#Well it practices my patience and impulse control so it's fine lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

notyourmamasspoons · 4 years

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Alright BUCKLE UP - ADHD INFO Pt. 1

DISCLAIMER: I am in NO WAY a professional on this. I just have ADHD and know many other ADHDers that go through the same stuff.

ADHD is not just being distracted by every little thing! You want to know what it can also entail?

Obsessive and repetitive thoughts about things, people, places, anything. And it takes SO MUCH mental and emotional energy to try to STOP. Oh I’m WELL AWARE I should stop thinking about X, or talking about Y, or thinking about Z doing A, B, C. But I cannot. I am trying. I am trying so hard. But everything makes the hyperfocus dive deeper. Distraction may work but only so well. This also ties into deep attachment to people, places, and things (Another rant for another day).

You’re way more susceptible to depression and anxiety (in fact a lot of the time people think that’s all they have when really it’s ADHD in disguise but that’s a whole different rant).

You talk WAY too much and ramble...on and on and on and on. Well past whatever the heck your point was! You can’t help it! In text, in conversation, you over use metaphors because the Thought ™ has to come out PERFECTLY. But ha hahaha we’ll be super uncareful about typos or WAY too concerned with every word being perfect that it sounds robotic. Much like how I’m probably doing now!!!!!!

Speaking of talking way to much...YOU OVERSHARE. Have REALLY bad cramps? Have some medical issue? Have a family secret? Hell need to go into detail about the breakfast you had? Why not tell it to the whole office? Why not tell it to the stranger making small chat on the subway. OOPS. Said TOO MUCH. Even though Brain ™ told us not to, but also did not give us a filter.

Boundaries? What actually are those? They are SUPER hard to learn and abide by being of impulse control (well...lack there of). I KNOW I shouldn’t say or do something. But do I have the ability to stop it? Not all the time. “But you’re an adult. you should have control!” Yeah well that’s REALLY not how this works and trust me I LOATHE the fact that boundaries are hard for me to honor. I can barely honor my OWN half the time let alone others. And that sucks. It makes me feel toxic and harmful! It hurts people I care about! And I’ve gotten so much better at it but others have not. Others maybe cannot without understanding and love and support.

It’s also SUPER easy to enable us. Especially when it comes to executive functioning.

Emotional Dysregulation (This is its own rant too tbh). But just know if someone you know has ADHD or you think has it, does any of this sound familiar?

RSD (which I talked a bit about this the other day and will keep reblogging that ask)

They don’t know how to express their feelings, especially when upset or frustrated. Which may lead to outbursts of emotion or nitpicking at every little thing or against you or maybe even saying hurtful things that are more about how they feel they are perceived by you rather than what you yourself are actually feeling?

They shut down or stonewall you almost (or to) the point of just going silent on you.

They get frustrated over the smallest of things and can’t seem to bring themselves out of it.

They obsess over something they consider a slight or an injustice against themselves or someone they care about and it takes over their mood for days or weeks at a time. (Hyperfocusing mixed with emotional dyregulation YAY!)

If you knew them before their diagnosis (or maybe before they started getting worse as ADHD can worsen whether or not you’ve been diagnosed) they seemed to have morphed into a different person with their personality?

That’s just a TASTE of what ADHD can do to someone. They don’t have to do ALL of those or even any of them at all. But I bet that they do at least one on that MINI list. Again, I cannot stress enough if you know or love or have someone in your life that has ADHD or you suspect has it, practice patience and kindness.

And if they don’t know they have it or think they don’t, INSIST that they go find out. Because it can actually be a debilitating thing and ruin so much in a person’s life.

ADHD isn’t some funny and “totally random lol” quirk. Yeah...we do things that are random and funny as shit sometimes. But when it’s severe? It can be SEVERE. Especially in times of stress. Especially if you already have depression and/or anxiety. Especially when you’re not aware.

