#because so much of my yearning ISN’T pretty or wistful | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dotthings · 4 years

Text

Let’s talk about why Dean dancing with a lamp is subtext, but it’s subtext that supports textual arcs. Dean dancing with a lamp is not random. Meta on why Dean dancing with a lamp is part of the build of a textual arc for Dean, thematically, which also connects to his relationship with Cas. This symbolic moment being tacitly about Destiel will only feel like reaching if you ignore context, ignore canon, ignore long arcing, ignore textual material surrounding it. This isn’t just me talking about a ship, this is an important arc for Dean himself emotionally and the way canon’s working, Cas has become the star player in this specific emotional Dean arc about yearning.

Here are some canon quotes. I could just leave these here and not write another word of meta because the canon wrote it for me. But I’ve added some further commentary to spell out clearly what I’m getting at.

Dean in 8.14 “Trial and Error” by Andrew Dabb:

“You see a light at the end of this ugly-ass tunnel. I don't. But I tell you what I do know – it's that I'm gonna die with a gun in my hand. 'Cause that's what I have waiting for me – that's all I have waiting for me. I want you to get out. I want you to have a life – become a man of Letters, whatever. You, with a wife and kids and – and – and grandkids, living till you're fat and bald and chugging Viagra – that is my perfect ending, and it's the only one that I'm gonna get.”

Dean in 10.16 “Paint it Black” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:

“You know, the life I live, the work I do…I pretty much just figured that that was all there was to me, you know? Tear around and jam the key in the ignition and haul ass until I ran out of gas. I guess I just thought sooner or later, I’d go out the same way that I live – pedal to the metal, and that would be it....Now, um… recent events, uh… make me think I might be closer to that than I really thought. And…I don’t know. I mean, you know, there’s – there’s things, there’s…people, feelings that I-I-I want to experience differently than I have before, or maybe even for the first time.”

Sam and Dean in 11.04 “Baby” by Robbie Thompson:

SAM: Really? You don't . . . Ever want something more? DEAN: I'm sorry, have you met us? We're batting a whopping zero in domestic life, man. Goose eggs. SAM: You don't ever think about something? Not marriage or whatever. But . . . Something? You know, with a hunter? Somebody who understands the life?

Sam and Dean in 13.23 “Let the Good Times Roll” by Andrew Dabb:

DEAN: But on a beach somewhere, you know? Can you imagine? You, me, Cas, toes in the sand, couple of them little umbrella drinks. Matching Hawaiian shirts, obviously. Some hula girls. SAM: You talking about retiring? You? DEAN: If I knew the world was safe? Hell, yeah. And you know why? 'Cause we freaking earned it, man.

Sam and Dean in 15.08 “Our Father, Who Aren’t in Heaven” by Eugenie Ross-Lemming and Brad Buckner:

DEAN: Look, man, I didn't want to say anything, okay, 'cause I was kind of in in a bad place, and, uh, yeah, I didn't want to jinx it or whatever, but, you know, I tried the family thing, right? SAM: Yeah, me too. And that's not for us. DEAN: No, not really. But I'm just saying if it was to work, Eileen, you know, she gets it. She gets us. She gets the life. She's hot. SAM: Dean. I mean, I'm not even- DEAN: Look, all I'm saying is you- you could do worse, okay? And she could certainly do better. Like, so much better. I'm happy for you, Sammy.

Dean and Garth in 15.10 “The Heroes’ Journey” written by Andrew Dabb:

DEAN: You know, I gotta say, aside from pincushion in there… this is pretty nice. GARTH: Yeah, better than I ever thought I'd get. I mean, hunting -- I figured I'd be dead before I'm 40. You know, go out young and pretty. But now I've got a great wife, great kids. I guess...sometimes things work out.

Dean in 15.10 “The Heroes’ Journey” by Andrew Dabb:

Dean, wistful, watching through the window as Garth and Bess dance: You know, I always thought I could be a good dancer if I wanted to be.

Ok, let those roll around in your brain for moment.

Now: CONTEXT. CONTEXT. CONTEXT.

There’s this long running arc about maybe Sam and Dean could each find a significant other, not white picket fence, but...something, with someone already in the life, who gets their life. There’s Dean’s move from despairing and believing the only ending he could have, the only ending any hunter could have, is dying with a gun in hand, to Dean’s enthusiasm for the concept of retirement, Dean’s wistfulness about finding a significant other, for what he thinks he can’t have, and he starts the cycle all over again, if he can’t have it, then he wants Sam to have it, so Dean encourages Sam with Eileen. Saileen, the Dean-blessed, Dean-approved Sam ship. Dean ships it. And that is how the canon is trending, complete with Sam and Eileen kissing goodbye and saying “this is real” and even God himself saying their feelings were real, “that was all you,” even if God manipulated events around them. Which is an overt mirror to Dean and Cas and Dean’s expressly stated doubts about what’s real and what isn’t, and Cas telling Dean “we are.”

Much the way Sam has been witness to Destiel, and has often pointed out Dean’s Cas feelings. Dean’s got a front row seat to Saileen and approves; Sam’s had a front row seat to Destiel and approves.

Let’s throw in Robert Berens’ work in The Trap here, since that’s relevant to this specific topic as well, because why did Sam and Dean in the potential future timeline where they’d killed Chuck give up and cave in to their vampire instincts? The world being overwhelmed with monsters...and losing Eileen and losing Cas. It’s right there in the dialogue. I’ll give you the quote and everything:

Sam and Dean in 15.09 “The Trap” by Robert Berens:

SAM: You want to quit? What's happened to you, Dean? Ever since -- DEAN: Ever since what? We lost pretty much everyone we've ever cared about? Ever since the Mark made Cas go crazy? Ever since I had to bury him in a Ma'lak box? Ever since then? Yeah. You know why? 'Cause the monsters -- they're everywhere. Everywhere! What we do -- it's not even Hunting anymore. It's whack-a-mole. We don't even save people. Every friend we've ever had is either dead, or they got wise and they packed it in. SAM: Jody's still fighting, and Bobby -- DEAN: Bobby has a death wish, and you know it. And Jody -- ever since what happened to Donna and the girls, she does, too. And after Eileen... so do you.

“Ever since” Dean had to bury Cas in a Ma’lak box. “After Eileen...so do you.”

So there’s this canonical long, long thread across multiple authors (and those weren’t even all the quotes, I’m sure people could dig up more) about Dean in particular yearning towards finding a significant other, some contentment, with someone who already is in the hunting life, who gets it, who understands.

An episode that flat out shows how losing their significant others is the final straw that rips out Sam and Dean’s last will to fight, and they lose themselves, and after they’re turned into vampires, they just...give into the darkness. Where Sam gives up their shot at destroying the big bad because losing everyone they love is too high a cost. Where losing Cas makes Dean lose hope, where losing Eileen sends Sam into a death wish mindset. Sam and Dean don’t just need each other. That’s not canon, it never has been.

And then right after that, along comes meta episode The Heroes’ Journey. Sorry if you don’t like The Heroes’ Journey, but it’s what the canon did, it’s textual, along with everything else I’ve pointed out here, and in among the crackish humor are some real emotional narrative points.

In The Heroes’ Journey, Dean gets to see Garth’s life. Garth found his significant other, Bess, and she’s another werewolf. Now, Garth’s life resembles the traditional white picket fence idea a lot more than what Team Free Will are headed for. Garth has a big house with a porch, and he’s a dentist. He’s also a werewolf and his wife is a werewolf and his kids are werewolves because Bess is a pureblood werewolf, Garth didn’t exactly leave the life, and he helps Sam and Dean on a case. But nothing’s been indicating to me that anyone in Team Free Will is headed for that kind of settling down, with a house, becoming a dentist. However, the canon has been practically shouting now, as we near final episodes of SPN, to make the point about a desirable outcome--some kind of stability, contentment, and a significant other. Dean gets a front row seat to seeing a hunter can have that. Garth’s a hunter who turned into a werewolf and he can have that.

When EP’s talk about how they aren’t headed for a white picket fence or driving off into the sunset or settling down, none of that rules out them finding...something...with someone, and some form of stability and contentment. Nope, I can’t really imagine them in the suburbs becoming dentists. But canon sure is putting up big neon arrows to...something. Think outside the box. This isn’t about the white picket fence.

And in The Heroes’ Journey, Dean, conked out on the good gas so Garth can fix his teeth, has a trippy dream where he dances with a lamp.

Rewatch the ep. Look at how the dance is choreographed not just the use of light, because that’s a clue too. The whole dance could have been Dean and Garth being dancing bros, but Garth fades off the stage, and Dean dances alone...until he grabs the standing lamp. In a season where Dean and Cas’s relationship is an A-plot, define it how you like, it’s A-plot. Their breakup and their reconciliation, which played like a marital breakup and reconciliation, are tied to major mytharc beats. In a season where a long-running textual theme about Dean’s developing hope for retirement and his wistfulness about “things...people...feelings...” is getting further play. Where Dean and Cas’s relationship continues to be one of the show’s most central ones.

Dean dances with a lamp. While his emotionally fraught, intense close relationship with Cas--A BEING MADE OF LIGHT--has a long-running arc and recently more and more textual level content spelling out the sublimated romantic interest in small words, while there’s an arc about Dean’s yearning for that stability, contentment, a significant other.

CONTEXT.

We don’t think Destiel’s “going canon” because Dean dances with a lamp, it’s that Dean dancing with a lamp is kinda loud serving as reflection of canon textual arcing. Sometimes subtext adds a layer. Sometimes subtext is directly tied to the surface layers, an echo, a highlighter.

I’ll just be over here, crying because Dean danced with a lamp.

#Dean Winchester #Castiel #Destiel #Destiel meta #spn meta #spn #supernatural #Saileen

814 notes · View notes

kuroos-babie · 4 years

Text

Falling in Love with a Single Mom

Iwaizumi x fem!Reader | Bokuto x fem!Reader | Ushijima x fem!Reader

[ Headcanons/MiniFic ]

Request: Can I please req headcanons for Iwaizumi, Bokuto, and Ushijima falling for a single mom? — anonymous

a/n: this one’s looong but i really enjoyed writing it pLS GIVE ME MORE like anything concerning babies id love that please thank u :’] I HOPE Y’ALL WOULD LIKE THIS ONE :D i’d love to make these a full blown fic if any of yall want that hehe

❀ aside from the hushed chattering of students waiting for the professor to arrive, the college lecture hall was fairly quiet

❀ that was until the high-pitched cries of a baby ripped through the room

“hey pipe it down!”

“who would even bring a baby to a lecture anyway?”

“can’t you just bring it outside jeez you’re interfering the class”

“class hasn’t even started yet”

❀ iwaizumi was the last one to speak, your classmates’ snarky comments annoying him more than the baby’s crying

❀ he saw you walk out the hall, pushing the stroller with your head low, muttering apologies

❀ letting out a sigh, iwa stood up with the intention of following you outside, but not before he shoots your classmates a threatening glare

❀ he finds you not too far from from the lecture hall, bouncing your 5-month old daughter on your hip as her wailing turned to quiet sobs while she laid her head on your chest

“there there, were you just sleepy?”, iwa doesn’t miss the soft but tired smile gracing your face

“uhh do you need some help with that?”, you jumped at his voice, startled

“oh no, we’re fine! thank you though...uhh..?”

