you the first time spending all night reading a pile of books and digging out old sketches to pinpoint the errors in them. His distress shouldn’t be justified, Jihoon knows, but he doesn’t want it to happen yet. He’s selfish, sure he is, he’s a demon after all, but causing trouble should be more important than chasing after someone, or in his case, staying at someone’s side. Jihoon is glad there is no rule book for demons. Otherwise, things would’ve taken a bad turn long before.

But when he finds fewer mistakes in your prototypes, fewer complaints and whines coming from your mouth and fewer mentions of inators on a daily basis, he grows desperate.

Jihoon knows better than to prevent you from trying to rule the world, yet he still does it. The only reason he does it – aside from preventing the contract to expire because once you reach your goal, it’s a trip back to hell and a waiting game for Jihoon until another person strikes him up with their so-called evil masterplan – is that he knows it’s not really your life devotion. He's grasped enough of your personality to know that you’re not actually evil, that you don’t hold any serious grudge against the world and that in the end, you’re just another curious idiot who wants to see if the impossible is possible.

(The last part is only partly correct. You’re not just another curious idiot, you’re his curious idiot. An idiot nevertheless.)

Jihoon doesn’t know how you feel about him exactly. He often wonders if you like him just as much as he likes you or even more or sadly less. In any case, he certainly knows that contrary to your words, you don’t want to get rid of him as fast as possible. Otherwise, you wouldn’t cling to his sleeves whenever you are being a whiny annoyance even though he has expressed his bitterness or draw doodles of him as a stick figure on his corrected sketches. The latter doesn’t necessarily amuse him because you just ruined his corrections and your drawing skills equal to those of a toddler and Jihoon finds toddlers a pain. But he still acknowledges your attempts.

He has hoped the day would never come but it came: the day where there isn't a single flaw in your umpteenth prototype invention branded with the name ‘snow-in-summer-inator’. Being the demon he is, he purposefully adds a hefty mistake into the sketch and hands it back to you, hoping you’d just take it as it is.

“Jihoon, you sure this is wrong? I double and triple checked with all the other plans.” you look up from the sketch and shoot him a suspicious glance.

“Look, it’s either you believe me or not. If you’re oh-so-confident about your skills then go through with it. Just remember the countless other times where you thought you got it all right but turned out you weren’t.” Jihoon shrugs in response and pretends not to care. All he hopes for is that you are dense enough to buy his words.

To his luck, you are that dense. A part of Jihoon wants to make him sicker through the floor because how on Earth did you manage to win over his attention with that blunt naivety?

The rest follows the usual routine. You fix it up (this time, you tamper with it), switch it on, the block of metal makes a weird noise and Jihoon brings your ass away from the danger zone before it blows up.

Once the black smoke cleared up little by little, you swat his hands away and unlike the normal cycle, you’re the one who screams at him. “See? I was right, Jihoon! I! Was! Right! Hah- wait a sec mister, we aren’t finished yet! Hey, don’t you dare leave, you have to help me clean up your mistakes–”

It should frustrate Jihoon that you are back at the beginning, back at square one to the ultimate goal of world domination. After all, his purpose and passion are to wreak havoc and cause disorder in the world. But in a sense, he does cause turbulence in the world; not on Earth, but your little world makes the cut.

Long story short: World domination is all fun and such, but Jihoon prefers to simply cause you some chaos (because Jihoon is the type of guy who shows his affection by pissing his crush off).

[writing-wren]

Caved In

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Genre: Angst and Fluff, probably Hurt/Comfort Word Count: 7117 Summary: “Sure, running head-on into dangerous situations is some kind of signature move of his, but usually it’s just him. He can endanger himself if it means the mission is a success. This time, though, it’s Antok who has to pay for Keith’s recklessness. And it’s all his fault.” [Part 7 of the Mother Hens of Marmora ‘verse. Read all parts on Ao3] 

IT IS DONE. Seriously though, I’m sorry this took so long (even for a monster of over 7000 words). I just kept changing things, and re-writing paragraphs, and I’m still not sure if I’m satisfied with it or even like it at all…

BUT it’s here now, anyway. There you go, @guardianofsillvennium, this is your fault anyway xD Though it didn’t turn out like planned (or your original prompt at all)…

As always, thanks to @paladin-pile for the au in general.

Enjoy~

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

They’re back on another ice planet, similar to Eta Dorsi 5 but uninhabited. It doesn’t even have a name, just a lot of snow, ice and emptiness. There’s mountains, too, covered in snow just like the rest of it. Keith doesn’t like it. He has a bad feeling about this, and he doesn’t even know why. But they got a distress signal and as paladins of Voltron it’s their duty to follow it. And Antok’s, apparently. Since that last time Keith rushed head-first into a fight he was destined to lose one member of the pack has been coming along.

Hunk is holding the… whatever the gadget is called he built, if it even has a name. Anyway, it beeps, and it has some kind of radar that tells them they’re getting closer to their target. All of them concentrate on it when Shiro holds out his arm, effectively stopping them.

“What is that?” he asks, looking at the horizon. A white wall is moving towards them, and it’s moving fast.

Pidge pales. “Snowstorm,” she whispers. Then, “SNOWSTORM!”

“Ohhh this is bad. Really bad.” Hunk’s voice is a squeak. “Can we just leave and come back later? Please?”

Shiro nods, keeping his calm as always. “We need to get out of here. Stay together and get back to the ship. Now!”

That’s when the thing Hunk built starts giving off a shrill tone, the little circle they’ve been following stops just a few dozen feet ahead.

“It’s close!” Keith urges. “What if whoever that is needs help? They’d get buried under the snow!” And he runs off like always.

“Keith!” Shiro and Antok shout at the same time. The Galra immediately starts moving, following him while Shiro makes a quick decision, sees that Antok has already got it and ushers at least the rest of the team back to the lions and to safety. They manage it just in time, the ice cold wind already gaining strength, but they get out of the snowstorm before it can get so bad that it would keep them from leaving.

Once they’re back on the castle Lance says, to everybody around, “Uhhm, guys? Did Keith just run off into a freaking snowstorm? How are we supposed to get him and Antok out of that?”

Shiro sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose before raking his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know yet, Lance. We’ll think of something.” Just for good measure, he tries to contact Keith through his helmet, but there’s no answer, only static. He turns to Pidge and Hunk. “Can you two get a signal from him, find his location so we can get them out?”

Pidge nods. “Yeah, sure, on it.”

“It’s possible he reached the point the distress signal was coming from, right?” Hunk adds. “We should look for him there…”

The two of them leave, already talking about what they’re going to do first.

*

Back on the ice planet, Keith manages to reach a cave just when the storm gets so bad that you can’t see any more outside, Antok right on his heels.

“Keith,” he growls, and the red paladin, whose mind has gone blank for a moment there, concentrated on his goal and his goal only, comes back to his senses.

“Oops.” He makes himself smaller in the face of Antok’s anger, rather out of instinct than a conscious decision. The tall Galra’s expression softens at that and smoothes over into something exasperated but fond.

“Just what am I ever going to do with you? Running off on your own is dangerous.” When Keith looks down guiltily he sighs and holds out a hand. “Come here, youngling…”

There’s forgiveness in his voice so Keith looks up, relieved to see a hand reaching for him, and goes over for a cuddle. Antok is really good at this -cuddling, that is- and just holds him for a while until he speaks.

“We can’t go out there in this storm… Can you contact the castle?”

Keith tries, but shakes his head. “Just static. I think the storm might be messing with the technology…”

Antok just sighs. “I see…” he says. “Well, we’ll have to wait for the storm to let up anyway…” There really is nothing much to be done about it; they’ll have to wait here and try to contact the others as soon as they can. Keith looks around the cave, searching for anything they could use to start a fire -their armor, undersuit and fur, respectively, keep them warm, but itsn’t that what people do in this kinda situation?- but instead finds something else: As he concentrates on looking, offhandedly fiddling with the little flashlight Pidge has integrated into all of the paladins’ armor, his sight seems to improve, and he can make out a small, weakly green blinking device on the ground. With his flashlight on he can see a skeleton just a few feet away from it -the one initially sending the signal?- but chooses to ignore it for now, instead picking up the device and turning to Antok to ask if he, too, thinks that this might’ve been their distress signal. He stops when the other stares at him.