This was probably SUUUPER unorganized. So I hope my thoughts didn’t scatter around too much. Again I’m not a professional and I’m not going to go and dress up ADHD in an ultra flattering way. Because while ADHD is fine, I mean I have it and always will, it can change how you are. it can ruin your jobs, your relationships, your friendships, your self-esteem...everything especially if it has its way to run rampant or be left undiagnosed and thus untreated in SOME way. I truly LOVE being ADHD. Despite all of the above. Despite the forgetfulness, despite the hardships. It’s a part of me and who I am. I’m proud of my other disabilities too. It’s no cakewalk, but it’s my identity and I spent enough time being ashamed of them.

So I don’t want the information out there to just be the softer sides of ADHD of “Yeah we forget things all the time.” “We hyperfocus a lot!” “We stim!” These are all true! I embrace them about myself! But I also need to learn to embrace the bad parts, the parts that need healing, the parts that need constant working at and management. The parts that others need to realize about us as well.

Even if not everyone agrees! These are my experiences and the experiences of others around me. It can’t all be bright and sunshiny. It’s real. It’s life. And it’s not shameful.

So please be kind, please be patient. I know it’s hard on the ones who love and care for us, for our friends. But it’s REALLY hard on us too.

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slashhinginghasher · 4 years

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Midnight Star - Chromeskull x OFC - Part 1: Thief In the Night

Listen. I love the "Big Scary is only soft for their SO" as much as the next horny person, but I feel like we as a community have been largely overlooking the fact that Chromeskull canonically tortures and murders people (specifically women) for personal enjoyment. So I'm gonna be the nasty bitch that brings that side of him back up again lol.

You can also read this on my Ao3.

Marena hated a lot of things. But if she had to list them, “summer” would be very fucking near the top, and “summer in the Southern United States” would be right next to it. She hated the way the sun beat down like an anvil. She hated the sticky, suffocating humidity that draped itself over everything until it felt as though the entire world was sweating. She hated the waves of heat that emanated from the ground, even in the dead of night. She hated that even the fucking ocean provided no relief; she’d nearly gagged the first and only time she’d attempted a midnight swim, the water curling around her ankles like tepid bathwater. She wanted to peel off her clothes, shave her head, wriggle out of her skin. She wanted to crawl into a freezer and wait until winter, but that season didn’t seem to exist here in the armpit of the world, so maybe she’d stay there until she was dead.

There were no freezers to be found in the swampy vegetation bordering the empty road she followed. There was, however, an abundance of gnats, flies, mosquitoes, and other nameless biting, flying things so great that Marena was seriously considering setting herself on fire just to kill them off. She’d been on the road for weeks. Her feet were blistered. Her stomach was starting to eat itself. If she had to comb any more spanish moss out of her hair she was going to scream. But she kept going, one foot in front of the other, because it was better than turning back. And she stayed in this stupid sauna of a country because it was better than what lay across the ocean.

Marena walked, and dreamed of snow.

***

The car was a temptation. Shiny and black, it gave off an impression of speed even while sitting still. And it was gloriously unattended. Marena had been watching it for nearly fifteen minutes and had seen neither hide nor hair of the driver.

Her court-appointed therapist in Miami had said that a lot of her problems stemmed from a lack of impulse control. Marena thought that was bullshit. She could control her impulses just fine when she wanted; it was just that she so rarely wanted to. With a mental Fuck You to Dr. Call Me Linda, she pulled the wire hook out of her bag and popped the car’s lock in a matter of seconds.

The rest of the job was not so simple. The car was a newer model; the dashboard alone had enough electronics to power a small rocketship. At first, it resisted her efforts, almost as if it didn’t want to be stolen. Her nerves felt like a live wire as too many minutes stretched past, expecting the owner to return. Two screwdrivers and broken nail later, she resorted to swearing and brute force.