“iwaizumi, i’m iwaizumi hajime, i believe we haven’t met before” he extends his hand for you to shake which you curtly did

“y/n! yeah i believe we haven’t”

❀ since that encounter, iwa would always sit beside you in class and glare at anyone who so much as attempts to make any unnecessary comments

❀ he’d often offer to look after your baby while you took class notes for the both of you

❀ it didn’t take long for iwa to grow fond of your blubbering baby and, of course, you

❀ he noticed how hard you worked; juggling classes, part-time jobs and taking care of your daughter and he admired you for it, so much so that he spent almost every weekend over at your place, insisting on helping you take care of your daughter

“y/n, i don’t want to seem rude but if it’s alright to ask, where’s her dad?”, he’d ask while holding your child, who was curiously pinching and smooshing at his face, as you prepared lunch

it was a question that’s been bugging him for so long, noticing that there was no sign of any other person in your small apartment except for you and your baby

“oh,” you started with a small laugh, “he left when i told him i was pregnant”

the amount of restrain it took iwaizumi to not curse in front of the baby is unthinkable but the bittersweet way you smiled dissipated his anger and he was filled with something he couldn’t quite comprehend

“it’s alright though! we’ve managed to get this far”, there was a wistful pause before you continued, “i’d love it if she grew up with a dad though.”

“then let me” with a voice so steady, unwavering, and as dependable as he was these past few months he continued, “i’ll take care of you.”

he didn’t even let your tears fall as he pulled you in his embrace together with your child, placing a soft kiss on your forehead,

and for the first time in so long, you’re comforted with the feeling that everything will be fine —and you believed that it will be, as long as he was there

❀ it was just another run to the grocery store with akaashi, him picking out everything on the list while bokuto sluggishly pushed the cart through the aisles

“akaashi what’s taking you so looooong? i want to go hooooome”

“bokuto-san we wouldn’t be spending so much time here if you regularly shopped instead of calling me for help when you’ve eaten the last bit of food in your house and you have nothing else to eat anymore.”

❀ the tall owl-like man deflated more, if that was even possible, as he followed akaashi around

❀ skimming through the snack aisle, he noticed something was tugging on his shirt, but when he looked down..

“daddy?”

AJDKDAFJHKSD DO I LOOK LIKE--

“uhhh akaashi???”

❀ the toddler clutched at the hem of bokuto’s shirt, tear-stained cheeks puffing out as he pouted

❀ bokuto picked the child up and held him in his arms with a bright smile

“what’s wrong buddy? are you lost? should we help you find mommy?”

“we should probably leave him at the security desk, bokuto-san”

“are you my daddy?”, the toddler asked again, teary eyed, ignoring akaashi’s words

“well do you want me to be your daddy?”, he grinned and the child nodded gleefully

“bokuto-san, no”

he turned to his junior, tears welling up his eyes, “akaashi, i’m a father!!”

“bOKuTO-sAN”

❀ the tragedy of akaashi keiji

❀ the rest of grocery shopping went by with bokuto picking out stuff for his “son”

❀ it was all fun and games right before you spotted them

“uhm, excuse me but i think that’s my son”

“mommy!” the child’s eyes lit up as he turned to you

“hi baby, let’s go home you’ve troubled this man enough.”

“mommy i found daddy!!”, he said while hugging around bokuto’s head, earning a chuckle from him

you laughed lightly, turning to the two men, “sorry he has a knack for trying to find a dad during grocery runs”

bokuto and akaashi gave each other a look before the latter spoke, “it’s alright you must’ve been worried, bokuto-san please give back her son”

“but akaashi--”

“give him back :)”

bokuto hesitantly placed your son in your arms, the both of them have matching pouts

your son nuzzled against your shoulder, stifling down his sobs and quietly whispered, “but i really wanted him to be my dad”

“maybe we can meet up some other time again so you and bokuto-san can play?”, you eyed the man pleadingly which earned you a giddy nod from both your child and him

❀ that was how you and bokuto started seeing each other regularly

❀ he’d visit your house every weekend, come with you to pick up your son from kindergarten, take you both out for dinner and even stayed over on some occasions

❀ your son loves him so much and always calls him “dad/daddy”

❀ bokuto calls him “buddy/kid”

❀ your son would often tease bokuto when he catches him stealing glances at you while you walked around the house, getting chores done

“you like mommy don’t you?”, he’d snicker

“i-- whAT? kid where do you get those ideas from?”

you peered through the doorway of you son’s playroom, “baby do you want some snacks?”

“yes please!” the both of them answered at the same time, bokuto turning beet-red while you just stifle down a laugh and went to prepare their snacks

when bokuto was sure that you were out of earshot, he whispered to your son, “kid do you still want me to be your daddy?”

“yes! yes!! YES!!!”, the little boy bounced on his heels happily

“okay good because i think i want to marry your mommy”

“wakatoshi-kun isn’t that y/n-san?”

❀ ushijima grunted as he had his eyes fixed on your form from across the room

❀ it was your high school reunion and even though you both haven’t met in a while, the former volleyball team captain still felt his spine tingling at the sight of you

❀ you’ve always been pretty, pretty enough to catch his eyes and fascinating enough personality-wise to keep his attention on you

❀ though he never spoke of these feelings throughout high school, it never really vanished even when you’re well on your adult years

❀ and seeing you right now, with the same pretty smile but seemingly tired eyes, he can’t help but yearn for you as he did when you were in high school

❀ while walking to the other end of the room to where you were, he thought of anything to try and hit up a conversation with you but he was pulled from his musings the moment you’re standing in front of him, a mere arms-length away

“y/n..”

“oh ushijima-san! long time no see, how hav--”

“mama!”, you were interrupted as your 5 year old child clung to your hips, “mama the scary man’s coming for me!”

“ᶦ ʷᵃˢ ʲᵘˢᵗ ᵗʳʸᶦⁿᵍ ᵗᵒ ˢᵃʸ ʰᵉˡˡᵒ“ :’/

“baby don’t be rude that’s just uncle goshiki, go on play with him” you urged your son with a gentle hand on his back

“no! his hair looks weird!!”

❀ rip tsutomu bb

❀ ushijima doesn’t know what to make out of the situation

❀ you have a child? does that mean you were married already? was he too late?

“i didn’t know you got married”

“huh? oh no! i didn’t..”, you were hoping he would get the hint but you remembered that it was ushijima wakatoshi in front of you, so you had to spell it out for him, “i got pregnant shortly after college, his dad left the moment i dropped the news though”

the laugh that came from you was humorless, and that didn’t go unnoticed by ushijima

“would it be alright if i took you out on a date, then?”

❀ with face flushed deep red, you bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, sheepishly squeaking out a quiet “yeah”

❀ you both agreed to meet the next weekend for lunch then take your son on a playhouse while you two catch up

❀ then came the weekend, everything was going well, except for one thing

❀ even at the playhouse, your son didn’t leave your side and instead opted for glaring at ushijima across the table in the parents’ waiting area

“baby it’s rude to glare at people, please go play with the other kids”

“what do you want to do with mama!”, he said pointedly at the mountain of a man

“talk?”

“what do you want to talk about with her!”

you couldn’t help but smile at your tiny little bodyguard acting so tough even with a man probably five times his size

“i wanted to know if she would consider marrying me”

at that, you whipped your head to look at the man across the table who was casually talking to your son, the prospect of marrying someone who you secretly pined for for all of high school sending a wave of hot blush on your face

“why?”, your son continued with the questions

“because i would like to marry her”

“why?”

“because i love her”

“since when??”

your face grew incredibly warmer every second that passed by but his answer dealt the finishing blow and you thought your heart would burst

“since all of high school”

1K notes · View notes

kenanda · 3 years

Note

For the smut prompt a lonelyeyes mix of 106, 111 and 127? If you want only.

This took a while, but it was just too good a prompt not to give it my best shot. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy belated birthday!! Consider this your gift from moi <3 🎁🎉

prompt 106. “Were you just masturbating?” “U-uh..no, i was just..” “Want some help?” prompt 111. “You have no idea how much I want you.” prompt 127. “Are you wearing my shirt?”

CRAVING Rating: EXPLICIT Words: 5,7k Pairing: LonelyEyes Characters: Elias Bouchard; Peter Lukas; Tim Stoker; Martin Blackwood; Gertrude Robinson (mention); Jurgen Leitner (mention). Tags: Established Relationship; Parenthood; Smut; PWP; Mutual Pining; Fluff; Sweet; Masturbating; Cock sucking; Handjobs; Scent Kink; Fingering; Anal Fingering; Anal Sex; Dirty Talk; Banter; Wearing the other's clothes; Doting Parents!LonelyEyes; unbeta'd; Tim and Martin are their kids AGAIN

Disclaimer: These characters AREN’T mine. They belong to Rusty Quill’s The Magnus Archives. Warning: This work ISN’T SUITABLE for minors. It’s a NSFW piece of slash fiction. Therefore, if you’re a minor or in any way squicked by what’s in the tags, DO NOT READ!

Filthy, FILTHY LonelyEyes below the cut, my beloved. It's official, this is now a Verse.

Ever since they became parents, Peter and Elias haven’t known what alone time is anymore. Life is a jolly mess most of the time, with all things required for the rearing of two children. Even if the boys are now a bit older and can shoulder small responsibilities, it still seems like too much is going on at once.

Some days are more hectic than others, which often sends the two men to bed at 10PM feeling like they could sleep for days. Work hasn’t been any better in allowing for a break — Peter’s schedule has him away for months every now and again, and Elias can hardly ever catch a break from the Institute (he’s the Head, after all).

Needless to say, it all takes a toll on their love life. They can count in one hand the number of times they’ve had a weekend for themselves in the past few years. When they want sex, it’s always rushed and quiet, afraid that one of the kids will wake up because of a nightmare and ask to sleep with them.

Elias misses the days when he and Peter would go on long dates and weekend trips; catches himself thinking about those every once in a while, of how they would spare a day to stay in their room talking and getting each other off. They aren’t that young and horny anymore, but there’s still enough of that old spark that Elias will sometimes get turned on merely watching Peter doing mundane stuff, like doing the dishes.

To think that they didn’t get along at first. Elias chuckles whenever he remembers the first time they were together. Peter had been a cocky bastard, but Elias had been cockier and given Peter one hell of a show. Elias still has the eye tattoo on his stomach, but he had removed the nipple piercings once he’d started working. Peter had been so impressed by them, he had played and pulled on them with his teeth once they actually went on a proper date.

Elias lets out a nostalgic sigh.

“Everything alright?” Peter asks over his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Elias breathes. “Fine. Just reminiscing about stuff.”

“Such as…?” Peter rinses a bowl of oatmeal.

“That time you used to be more of an insufferable arse.”

Peter snorts. “You’re one to talk, love.”

Elias can’t help a smile. “We turned out alright. Sometimes though, I miss those days.”

Peter’s disbelief is visible even from his back. “Really!? We used to be swamped all the time, and there was that professor, Jonah- Wouldn’t leave you alone. I think he wanted to — what was it he used to say — see you.”