“What?” he asks.

“Your eyes,” the Galra replies, amazed. “They’re… Galra.” He grins, and if Keith didn’t know any better he’d say it’s an actual proud grin -but what would he be proud of? “Your traits are showing!”

“My… traits?”

“Yes! Come here, we’ll try something…” He pulls Keith into his lap and covers the paladin’s eyes with a hand. “Try to listen. Concentrate and tell me what you hear.” Antok’s behavior is weird, but Keith trusts him, so he listens closely.

“I can hear… the storm outside.”

“Try harder.”

“The… your heartbeat? Your breathing.” A pause. “And mine.”

There’s a warm huff of air against his cheek. “That’s good, but you can do better… Concentrate, just a little more…”

Keith tries his best, but he just can’t hear anything else. He’s about to give up when, suddenly, there’s the sound of dripping water, quiet and far away.

“There!” Antok exclaims before Keith can say anything and guides one of his hands up to his ear. Keith will never admit that he ever made the shrieking sound that escapes him when he feels the fur. His ears are bigger, too, and pointed at the end. He’s pretty sure they’re Galra-violet.

“They’re not going to stay that way, are they?” he asks, worried.

“No, youngling. You’ll learn to control it, too. But it’s a very good thing. It means you are coming to terms with your heritage.” Antok is definitely sounding proud now.

“So,” Keith thinks out loud. “If my ears and eyes changed, will other things, too?” He bites his lip, worried. “I won’t grow a tail or something, will I?”

Antok doesn’t answer right away. “You might,” he says, eventually. “You’re half Galra, and a lot of us have tails… but it really depends on your Galra parent. Do you know if your mother had a tail?”

Keith shakes his head. “I don’t really remember her… Or my father, anyway.” He grimaces. “So it’s gonna be a surprise?”

He can hear Antok’s grin in his voice. “Well, if you do end up with one, you’ll see how awesome they are; I couldn’t imagine living without mine…” His tail comes into view, moving slowly, lazily, over the ground. “It can be like another arm at times…”

“Awesome?” Keith snorts. “Who taught you that word, Hunk?”

The Galra growls playfully. “He might have.” A few seconds later all the playfulness disappears, Antok suddenly tensing and standing in one fluid motion, pulling Keith behind him in the process. In the light of the flashlight Keith can see him bare his teeth in the direction that leads farther into the cave.

“Antok?” he asks, frowning, reaching for his bayard. Antok has already drawn his blade. Keith has a bad feeling about this. “What’s going on?”

“Noxu,” he growls, low under his breath, serious now. “Reptiles. Live in trios. Hunt everything that moves. Use your Blade, only luxite can pierce their skin. Dangerous predators. Coming.”

There’s no time to ask any further questions; all of a sudden three of the biggest lizards Keith has ever seen are right there. They are about as big as a young calf, with streamlined bodies and heads like snakes -snakes with lots and lots of very sharp teeth. Antok roars and takes on two of them, managing to even behead one right away. The last one goes straight for Keith, running up the wall and just dropping on him faster than he can react, throwing him down and pinning him to the ground. Keith makes a pained sound when his back connects to the ground and Antok looks over, alarmed.

“Keith!” he shouts, his eyes widening when he sees the paladin immobilized, those lots and lots of very sharp teeth just inches from his face as the Noxu lets out a growl itself. He’s distracted for just a second, but the remaining Noxu he’s still fighting uses that to attack and sinks its teeth deep into the Galra’s leg. In that same moment, Keith manages to activate his luxite blade; it grows and pierces straight through the Noxu’s chest, and the ugly thing screeches as blood spurts from the wound, painting the ground and a part of Keith’s armor dark red. Then it’s still, slumping on top of him, and he can roll it off of himself and stand, just as Antok goes down.

The last Noxu is not letting go of his leg, growling ferally and Antok, unluckily, doesn’t have enough leverage to get in a good hit. Keith has to make a decision, and fast. He can’t just behead it, lest he hurt Antok in the process -he’s not sure if he’d have the necessary strength to do it anyway- and he can’t stab it like he did with the other one, because it’s right above Antok and the risk of stabbing the Galra is too big. His saber is not really made for stabbing anyway. So he slashes at the Noxu’s back, wounding it deeply enough that it lets go of Antok’s leg with a pained screech and turns to Keith, making a beeline for him now. The paladin moves out of instinct, blocking the teeth and redirecting the Noxu, making it crash into the wall where it goes down, unconscious at least if not dead. Keith follows, breathing heavily, and raises his saber to finish it when there’s a low, rumbling sound from above. The next moment the cave goes pitch black apart from Keith’s flashlight, and, looking over at the entrance and only seeing a wall of white, he realizes that it must have been an avalanche. Which basically means they’re trapped.

The Noxu at his feet stirs and Keith decides to get rid of that problem first. What little he could see of Antok’s injury before didn’t look good, but he doesn’t want to be attacked from behind. The easiest way to make sure it’s dead seems to be beheading it like Antok did with the first one, just that he doesn’t possess the Galra’s sheer strength. It takes a few attempts and in the end he’s breathing more heavily than before but the deed is done and he can turn back to Antok. And freezes.

It looks much, much worse than he initially thought -there’s so much blood where the Noxu’s teeth pierced through his armor. When he rushes over to the Galra he sees why he is so awfully quiet; it looks like he lost consciousness, his face under the flashlight is pale and Keith really needs to stop the bleeding; no time to panic. Bandages, he needs some kind of bandages… The only thing he has is his undersuit, so he takes off the upper part of his armor and rips off a few strips before putting it back on. He doesn’t have anything to clean the wound with, either, so all he can do is to wrap it up as best as he can.

“Keith?” comes Antok’s quiet voice when he’s about done. It’s strained and just above a whisper but Keith is so relieved to hear it that he lets out the breath he hasn’t realized he’s been holding in a rush of air.

“Antok!” he exclaims, but before he can say anything further the Galra hushes him.

“It’s okay,” he says. “I’ll be fine.”

Well, he obviously isn’t now, and trapped here like this, without a possibility to contact the others, Keith doesn’t know how he’ll get any better any time soon. They don’t have any food or water, no light apart from Keith’s flashlight, and he doesn’t know how to survive a snowstorm -a sandstorm, yes, of course, but snow? He lived in a desert, not the Antarctic, for fucks sake! And how long is this storm going to go on anyway? He has to concentrate to hear it now, because of the wall of snow in front of the cave, but then he notices the howling of the wind. And even if the storm was over, they’d still need to get out of the cave somehow. Keith would have to get them out, anyway. He doesn’t think Antok could help, not with the state his leg is in; the Galra has lost consciousness again and it’s all Keith’s fault.

It’s Keith’s fault that they’re here at all. Keith’s fault for running straight ahead against any orders. Keith’s fault for not being fast enough to dodge the Noxu’s first attack; his fault Antok was distracted for the second it took the monster to bite him. It won’t get him anywhere to think about this now, though, so he goes over to the skeleton -trying very hard not to think about it as a human, or alien, or anything like that really. It’s just a skeleton, and he’s seen worse if he’s honest. Maybe that guy had something with him… or her, Keith can’t tell and it’s not important anyway. There’s scraps of what must have been clothing, ripped apart by the Noxu, Keith supposes. But a few feet away lies a tattered bag; there’s not much in it, a rusty metal cup with a hole in it and something that… might’ve been food rations, but they’re all rotten and not even recognizable anymore. He wonders how long this distress signal has been sending for… and he was stupid, so stupid, to follow it instead of going back with the others and to safety. Hindsight is easier than foresight, isn’t that how the saying goes?

*

“So, the signal is gone for some reason, but we still have the coordinates. So we should definitely start searching there and just hope that they managed to find cover in time…” Hunk explains; they’re all back on the bridge and listening to what the yellow and the green paladin have found.

“The only problem,” Pidge chimes in, “is that the readings we get from the planet are showing that the storm hasn’t eased up yet. We’ll have to wait for however long it’ll take until we can go back in or we won’t be able to do anything… and we’ll have to act quickly, because we can’t be exactly sure if another storm is going to start anytime soon; we’d need to monitor the whole planet much longer for that…”

“So we can’t do anything right now?” Lance asks. “We’ll just have to… wait?”