“Come on you piece of shit suka blyat’, START!” she snarled, forcing screwdriver number three into the keyhole with her fist and cranking it as hard as she could. The engine roared to life, the radio blaring a hip hop dance remix she’d heard outside at least half a dozen clubs. She slammed her hand against the power button and froze, the only sounds now the purring of the engine and the incessant insect chatter. Scarcely believing her luck, Marena slid into the leather driver’s seat and carefully shut the door. She tapped the gas pedal and grinned when the engine revved in response. Cranking the air conditioning and easing out onto the road, Marena let out a triumphant whoop and floored it.

***

The sky was turning a dusky, pre-dawn blue when the car slowed to a stop.

“What?” The tank was still half full. Marena stomped on the gas. No response. “Chto za khuynya? What the fuck?” She punched the steering column, punched the dashboard, succeeded only in scraping her knuckles. The car shut off. “No no no no…” The cooling engine ticked mockingly at her. “How the fuck…?”

The screen on the dashboard flared to life.

NOT YOURS, PIGGY

Marena’s very heartfelt Fuck! froze in her throat. She had to get out. She had to get out now. Eyes still on the screen, she pulled at the door handle. Locked. When did that happen? And why couldn’t she unlock it? Rage bubbled up in her chest as she yanked at the handle, rage at whatever bastard was controlling the car, and at her own stupid mistake for stealing a goddamned remote control car, of all the dumb fucking…. Marena forced herself to stop before she did something else idiotic, like ripping the handle off the door. Took a slow breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. She scanned the futuristic dashboard. Too many buttons, probably not enough time to push them all, assuming they’d even respond to her touch.

Come on, Masha. You love to break shit. Duh. Marena pulled her only spare shirt out of her bag and quickly wrapped it around her elbow, planning to smash her way through the window.

The guy with the crowbar beat her to it.

***

The first thing Marena noticed when she came to was sweet, blessed cold, the kind one felt in warehouses with industrial AC systems.

The second thing she noticed was that she was chained to a chair. Literally chained; she could feel the links chilling her wrists and ankles. Another chain dug into her hips like a too-tight airplane seatbelt. Whoever tied her up knew what they were doing then; metal couldn’t be frayed or worked loose like fiber rope. And the restraint across her lap prevented her from bucking or contorting into a more favorable fighting position.

Speaking of fighting… all of her knives were still in place. Wrists, boots, back, pockets. Which meant one of three things:

1. This was a rush job. 2. Her mystery abductor was half an idiot and didn’t check her for weapons. 3. Her mystery abductor knew she was armed and didn’t do anything about it because they knew she wouldn’t be able to beat them in a fight anyway.

Marena really hoped it wasn’t the third one.

A quick mental check revealed that she was still fairly intact. Her muscles were stiff, her head ached, and she had a nasty case of dry-mouth, but she’d had hangovers worse than this before. The lack of a massive head injury meant she hadn’t been beaten unconscious, so she must have been drugged. She tried to think past the car window shattering, but couldn’t remember being forced to swallow or inhale anything. A needle, then?

Marena heard heavy footsteps approaching, then the rustle of fabric as someone settled in front of her. She briefly toyed with the idea of playing possum, but the need to face whatever was about to happen head-on won out. Not weak. Not anymore.

She opened her eyes and came face to face with a grinning skull.

Well, it was a mask shaped like a grinning skull, attached to a head that was most probably human. The mask shined in the weak light of… wherever the fuck she was. It was meant to be intimidating, distracting, and Marena forced herself to look away and take in the other details of her captor.

The guy was a beast. Crouched as he was, he was still eye-level with her. He’d dwarf her standing. Shaved head, black tailored suit (why though), black gloves (too thin to be leather, latex maybe?). The red light of a camcorder blinked from a mount on his right shoulder. She caught a glint of metal near his waistband but didn’t let her gaze linger long enough to identify exactly what type of weapon he was packing.

That familiar destructive urge, the need to kick and claw and tear, crept through her veins. Her fingers wanted to twitch. Her teeth wanted to clench. Marena forced herself into stillness. Not yet. Wait for the right time. Patience. The skull stared at her, motionless, expressionless, so she returned the favor. He pulled out a cell phone, typed something, and held it up for her to see.