Elias shudders with a disgusted noise and gets up. He circles Peter’s waist and hooks a chin over his shoulder, pressing their bodies flush enough that there’s no mistaking that he’s half-hard. Peter drops a spoon in the sink with a clatter.

“Oh, wow, hello there.”

Elias giggles. “I miss you,” he whispers. He gives Peter’s nape a slow, open mouthed kiss, causing the larger man to shiver.

“Elias…”

“I know, I know.” Elias pauses, buries his nose into Peter's neck, where his silver hair has grown past his ear. He smells so good. “I could take a day off tomorrow. We could ask Gertie to keep an eye on the boys over the weekend. She’s always delighted to see them.”

After the beach incident in which they had met, Gertrude Robinson had become a dear friend of the family. She and her husband (an old scholar with a booming voice and a gentle face called Jurgen) had a massive library and a collection of items from all over the world. The boys always returned home with strange facts about books and places of which neither Peter or Elias had ever heard. Gertrude also had a grandchild a year older than Martin, Jon, whom Martin had (at the tender age of seven) sworn to marry.

Peter thinks about it for a moment, but doesn’t sound too hopeful in his reply. “They’ll need me at work tomorrow. I already said I’d be there, and it could take a while.”

“Can’t always have it all...”

Peter turns around and holds Elias’s face to give him a kiss. Elias struggles at first because Peter’s hands are covered in suds, but eventually gives in. The kiss is slow and warm; if he isn't careful, Elias can easily get carried away with it. Peter’s growing beard is ticklish, but when it slides down his jaw and neck, Elias has to stifle a whimper.

“I’m sorry, love.”

Elias shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.”

That’s not to say Elias’s body will just quit the yearning — it becomes quite self-evident when Peter pulls away and Elias is half-tempted to chase his lips.

But then one of the kids calls him and he needs to go. It's like that the whole day.

Elias only gets some blessed alone time with his husband before bed. Peter pulls him into a hug and they kiss until they have to stop before it gets too hot to ignore. Elias grabs Peter’s hand when it slides between them, because one thing will certainly lead to another.

“Pretty please?” Peter pouts. It looks outrageous on him and Elias barks out a laugh.

Peter smiles, but it fades into something else — something charged. They are kissing again before they know it, and it’s insane how well Peter fits between his legs. The weight of his larger body on top of him, pressing down where it feels so good, has Elias wrapping both legs around his waist and using them for leverage. Peter hums in approval.

At least, Elias is not alone in his lust. Peter is usually quieter about his wants and needs, but once he’s into it, he’s ready to go all the way. Perhaps Elias should’ve been more careful, because now he has to live with the knowledge that Peter is right there and that he wants it just as bad as Elias.

They are humping through their clothes and Elias is ready to make a mess of his pants just like that when there’s a yell from down the hall. Elias’s head snaps up and he all but tosses Peter off of him to leap up and grab his robes.

“Shit, shit, shit.”

“Is it Martin again,” Peter rubs his eyes tiredly, pulling a pillow over his clothed erection.

“Coming! Daddy is coming!” Elias yells back.

Afterwards, they cuddle in shared frustration until they fall asleep. When Elias wakes up the next morning, Peter’s boner is poking his arse, so he gives it a wistful little press. Peter groans and holds Elias there with an arm around his waist. Peter grinds up and Elias huffs into the pillow.

“Wanna finish what we started?”

“Be late for work,” Elias points out. Peter swears, but lets him go.

They’re out an hour later; Elias drops the kids off and heads to work. Heavy clouds of sleep deprivation and sexual frustration hang ominously above his head.

Thankfully, work is something he can lose himself in. He’s good at what he does and there’s something soothing about all those Excel sheets. Coupled with the steady hum of the AC, they almost make Elias forget his troubles.

But then he sees the flyer for this new jazz café that had opened a few months ago, where he had intended to take Peter on a date but never managed to make time, and his face falls. Damn, he misses his husband’s presence, his silly jokes and ridiculous sailor stories.

Lunch hour comes in a blink; Elias is poking a fork into his salad with an utter lack of enthusiasm when his phone chirps with an incoming message. He wipes his mouth and sees that it’s from Peter.

It’s a picture of Peter standing in front of a tall restroom mirror. He’s wearing the big old ratty coat he’d left with this morning, but it’s pulled halfway to the side to reveal Peter’s hand clutching the sizable girth of him through his grey slacks.

Elias chokes on lettuce.

What’s the meaning of this???

Been thinking of you. A lot. — is Peter’s swift reply.

Well, Elias has too, but not to this extent. Can I call you?

Peter calls him instead. “Hey.”

“Are you mad!? I’m in the middle of work!”

Peter laughs. “You talk as if you don’t have a cushy office all to yourself to play as you wish.”

“Yes, at least I can say that. You on the other hand, you’ve got a bloody crew swarming you every day.”

“I’m not on the ship right now. And there are stalls here.”

“You’re hiding in the loo?!”

“Had to. Wouldn’t stop thinking of you. Now, do you want to play?”

“You can’t be doing what I think you’re doing. What if someone comes in?”

There’s something hot and heavy about Peter's chuckle that makes Elias shudder. “A while ago, you’d be the first to say fuck it.”

“Well, apparently one of us has grown past that.”

“I bet you wouldn’t refuse if you could see how hard I am right now.”

It’s a bait. Elias knows it’s a cheap bait and that he’s gonna fall straight for it if he isn't careful. When he reaches down, he notices that he’s hard too. Shit.

“I’m not gonna do this. Bloody hell, not in the middle of work. Fucking Rosie could walk in. Did you know I have a reputation to maintain?” Elias pinches the bridge of his nose. “This can wait until we’re home.”

“We won’t have time then,” Peter replies. “And I miss you too, you know.”

Elias makes a pained little noise. “You have no idea how much I want you right now. But this will wait. We’ll figure it out.”

“How much? Show me.”

"Peter," Elias warns.

Peter gives it up with a breathy laugh. "Okay," he whispers. “See you at home. Love you.”

“You too.”

Apparently, Elias’ ability to stick to reason is intact even with his horny-addled brain. He lets out a deep exhale after the call is over.

The next ten minutes are spent willing his boner to go down by and focusing on work. It’s uncomfortable, but he manages. It gives him a headache for the rest of the day and much to think about — and even more to look forward to.

Unfortunately for both, Peter shoots him a message later on telling Elias that he will be home late and not to wait for him. The boys are disappointed, because it was film night and Peter had promised to watch Return of the King with them. Elias is sad, too; Peter had come back from three months at sea not a week ago, but again they have to be apart.

Elias helps the kids with homework and gets on a work call that drags on for an hour, which only serves to worsen his headache.

During dinner, Elias is taken aback by how observant his youngest is. Martin’s Daddy must be wearing his sourest look, for it prompts the boy to pat Elias’ hand (exactly how Peter does when someone’s upset) and tell him:

“Don’t be sad, Daddy. Dad will be home soon and then you can complain to him about work.”

Elias nearly chokes on food the second time that day. Tim chimes in.

“Yeah, dad. Don’t worry about it. The old man knows what he’s doing.” And without missing a beat, with those big brown eyes of his. “Can I play before bed?”

“Definitely not. You’ll wake up cranky tomorrow.” Tim pouts, tries again, but Elias’s word is final (even if he feels soft after their comforting words). “Thank you, boys. I know how much you look forward to movie night. I’m sorry it didn’t work.”

Tim shrugs, digging into his pasta. Martin is quick to come up with a solution.

“Can you read for us, daddy?”

That catches Tim’s attention. Elias crosses both hands over the table.

“Oh? What would you like me to read?”

Martin leaps out of the chair and thrusts a tomato-sauce covered spoon up in the air. “The adventures of the incredible Mr. Bilbo Baggins of Bag-End!” he roars.

Tim rolls his eyes.

It doesn’t take them long to sleep with Elias reading The Hobbit. Well, it doesn’t take Tim long to sleep (he’s heard this story countless times before and it's a favourite, even if now he says it's for babies) — Martin is paying close attention and interrupting Elias every now and again to ask questions. When the youngest finally drifts off, Elias tucks him in and puts the book back on the shelf.

Tim is almost as tall as Elias now, but Elias can still pick him up from Martin’s bed and carry him to his own bedroom. For someone who wanted to play video games and rolled his eyes at their book choice, his oldest fell asleep very swiftly.

Elias clears the dinner table, does the dishes and puts the rest of the food away. It’s a little past 10PM now and Peter is still not home. Elias only hopes nothing bad has happened (especially after today’s surprise).

Elias finally has a chance to shower and spends five minutes just letting the hot water spray massage his back. He considers touching himself — the awareness that he could use an orgasm and that now is the perfect time to achieve it is very present within him — but before he comes to a decision, he’s already stepped out of the bathroom.

Peter’s sleep t-shirt seems to eye him from the bed as Elias pats himself dry. Should he? After all, why not? He misses the old fool.

Elias pulls the t-shirt on and has to suppress a laugh at how silly he looks, greying brown curls plastered to his forehead and lean body looking too small in that tee — Peter is many sizes larger than him, so the item reaches halfway down his thighs. Elias pulls on some underwear and crawls into bed with a book. The t-shirt is so large that he has to keep adjusting it lest it falls below his shoulder.

For the first hour, Elias tries to read. He really, really does. But perhaps wearing Peter’s clothes hadn’t been his brightest idea. The item is soaked in Peter’s scent, which is positively distracting. Elias catches himself reading the same line three times and lets out a frustrated groan.

“Okay, fine! Fine, I’ll do it!”

Elias shoves the book onto the bedside table and ducks beneath the duvets, lying on his side. He’ll make this as quick as he can and then he’ll go the fuck to sleep.

He runs a hand down his chest, but it feels more perfunctory than pleasant. When it's Peter doing it, it has Elias shivering in no time. Elias closes his eyes and tries to relax, tries to think of how it feels when Peter rubs a rough palm over his nipples and kisses his belly until he squirms.

Elias has left the door open and his ears peeled to any sounds of little steps in the hallway, so it takes a while to concentrate on the ways his body is reacting.

Eventually though, it becomes easier — there have been no steps, no sounds but the soft little puffs of air that he’s letting out. One of his hands is rubbing a nipple through the t-shirt and the other is cupping his cock. Pleasure finally takes over when he presses that hand down his pelvis and a shiver runs up his body, arching his back.

Elias slips a hand under the waistband of his underwear and wraps it around his cock to pull back the skin. It’s getting hot and damp under the duvets, but Elias doesn’t plan to make this long. Just a bit more and he’ll come.

A twist of his wrist has him shuddering and letting out a breathy curse. Elias pulls the too-large shirt up to his nose and takes a big inhale. His mind is filled with Peter and he darts a tongue out for a taste, but gets none.

Still, he has had Peter in his mouth times enough to remember his taste. It makes Elias wet at the tip. He’s so close, so fucking close — but he’s also tempted to keep edging himself; keep thinking of all the things he wishes Peter would do to him. It’s been too fucking long, and he knows that if he doesn’t give his body what it wants every once in a while, it will just keep coming back to bother him.