Shiro sighs. “I guess we can’t change that. We’ll prepare as best as we can in the meantime. We’re going to get them out of there as soon as possible.”

Nobody dares to voice the unspoken ‘If they’re still alive’ for fear that it might be the truth.

It takes four days, almost five. Almost five days during which all of them get more and more restless, barely getting any sleep. How could they? Keith and Antok are out there -they’re not dead, they’re not, they’re not- without food or water, or warmth, in a full grown snowstorm. Hunk is on a baking spree whenever he’s not with Pidge, trying to locate Keith again, just in case something has changed. Pidge is a nervous wreck whenever she’s not working with Hunk, thinking of new, terrible things to happen to her missing fellow paladin and Antok, coming up with new additions for their portable first aid box together with Ulaz. Lance wanders the castle, trying to find something to do to little avail but nonetheless unable to stop moving, eventually joined by Thace. Shiro and Kolivan, once they’ve done what they could to prepare, spend most of their time monitoring the storm, and Allura and Coran stand by, just as worried and doing what they can but not able to dispel any of the others’ worries.

It feels like a race against time, and they all feel as if they are losing.

When finally the day comes, Pidge is checking up on Shiro and Kolivan and Shiro shakes his head, tiredly, telling her that nothing changed, when Pidge’s eyes go wide, looking at the screen behind them.

“It just changed!” she shouts, and runs off to gather the rest of the team -not the rest of the paladins, or Galra, or Alteans, but team, because that’s what they’ve become- faster than Shiro or Kolivan could.

They know how to proceed. They’ve talked it through over and over again, because there was not much more to be done. They’ll find them now, get them back home and then they’re probably all going to pass out from exhaustion and sleep for three days straight. That’s going to come afterwards, though.

“Alright, team, let’s go get them out!” Lance cheers once they’re in their lions, and there’s a little pause where Keith usually would’ve made a snark remark, but they all ignore it.

“Couldn’t have said it any better,” Shiro says, with a little half-smile and they depart.

*

Keith doesn’t know how much time has passed. He has no way to tell, but he’s still hoping that the others are going to find them somehow. He does trust in his team, and refuses to give up when they certainly haven’t. It’s just… it really doesn’t look good.

Antok hasn’t been conscious in a while, and his leg looks even worse than before; Keith’s no doctor but he thinks it might be infected. It wouldn’t surprise him, since he had no way of disinfecting the wound, and all he had when he had to change the bandages was the tattered bag. He’s ripped it apart and used the strips, but he doesn’t think that was clean, either.

At some point the Galra has gotten a fever; he’s burning up, and all Keith can do is wrap up a little snow in one of the remaining scraps to put it on his forehead. He can watch the snow melt, though, and no matter how often he puts in new snow, the fever is not letting up. By now he can’t hold back the distressed little whines; he’s so worried that he almost forgets his own hunger and thirst.

Almost. But hunger and thirst are beasts of their own, gnawing at his guts and setting his throat aflame, and while the hunger comes and goes in waves, the thirst stays and gets worse with every second. He’s so close to just eating snow -it’s frozen water after all, isn’t it?- but something is keeping him from it. He thinks he’s heard sometime, somewhere, that it can kill you, freezing you from the inside when your body temperature is too low already. So he doesn’t do it -barely. For now. Most of the time Keith’s busy being worried about Antok, anyway. There’s a very real possibility of losing him, and the mere thought brings tears to his eyes he’s not ashamed of. For one because nobody can see them anyway, but also because, while he might be close to all the Galra equally, Antok is still special. He’s not sure why, that’s just how it is.

And now he might die; and it’s all Keith’s fault. Even if they make it out of here in time, how could he look any of them in the eyes? What if they don’t want him around anymore after this? If they make it out alive, that is. He knows that they told him time and time again that he wouldn’t be abandoned again, showed him, too, and he believed them, but after this? This could change everything, he thinks, because he’s never messed up this badly before. Sure, running head-on into dangerous situations is some kind of signature move of his, but usually it’s just him. He can endanger himself if it means the mission is a success. This time, though, it’s Antok who has to pay for Keith’s recklessness. And it’s all his fault.

The only thing he can do is wait for the storm to let up so he can at least try to get through the snow at the entrance of the cave; maybe outside the cave, without the storm interfering, he can contact the castle. He concentrates on listening, knowing his ears must’ve changed once his hearing improves, but he’s getting used to the idea of his eyes or ears looking like a full Galra’s for a while. That doesn’t change anything, though; whenever he listens more closely the only thing he can hear is the howling of the storm.

Until it is not.

*

Before they can even land on the planet, there’s a familiar roar and Red approaches them.

“Keith?!” Lance asks, dumbfounded, but there’s no answer besides a roar before the red lion veers away.

“I don’t think he’s in there,” Pidge says, thoughtfully, and Hunk adds, “But I think she’s gonna show us where he is.”

“Well, what are we waiting for, then? Let’s go!” Kolivan urges, and Shiro nods.

“Let’s follow her.”

Red lands in front of a mountain of snow and stops moving, facing it.

“So Keith is… under the snow?” Lance sounds worried.

Shiro hums. “Maybe there’s a cave or something?” he replies. He’s trying to reassure all of them, including himself, and is about to say more when all of a sudden, Kolivan goes rigid. Without another word the Galra exits the black lion, and Shiro can see the others do the same. Questions from the paladins remain unanswered for now. They can only watch the Galra standing in front of what they suppose to be a cave, heads lowered as if they were listening intently. And then Kolivan roars, an impressive sound, goes still again and looks up at the black lion.

“He’s in there. Both of them. Alive, at least,” he says, as Thace already starts to move the snow away with his bare hands -or try to, anyway.

“Alright then, move aside, me and my boy are gonna do this! These claws are best suited for some diggin’!” And once Kolivan and Ulaz have pulled away Thace, who growls lowly at first, the yellow paladin and his lion start moving the snow. In a matter of minutes half of it is gone, and it doesn’t take much longer before the entrance of a cave becomes visible. As soon as the opening is big enough, the Galra hurry through, followed a moment later by Shiro and Pidge while Hunk remains outside just in case something happens or there’s another avalanche (and really not because he’s scared of dark caves).

*

Until it is not.

There’s a ‘thump’, a sound that’s more than just a little familiar to Keith and he lets out a relieved, half questioning whine when it’s repeated four more times.

Silence. Then: a roar, definitely Kolivan’s. It’s two things at the same time, reassuring statement and question, We are here and Are you there? all at once and Keith has returned a sound that’s not a whine but close, before his mind can even catch up with what’s happening.

It doesn’t take long for another sound to start, muffled through the snow but getting louder and louder until there’s an opening that gets bigger and bigger, and Keith blinks when the light from outside blinds him, but he gets up anyway. He’s made it halfway when Kolivan is coming towards him, followed by Thace and Ulaz. He pulls Keith into an almost-too-tight but much needed hug, letting go easily when the paladin tries to free himself.

“Antok,” he says, or croaks, tiredly, “You gotta get him first, he’s injured and-“

“We can smell it,” Ulaz interrupts. “This whole cave smells of death and pain…” Which, Keith thinks, is accurate enough, since the dead Noxu are still lying there and even though the paladin tried to pull them over into the corner, as far away from them as possible, their smell is not a pleasant one. And Antok is still unconscious and burning up. Without Kolivan’s hug holding him upright, he doesn’t have enough energy to stand even with the adrenaline surge and has to sit down for a moment.

“Whoa!” exclaims Lance in that moment, entering the cave with Shiro and Pidge and waving his hand in front of his face, grimacing at the smell. “I get that you guys are probably celebrating your reunion, but can we do that back in the castle?”

Pidge and Ulaz, who’s looking worried after having taken a first look at the injured Galra’s leg, push a button on a little cube that might be a new invention, because it folds out until it’s a gurney they put him on. The thing floats upwards, until it’s about the height of Ulaz’s hip and they bring him outside. Keith, not able to do any more for Antok but knowing he’s going to be well looked after now, is grateful for the momentary distraction and chance at easy banter with the blue paladin, shrugs. “Yeah well, you try to survive here for… how long has it been anyway?” He grimaces a little at hearing his own voice.