HELLO PIGGY

Years of practice kept Marena’s face blank while a litany of choice curses flew through her head.

“This is about the car,” she said. It wasn’t a question. The skull nodded anyway, and reached for her.

Fuck it.

Marena lunged.

#laid to rest #chromeskull #chromeskull x ofc #jesse cromeans #my writing #marena polunochnaya

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aubzylynn · 6 years

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After the Epilogue

Word Count: 1500 Warnings: Steve’s a little shit. This is his revenge for being picked on so much during RTS. Lots of fluff. Summary: After some time of separation, Bucky wants to see you again. A/N: Soooo hi. I’m not dead. I swear. Im trying to get back into writing. What better way than to have a fluffy ending to RTS a year after I posted the original? lol

Please remember to leave comments! They help motivate me to keep writing!

[Road to Schkeuditz Masterlist]

You breathe in deeply through your nose, letting the world fall away. Your eyes drift closed as the rising sun kisses your skin, not as warming as the mantra in your head:

You’re going to see Bucky today.

Over a year of waiting. A year of listening to Steve’s stories of Skyping with his best friend. A year of Steve visiting his pal. A year of your Captain telling you that Bucky asks about you all the time, that he wants to know how you are, what you’re doing, not so subtly asking Steve if you’re still harboring feelings for him.

You worried that this day would never come. That your promise of patience for Bucky was being tested. Doubts that the soldier had any remaining feelings for you crept into your mind. He was getting himself back, why would he need you? Despite Steve’s constant reassurances, you doubted. He just needs time. He’s doing so well. He wants to be ready. He misses you, he’s adjusting, just give him a little more time.

More time. Something you wish you didn’t have an abundance of. You had all the time in the world following Steve, Natasha, and Sam around on covert missions and hiding away from the United States government.

But that’s what you had promised, isn’t it? I’ll wait for you.

Your doubts were silenced when Steve found you, beaming, looking like he was holding a small bust of Bucky in the palm of his outstretched hand. You sat up, asking silent questions as Steve beckons you towards him, still looking towards the Bucky in his palm. “Yeah, she’s right here, pal, hold on.”

Steve grabbed your hand and pulled you into his side, his smile practically splitting his scruffy face. Your focus is on the Kimoyo bead in Steve’s palm, then on the lifelike Bucky who is just grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, Kid.”

You stop and look between Bucky and Steve, trying to figure out if this is real. Reaching out, your fingers brush across Bucky’s image. You feel nothing but air, but it looks like your fingers are sifting through fine sand. A startled laugh escapes you as you watch Bucky’s facial expressions.

Suddenly his image is distorted and your smile fades, worried that he’s going to disappear. “Bucky?”

“Sorry, Kid,” he smiles sheepishly, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. You quietly realize that he must have also touched your...hologram? (What even is this?) The thought brings a shy smile to your lips.

Steve’s still beside you, you realize when he huffs out a quiet laugh. “Already touchy feely and you’re not even in the same room yet?”

As a reflex, you smack Steve with the back of your hand, turning to him and making a startled noise. “Cut it out, you monster!”

“Aww, you blushin’, Buck?” he smiles wide, bringing the image of his best friend in his hand closer to his face.

“No,” Bucky clears his throat as Steve laughs. “Shut up, punk.”

After that first time, Steve was happy to ask T’Challa for your own set of Kimoyo beads so you could talk to Bucky whenever you wanted. It was slow going for a while, conversations would stall, shy smiles exchanged. Eventually, though, you had found your rhythm with him again. After some time, he asked if he could see you. You cheekily made a remark that he practically sees you every day. He smiles at you, eyes gleaming.

“I’m serious, Kid. I...I think I’m in a good place. I th--” he stops, purses his lips and swallows. Bucky looks down and nods before glancing up at you through his lashes. “I think we’re in a good place.”

The controls and insistent beeping on the jet pull you from your head, you look at the coordinates Steve had given you, panic bubbling slowly in your stomach. “Steve, you sure this is right?”