But then again, the mess… And he’s so close, so, so close. Just a bit more, just drown out everything else.

Elias is so lost in his chase that doesn’t hear it when the front door clicks open; nor when a heavy coat is hung on the hallway pegs; doesn’t notice some of the lights being turned on and off, and is completely oblivious to the figure standing on the threshold and the socked steps that carry the man inside.

Elias only notices that Peter has arrived home when the duvet is gently pulled back and Peter’s smiling face pokes into his line of view — but by the time Peter has let out a soft “hey darling, what are you doing” Elias has already let out a blood-curdling scream and punched him in the face.

Peter falls flat on his bum with an expletive. “Jesus! What the fuck, Elias!”

Elias clutches his chest, breathing hard. “Oh- Oh Lord Jesus. My heart, my poor heart.” He turns to Peter with murder in his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking sneaking in like that?!”

Peter gets up, rubbing his sore bum. “I didn’t exactly try to sneak in, maybe you just didn’t hear me. I wasn’t particularly trying to be quiet. What the hell are you doing still up anyway?”

Elias ignores him. He snaps his head to the hallway. “Do you think the kids heard it?”

Peter shrugs, still sore.

“Get on!”

Peter grudgingly goes to check on the kids, but comes back shaking his head. Elias falls back into bed with a relieved sigh. Peter takes up a spot near the edge.

“What are you doing up? It’s way past midnight.”

Elias then remembers that his (now very much limp) dick is still out under the duvets. “Nothing much, I was just reading.”

“You were reading under the covers in the dark.”

Elias nods.

Peter isn’t convinced, but that gives way to a confused frown. “Hold on, is that my t-shirt?”

Elias looks down as if he hadn’t realised he had been wearing it. “Huh. I guess.”

Peter’s frown deepens. He touches the duvet. Elias clutches it and holds it down on reflex. Peter’s mouth opens in an accusing “oh!”

Peter can be very stubborn when he sets his mind upon something. This time, said something happens to be getting the covers out of the way.

Elias curls in on himself and burrows deeper into the duvet, but Peter (the cheap bastard that he is) resorts to tickling. Elias muffles an ugly laugh into the pillow. Peter is laughing too.

“Stop! Fuck, I’ll show you, stop!” Elias wheezes. Peter’s laughter dies off. He combs Elias’s damp hair backwards and kisses his cheek.

Elias sits up and pulls the duvet aside, feeling completely undignified. His cock is poking out above the underwear, but at least the t-shirt is covering it.

It’s enough for Peter to put two and two together.

“Were you masturbating?”

“No. Like I said, I was reading.”

Peter reaches for the hem of the shirt. Elias grabs his hand. “I said I was reading.”

Peter drops it, lets his hand fall to Elias’s thigh. A moment later, he gives it a squeeze. “Want some help?”

Elias narrows his eyes at him, then glances at the clock. Way, way past midnight.

The squeeze is back, travelling upwards. In spite of his better judgement, Elias’s legs fall open to give it more access and he sighs in defeat. So much for a steely resolve.

Peter slides a palm under the shirt but doesn’t get the item out of the way. Rather, he caresses Elias’s stomach and lower pelvis. Elias shivers deliciously; he’d been dreaming of this all day.

“You’ve been holding back a lot today,” Peter points out after Elias gets hard with just some light teasing. Peter hasn’t even touched his cock.

Elias wiggles to get Peter to touch him, slides down the bed. The invitation is clear enough, but Peter seems to be waiting for a verbal one. “I was being a sensible adult.”

Peter smiles. “Thought you’d like a bit of sexting. You used to love it back in uni.”

Elias had always been weak to Peter’s eyes, especially when they’re looking at him as if he’s something to be slowly savoured and then swallowed. Elias rolls his hips, staring at Peter’s hand on his inner thigh. The movement almost makes it touch his cock, but misses it for a few inches. Elias huffs in frustration.

“Thought you said you were going to help.”

“I can only help if you tell me what you want.”

Elias rolls his eyes at him. Peter waits happily.

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

“My cock.” Elias wants to punch him when Peter merely raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. “Touch my cock, please?”

If that doesn’t do it, Elias is getting a divorce. To his delight, it awakens something in Peter that makes his eyes go dark with lust.

“Fuck, yes. But it’s too dry- Where’s the-” Elias passes him the lube before Peter finishes the sentence. “Love you.”

Peter squirts some lube onto his palms and rubs them together. They’re cool when they touch Elias’s inner thighs and drag down, massaging the region and getting it all wet.

Elias sighs, eyes fluttering momentarily. He can’t help but roll his hips to ease some of the tension. He’s so hard and Peter is taking so long — but when he finally does it, Elias hisses through clenched teeth.

“Feels good, love?”

Elias bites his lower lip, chin tucked to his chest as he watches that big fist pumping wetly around his cock. Only the glistening head is visible, hot red and ready to shoot. Peter rubs a thumb under his frenulum and Elias sees stars.

“Ah, shit,” he sobs, grabbing fistfuls of the too large t-shirt and fucking into Peter’s fist, because the squeeze is so damn good.

Will Peter mind if Elias sniffs his shirt? Fuck it. Elias balls up some fabric and pulls it to his nose. The action doesn’t escape Peter; in fact, he seems entertained by it.

Elias notices his husband’s amusement only through half-lidded eyes, because every single part of his body feels like molasses right now.

“Look at you, ’s like you’re drunk in it.” Peter licks a finger and presses it up Elias’s perineum.

The pressure sends a thick dollop of pre-cum leaking down Elias’s cock. Elias’s eyes roll back into their sockets. Peter taunts him further.

“Want me to put my mouth on you or do you want something better to sniff on?”

“Fuck you and your dirty mouth.”

Peter laughs. “You can, baby. Always loved the way you shiver when you come down my throat.”

Elias points a weak finger towards the door. “Close that first.”

Peter goes and Elias hears the unmistakable sound of a lock falling into place. Peter sheds his shirt and trousers on the way back. Elias can see the outline of his cock against his underwear and makes grabby hands at it.

Peter chuckles and stands next to the headboard. “Can’t decide?”

Elias forgoes the shirt in favour of leaning over the edge and burying a face into Peter’s groin. He takes a deep inhale and mouths at it, dragging his tongue all the way up.

“Fuck,” he groans. “I’ve missed this.”

Peter moans above him and cradles his nape, pulling at the fine hairs there to make Elias shiver. Elias gives his own cock a few lazy pumps while his mouth is busy getting Peter’s underwear all damp.

Elias steals a glance at the digital clock again and whines. Peter asks him what’s wrong.

“I want to fuck you so bad right now, but look at the time.”

“I am looking. It’s working fine.”

Elias swats at him. “I’m serious!”

Peter lets go of Elias’s nape to cradle his face, guiding him upwards. Elias follows it, standing on his knees.

“I’ve bought Red Bull,” Peter confides, and that’s the most beautiful thing to ever come out of his mouth. Elias melts a little just then.

Peter grabs his arse and pulls him to himself. The feel of his underwear is rough against Elias’s cock, but Elias ruts into it. The hand on Elias’s face has now slid to wrap loosely around his neck. Elias pulls Peter’s underwear down and Peter wiggles out of them.

Peter’s cock hangs heavy where it’s nestled amid the thick silver hair on his groin. Elias’s mouth waters at the sight of it, but he eagerly presses them together. The hairs on Peter’s chest and lower abdomen feel coarse against his skin, but Elias loves every second of it. It will leave him tender and pink tomorrow, but he doesn’t care.

Peter pulls him into a kiss that is everything Elias has been craving all day — it doesn’t stop at his mouth, but drags down his jaw and neck, making him pliant. Peter moves his face from one side to the other to nip under his ear and suck bruises onto his collarbones.

“Got rubber?” Elias asks. Peter growls affirmatively.

It’s been a while, but they know how the other likes it. Elias is dripping wet with lube while Peter preps him. Elias would usually prefer his own fingers (much slimmer than Peter’s) at first, but right now he’s turned on enough that the slight burn of the stretch feels perfect. Elias lies on the pillows and lets Peter work his magic.

Peter kneels between his legs and fingers him as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, curling up his fingers to milk Elias’s cock. Elias arches his back and watches dollop after dollop of pre-cum leak from his tip.

“Peter, I swear- to God… If you make me come like this-”

Whatever Elias had thought of saying is completely wiped from his mind when Peter leans down and gives his cockhead a gentle suck, as easy as someone scooping some ice-cream with their tongue.

Elias swears at Peter, but he can’t do much else besides clench his hands and teeth and try to keep from coming. He was so close just now; only a brief touch of Peter’s tongue and his cock is now throbbing, legs shaking so hard he has to suck in his stomach to not orgasm right then and there.

“It would be a sight to behold. You are a sight to behold.”

“Cut the crap, please cut the crap and just fuck me. Fuck, I’m so hard it hurts, you bastard.”

“Then come, love.”

“I don’t wanna come without you inside me.”

Elias should be embarrassed to find that his eyes are glistening with moisture. These can’t be tears. He refuses to believe that he’s crying during sex.

Peter wipes the corner of his eye, boops Elias’s nose with his own and gives him a gentle peck.

“Okay,” Peter whispers.

Peter rolls condoms on himself and Elias, then arranges a pillow under Elias to prop him up and slides home. The size of him fills Elias up so good, so perfect — all the way down to those wiry silver curls. Sure, topping Peter also felt brilliant — but if he’s true to himself, Elias rather likes it up the arse.

They fall into a nice rhythm — whispering disconnected praises and curses. Elias keeps a hand on the headboard for leverage, rolling his hips to meet Peter’s own, re-learning where it feels good. He reminds himself that this is supposed to be quick, just a bit of rough friction before they can’t hold it anymore.

But feeling Peter’s hand clutching his waist, relishing in the delicious push and pull, seeing Peter’s fuzzy pecs flex with the easy effort of taking him — it all has Elias clenching around Peter’s cock and reaching out to trace the lines of his chest.

“Fuck, I should be telling you to go faster.”

“Do you want to go faster?”

“No… I want to keep taking your cock until sunrise.”

“I’m afraid we’ll have to stop at some point for rest, but if you’re up to it, I’m all yours.”

Elias smiles, but his eyebrows twitch when Peter finds that spot and fucks into him, pressing right up against it.

“You see I want that, but when you do this… I want you to leave me all sore.”

“You’re a man of many wishes.”

Elias grins. “Think you can answer them?”

Peter pats his leg. “On your hands and knees, then.”

Arse up in the air, Elias stifles a laugh when Peter squirts more lube onto his hole and drags his cock over it.

Peter pushes back in with a smile. “What is it?”

“Just remembered something. When we first-” Elias hisses when Peter spreads his legs further and angles his thrusts just right. “Yeah, right there. Fuck… When we first had sex. I couldn’t believe you were just bringing people to your room and never doing this to them.”

Peter holds his hips like his hands belong there, finally giving it to him hard and fast. Elias has to clutch the sheets, but damn, that’s more like it. The t-shirt has balled up near his face and he keeps breathing in Peter’s scent.