“Five days,” Shiro chimes in. “It’s been five days. And we need to get out of here, asap. We don’t know when the next snow storm is going to happen.”

This time, Keith is not about to go against the order; he can’t wait to get out of here. He can’t exactly walk that far on his own at the moment -far, ha! It’s just a few dozen steps, but what else would you expect after five days without food or water? But when Thace goes to help him up and outside, he growls lowly before his mind can catch up with what he’s doing. It’s not an angry growl, rather part defensive and part guilty, and he knows that the Galra can hear the difference, but he still looks a bit disappointed, even though he leaves him be. In the end it’s Lance supporting his weight until they’re outside, and Keith has never been so happy to breathe fresh air and see Red waiting for him. Their connection has been muted but it’s back now, and he doesn’t know how, but he knows that she couldn’t get to him because she had to put most of her energy into the particle barrier protecting her from the snowstorm.

“Dude, you need a shower,” Lance says, half-jokingly, once he lets go of him to get back to his own lion and Keith scoffs but doesn’t bother to reply, knowing his fellow paladin is right. Sitting down in his seat feels like coming home already, and he lightly skims over the armrests with his hands, feeling Red’s purr through their connection. “I’m sorry I left you alone so long, girl, I’m glad to be back, too,” he tells her quietly.

Kolivan is the last one to come out of the cave, and he gets into Red with Keith, not ready to let him out of his sight just yet. The paladin doesn’t object.

“Take us home, Red,” he says to his lion, trusting her to move on her own this time and find her way back, and how strange is it that he’s come to call the castle his home when he wouldn’t even do that with his shack…? There’s silence after that; Kolivan is not a man of many words, but this silence is not as comfortable as usually. Like the other members of the pack he’s picked up on Keith’s behavior, and he’s not pressuring him into anything -they’ve never done something like that to begin with. But he’s watching him, and once they’ve landed he comes forward.

Unlike Thace, he growls back at him in warning when Keith does, again rather out of instinct. “You will leave this lion either carried or supported by me like Lance did, youngling.” His tone of voice is final, a decision already made he won’t back down from and the paladin doesn’t even try to fight it, ducking his head.

Kolivan sighs. “Nobody is mad at you, kit,” he says. “We are just worried about you; all of us. Come now, let us get you something to eat and drink, and some sleep. Ulaz is going to tend to Antok for now, but I’m pretty sure he’ll want to have a look at you before you sleep; you know how he is.” With that he puts a steady arm around Keith, supporting his weight easily and Keith lets him do what he wants.

You don’t deserve it, though, an icy voice in the back of his head tells him. Don’t deserve help, or comfort; your fault, your fault, your fault.

He still lets them fuss over him, knowing nothing he could do would stop them now; not after five days, but that doesn’t mean their actions don’t make his stomach twist painfully with every touch, the icy voice whispering away in the back of his head, your fault, your fault, your fault. He hides it well enough so they don’t notice -probably just a sign of how tired they actually are. Lance, Hunk and Pidge especially are practically asleep on their feet, all of them staying only long enough to make sure he’s not about to die just yet, and, in Hunk’s case, until he’s made him some toast with butter or at least the alien version of it, before going to sleep. Shiro stays behind to lay a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s good to have you back,” he says quietly.

Keith nods. „It’s good to be back,“ he replies with an already less hoarse voice, even though he doesn’t feel like he deserves any of this. Someone -Allura?- has thrust a bottle of water into his hands at some point; he’s downed half of it in one go and now takes a last sip, feeling slightly nauseous.

The black paladin smiles. “Go get some sleep and we’ll talk tomorrow…” Keith nods, though he’s not sure how well he’ll sleep tonight after all.

The toast Hunk made him -one of Keith’s all time favorites, no matter where in the universe- is light on his stomach, something he’s grateful for, and it tastes just as good as anything else Hunk cooks; he tries to not wolf it down, to take it slow, but still clears the plate faster than he usually would have done. Thace and Kolivan stay with him, looking satisfied at seeing him eat. They’re keeping a distance, since Keith has made clear that he doesn’t want to be coddled right now, but aren’t willing to leave, either. Keith drinks another bottle of water, still incredibly thirsty, though he’s going slower now. Not able to eat anything else, he stands.

“I’m just gonna go take a shower,” he says, and, hearing his tone, Thace and Kolivan don’t even try to come along. That would be the worst. And unlike a few hours ago, his legs are not wobbly anymore, so there’s really no need for them to baby him. He hates that on good days; and this really isn’t one. Not when he’s feeling guilty on top of everything else. Not when he’s feeling like they’re too good for him. That’s a new one; usually he just always feels like people will grow tired of him sooner rather than later or just find out how weird he is and leave. Or he used to feel like that anyway. The pack has never once made him feel unwelcome; instead they showed him that he was never weird at all but just different from other humans.

But maybe that was a lie, with his legs, he thinks, once he’s out of their sight. He has to support himself against the wall, still too exhausted to put his entire weight on his legs for more than a few steps. He’s not sure he can shower like this, not sure he can hold himself upright for long enough, but he can still take a bath. If he ever gets there. He’s slow, like this, and has to take a break after less than half of the way to catch his breath. Which is how Ulaz finds him; the doctor looks tired.

“Keith?” he asks, frowning. „What are you doing here?“ He doesn’t really expect an answer, though -for now at least- and he doesn’t ask any more questions like ‘Where are the others’ or ‘Why are you on your own when you’re still in a state like this’, either. Instead he simply clicks his tongue.

“Well, I was going to get you anyway. Come along, youngling.” His tone is that of a doctor, used to see any orders followed, and Keith doesn’t protest when he helps him to support his weight. He doesn’t know how to feel about it, not feeling like he deserves any help or comfort from them, but at the same time craving it. Ulaz leads the way to a room just a few feet away; it looks a bit like a nurse’s office. The doctor motions for him to sit down and opens a few cabinets until he’s found what he was looking for. He comes back to Keith and hands him a glass with something that looks like water.

“Drink this,” he says. “You’ll feel much better in a few minutes. But don’t be fooled, while you’re going to feel better, your body still needs just as much rest as he would without this. Do not overexert yourself, or the effects will wear off faster than you can say Quiznak, am I understood?”

Keith looks down and nods. “Yeah…” he mutters, and drinks whatever it is in a few big gulps, trusting Ulaz. He does feel better, it doesn’t take long and he’s not even tired anymore, not speaking of the exhaustion. He feels like running.

“Keith. No running.” Ulaz emphasizes every word, but there’s quiet humor in his voice so it doesn’t sound scolding, rather like he expected something like this. Keith really must be an open book to him. “I’ll let you go soon, kit, but I want to check you over first, just in case there’s something I missed…”

He gives him a quick but thorough medical, after which he pulls him into a hug to nuzzle him. “We’re all glad to have you back, kit, you know that, right?”

Keith makes a little sound that’s neither affirmation nor negation. Of course he knows. Doesn’t mean he has to think that’s right.

“Ulaz?“ he asks instead of an answer. “How’s Antok?” Keith doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer to that one, actually. But he’s the one who’s at fault for the Galra’s state.

The doctor gives him a long look, then smiles, ruffling Keith’s hair a little. “He’ll be fine, youngling. I had to operate on his leg, but he’s in the cryo pod now and he’ll be perfectly healthy once he comes out of there.” He pauses. “Keith, how did he get that injury?”

The paladin looks away. “Noxu. One pushed me down and he got distracted and… and that other one bit him.” Your fault, your fault, your fault, the little voice keeps whispering in the back of his head.

Ulaz’s eyes widen a little. “Noxu? Are you-“ He stops himself before he can start another medical; he’s just done one, there was nothing major, no injuries at least, Keith is fine, according to the circumstances. “We’ll talk about that later. How about you go take a shower now and then come join us in the nest?”

Keith nods a little and leaves; looks like he’ll be able to have that shower after all. But once he’s done with that, dirt and grime flowing down the drain in an almost mesmerizing way, he can’t go to the nest. He just can’t, not when he’s messed up this badly. He knows Ulaz said Antok will be fine, and he knows the doctor would never lie to him and that they still want him around -he just doesn’t understand how. So, instead of going back to the nest, he goes to the room with the cryo pods. Antok doesn’t look bad per se, more like he’s sleeping. He’s still pale, though that might be the light, and his leg is far from being fully healed but Keith knows it’s going to be. Keeping watch is the least he can do now, so he sits against the control panel, facing Antok’s cryo pod.