“Keep going,” he says with no offer of an explanation.

You’re headed straight for the mountainside. He has a little ornery smile on his face, but you know to trust him. Your muscles slowly tense, waiting for impact; but it never comes.

The trees on the mountainside melt away, revealing Wakanda. The country is waking with the morning rays bouncing off the tall, beautiful buildings, the open plains, the little villages and huts. Animals graze lazily through the open fields while their shepherds wave at your jet.

“You were nervous, weren’t you?” Steve asks cheekily.

You scoff and smile at him. “I wasn’t ready for this view.”

He smiles warmly, turning back to look out the windshield. “You were sleeping last time you came in, huh?”

You nod absently, taking in the skyline and the beauty of the land before you. The whole country was beautiful. It almost felt like coming home.

The awe you felt seeing the beauty of Wakanda slowly dissipated and a raw, jittery energy slowly settled in the pit of your stomach.

You were going to see Bucky today.

As much as you had dreamed of this day, you were nervous to see him. Sure, you had fallen back into an easy relationship with him, but would it be the same when you were together? What if things were different while you were in his presence?

“You keep spacing out--which scenario are you imagining?” Steve asks, taking over the steering from his side of the jet. “A: Bucky runs to you, arms open, slow motion, like in that movie--”

“When the hell did you have time to watch 10?” you laugh loudly, thinking of Bucky in corn row braids, running like a sex icon.

Steve grins, running a hand through his beard. “We’re here.”

“Darn, I was looking forward to hearing what you think scenarios B through Z were,” you sass, making Steve laugh again. “But I must say, option A sounds pretty good to me.”

Despite Steve’s brief distraction, you’re nipping at your bottom lip as Steve lands the jet. He turns everything off and looks at you, face spreading into that shit eating grin that makes you wanna smack him sometimes. “You ready?”

Sigh. “As I’ll ever be.”

He pats your shoulder as he passes by, “I thought you’d be more excited to be able to kiss the love of your life--”

“Steve! Oh my god, shut up!” Heat burns your cheeks as you shove him.

He laughs joyously, dodging your feeble punches as he makes his way down the ramp. T’Challa is making his way towards you both with a couple of members of the Dora in his wake. He crosses his arms over his chest in greeting. Steve nods in reciprocation before shaking T’Challa’s hand and pulling him into a hug.

“He has been anxious for your arrival.” T’Challa says to you over Steve’s shoulder. Heat flares up in your cheeks again, prompting a smile from T’Challa and Okoye. “Come. Let’s not keep him waiting.”

Steve grins at you again before offering his arm to walk with you. Taking it gratefully, your mind starts to wander again. Wondering how today was going to go. Wondering if you would still mean so much to this man once he saw you again.

Everything focused as soon as you saw him. Bucky was sitting on the ground, a baby goat in his lap and a child sitting next to him, laughing while the goat ate from his hand. He only glanced up when the child ran towards your party, speaking excitedly to T’Challa.

Bucky stands, a smile slowly enveloping his face. You let go of Steve, feeling like the grin you’re sporting is going to split your face in half. Bucky looks so good in his Wakandan clothes. Hues of blue and green really make him look soft. You reach for him as you get close enough, your hand slides from his shoulder to cup his jaw. “Hi,” you breathe, caging your lower lip between your teeth again.

“Hi,” he says just as quiet. The wind blows around you, whipping your hair around. Bucky tucks a lock behind your ear seconds before you lunge into his embrace. “I smell like goats--!”

“I don’t care!” you laugh, wrapping both arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He scoops you into him, wedging your shoulder under his chin.

You stay like that, wrapped in each other, for a long time; but it’s not enough for you. You could stay here all day like this.

He pulls back slowly, wanting to see your face. As you release him, you press a gentle kiss to his cheek and you’re just beaming. Before he can stop himself, his fingers are tangled in your hair as he pulls you close and presses a sweet, chaste kiss to your lips.

You giggle against his mouth and kiss him again and again and again.