“Uh- yeah. Hah, that was a long time ago. Is this OK, love?”

Elias nods. “Yeah. Bit rougher would be even nicer though.”

Peter grunts and his hands slide upwards. “Don’t want to hurt you, but if you say you can take it...”

Elias’s waist used to be so lean that Peter’s fingertips almost touched circling around it. Now that Elias is a bit better padded, they grab his flesh with a bit of loving violence while Peter ruts into him. Elias prays that this million pound house has thick enough walls that the noise of skin on skin won’t bleed out.

Elias wraps a loose hand around his cock, but that mere touch is enough to bring him closer to the edge. The fact that he feels so wonderfully used for Peter’s pleasure also does things to his head, because every grunt of Peter’s feels like a small victory.

Peter continues, fondly. “You used to be so fucking shameless. I’m still sad you had to remove the nip piercings.”

“It was easier- Oh, oh! Yes, just like that!” Elias presses his face into the bed, panting open-mouthed against the mattress. “It was easier- Easier,” he tries to continue, but Peter is fucking him so good that he can’t complete his line of thought.

“...that way?” Peter supplies.

Elias nods. He feels half out of it already. “I think- Gonna come. S-so good...”

Peter’s approving hum is followed by him dropping part of his weight onto Elias’s back, which forces Elias flat into the mattress. Elias gasps, loud and breathless and more in love with Peter than ever before. His husband knows that he’s a sucker for a bit of choking and is giving him exactly what he needs.

Peter thrusts harder, deeper, and it only takes a moment of Elias to come — the pressure and the friction too good to resist. Peter has to wrap a hand over his mouth to quieten his moaning. Elias shudders with the aftershocks, Peter’s still moving inside him almost too much to bear.

“God, you squeeze me so good every time,” Peter breathes into his nape. “I’ve missed this.”

Elias can’t breathe; tears gather freely on the corners of his eyes, but Peter doesn’t get off until he comes, too — it feels like orgasm drags on forever in an agonised bliss.

Elias shivers when Peter pulls out. It always gets a bit dry towards the end, but the burn and the stretch leave Elias tingly and sated — and now, completely boneless.

Peter eases him onto his side and removes the now damp t-shirt, chucking it aside; he then ties off both their condoms. The one that Elias has been wearing has almost slipped off; his flaccid cock now covered in spunk. Peter kneels between his legs and takes him into his mouth, causing Elias to seize with oversensitivity and nearly pull off chunks of Peter’s hair.

Peter pulls off of him with a wet pop, looking like the cat that got the cream. Elias sags and drapes an arm over his head, damp chest going up and down.

“Feeling better?” Peter asks. He caresses Elias’s thighs gently, barely even there. It makes pleasant goosebumps rise on Elias’s skin.

“God, you’ve ruined me…” Elias croaks. “You’ve fucked my brains out, Mr. Lukas.”

Peter chuckles. “Good.” He kisses Elias’s knee, his belly, his chest. Elias buries his fingers into his hair. “Gonna get something to clean you up.”

“Wait, just. Just stay like this for a bit.”

“Feeling like some post-coital cuddling, Mr. Bouchard?”

“Ugh,” Elias untangles his fingers from his perfect silver hair. “Now you’ve ruined it. Just go.”

Peter gives a rumbling chuckle that resounds through Elias’s chest. “No, thinking about it, I rather like it here. I get to see all your freckles.”

“Hm. Have you finally managed to count how many of them there are?”

“Nope,” Peter kisses his stomach, over the Eye tattoo. “But I’m still on it!”

Elias yawns. “Good- Good luck.”

“Gee, I really ought to get something to clean you up. At this rate you’ll end up sleeping.”

Elias snorts with his eyes closed. “Already am.”

Peter kisses his nose and leaves him be. When Elias wakes up the next day, he notices three things: one, Peter actually did give him a wipe down; two, he is very much aware of all the sleep he didn’t get last night; and three, he’s got an easy smile on for the rest of the day that he can’t deny.

#my fic #nanda's ramblings #lonelyeyes #lonelyeyes fic #lonelyeyes fanfiction #peter lukas #elias bouchard #martin blackwood #tim stoker #gertrude robinson #jurgen leitner #tma fic #tma fanfiction #do not archive #peterelias

45 notes · View notes

gondorosi · 4 years

Text

A story of identity, loss and the misplaced children of ASOIAF

Thematically speaking, ASOIAF is one hell of a loaded tree. Even a gentle shake of the trunk is enough to dislodge atleast a couple. But through all these elements, the themes of loss and identity form the foundation, and the children of the saga are inescapably bound to these threads.

In the interest of clarity (and simply because I care about them the most), I’ll focus on Jon, Dany and Arya. And yes, they ARE children.

Dany

The shadow of destiny hangs heavy over Dany’s head. She’s almost certainly the centerpiece of the Azor Ahai prophecy (whether alone or in conjunction with Jon remains to be seen). She’s being slowly, but steadily, driven towards a fate much bigger than herself - considering just how many ‘suitors’ are out there vying for her (i.e her dragons) at the point of ADWD it almost seems as though iron pincers are closing in around her. But what brings Dany to this point?

We first come across ‘the house with the red door’ in Dany’s first introduction where she is being prepared for Drogo’s perusal (blech) at Illyrio’s mansion. Dany’s ruminations of home and childhood center around the manse where she and Viserys were sheltered by Ser Willem Darry and the place where she last knew some semblance of carefree joy and childhood innocence.

Dany had cried when the red door closed behind them forever

Ser Willem’s death signaled the end of safety and the beginning of a long journey of wandering the free cities looking for shelter. Through her marriage to Drogo, gradual acceptance within the khalasar, finding her voice and her strength and her dragons, Dany never stops yearning for that elusive sense of home.

She was walking down a long hall beneath high stone arches. She could not look behind her, must not look behind her. There was a door ahead of her, tiny with distance, but even from afar, she saw that it was painted red. She walked faster, and her bare feet left bloody footprints on the stone.

We may interpret the red door in a number of ways, but they all boil down to a half remembered memory, tinged with nostalgia. It’s freedom, and safety and a sense of belonging. Its something she desperately wants but which seems to slip further and further away from her, and it seems as though every decision she’s ever taken in her life is pulling her away from it in the opposite direction.

Dany’s search for home takes place on a blank canvas. She has some memory of what home feels like, but no answer to what it looks like. She’s tried to find happiness and belonging with Drogo and the Dothraki under the stars on an endless plain, but that wasn’t to be. As of ADWD she’s TRYING to feel at home in Mereen, but by now she’s fixated on Westeros as home, even though the place isn’t quite real to her. The Iron Throne is only tangentially associated - in her mind the Throne belonged to Viserys and she’s his heir thus its her duty to recover it. But Dany wants to go HOME - in her mind Westeros is everything she is looking for.

She’s battling with the specters at the back of her mind going

“See what you were supposed to have? They took it from you and you will never know what it was like. You will never know happiness.’

Jon

Unlike Dany, Jon knows exactly where he wants home to be and at the same time knows with absolute certainty that it will never be. The narrative wastes no time in showing us that there’s no place for Jon behind Winterfell’s walls, and that Jon knows it, resents it and fears it.

There was no place for him in Winterfell, no place in King's Landing either. Even his own mother had not had a place for him.

He’s just barely 14 at the beginning of his POV and I don’t want to think of a 6 or 7 year old Jon wandering the halls of his home thinking over Robb laughing at him wanting to be Lord of Winterfell. But it is what it is, and by the time the story begins, Jon has already accepted that his path, if any, will lead him out of the Stark castle. In a way, whatever remains of his sense of youthful hope looks upon the wide world outside the walls with wistful longing, since he’s pretty much sealed himself inside a frozen prison.

Winterfell was down that road, and beyond it Riverrun and King's Landing and the Eyrie and so many other places; Casterly Rock, the Isle of Faces, the Red Mountains of Dorne, the hundred islands of Braavos in the sea, the smoking ruins of old Valyria. All the places that Jon would never see. The world was down that road... and he was here.

Jon’s search for his own place and purpose in the world is strikingly similar to Dany’s search for home even though we’re looking at two seemingly different objectives. Dany knows exactly who she is, but not where she wants to, or needs to be. Jon knows exactly where he needs to be, but has no true sense of who he is. His entire sense of identity is wrapped up in being Ned Stark’s bastard son - but with the bitterness of being unmoored, unwanted and unseen.

He was who he was; Jon Snow, bastard and oathbreaker, motherless, friendless, and damned. For the rest of his life-however long that might be-he would be condemned to be an outsider, the silent man standing in the shadows who dares not speak his true name.

Jon’s fate is hurtling towards him at a dangerous pace by the time we reach ADWD, even though he’s now started to take charge of his own future.

The castle is always empty. Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower three steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. It's black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I don't want to. I'm afraid of what might be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, sitting on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but it's not them I'm afraid of. I scream that I'm not a Stark, that this isn't my place, but it's no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream. That's when I always wake.

The specters in his life are grey shadows and stone figures going

“This is not yours. This will never be yours. See what you covet, not-Stark and weep for you will never know it.”

Arya

Arya’s path is one which enmeshes both Jon and Dany’s yet in a different manner. Her loss of home and identity has little of the unknown - she knows what she’s lost and she knows who she was before she began her commitment to the Faceless Men. Her uprooting and subsequent fugitive journey comes with an extra helping of poignancy - she’s not looking for something she has never known but desperately hopes for, but she’s literally wishing to go back in time to a place she remembers with ABSOLUTE clarity.

It's just a stupid sword," she said, aloud this time... but it wasn't. Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell's grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan's stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow's smile.

What makes it worse is that we SEE how Arya begins to lose everything dear to her, beginning with Mycah, her notions of justice and fairness and then most heartbreakingly, Nymeria. Prior to the beginning of the story, Arya was the odd one out, but there was no questioning that she was a Stark of Winterfell. post her escape from KL, it is imperative that she sets herself aside from that identity if she is to survive. The road towards Braavos, and No One, begins to form slowly.

But there is no pack," she whispered to the weirwood. Bran and Rickon were dead, the Lannisters had Sansa, Jon had gone to the Wall. "I'm not even me now, I'm Nan.

“You are Arya of Winterfell, daughter of the north. You told me you could be strong. You have the wolf blood in you."

"The wolf blood." Arya remembered now. "I'll be as strong as Robb. I said I would." She took a deep breath, then lifted the broomstick in both hands and brought it down across her knee. It broke with a loud crack, and she threw the pieces aside. I am a direwolf, and done with wooden teeth.

Arya is much younger than Jon and Dany and has horrors heaped upon her in a far shorter span of time. She’s had to watch her father die, get captured by the Mountain and watch Yoren die, serve at Roose Bolton’s side in Harrenhal and arrive just at the time of the Red Wedding and as Nymeria, pulls her mother’s corpse out of the water. It’s understandable that her anger builds up and she begins to reject her father’s words and her mother’s gods.

The old gods are dead, she told herself, with Mother and Father and Robb and Bran and Rickon, all dead. A long time ago, she remembered her father saying that when the cold winds blow the lone wolf dies and the pack survives. He had it all backwards. Arya, the lone wolf, still lived, but the wolves of the pack had been taken and slain and skinned.