He must’ve fallen asleep, because when he wakes there’s warmth, a blanket around his shoulders and three bodies cuddled up to him. Of course they’d come to seek him out if he didn’t go and join them. They’re dead to the world; they probably didn’t get much sleep this last week, either. Too tired to worry about anything, Keith just goes back to sleep.

It takes another full day for Antok to recover. Keith never leaves his side for longer than a few minutes at a time, to get some food, or something to drink; he’s feeling better already, even as he feels the effects of whatever it is Ulaz gave him wear off. He really just needed rest. A lot of it, but he’s much better now. Kolivan, Thace and Ulaz stay with Keith, and, little by little, he tells them what happened; about the cave, the skeleton, and the Noxu.

Kolivan and Ulaz don’t look surprised at the mention of the beasts, but Thace does. His eyes widen. “Noxu?!” he gasps, „Did you-„ He looks at Ulaz. „You checked him for any injuries, right?“ At the doctor’s nod Thace turns to Kolivan, opens his mouth, but the other Galra beats him to it.

“Yes, I realized back in the cave. I got the teeth.” Thace seems to calm down at that, but now Keith is confused.

“Teeth?” he asks.

Kolivan hums. „Defeating Noxu is no mean feat, youngling, even with luxite blades. The teeth are trophies for you and Antok.”

“Oh.” Keith thinks he’d much rather have Antok safe and sound.

Which is when there’s a hiss and a cloud of steam as the cryo pod opens, letting out a still somewhat dazed Antok. Kolivan moves quickly, catching him before he can fall, holding him until he’s more aware of his surroundings. It’s quite the commotion, because just like Keith, the others have been waiting for this, of course. But the moment he sees he’s alright now, standing on his own two feet with his leg fully healed, Keith just can’t stay any longer. How can he stay with them?

He doesn’t run. He walks. Maybe he walks a little bit faster than he usually would, but he doesn’t run. He ends up in his room -his old room, if he’s honest. It’s still oficially his, but he hasn’t been here in ages. It feels cold and impersonal but he doesn’t know where else to hide. Everything else, apart from the den, is public. So he just sits on the bed, hugging his knees and resting his head on top of them. He doesn’t know what he’s waiting for; he doesn’t even know if he’s waiting for anything. He isn’t really… But something happens anyway, a little while later.

The door opens and Antok comes in, and shouldn’t he be with the others or something? Instead he’s here; sits on the bed with Keith, silently.

“Pretty cold here, isn’t it?” he remarks, after a long moment. His voice is soft, exceptionally so. Keith doesn’t say anything; he feels nauseous all of a sudden. “Keith, kit, why are you here and not with us? We’re missing you in the nest…” And damn, Keith doesn’t deserve this, and he’s not gonna cry. He’s not. He just shakes his head; he doesn’t think he could answer right now. He’s too busy trying to bite back the tears.

There’s a sigh, and then movement, and before he knows it Keith has been pulled into Antok’s lap. He doesn’t know if it’s the reassuring purr, the sudden closeness or the familiar hand in his hair that does it, but he loses the fight against the tears. Keith can count the times in his life he’s cried on the fingers of one hand, and never has he cried in front of somebody else.

“I’m sorry,” he says through the tears. “’m sorry… my fault��� ‘m sorry…”

Antok simply holds him close, the hand petting his hair never stopping. “I know, little one, apology accepted… hush, it’s alright now… Nobody’s mad at you, but I suppose that’s not the problem, huh?“ He murmurs reassurances, purrs and nuzzles Keith until the tears finally stop, and the half Galra peeks up at him. “There you are,” Antok says and kisses his forehead. If anybody else tried that, Keith would end them, but Antok is allowed. He’s allowed a lot of things others aren’t. For what it’s worth, Keith feels better, a lot.

Silence spreads, but it’s a comfortable one this time. Antok is the one to break it.

“Say, did you tell the others about your traits?” he asks. Keith shakes his head. To be honest, he’s completely forgotten about it; that little detail simply slipped his mind. The Galra grins. “We should go and tell them. I really want to see their faces…” He ruffles Keith’s hair. “They’re going to be so proud of you…”

And just like that, Keith’s world has shifted back to normal, the guilt not fully gone yet but he’ll get there. He stands and stretches, feeling a good kind of exhausted, and smiles at Antok.

“Let’s go.”

[enkisstories]

The android cemetery (Chapter 13)

Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot… Taking turns carrying the PL600 Daniel and Gavin made their way across the landfill. One of them was always holding Daniel’s H&K and keeping watch for more threats like guards or the android ghoul, the other was lugging the equipment and the dead PL600. Each step took effort due to the treacherous ground they were traversing. They walked past craters, crossed chasms on narrow bridges, got forced into detours by vehicles coming their way, walked on, stumbled, cursed, laughed dryly at something that was everything but funny… The two men had done so for what by now felt like all their lives with little hope of the ordeal ever ending.

“Look, Gavin”, Daniel suddenly spoke up, “when we said you could be more humane, we didn’t mean you breaking into sobs, okay? Just… stop.”

Irritated the human turned around to the living PL600 who was at the moment carrying the dead one. “What are you talking about? It’s you who’s sniffling for some time now and getting louder!”

Daniel shook his head in consternation.

“Wait – that’s not you?” they exclaimed in unison. “Then who…”

“…or what”, Gavin added.

There was only one creature in the world that sounded like a human baby wailing and he had pulled several of them out of dumpsters in his life.

“Kitty?” the man asked into the void, what prompted the dead PL600 to shake because the living one who was carrying it was erupting into laughter.

“If that’s even remotely a “kitty”, then it’s got to have saber teeth and then even you wouldn’t want to take it home!” Daniel laughed.

Smirking and raising the submachine gun in a playful salute Gavin replied “What’s not to like about a saber-tooth tiger pelt in the bedroom?”, but then he sighed. “For what it’s worth, I admit it was wishful thinking. Because cats are easy and some shit should be easy for a change tonight.” The man lowered Daniel’s gun again. “Okay, let’s look around for the sucker in need of rescuing. Looks like we’ll have to make up for breaking into the city’s treasure trove by being not quite bad cops now.”

It didn’t take them long to locate the source of the crying: a stack of empty boxes. Piled onto each other not too carefully they had formed a small cave not unlike those under the roots of a tree. And in there someone lay, fully covered by a colorful patchwork blanket as if it was a shroud. The blanket was bobbing up and down as the occupant was shaking in tears.

Gavin prodded the bundle with the android arm they had found the day before. There was no reaction. The crying continued just like before. Taking this as a sign that they would at least not have to fear another attack Daniel carefully lifted the blanket. He found himself facing a large teddy bear with bright yellow fur. Both the plushie and the blanket looked as if they had just been removed from a child’s room. They were sticking out from all the garbage around them. They also distracted the mind mercifully from the realization that there was a girlchild curled up under the shroud, looking all miserable and crying blue tears. It was a YK600, the latest in android children. There was no LED on her that would have informed the men about her system status, but on first glance - and not counting the emotional distress - she was looking perfectly fine.

“It’s an android child!” Daniel whispered.

“Well, we fucked yesterday, that usually leads to children”, Gavin joked, but even his voice was a little shaky.

“What are you doing here?” Daniel addressed the girl. It was a stupid question, he knew, but he couldn’t think of something better to say now.

“I’m trying to die”, the android replied, between sobs. “But I don’t know how to!”

“Oh… oh, my…”

Daniel reached out rather weakly towards the girl. She shielded herself with the teddy bear, so the deviant took that one’s hand and shook it. The YK600 smiled. A few seconds passed, then the child android made the toy’s hand return the shake.

The moment’s magic was broken, predictably, by Gavin Reed. “Uh… if your dying need’s that pressing, it can be arranged”, he announced. The man grabbed Daniel’s shoulder to turn him around. “The ghoul is returning!”

“Of all the times!” Daniel gasped.

The next thing he saw was Gavin forcing the severed android arm into the YK600’s hands…

“Here, hold this for us! That’s an order!”

…and then the YK, complete with teddy bear and android arm got pressed into his own arms.

Gavin in turn flung the PL600 over his shoulders.

