Who needs sleep?

acts of dominance | still accepting

~*~

@insomniacourt

Just breathe…

Easier said than done. Keith wraps his arms tightly around himself while he tries to ground himself again. His vision is too sharply focused, too much light in the room, and he can feel the tension in his jaw when he bites his lip. The prick of fangs on his skin makes him jump, and he feels so very not-human in that moment he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Keith,” Lotor tries again, moving in close. “Breathe.” It’s a command, and yet something much more; it pulls at Keith’s instincts to obey it. 

Lotor presses his fingers into the nape of Keith’s neck, and instead of the bottom dropping out on him again, Keith feels he’s come back to the right gravity. He drags in a shaky breath, pulling air into his lungs until there’s no more room. It whooshes out of him too quickly, but at least he’s trying.

“I believe I am the last person you need to apologize to for this, Keith. Just keep your eyes on me and take a deep breath.”

His voice is firm, with only a faint hint of the persistant stutter that’s plagued him since his return. He allows his thumb to brush soothingly over Keith’s jawline, working to settle him more firmly into his skin and anchor him.

“Okay…got it…” Keith rasps, though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t quite have it yet.

He keeps his eyes focused on Keith, digging up millenia old memories as he tries to decide the best way to help him integrate both sides of his heritage. The breathing technique at the very least has Keith's eyes less wild looking, settling out with the glow most Galra possess. Leaning forward slightly, Lotor touches his forehead to Keith's, his hand still giving that firm pressure on the back of his neck as an additional means of comfort.

acts of dominance | still accepting

~*~

@insomniacourt

Just breathe…

Easier said than done. Keith wraps his arms tightly around himself while he tries to ground himself again. His vision is too sharply focused, too much light in the room, and he can feel the tension in his jaw when he bites his lip. The prick of fangs on his skin makes him jump, and he feels so very not-human in that moment he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Keith,” Lotor tries again, moving in close. “Breathe.” It’s a command, and yet something much more; it pulls at Keith’s instincts to obey it. 

Lotor presses his fingers into the nape of Keith’s neck, and instead of the bottom dropping out on him again, Keith feels he’s come back to the right gravity. He drags in a shaky breath, pulling air into his lungs until there’s no more room. It whooshes out of him too quickly, but at least he’s trying.

"I believe I am the last person you need to apologize to for this, Keith. Just keep your eyes on me and take a deep breath."

His voice is firm, with only a faint hint of the persistant stutter that's plagued him since his return. He allows his thumb to brush soothingly over Keith's jawline, working to settle him more firmly into his skin and anchor him.

 Touch-starved | still accepting

☕ - reassuring touch@insomniacourt

He’d needed to move, he’d needed to physically punch something. Hollow quiet and the hum of the castle ship had been a jarring contrast to night terrors of blood and screaming. No going back to sleep for him. Shiro had sought his most trusted refuge, the training deck and unleashed himself on as many gladiators as he could. With their broken parts strewn about him, a mess across the sleek metal floors, Shiro sits like the eye of the storm at the epicenter of it all. He draws his knees to his chest and tries to breathe, in and out, a slow cadence that is so easy to coach others through. He can never understand why it’s difficult for him. He should be a pro at this by now.Shiro is exhausted, the bone deep kind that leaves him shaking in the aftermath of his own violence and aching to just lie down. But his brain is racing just as fast as his heart, and despite his best efforts to keep himself together, he can feel himself unraveling. He thinks he should get up for another round, in the hopes of wearing himself down until he had no choice but to give in to sleep again. A hand falls to his shoulder, stopping him before he can rise, and his head jerks up sharply, hand glowing just enough for the warning. To her credit, Pidge doesn’t flinch back, but even so, Shiro is immediately guilty for presenting himself as a threat to her, even if only for a moment. 

As she heads down the corridors of the castle, she frowns as she picks up the sounds of fighting coming from the training deck.  It was late enough that she was used to being the only one still roaming around.  Her feet led her over to the doors, slipping inside quietly to find out what was going on.  The evidence of destruction laid out before her sends her eyes wide before they focus on Shiro, slumped in the center of the mess.  Whatever had him like this had to be bad, a far cry from the calm leader he usually showed to any of them.

Padding over silently, she dropped her hand to his shoulder, alert to the fact that this might startle him.  She notes absently the way his prosthetic flares with a purple warning, but she doesn’t move, keeping her stance solid.