I am not entirely sure where Arya’s arc is going to end up since there’s no clear ‘destiny’ guiding her. In that sense her journey is entirely of her own making.

She’s waging a war against the ghosts whispering

“See what you had? This won’t ever be yours again. This is what happiness was. It was taken from you and you will never get it back again.”

#daenerys targaryen #jon snow #Arya Stark #ASoIaF #book!jon #book!dany #book!arya #jonerys

90 notes · View notes

magioftheseas · 4 years

Text

Soul-Crushing

Summary: Komaeda's not his soulmate. Hinata yearns for him all the same.

Rating: T

Warnings: Death is referenced but really it’s just super angsty.

Notes: Y’all remember that time I posted the beginning of this because I was requested a soulmates AU...yeah it was a while ago. In fact, I’m pretty sure in-between starting this and finally posting a “finished” version of it that my cousin was born and started elementary school. Hmm. Uh. Well on that note, it’s still Ko day. Yaaaaaay Ko Day. Anyway this is sad.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He doesn’t remember when exactly he and Komaeda met, but there’s some strange part of him that tells him it was important. If Komaeda felt the same way, he didn’t know, but the thing was that regardless... Ever since they met, they meshed together nicely.

They didn’t belong together, though. He’d known from the get-go that Komaeda wasn’t meant to be his—and Hinata also instinctively knew he didn’t belong to him either. Whoever Hinata’s soul mate really was—he hadn’t met them yet. As for Komaeda... Well, his soul mate actually was no longer a factor. He was one of those cases—the very tragic but not that uncommon ones.

But that wasn’t a thing that Komaeda let upset him, and when he finally managed to ask him about it... Komaeda didn’t bother beating around the bush with how he felt about his ‘lost love’.

“I never knew who they were,” Komaeda had told him, arms folded with an air of nonchalance compared to Hinata’s chest aching with sympathy. “They died a long time ago—a little before I met you, I think. I haven’t mourned them... But I don’t think I even have the right to. I never knew them, after all.”

But they were your soul mate. Hinata wants to say but the words get stuck because he’s sure Komaeda knows that. And Komaeda still chooses to be okay with the situation when Hinata doesn’t know what he’d do. The knowledge his own soul mate is still out there, somewhere, waiting for him sits heavily in his gut. It’s the same knowledge that holds his tongue—because the last thing he wants to do is insult Komaeda by trying to understand something he has no idea about.

“Really, it’s fine,” Komaeda says anyway because he sees that sad look on Hinata’s face. He smiles softly, brightly at him in a way that stills his world. “But now you know, Hinata-kun. It’s nothing to worry about, see? I’ve long since gotten over it.”

But Komaeda had always been like that—downplaying his issues and the difficulties life had handed him with a smile and a laugh. Hinata, who would spend continuous hours mulling over his faults and insecurities, couldn’t help but admire him for it.

Because sometimes he would worry, for hours on end even when Komaeda was speaking to him, about what would happen when he met his soul mate. It already seemed too good to be true, the idea of someone meant for him, who’d accept him for all his failings and shortcomings—another person like Komaeda who would smile at him and then soothe his worries with a calming smile and a chipper ‘it’s alright’.

Another person like Komaeda...but wasn’t actually Komaeda.

Hinata wasn’t so naïve he didn’t see the problem with his feelings towards Komaeda but he couldn’t help it. Komaeda was the first friend he made in the area, he’s sure, and to Hinata that made him special.

He has other friends, of course, but Komaeda had always been the one to approach him first. He was nervous when he first arrived, sometimes he tripped over his words, more times than not the wrong thing would come out, and while he tore himself up on the inside... Komaeda was still patient with him. Komaeda laughed off Hinata’s blunt observations that could come off as rude, and would warn him gently if he unintentionally strayed towards a potential ‘danger zone’.

Eventually, he could talk to the other kids normally and laugh with the others normally but at the end of the day, it all came back to Komaeda. It had always been Komaeda. And, oddly enough, Hinata wasn’t that sure if Komaeda had any friends other than himself.

He’s asked others about him a couple of times, and he gets the general gist as to why. Komaeda, as nice and helpful as he is, can be...strange sometimes.

Hinata’s not unaware about the things Komaeda would say that weren’t so soothing to hear—about the hierarchy of society, the inherent worth of the haves and have-nots, and a lot of unsettling philosophy about soul mates that he already had heard in textbooks—about how they were always meant to complete one another, fulfill one another, and how their lives would always lead up to that fated encounter... Stuff everyone knows but coming from Komaeda, he found he personally had a bit more of a problem with it. With others, they were unsettled by the implications Komaeda may or may not have had in his tone while ranting.

“Really, you shouldn’t concern yourself with the things someone like me says anyway,” Then again another thing was that Komaeda always concludes his tirades with little statements like these. “I’m just paltry in the grand scheme of things, Hinata-kun. I really shouldn’t be talking as much as I do. But I just get excited.”

Considering also Komaeda’s own situation... Hinata’s only more concerned while others would be more suspicious as to the exact meaning behind those words. Hinata’s questioned it, but Komaeda always thought he was being straight-forward, so he’s never really gotten anywhere.

It’s frustrating—and Hinata doesn’t doubt it’s at least part of the reason why others avoid him. Even though Hinata still can’t imagine brushing Komaeda off completely to the side, not when Komaeda still tries to smile when he sees how bothered Hinata is, and insists he doesn’t worry. Sometimes, Komaeda might try to pacify him by promising to refrain from saying the things he does in the future.

He’s making excuses for it, but really Hinata couldn’t leave Komaeda even if he entertained the thought for longer than a second. Komaeda’s special. He isn’t special in that way, but he’s special.

He’s special. Hinata never could just let him go.

He doesn’t expect to be accepted, of course. He’s stupid. He’s indulgent. But he’s not that stupid and indulgent—or at least he’d like to think so.

“You hang around me so often,” Komaeda says, smiling kindly but with a frustrated gaze. “Don’t you have better things to do, Hinata-kun?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” he refutes as if that’s all there is to it. His skin crawls before he’s cruelly reminded that it isn’t when Komaeda’s stare narrows. Those gray-greens are locked onto him, but they’re close to shutting. If Hinata could, he’d keep those eyes on him by any means necessary, even if it meant force.

Of course—he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t force Komaeda.

Let’s wait until destiny does that.

“We’re friends,” Komaeda finally agreed after a while. When Hinata grins, Komaeda falters, his smile twitching. “We’re friends, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata presses closer him, closer than a mere friend should be.

As long as I have a say in it, I want to stay with you. Stick by you.

The romantic sentiments linger on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows that back. Instead of words, he encircles Komaeda with his arms, holding him close.

“Hinata-kun,” Komaeda says, almost pitifully. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Hinata nods against him, squeezing him.

“You’re the only friend I have,” Komaeda adds, wistful and wispy. As if close to fading away.

Hinata holds him even closer. Their chests press together so much so that the two of them may as well have been melded to one another. It might hurt, being held like this.

But just being this close came with unavoidable pain, because the reality of their situation hangs above. The shroud of death for the living—as metaphorical as it was physical.

The two of them were not meant to be together.

And yet, Hinata wished. He wanted. He yearned.

“I like you, Komaeda.”

Komaeda’s responding laugh is even more pitiful than before, a crumbled up facsimile of joy. It’s too heart-wrenching a sound to be humiliating.

“You like me, too, right?” Hinata found himself asking, softly and tentatively.

“Of course I do.” The answer’s immediate. He can’t see Komaeda’s face like this, but he’s not willing to pull back so he just imagines a soft expression even if the words don’t convey it. “As I said, we’re friends. You’re the only friend I have. How could I not like you?”

It’s all true. And isn’t that such a pathetic way to put it?

Komaeda embraces him in return. Komaeda squeezes. Komaeda sucks in his breath. He sounds close to tears.

You’re his only friend—practically all he has. You have a soul mate—someone you’re meant to be with and spent the rest of your life with. He doesn’t have anyone except you, and you’re taking advantage of him and your relationship with him.

What are you doing?

What the hell do you think you’re doing to him?

“That’s not what I mean.” What he’s doing is being honest. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

Komaeda quakes. He may have fallen to pieces if not for how he was being held tightly and mercilessly. Komaeda makes a strangled kind of noise, and Hinata’s quick to rub his back, running his fingers along that knobby, delicate spine of his. Komaeda feels more fragile than ever.

“I-It’s disgusting, isn’t it? To love someone who’s already promised to someone else.”

Komaeda’s voice is barely above a whisper before rising in fervor.

“To want to be beside that person even when you know in your bones that you don’t belong there.” His breath hitches. “Isn’t that gross? Isn’t it despicably indulgent? Isn’t it unnatural? That person—they’re promised to someone else. The best you can do is hope that someone else dies. Isn’t that just terrible?”

Hinata wants to ask him if he feels that way—but he thankfully stops himself. Komaeda is clearly spiraling and unraveling in his embrace. He doesn’t want that.

I want—

“You’re not disgusting, Komaeda. You’re a good person. I’m just a shitty friend.”

Because I want to be yours. Just like I want you to be mine—just the two of us. I can’t imagine being with someone else.

Komaeda makes another complicated noise. To Hinata’s horror, it sounds closest to a sob. He’s quick to squeeze him, to stroke his hair and coo at him and to try and reassure him.

“If I were your soulmate, I’d be a really lucky guy—”

“But you’re not.” Komaeda cuts him off, voice tight. “And I’m not your soulmate. I lost my soulmate—that person, whoever they were—but you still have yours. You don’t need me. When you meet them, you’ll...” Komaeda laughs quietly, mirthless and tense. “I know what to expect, but still. I don’t want to be discarded like trash, Hinata Hajime.”

His tone is unexpectedly venomous. Hinata almost flinched away.

Almost.

He instead stood his ground.

“I promise I won’t do that.”

“Don’t,” Komaeda sighed tiredly. “Please. Don’t.”

“It’s true,” he insisted. “You’re special to me. You’re important to me. Cosmic bond or not—that isn’t going to change. I’m always going to like you, Komaeda. I swear it.”

Komaeda’s face crumbles, even as he tries to muster up another despairing chuckle.

“I like you, too. A lot. I’m sorry. I...” He tries to twist away. Hinata doesn’t let him. Komaeda’s breath catches, taking on a tone of desperation as Hinata pulls him even closer than before. “Wait. Wait. We mustn’t. Please, Hinata-kun, you shouldn’t...”

Hinata doesn’t kiss him. He does, however, keep Komaeda’s watering gaze locked with his own.

“I love you, Komaeda...Nagito. I love you, Nagito. I’m...”

I’m not your soulmate, but I want to do right by you as one should.

“I’m going to stay with you—even if it can only be as a friend..!”

Komaeda shook his head frantically, but after a while, he just slumps into the embrace, sighing heavily as he does.

“Hinata-kun. I really like you. More than I should. But right now—I think I hate you, too.”

“That’s...” Hinata swallowed. “Honestly, that’s fair. I’m sorry. I just...”

“You shouldn’t have said anything,” Komaeda murmured tiredly into his shoulder. “In a world like this one—it would’ve been best to just keep your mouth shut.”