“And now we run!” he said and not a moment too early. Already the ghoul’s inbuilt flashlight was almost upon them. It served to remind the men what else the android had integrated into his ever growing system: the saw for one hand and a literal hand-gun sprouting from the other wrist. Not to mention that they didn’t know how much of the RK800 it had consumed was living on in the ghoul.

Taking the android child along was the stupidest move he could have made, Gavin thought. What they should have done was removing the blanket completely to expose the YK600 to the fetch-happy trash android. Dismantling the smaller one for more parts to add to itself would have occupied the machine long enough for Daniel and Gavin to make their escape. Maybe the YK would even have tried to flee, distracting the collector for even longer. But after having killed the android in the shaft Daniel would probably draw comfort from rescuing one now. Besides, Gavin didn’t fancy hearing the machine cry in a little girl’s voice while it got dissected in their backs. And even so, you just didn’t leave behind a kid. It was a behavior so deeply ingrained into human nature that no amount of de-sensibilization could ever fully override it.

“That’s no use!” Daniel shouted after a few steps. “It’s faster than us! And it knows this place better than we do!”

“Probably, yes”, Gavin replied. “A bit more to the left! Left, I said!”

“But that will lead us right into another crater!”

“Just do it!”

Hardly slowing down they ran down into the shallow crater. They were now in full view of the trash android. The scavenger also had the advantage of the higher ground while down here the ground was uneven, with many sharp and pointy bits sticking out.

“That’s no good”, Daniel protested. “Did you…”

“…see? Yes! Perfect!”

Gavin had no more breath to waste. Daniel had to trust him that what they both saw was actually beneficial to them: The android ghoul refused to enter the crater. Instead it walked along the rim to meet them on the other side.

“Keep running!” Gavin gasped. “Straightforward! Thisimportant!” All the time the YK600 kept dead silent, but when Daniel circled around some appliance’s skeleton now, the teddy bear slipped off her hands. Daniel caught it without needing to look, then brought his arm back up again to steady the child. Meanwhile Gavin jumped over a pile of metal poles. He didn’t possess his boyfriend’s uncanny dexterity, but held his ground well enough.

“Go on!” he called out to Daniel again, then he stopped, turned around and with the same movement went down on one knee. The PL600 slumped to the ground, but Gavin didn’t bother.

“Just a few steps more, plastic-buddy”, he said to himself while taking aim with the H&K. And then Gavin emptied the magazine into the crater wall at its base, below the spot the ghoul was about to step on. Something rotten and unstable there gave way and strata by strata Detroit’s garbage crashed into itself. The sudden avalanche caught the pursuer by surprise. It lost its footing and got sucked up by the moving trash. Arms flailing around helplessly it fired a series of shots into the air. The other hand, the one the sawblade was attached to, tore through the garbage, but all that did was adding to the chaos by creating more, smaller and especially sharp, jagged-edged pieces.

Daniel winced when he heard the shots. Gavin only smiled and said “Good riddance!”. The man had just enough time to sheath the H&K and grab the PL600 before he had to start running again, lest the avalanche would catch him, too. When he reached the slope leading out of the crater and started climbing, five arms were grabbing for Gavin.

And there they stood, for a few seconds savoring the sight of the crater filling up.

“That should slow our friend down some”, Daniel said, looking appreciatively at his partner.

“It cried out in Connor’s voice when it fell”, Gavin replied, smirking. “That was almost worth the shock of encountering it again!”

“Haha, yes, I bet it was!”

Daniel grabbed the YK600’s hand, who in turn was hugging her teddy bear (as well as the android arm that they still hadn’t discarded) with the other arm. On his other side walked Gavin, carrying the PL600. Expeditiously, but no longer like rodents fleeing from the family cat, the three of them moved towards the dump’s exit and the parking lot.

“The ghoul may know its territory”, Gavin boasted, “but I know my physics. And I’ve survived in this city long before that thing was a wet dream of Kamski’s!”

“For real?” Daniel replied, amused. “We’re the “what do the young’uns know” generation now? – Speaking of young ones…”

Gavin shrugged.

“Little Miss Smelly seems fine to me. We’ll listen to her sob story back in the car.”

[prosciuttoe]

Omg I would love to read your take on the "I can hear you having mental breakdowns" AU because I can absolutely imagine Clarke being strung out with med school stress and Bell being a Mum and fretting over her

A|N: this got.... really, really long, so I’m just gonna apologize in advance and put it down as me being trash for neighbours!bellarke. Hope you like it!

_____________________

It only occurs to him that he has a new neighbour when he wakes to the sound of a distinctly feminine voice cursing out someone.

And it’s not like Murphy was ever quiet or a remotely considerate neighbour or anything, but Bellamy’s pretty sure that he’s never woken him up at six in the morning with his yelling. Huffing, he shrugs on a shirt, shuffles over to the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee. He has to be up in an hour for work anyway, so there’s no point in trying to go back to sleep.

He does, however, start feeling a little concerned when the muffled swearing grows progressively louder instead of abating. Maybe his new neighbour is actually hurt or something, and the increasingly profane swear words are her way of expressing her distress. It’s plausible, right? The nice, neighbourly thing to do would be to check up on her. Or at the very least, maybe pound on the wall and tell her, in no certain terms, to shut the fuck up.

As tempting as the latter option is, he finds himself edging out of the door anyway, crossing the hallway to knock at her door cautiously.

The door jerks open at the second knock, and he he has to hide his surprise at the figure standing by the doorway. She’s a lot tinier than he expected her to be, dressed in stained scrubs with her hair piled up into a messy bun, stray strands drifting over her collarbone distractingly.

She arches a brow over at him, the tilt of her chin challenging. “Yes?”

“Uh, hi. I live over at 5C? Just next to you?” He gestures over at his ajar apartment door, resisting the urge to make a snide remark about how thin the walls are in the complex. “And you just— I don’t know what’s happening, but you’ve been yelling for the past hour or so? I just wanted to make sure you’re not being murdered, like, five feet away from me.”

There’s a beat as she seems to process this, biting at her lip almost nervously as she sizes him up. Then, she seems to relent, slumping against the door dramatically. “Sorry. I didn’t— I work over at the ER? So I tend to keep weird hours. And I don’t mean to be loud or anything, but this toaster situation has been driving me nuts for the past hour.”

Bellamy can practically feel his brows jerk up to his hairline. “Toaster?”

She worries her lip with her teeth, nodding. “The fucking toaster. I don’t know what’s wrong? I have it all plugged in, and it was working just fine yesterday morning, but—”

“Yeah, the wiring here is permanently on the fritz.” He tells her, shrugging. “You have to angle it, like, ninety degrees to the left? Then duct tape it—” he pauses, taking in her quivering lip, the shadows under her eyes, “— uh. Do you want some help?”

Her laugh is watery, the tension seeping out of her shoulders almost instantaneously. “Yes. Please.”

He can’t help but return her smile, just a little, before she’s leading him into her apartment; sidestepping a scattered pile of boxes and bubble wrap. She’s clearly nowhere close to being unpacked, and he suppresses a grunt of pain when he bumps up against a chair leg. “So, you just got here?”

“Two days back,” she replies, jerking her chin over to the dingy toaster resting on her counter. “I needed a place that was close to Ark Medical, and this was the cheapest option there was.”

Snorting, he uncoils the wire once more, turning over to shoot her a wry smile. “Well, I was wondering what a prestigious doctor like yourself was doing in a place like this.”

“Shut up,” she says, without heat whatsoever. “Besides, this place isn’t that much of a dump.”

“It’s a shit-hole,” he assures her, flicking at the switch and shifting the wire ever so slightly to the left. “I’m guessing no one warned you about the showers yet?”

“I’ve seen the rings around my toilet, so I think I have a vague idea.”

“Trust me, you don’t.” He startles a little when the toaster chimes in with a ding; two untoasted slices popping up. “There we go. Hand me the duct tape.”

“God,” she rasps, laughing as he pushes at the lever to lower them into the now-glowing toaster, “you’re a lifesaver.”

He shrugs, a flush working its way up his neck involuntarily. Having a really cute girl smile and thank him is a lot to take in at six in the morning. “Hey, take this as your official welcome to the building…?”