“Come on,” he says, eyes sparkling. He’s completely forgotten about the party behind you. “There’s so much I want to show you.”

*If you liked this, please consider donating to my Ko-fi so I can help buy an Owlet monitor for my goddaughter! Thank you!*

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jinris · 6 years

Text

where you don’t see me

(wip)

a/n: well, i started writing this after season 6 and never got around to finishing it before season 7. this was supposed to be canon-compliant but now it’s...not lol and i have very mixed feelings about s7 so i’m impulsively deciding to dump some writing. i had about 7k words but i’m sharing only 2k here. k/a is still one of my fav vld ships so i might finish this eventually or it might go in my vault of abandoned wips who knows

---

Morning arrives on the barren moon in pale green. The crisp air bites her exposed face as Allura wakes with exhaustion weighing on her at the break of dawn. Her weary eyes, not yet ready for the new day, refuse to open. Enviously so, no one else seems to stir. Next to her, Pidge and Romelle are still asleep, and Allura decides to indulge in the comfort of her blanketed cot for a little while longer.

She tells herself not to think. Not about Voltron, not about Olkarion, not about Lotor. She builds herself a wall. Soon, her breathing slows. Her senses drift farther and farther away. Just as sleep begins to salvage its lost victim back into its trenches, warm fur tickles her back and nudges her leg. Easily guessing the culprit, Allura curls deeper under her blanket, but curiosity persuades her to turn around and confront the wolf.

Allura meets the cool surface of her pillow and comes face-to-face with Keith’s bright-eyed wolf, watching her attentively. Smiling tiredly, she reaches out and gently pets the wolf on its head, who responds obediently by leaning in to the touch.

“Keith trained you well, didn’t he?” she asks the wolf quietly, so as to not wake the others around them.

It seems to understand her and nods proudly. Hearing noise outside, its ears perk up and its head turns in the direction of the source. Light footsteps tread from beyond the shielded canopy, and Allura sits up from her cot, her messy, white hair cascading down to her waist. She scans the rest of the makeshift sleeping quarters and discovers only one cot empty.

The wolf scampers from Allura’s side, exiting the tent, and Allura feels compelled to follow. Climbing out of her cot, Allura smooths out her nightgown and soundlessly slips into her Paladin boots. She heads outside, and when she lifts the entrance of the tent, a strong gust of wind blows into her. Allura grimaces and clutches her nightgown tighter. She ventures further out and finds Keith with his back facing her, kneeling down and feeding his wolf a small snack before breakfast.

Hesitantly, she walks forward, until her heavy boots reach Keith’s crouched shadow and Keith’s wolf turns to look at her. In the back of her mind, Allura wonders if she’s allowed to interrupt them at all. Since their last interaction, Keith hasn’t even looked at her, let alone talked to her. It chips at her pride. She doesn’t know what she has done wrong.

Moondust grazes past her cheeks, lands in her tangled, unbrushed hair. Keith glances over his shoulder, and his eyes widen when he sees her. It suddenly occurs to Allura that she hardly looks presentable and mild horror shocks through her system.

“Princess, you’re awake,” he says, standing up to greet her.

“Good morning, Keith,” she responds. She tugs at the hem of her sleeve nervously and resists the urge to fix her atrociously improper hair.

“Is everybody else…?”

“No, I don’t think so. Just us.”

Keith takes a moment to process the information before he flashes her a smile. He’s more expressive since finding his mother and returning from the quantum abyss. Right now, he seems almost cautious, Allura thinks, and the mere suggestion of a growing distance between them stings her chest.

“That’s fine,” Keith finally assures.

Allura replies with a shy smile of her own. She notices the revealing dampness of his skin and the ends of his hair, drying in clumps against the back of his neck.

“Were you training?” she asks.

“Not for long. I didn’t want to do anything that would wake someone up.”

“That’s quite considerate.”

For a moment, neither speaks. It’s Keith who breaks the silence.

“We should leave in a few hours. That way, we reach Olkarion before the end of the day.”

“Right. Good idea,” says Allura, sounding more disappointed than intended.