Maybe he would’ve been happier that way. Or least it’d be easier to pretend. This world—

“This world is garbage,” Hinata muttered darkly. “If someone like you is destined to be alone. I’ll defy it until the end of time. I don’t care. I’ll stay with you, Nagito. I promise.”

In what could only be described as a miracle, Komaeda’s soft bout of laugher was of genuine amusement.

“We’ll see, then. You’re already an incredible disappointment and infuriatingly defiant—even if it’s a source of despair, I can’t help...but be curious about you, Hajime-kun.”

Hinata’s grip tightened on him so much so that he couldn’t have escaped even if he wanted to. As if his will really was strong enough to rival that of the cosmic certainties of soulmates.

It’d be easy to believe that, with emotions running so strong. But Hinata Hajime only wanted to twist that passion into the truth, foolish as that endeavor may be.

Whether this was to be fortune or misfortune was something Komaeda Nagito could only dread and anticipate in equal measures.

#nagito komaeda #komaeda nagito #hajime hinata #hinata hajime #KomaHina #HinaKoma #Magi fics #why I finished this now is a mystery especially to me...#I guess I felt I was lacking in ANGST after KomaHina Week 2020

46 notes · View notes

clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ― Chapter 13: The Party

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny II, part 1 ⥽

While struggling with nightmares of lives she’s never lived, a shadow from the past looming over her city, and the proposed idea that her life may just be a little bit too weird to handle alone, Nadya makes sure to tell herself that everything is perfect just the way it is. If only. When the self-proclaimed King of Vampires (and Maker of her sometimes-girlfriend and always-boss, can’t forget that little tidbit) Gaius Augustine returns intent on claiming Manhattan as the throne that was promised, she and her friends find themselves forced into the task of saving the world. But with millennia-old vampires and an Order of hunters on their heels as well as allies hiding catastrophic secrets at their backs… it won’t be an easy task. Too bad destiny didn’t exactly ask for her input.

Bound by Destiny II and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny II tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

It's been one whole year since Lily was Turned and she refuses to let it be a bummer. Time to party!

[READ IT ON AO3]

Nadya’s glad she never has to explain to anyone what the Shadow Den looked like before Jax joined the Council and made the Clanless, well, not-so-Clanless. It’s just such a different place. Sometimes that dark and dim tiny-flame-in-the-endless-night hopeful sanctuary for anyone seeking it seems like a distant dream rather than a memory.

Even if she tried, too, Nadya’s not quite so sure they would believe her.

That being said — Maricruz has really outdone herself.

Every bodega and small store in the city must be sold out of string lights. Not that Nadya’s complaining; all the bulbs put together like this form a weird kind of heated-lamp effect and being underground in the middle of January had been one of her biggest concerns about tonight.

The unofficial Fountain Square is a dazzling sight with multicolored fairy lights — and whatever stall can have streamers does have streamers stretching the whole length of the party. It’s kind of jarring when she spots the cutoff point. How everything just drops off into a dark abyss. But right now there’s probably no place safer on the entire island.

Adrian tucks his present higher under his arm and takes in the decorations with equal bewilderment. “I wonder where they’re siphoning the electricity from.”

There’s a little frown creasing between his eyebrows as he says it. Nadya knows that look and quickly diverts his attention. She doesn’t know either but she has a feeling the answer isn’t exactly on the right side of the law.

“I can’t believe you guys don’t do this for everyone.” This; a celebration for a successful year as a newbie-vampire. “Imagine what kind of party I could throw for you.”

Why is he looking at her like that? What does a 200 year old vampire have to be afraid of? Her party-planning skills are excellent, thank you very much. Or had he already forgotten the Fourth of July?

“Well, remember Nadya that for many people — especially around here — their Turning wasn’t something to look back on fondly.”

“Lily’s wasn’t.”

He’ll give her that. “Touché.” But his point still stands. “I can’t speak for some of the younger ones, but I definitely don’t remember the date on which I was Turned.”

“Because colonial America used different calendars?”

“Because we were in the middle of a war.” Which is a fair point, so Nadya concedes.

Only they’ve brought up his Turning — so of course Adrian goes uncomfortably quiet beside her. Thoughts lost a long time ago and with company way less cool than those at present. So instead she hooks her arm in his and points forward to where the alley of casual attendees empties out into the heart of the Square.

Hard to believe nearly a year ago they had sat in this very spot, Adrian on the run and Nadya just trying to keep up with everyone. They had sat together on the rim of the old memorial fountain and she just knew the weight of the injustice was something he demanded to carry. “So do something about it,” she had said — an offhanded thing when they were safe and sound.

But he had.

He had wanted to have a brand-new fountain made especially for the Shadow Den. Jax had refused, which was an argument Nadya’s too happy to recall at the moment, but his reasons were sound. Instead they worked together to renovate the one already down here. It wasn’t just a place to remember the lost and mourned; it was as much a part of the community as Jax, or Lily, or even little Lula.

Now, with cracks filled-in and worn edges sanded back to definition, the memorial stone in the heart of the Shadow Den was no longer something to avoid looking at. Now the pictures and names and memories of gone loved ones could be celebrated. As they were meant to.

Adrian takes it in; his passion project, his apology letter to the Clanless community. This can never make up for what we’ve done — but it’s a place to start. He starts blinking rapidly and Nadya squeezes his arm to draw him out of his somber appreciation.

Lily would kill her if she found out someone was crying at her party.

They leave their presents on a small pile by the fountain rim. What did you get someone for surviving death for the first time around — well Lily hadn’t wanted presents so much as the party itself, but if anyone wanted to bring something for the community they were more than welcome to.

As if Nadya could ever attend a party and not bring a gift.

“Nadi’Nadi’Nadi’Nadi’!”

Incoming. She braces herself for literal impact and somehow still manages to stumble as the whirlwind of child vampire comes at her like a tiny freight train. Pulls little Lula back to hold her at arms’ length and grin down at those tiny fangs and sparkling eyes.

“Hey kiddo,” she takes care not to ruffle the young girl’s hair, done up all special for the party with curls that look suspiciously like Maricruz’s, “wow, look at your dress!”

Lula spins in her frilly little frock, on one foot and with arms spread out, while her stuffed elephant is dangerously close to being hurled into oblivion. “D’you like it, do you do you doyou?”

“I feel like I’m looking at a movie star.”

Nadya elbows Adrian for good measure. He startles only a bit this time. “Absolutely,” he agrees, “you look like a little Shirley Temple.”

“Who?” Lula asks with her head cocked, and Nadya quickly slaps her hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter.

“I’m gonna let you handle that one.”

And if he’s going to try and get out of it the way Lula suddenly latches onto him insisting she knows stops that in its tracks. Nadya just winks and skirts off while she still can.

Because there’s only one place to find Lily Spencer at any party — and that’s exactly where Nadya finds her. Digging around in the wires underneath what looks like a pretty expensive DJ rig with wire strippers between her teeth and tangled electrical tape in her determined grasp.

She crouches down and taps Lily on the forehead. “Anything I can do?”

“I’ll call you if I want it to break.”

Not that they don’t grin at one another — Nadya’s fully aware of her technological ineptitude. Still she makes herself comfortable to watch a master work her art.

“You remember this is your party, right?”

“Uh-huh, your point?”

“Shouldn’t someone else be doing that?”

Stupid questions get stupid answers; in this case a look that’s so withering Nadya will see it every time she so much as trips on a shoelace. So she tries something else; “Where’re Mari and Jax?”

Lily spits out the roll of tape and Nadya grabs it before it can disappear in the crowd of feet. “Jax and Arnold are bringing in the kegs. Someone needed a boss so Mari went off. Hand me that, no, that thing right — no to your left.”

“You just said right!”

“Your other right!”

Lily all but yanks the god-knows-what from her hand and Nadya flicks her roommate’s nose for the trouble. “Don’t hang out under here for too long, okay?”

“Nadya — I can’t just sit by and not have a banger playlist going at a party with my name on it.”

“Really, will the party gods cast you out?” She feigns surprise, and quickly scrambles off of the small temporary stage before divine retribution comes upon her.

“You’d better run, Al Jamil!”

Only… Lily can’t see around the booth, so she doesn’t know just how right she is.

After all, why would anything ever go right for her? Why would she think she could enjoy a nice party and not turn to physically collide into the one person she had hoped she could just… yearn at from a safe and wistful distance?

Kamilah catches her faster than it takes her to realize she’s falling. Hands steady on her upper arms, making sure she’s not about to keel over and end up a pool of blood on the concrete underfoot.

Talk about falling head-over-heels.

“Uh — thanks for that…” says Nadya sheepishly, but Kamilah doesn’t respond. She just stares, eyes practically squinting, before leaning back with a nod.

“What,” Nadya pales, “something on my face?”

The woman shakes her head. “No. I was merely checking to make sure you had your contacts in.”

Oh. “Y-Yeah. Lily likes to — well this dance she invented is just spinning around and with her new speed I really didn’t want them to pistol-whip someone in the face.” Is she rambling?

Wow, she’s rambling. And Kamilah notices it too; likely in the same moment. The smile it gets is small but there. Like a secret between them even in the small crowd.

It makes Nadya feel not-so-bad for having one of her own.

“Thanks for coming,” she switches the subject quickly, “dunno if you know but… it—it means a lot to Lil’.” And to me.

Kamilah’s words are careful and measured. “Well then, you may tell Lily that I am grateful for the invitation. And wouldn’t turn down the opportunity to see her… enjoying herself.”

So this is a thing they’re going to be doing, huh.

Before Nadya can answer there’s a shrill whistle that makes the entire crowd—save herself—flinch. Sensitive vampires and whistles do not go well together.

A gaggle of angry glares all whip over to where Jax is smirking at the entrance to another alley of stalls. He lowers his fingers from his lips and motions at them with a wave. Before Kamilah even gets the chance to consider declining, Nadya nudges her with insistence. “Come on, we’re not gonna be those people.”

“And which people would that be?”

“The ones who get social restraining orders on each other.”

She doesn’t mention it, but Nadya doesn’t miss the little bit of relief that crosses Kamilah’s face under a string of purple lights.

Jax has alcohol (some thankfully not from a keg, though she knows Lily can and will live her fantasy of a keg-stand at some point tonight) which, thank god honestly. It helps that he’s with her too — because someone has to be here to back her up when Nadya will try to convince the world Kamilah takes a bottle of cheap beer from Arnold with a thanks and a long drink.

Adrian joins them shortly after; the huff he gives at Nadya with no real heat behind it. “Nu-uh,” she drinks her cider to avoid laughing too hard, “you dated yourself back there, old man.” Which makes Jax and Kamilah give equally confused looks — so of course the laughter can’t be contained.

Halfway through her bottle there’s blowback on unseen speakers — followed by chill-yet-classy electronica. When Lily’s sliding in with a manic delight that could only mean she’s ready to do something crazy…

Though she wants to wait for her grand ‘stand until Maricruz can admire her for it.

The music acts like a beacon. Summons vampires and humans alike from their scattered conversations and to the Square for dancing. Lily doesn’t give Nadya a choice in joining her — but her two left feet are a compliment to her best friend’s two right ones and they make it work.