“Clarke.” She tells him, extending her hand out to shake. “Clarke Griffin.”

“Bellamy Blake,” he says, taking it. Her palm is small and soft in his, and he mostly tries not to think about how much he likes it. “And I really hope this is the last time you’ll be having a kitchen appliance related breakdown at an ungodly hour.”

(Fortunately, it isn’t.)

The next time he sees her is a week after, when he smells something burning wafting in the air.

He puts it down to Cage Wallace (dick) and his notorious tendency to burn his food until he hears a muffled fuck resonate through the walls, accompanied by a loud thump.

Hitting pause on the documentary blaring from his laptop, he reaches over to knock at the wall, twice. Then, raising his voice slightly, “Clarke?”

There’s a weighty pause- long enough for him to have wondered if he had imagined the whole thing- before she responds, her voice cracking ever-so-slightly, “Bellamy?”

“The one and only,” he manages. “Everything okay over there?”

“Uhm, yeah.” She sniffs, and he recognizes the catch in her voice when she continues, “Just— had a long day, I guess. I burned my food, as you can tell, and then proceeded to drop my frying pan on my foot after, so. Yeah. My day is not looking up.”

Oh. He shrugs, then remembering that she can’t see it, adds, “So I take it that you’re starving, and tired, and close to falling face-first in your sheets without dinner?”

“In that order.”

“Cool,” he says, rapping at the wall with his foot. “Well, I have leftovers if you want, so feel free to come on over if you like egg fried rice.”

Another pause, this time shorter than before. “Really?”

“I’ll even throw in some Jell-O if you have some beers.”

“Got it!” Clarke calls out, and he bites back a grin at how much better she sounds already.

They end up spending the entire time trading spoonfuls of whatever leftovers he could scrounge up from his fridge (she likes the cold pizza best, but he’s more inclined towards burritos) and watching Planet Earth. He finds out that she teaches art classes on the weekends; that her dad died six years back. She makes a sympathetic noise when he tells her about his mom, and the foster situation with Octavia, and missing out on college.

It’s nice, surprisingly. Companionable. It feels almost impossible not to fall into a friendship after that, easy and natural, spent sharing takeout and watching movies and griping about whatever grievances they had that particular week.

(And if he occasionally has less than platonic thoughts about her, well. Bellamy’s just— trying not to dwell on it too much.)

So he’s almost expecting it when she taps at the wall that night; a direct response to his groan before he drops onto the sofa with enough force for it to creak ominously under his weight.

Sighing, he reciprocates, rapping at it once with his knuckles.

A beat, then her voice coming in a little muffled through the walls, “That bad, huh?”

“The worst.” He agrees, slumping further into the pillows. “Think terrible day at work, and a humongous fight with Octavia.”

“I’m coming over.”

He barely manages to grunt out a noise of assent before he hears her at the door; sock-clad feet shuffling across the ground as she eases it shut. “Fuck. You’re a mess.”

“I’m aware,” he grouches, pulling himself up on his elbows. Clarke’s still leaning against the door, bearing a bottle of wine in one hand and what looks like a casserole dish in the other. He stills, brows rising. “Is that…?”

“Macaroni casserole.” She confirms, flopping down on the ground beneath him and offering him a fork. “Dig in.”

He takes it from her, spears a forkful into his mouth. “God. Did I ever tell you that you’re my favorite?”

“Pretty much every time I break this out,” she deadpans, scraping at the edges with her nail.

“Yeah, well, you only break this out on special occasions.” Bellamy counters, flicking his thumb over at the wine bottle balanced precariously on her knee. The last time she made it was when her mother had come over for a visit, and it had ended in a unmitigated disaster. Frowning, he shifts his focus back on her, asks, “Wait. What’s the occasion?”

She keeps her gaze firmly averted from her, staring down at the dish. “What occasion?”

“You only break out the wine and the casserole if you have someone to impress.” He reminds her, resisting the urge to catch at her chin to keep her from looking away. For some strange, inexplicable reason, he feels his pulse pick up in his chest, as if they’re on the brink of something else entirely.

“It’s nothing.”

“Clarke.”

She takes a deep breath, as if bracing herself. “It was, uh. For you, actually. It was going to be a big thing, you know? Wine, casserole. The works.”

He swallows, half-mesmerized by the slow flutter of her lashes, the swaying motion she makes when he dips his chin a little closer to her. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She breathes, inhaling sharply when his lips brushes up against her cheek. “I had it all planned.”

“So,” he can’t help his laugh at that, soft and a little nervous, “what’s supposed to come after?”

And that’s when she kisses him, winding her fingers over his shoulders and pulling him down. He responds with equal enthusiasm, sinking his hands into her hair and laughing against her mouth; fucking delighted, tailing into a half-groan when his knees hit the ground.

“Can’t believe you were trying to wine and dine me into getting with you,” he tells her after they break apart, panting. “Trying to fucking seduce me—”

“You started it,” she grumbles, peppering his neck with kisses and bursting into laughter when he squirms away, ticklish, “with the whole helpful neighbour act, in those stupidly cute pyjama pants. Who wears pyjama pants?”

“Well, you like it.”

Clarke sighs, burrowing closer into his arms, as if she’s meant to be there all along. “It’s because I like you, you nerd.”

(She never quite gets around to leaving, after.)

[violaswimmer]

Well, Shit. (A Voltron Fanficiton)

You remember when I said I can’t write fanficiton for shit? Well here we go! My best attempt! If you like it please let me know! I’m working on Chapter 2! Takes place after season 2, after finding Shiro (because Shiro will come back I will not accept anything else omg). 

CHAPTER 2 IS NOW HERE: http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/156953215941/well-shit-a-voltron-fanficiton-chapter-2

AND SO IS CHAPTER 3:

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157047198811/well-shit-a-voltron-fanfiction-chapter-3

ALSO CHAPTER 4:

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157157013206/well-shit-a-voltron-fanfiction-chapter-4

AND CHAPTER 5:

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157254073496/well-shit-a-voltron-fanfiction-chapter-5

AND CHAPTER 6:

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157296304031/well-shit-a-voltron-fanfiction-chapter-6

AND CHAPTER 7!

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157378879001/well-shit-a-voltron-fanfiction-chapter-7

CHAPTER 8:

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157547824756/well-shit-a-voltron-fanfiction-chapter-8

CHAPTER 9:

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157710839871/well-shit-a-voltron-fanfiction-chapter-9

CHAPTER 10:

http://violaswimmer.tumblr.com/post/157841715481/well-shit-a-voltron-fanficition-chapter-10

ALSO YOU CAN READ THE WHOLE SERIES ON ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10025633

Lance and the Voltron Team go on a mission that goes horribly wrong. Lance is left behind to be interrogated by the mysterious Galra Prince Lotor. The team must rush to get him back at all costs. 

Chapter 1: Well, Great.

Lance awoke to the same face he had been seeing for a while now. That’s the thing about space, it’s hard to tell the time. But this Prince Lotor guy was making it even harder since he didn’t let Lance sleep more than an hour at a time, well he hoped it was an hour.

Team Voltron had been floating across the galaxy and found a distress beacon from a nearby planet. When they landed Allura asked the people what was wrong since they seemed pretty peachy for apparently being under distress. They lead the Voltron team to these large trees, like huge, way bigger than Earth’s trees. They entered a kind of makeshift elevator and when they reached the top they saw the problem.

A huge Galra ship hanging in the sky above them. No movement, nothing firing, just sitting there in the atmosphere above the planet. Obviously the people had panicked, sounded the distress beacon but the ship hadn’t done anything for a full week. The ship was making the people nervous so they left the beacon on hoping someone would come help them.

It was weird. Really weird. So of course they had to check it out. Team Voltron. Wooh. Anyway so eventually they went back to the castle. Allura and Coran did every scan they thought of and well they found no signs of life. Also weird. But they couldn’t destroy the ship, not from the castle. The shields were still up and they had to be disabled. So someone, namely Pidge had to get on the ship, disable the shield and get out so the castle could blast it out of the sky. Simple.

First of all Lance was the only one to think that maybe this wasn’t a great idea. Everyone else was convinced the scans worked, that no one was on the ship. Of course they went in still on alert but you know, things never go well for the paladin in blue. So Pidge was escorted by Lance and Keith while Hunk and Shiro waited with the castle just in case.