“We could leave earlier –” Keith starts to suggest, but Allura rushes to explain herself.

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it that way! Nothing like that. I’m just…” Allura trails off, causing Keith to frown in concern.

“Allura,” he asks, “Is something wrong?”

Keith’s tone is remarkably gentle, leaving space for Allura to breathe. She bites her lip and exhales slowly, unsure whether or not to proceed. Searching for affirmation, she anxiously glances at Keith, who stands in front of her waiting patiently for her response. Warily, she decides to tell him.

“I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

Allura doesn’t want to mention how her thoughts have tormented her for movements, how they have persisted despite opening up to Lance back in the Castle. Irritating locks of her hair fly wildly as the wind rises again.

“Like what?”

“I…”

She can’t breathe. If Keith finds out what she had done with Lotor, how she had let something so fleeting like infatuation blind her to the truth, he would probably never forgive her.

“Let’s find somewhere to sit down.”

Allura nods. She doesn’t miss how he almost extends his hand to her but decides against it at the last tick, like he already knows that her hands and her lips have been tainted.

---

They sit next to each other at one of the tables they use to eat meals and speak in hushed tones. Allura can feel its cool, steel surface through the thin layers of her nightgown and sleeping garments as she presses her crossed forearms into the sharp edge.

Her fingers clench tightly around Keith’s dark blue blanket, draped delicately over her shoulders. Keith had snuck in past Shiro and Hunk’s sleeping figures to retrieve it when a sudden blast of wind had nearly blown Allura’s nightgown off her body earlier.

“…I liked him so much, Keith,” Allura confesses in a horrified whisper, her walls finally crashing into dust and ashes. She can’t read the expression on Keith’s face. He’s not angry. He’s not jealous. Part of Allura wants him to be. She desperately needs to know what he thinks. Instead, he just listens. So she continues.

“He said all the right things. We were so alike. I…I thought he was my soulmate. It all happened so fast, and I let my emotions get the better of me. I helped create a monster.”

Suddenly understanding, Keith’s face falls and he leans back, contemplating the right words to say. He’s not good at giving advice, but memories of Shiro’s lectures and all the times he had gotten himself into fights, ruined second chances, let his own emotions control him, flood into his mind. Keith studies the anguish and heartbreak in Allura’s eyes, and as much as it makes him want to touch her, dry out her tears before they fall, tuck loose strands of wispy, silver hair behind her ear, he doesn’t.

“It already happened. You can’t blame yourself forever,” Keith says quietly, carefully. “Emotions are a part of you. They tell you things that words can’t. I was so angry for so long. But you learn how to control them.”

Allura manages a halfhearted smile.

“Shiro used to tell me ‘patience yields focus.’ Acknowledge my emotions. Be patient. I wasn’t always good about it, but it helped.”

“Patience…” Allura muses out loud.

“…Yields focus,” Keith finishes for her, grinning.

Wordlessly imagining the retired Black Paladin reciting his mantra, Keith and Allura share a reserved laugh.

Allura sighs, relaxing her shoulders.

“What happens if he comes back? He has access to unlimited quintessence.”

“Voltron will defeat him,” Keith responds squarely.

“How can you be so sure?”

Keith pauses while he stares at her and Allura’s breath catches in her throat. He averts his gaze for a moment before looking directly in her eyes.

“We have you.”

It’s uncanny how Keith is always there to catch her when she stumbles, both figuratively and…literally. Allura tries to hide her amused smile as she recalls the time Keith had caught her trying to sneak out of the Castle. When Keith looks at her curiously, Allura blushes and sheepishly waves off his concern.

They fall into a comfortable silence at the table, and like the calming wind, Allura feels so much lighter. Wrapping herself tightly in Keith’s blanket, she leans in against the table and stares out at the morning horizon. When she pulls the blanket up to her rosy, wind-chilled cheeks, the addictive fragrance of juniberry soap laced with a scent so distinctly Keith drowns her senses. The pale green sky is brighter now, delineating the evident passage of time of which they had lost track. Allura supposes that the others should be waking soon.