They entered the ship no problem. Not a big deal. Even got to the control panel without a hitch. But as soon as Pidge so much as touched the console things went to shit, real quick. When Pidge touched the console it set off some sort of alarm, out of nowhere Lance heard guards gathering outside the control room door. He and Keith readied their bayards then the comms went nuts. Shiro, Hunk and the castle had been surrounded by a Galra fleet. There was no escape. It had been a trap.

So Lance made a decision and a dangerous one. Without thinking he grabbed Keith and Pidge by the back of their uniforms and threw them over the edge of the control board, down a long drop where a vent lead to the outside of the ship. Pidge made a surprise squeak with Keith yelling Lance’s name. Lance turned and began to fire on the Galra soldiers. He knew what he had to do.

“I’m gonna blow the ship. Get as far away as you can, wormhole out if you have to!” He shouted over the comms.

There was muffled sounds of protest from Shiro and Hunk before the comms went dead completely. Great now they couldn’t communicate. The guards were piling through the door like mice escaping a hole. He had to hope that by now Pidge and Keith had made it far enough away, he couldn’t hold them any longer. So he turned his back, taking what cover he could from the tons of fire. He aimed at the crystal in front of him. He needed to break it. So he looked where he could fire. Where the crystal attached, he’s sure he can hit it. He aims, a shot from one of the guards hits him in the shoulder. Doesn’t matter. He breathes and fires. The shot hit sure and true and the crystal began to crack, sparks coming from it. Lance jumped into the cavern, going down the shaft to the vent. The crystal explodes.

Lance can’t hear anything, the explosion must have blown an ear drum. His back feels hot, spinning out of control into open air, jet pack not functioning. Great. Blue isn’t near enough to get to him. He had no idea how the castle was if everyone was okay. But the g-forces were causing his head to spin and he began to lose consciousness. His last thought was, I hope everyone gets out okay. Lance’s vision goes black as he continues to tumble towards the planet’s surface.

Everyone sees it, they hear it too. Keith and Pidge managed to get back to the castle in one piece right before the whole ship goes up. The explosion would have been spectacular if it wasn’t so frightening. Hunk and Shiro stopped fight just of a moment in sheer horror as the whole ship explodes. Lance was on that ship.

But the explosion works. The fleet takes damage, the explosion bigger than usual since they were fighting in the atmosphere rather than space. It takes out several ships. They have a chance to escape.

But everyone is frozen. Until they see it. A tiny figure tail spinning out of control in a blue and white suit.

“Lance!” Shiro shouts, trying to get to him before he hits the surface. But enemies were replacing the destroyed ones and he couldn’t get there in time.

Suddenly the ship that had hung back for the entire battle did something none of them expected. It sent out a beam of purple light and shined it on Lance’s out of control form. Lance’s body went limp, still and then slowly began to drag him toward the Galra ship.

Keith yelled, “They’re taking him!”

“We have to get him!” Pidge insisted. She hated the way he was limp, was he unconscious or worse?

They rushed to go get their lions. But Allura’s voice stopped them.

“YOU CANNOT!” She shouted.

Everyone paused even Shiro and Hunk who were still fighting outside the castle but they heard it over the comms. They had never heard Allura scream like that.

“We must wormhole out, we cannot win this fight.” She said this time barely a whisper.

There was a stunned silence before Keith of all people shouted.

“That’s LANCE out there! He just risked his life to give us a chance! We can’t abandon him!” Keith said, outraged.

Allura took in a breath.

“That is exactly why we need to go. Now. Lance bought us time. We can’t waste it.” She turned to them, tears in her eyes. Keith’s rage quickly melted.

“We will come back for him. We will find him and bring him home. However we need to be alive to do that. I’m certain we would not survive an assault on that ship. We must leave. Now.” Allura said tears streaking down her cheeks.

She wiped them the best she could and went to the comms telling Hunk and Shiro to come back. They were going to wormhole out. Reluctantly they came back, looking pale and worried. The ship made the wormhole, leaving the Galra and Lance behind.

Lance’s head felt heavy. His back felt worse, dry and stinging. He was being suspended against a wall. Arms, legs and torso bound by heavy thick clamps on the walls. Everything hurt. He slowly raised his head, moving it seemed to make it worse but he needed to see where he was. He knew he wasn’t in the castle but where exactly was he?

He blinked his eyes. Realizing quickly that one was having trouble seeing, which is a great thing to add to his ever growing list of problems. The room was dark with metal floors, walls and ceiling. Purple lights lined the walls in a linear pattern. He recognized that purple anywhere. He was on a Galra ship. Great.

He spent time looking over his injuries. He took a shot to the shoulder, he remembered that. But the rest must have been from the explosion or the free fall. His back was burnt, realizing the sensation. His left eye couldn’t see very well, vision was dark and tinted red. He could feel a cut over his eyebrow pulsing and swollen. His jaw felt fat and burned. The clamps were holding him to the wall a bit too tight and it seemed hard to draw a good breath. What a mess.

Soon the door flew open, showering the room in purple light. A tall man stepped in, long white hair and purple skin. Yellow almost glowing eyes looked at Lance with an interest that made his skin crawl. He was wearing armor, fancy armor. This guy was definitely in charge. Lance smirked, confidence couldn’t fail him now.

“Who are you? Zarkon’s replacement?” Lance asked, smug

The man took a moment and smiled.

“Yes, something like that.” He confirmed.

Lance was a little stunned, he honestly hadn’t expected him to answer.

“What, really?!” Lance asked, shocked.

The man smiled.

“My name is Prince Lotor, I am Zarkon’s son.” He took a step forward, examining Lance a little closer.

Once satisfied with being a creep he backed off.

”I must inform you that your fellow paladins have abandoned you.” Lotor said.

Lance breathed a small breath of relief. So they did get out. Good. That’s good, Lance thought although he couldn’t help the lump forming in his throat.

“Oh don’t worry, they’ll be back.” Lance said confidently.

Well he hoped anyway. Lotor paused and smile kept on his face.

“If that’s the case, how about we get started?”

Lance swallowed the lump was getting bigger. Two guards from the hallway came through the door.

“Bring it big ears.” Lance smirked.

Lotor’s face didn’t change, not even a twitch of anger. Now that Lance could see him up close, for a Galra he was pretty handsome. Nice hair. Although he seemed not all Galra. Lance wasn’t sure how he knew that but something about him read a little more of something else.

Lotor took a step closer, the guards following him closely as a flood of more people came into the room. Druids, that’s what their called. Cloaked with masks but the creepy witch lady wasn’t there which was a relief. But they shuffled in with metal floating boxes and began to take out what Lance had to guess was torture devices which wasn’t so great.

Lotor began to talk.

“You are the blue paladin of Voltron, riding the blue lion which also is a leg of Voltron. You were injured due to the explosion on the false ship over the planet of Neva. You escaped through a vent but the explosion was rather close to you. You were sent into the atmosphere were the gravity forced you unconscious. Our ship rescued you before you hit the planet. Once on board we treated some of your wounds so you did not die. But we left the majority that were not life threatening. Once you were brought aboard our ship the rest of the paladins used the explosion to escape us via wormhole.” Lotor smiled.

“This is the information we know. You see Zarkon was not one to share information with others. He unfortunately did not leave me any information about Voltron or its paladins. So I must gather the information myself.” He paused as a druid handed him something small and metallic.

The lump in Lance’s throat was growing bigger. He wanted to go home. He was scared. Terrified. But somewhere in the back of his mind which was flooded with terror rose something else. He remembered he protected the team. They were fine and were going to live for another day. Something in Lance clicked in place like a gear in his body was replaced with something stronger.

It didn’t matter. What happened to him didn’t matter. He must do everything he can to keep everyone safe. His emotions became steel and the breath that had been coming too quickly slowed. The fear was still there but that was natural the rest was made of unmoving steel.

Lance looked at Lotor his eyes narrowing and smirk plastered all over his face. He was not afraid.

“Why don’t you just get started then? Quit the chatter.” Lance snarled.

Lotor paused and blinked momentarily surprised. But then his smile grew across his face.

“Oh. I will have fun breaking you.”

So quick. Lance didn’t even register as Lotor took the small metal object and shoved it through Lance’s hand. Lance screamed.