She feigns indifference, but she watches Keith quietly take out his Marmora blade from the corner of her eye. In stark contrast to his usually aggressive demeanor, he gently runs his thumb over the glowing jagged insignia, and Allura bites her lip, inadvertently wondering about how it would feel to be the recipient of that soft touch, to be the object of Keith’s warm affections. Whoever Keith falls in love with would be lucky, she thinks.

With piercing sharp focus, Keith begins to practice gripping techniques, slashing the air in small, controlled movements. Allura has always found Keith’s dedication endearing, his natural talent intimidating. Without realizing, she gravitates closer to him to observe his extraordinary skill in fascination.

When Keith finally notices her watching, he stops and looks at her, completely unaffected.

“Do you want to try?” he asks her plainly.

Taken aback by the blunt nature of his invitation, Allura’s eyes widen.

“I…May I?”

Her eagerness reveals itself in her tone and Keith smirks.

“All yours, Princess.” He flips the handle and offers it to her.

Allura casually leans in and her hand coyly reaches out to grab his Marmora blade, still warm from Keith’s tight grip. She studies the combat knife in its entirety, acknowledging the exceptional craftsmanship and admiring the quintessence-infused luxite. It dawns on her then that this knife, very much like her own crown, had been passed down by his mother in his infancy, and a momentary rush of sadness overcomes her. She can easily imagine how treasured and important this rebel blade must be to Keith.

Sentimental but resolute, she demonstrates her proficiency with a basic forward grip, slicing in a clean, diagonal motion.

“Not bad,” Keith remarks.

“Show me a reverse grip,” she orders, nearly shoving the blade in Keith’s face.

Keith smiles apprehensively but his eyes dance with childlike excitement. His hand catches her slim wrist and decidedly lowers the blade from his face.

“Not if you’re going to stab me,” says Keith, quirking his eyebrow.

Allura blushes.

“Sorry.”

“I’m kidding,” Keith replies, cracking a teasing grin and causing Allura to blush harder. “You want to hold it like this.”

Without a second thought, he moves next to her to adjust the blade and position her hand. Now distressingly aware of their pressed shoulders, Allura stops breathing and stares as Keith smoothly slides his hand from her wrist to clasp hers, leaving behind a scorching field. She refuses to look up. She can’t face him.

Sensing her stiffness, Keith turns to her.

“Allura,” he starts, and Allura jerks her head toward him at the sound of her name. “You have to –”

Their eyes meet, inches apart. Keith forgets what he intends to say.

“Oh! Allura! Keith! You’re both awake!”

They jump and separate at the loud, startling interruption. Allura gasps and both let go of the blade at the same time, but before it can hit and clatter on the table, Keith quickly swipes his blade back onto his belt. Like deer in headlights, they turn to meet their maker.

Coran emerges fresh-faced from under the canopy, cheerfully stretching out his legs. He walks over to the pair, thinking nothing of the obvious heat steaming from their ears.

“I hope you’re not too hungry, Princess! I’ll get to breakfast right away!”

Keith promptly and dramatically springs up from the table.

“I’ll help.”

“Gladly appreciated, Keith! How do you feel about cracking some kotka eggs?”

“Sounds great, Coran,” Keith grimaces, hurriedly following Coran and leaving Allura behind at the table without a second glance.

When she’s sure neither of them are looking, Allura collapses and buries her face in her arms. She can’t shake the image of his warm, calloused hand over hers from her mind. Inhaling sharply and holding her breath, Allura pleads her heart to stop pounding so furiously. Patience, she tells herself. Be patient. She breathes out slowly and takes another deep breath. Closing her eyes, all she sees is dark, shining violet.

#keith #allura #kallura #voltron #f: voltron #c: keith kogane #c: allura #p: kallura #i already wrote the ending to this and i'm so proud of it but who knows if i'll ever finish writing the middle #i'm gonna go focus on my other fandoms now bye

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