Jax, too, gets dragged in with them — who in their right minds could possibly turn down Lula for anything, ever — and its with absolute amusement that Nadya watches the older seamstress Evelyn accost Adrian for something that’s a little too much like a swing for the current beats-per-minute.

And then there was one.

Under the guise of “needing a change in pace ohmygod,” Lily shoves Nadya away and heads back to the stereo stage. Only someone horrendously oblivious would think she wasn’t trying to do the obvious.

It’s Kamilah. Kamilah is horrendously oblivious.

She looks down at Nadya’s offered hand with lips pursed. “This isn’t the sort of music I’m… familiar with dancing to.”

“You think anyone actually does?”

Together they look out to the dance floor. Nadya’s point is proven in every direction, and then some.

“Nadya…”

But it isn’t dancing that has Kamilah hesitating. It makes perfect sense — Nadya was stupid for thinking they even could. “Nope, you’re right, my bad. I’ll —”

The familiarity of her hand is astounding. A drink of cool water on a blistering summer day. Nadya remembers a distant thought — that she had been happy to give up those sunny afternoons without a look back if it meant being with Kamilah.

And now; laughing until she’s pink in the face while showing a two thousand year old vampire how to improvise a groove?

She still would.

An hour and a second bottle later and Nadya’s sure she might die. No really, this is what dying feels like. Tightness in her chest, she can’t breathe, tongue dry and heavy in her mouth and her pulse racing through her body and pounding in her temples.

And just what will she say with her dying breath?

“Groovy moves, Jax!”

Thus Nadya can depart this world peacefully — or at the very least fall back into Adrian in absolute hilarity with the knowledge he won’t let her fall.

Jax glares but doesn’t let it stop him. He keeps on hustling, keeps on murdering Nadya with every jerky thrust of his hips.

Cause of death: aggressive hustle.

Though if she doesn’t get some air she’ll get dizzy at the very least. Adrian helps her back by the impromptu bar where Kamilah leans against a support column.

“I was under the impression we as a society had agreed to leave disco behind.”

Adrian snorts a laugh. “You did, but I’m pretty sure you were the only one.”

“If you ever visited a disco you must have done so behind my back.”

“No, but I can’t begrudge people going out and having a good time.”

“Ah yes, I forgot who I was talking to,” Kamilah rolls her eyes so hard it makes Nadya’s head hurt, “you’ve always been Mister Fun Entertainment.”

“Hey —”

She would be happy to watch the pair of them go at it all night, really. But when Adrian stops mid-sentence its enough to make both Nadya and Kamilah turn to see where Lily is running towards them… and with an all-too-familiar widened panic in her eyes.

Just one thing, can’t they have just one thing?

“What is the matter?” Kamilah sets on her immediately, but Lily ignores her for Nadya.

“You need to come quick.”

“Where’ve you been?” She distantly remembers maybe hearing Lily call out for her girlfriend, who had been mysteriously absent for how excited she was to throw this thing. “Lil’, what’s wrong?”

“Too much talking, not enough walking.”

Lily starts to shove Nadya down the way she’d come. The older vampires follow hot on their heels.

“Lil’ — stop shoving me I’m gonna fall. I’m com—I’m coming, okay? Jeez…” She has to practically force Lily to let her walk on her own two feet. And still with no questions answered.

“They’re just up ahead.”

They. Why does Nadya’s stomach fall out of her butt at that? Probably because the only ‘they’ in her life lately have been crazy killer lovers, maybe, possibly?

“Come on, stop for a second.”

“No, I don’t wanna leave her alone with him for long.”

Well now Nadya’s thoroughly lost. Thankfully when she looks behind to the others she doesn’t seem to be the only one.

Lily takes them all passed the unofficial border of the party; where the lights don’t reach but a few stragglers chat and feed with donor’s permission by candlelight. The farther they go the worse her anxiety; but there’s no stopping now.

They finally round the roasted cashew cart and her brain doesn’t really register the fact that there’s nothing to immediately panic about.

Maricruz looks up at them with her arms crossed over her chest, expression set grim. Behind her Nadya vaguely recognizes the entry to one of the Den’s closed-off feeding areas — because apparently performance anxiety was a thing vampires could have.

“Are you okay baby?” Lily asks, and immediately slots herself against the other woman’s side. Maricruz nods and kisses her temple — but it’s an absent act; a physical reaction. Her mind is definitely elsewhere.

“‘M fine, cariña.”

“But —”

“He’s almost done.”

He pushes aside the curtain before Nadya, Adrian, or Kamilah can even begin to process what’s going on. He has to duck because obviously the Den wasn’t built with people his height in mind.

Cadence thumbs away a drop of blood from the corner of his mouth almost sheepishly. Despite having—apparently—just fed he looks haggard; hair tied back in a messy ponytail but falling around his face almost gaunt in the hollows of his cheeks.

He hauls up the strap of his shoulder bag a bit higher and only then realizes they have company. Even his smile is exhausted.

Nadya knows that if she opens her mouth right now the only thing that will come out is some variation of “what the literal crap” so she does the smart thing… and keeps it shut.

But… is anybody gonna say anything? Anything at all?

“You know this man?” asks Kamilah, clipped and curt behind her. It takes Nadya a second to realize she’s asking Maricruz.

The smuggler kicks at the dirt under her heel. “Kinda.”

Adrian almost sounds relieved. “Cadence — what are you doing in New York?”

When did you get here? Why didn’t you tell Kathy? How the heck is this my life right now? Nadya still doesn’t say a word though which is probably for the best.

Though, thankfully, her stomach totally bottomed out on the run over here. So when the blond vampire looks right at her there’s nowhere lower it could possibly go.

“I’m here because I need the Bloodkeeper’s help.”

Silence.

When someone speaks; Nadya’s as surprised as any of them when she recognizes the voice as her own.

“We should talk about this somewhere else.”

“I agree.”

“C’mon,” Maricruz jerks her head back to the heart of the Shadow Den; the party still swings without them, “we’ll go back to Matsuo’s.”

Not that they have many other options — and even if they did Maricruz is already marching on, Lily’s hand in hers, very much not looking back. They all start to follow — or nearly all.

They’re already around a corner when Nadya notices Kamilah isn’t with them.

She looks back and the look on the vampiress’ face is… scary. Part of that fear is because she recognizes it too-well; because it’s the reason the two of them are the way they are right now.

The rest of it is because it’s so sudden; it takes Nadya by surprise.

“Kamilah?” she calls, and distantly hears the footsteps ahead of her stop, “Are you coming?”

It almost looks like she isn’t.

Then one step forward, and another, like she’s remembering how to walk. Nadya follows slow and purposefully at her side the whole way there.

The first thing Nadya realizes once the door closes behind them — she’s stuck in a tiny apartment full of vampires. And it’s not like control has ever been on her side when it comes to these kinds of things.

Hopefully it won’t take long.

“I take it you haven’t made much progress with the Amulet?” Cadence asks, though judging by the already apologetic way he looks at Nadya he already knows the answer. “I see, I’m sorry to know that.”

“Why are you here?” It’s Kamilah who cuts to the chase; abrupt and almost rude; and she’s not the only one who realizes it.

Adrian throws Kamilah a look but it isn’t returned. She hasn’t looked away from Cadence from the moment he’d left the feeding den.

To his credit, the blond vampire remains calm even under her aggressive scrutiny. Not many can. “I came to try and help if I could. I spent a decade trying to find it; and though it might not have been any use to me personally I thought some of my research —” he pats the bag now resting in his lap, “— might prove useful.”

Which is great if it’s true. But Kamilah’s suspicion might just be rubbing off on her. Something about his attitude isn’t holding up.

“Why doesn’t Kathy know where you are?”

He doesn’t look away fast enough. Nadya doesn’t miss the flash of pain over his features. “This was an impulsive decision. I was going to tell her once I’d settled in… and once you had decided whether or not to accept my help.”

Adrian’s arms cross over his chest. “When did you arrive?”

“Just this afternoon. I spent the daylight hours at the train station and sought you out the moment I could. I have no desire to repeat what happened with Izzy.”

“Good move on your part.”

But Kamilah isn’t having it.

“I thought I was clear when I told you never to return to New York. Should I have followed it with a threat?”

“The threat was well-implied, Miss Sayeed.”

“And yet here you are.”

“I would think the threat the Amulet’s secrets pose were worth the risk.” He raises an eyebrow; meets her toe-to-toe and doesn’t back down. Nadya would be impressed if she didn’t know how badly things like this usually ended. And not against Kamilah’s favor.

“Do not speak to me of risks. I know better than anyone —”

Then Adrian is between them; Nadya didn’t register the distance slowly closing between the confronting vampires until he’s got a hand on each one’s shoulder and, from the looks of it, struggling to hold his fellow Council member back.

“Kamilah,” he tries to chide; actually has to swerve his head to get her to look away from Cadence and at him, “why are you acting like this?”

She doesn’t answer, but Nadya can guess pretty well on her own. Can’t say she hasn’t been feeling a little of that apprehension rolling off of the woman in waves herself, but she’s hoping it’s just Bloodkeeper projecting and not something she really feels.

But Cadence takes her silence as an opportunity to back down; literally. Instead he looks to Nadya.

“Not only that, but I wanted to apologize to you; to all of you.”

“For what?” Which might just be her stupidest question to date.

“For my actions at Persephone, and for not being there to try and give this kind of help before. But when night fell and I was able to get to the others, you’d already left Louisiana.”

She shrugs. “It was important we got back.” She had things to do after all. Vampires to break up with. Relationships to ruin. Depression to cry over.

“Of course, and I understand that. And I won’t do you the disservice of sitting here and saying my actions and intentions are entirely altruistic ones. I want to help you because it’s the right thing to do. But I hope you might return my offer with help of your own. Help only you, Nadya, can provide.”

And there it is. I’m here because I need the Bloodkeeper’s help.

Nadya holds up a hand to her friends before they can say anything in her stead. Whether they were planning to or not — she deserves the chance to speak first. They can’t begrudge her that, can they?

It’s her power. She can do what she wants with it. And frankly, after all the grief it’s caused her, the thought of doing some good with it is nice.

“You want me to try and find your memories.”

“Yes,” and it helps that he seems almost apologetic for asking, “because I hate to admit it — and I think I’ve been avoiding admitting it for some time now — you might be the only avenue I have left. Every single lead has come up dry. It’s been a century now… and I’m tired of getting my hopes up if I’m honest.”

Nadya wrings her hands together in her lap. “I don’t… I mean I want to help, Cadence, please understand that. And if I know that I can then yeah, let’s do it. But this isn’t something I have control of. I don’t even know if it’ll work.”

“It will.”

“I thought you weren’t getting your hopes up?”

“You misunderstand, see I know it will — because it already has.”

The only one who doesn’t look surprised is Maricruz, but she also doesn’t seem to have been paying attention since this began. She looks at Lily and judges the context from there.

Though even among those in the know the reactions are mixed. Adrian looks the good kind of surprised and that’s sensible; he was the first one to try and help after all. But Kamilah couldn’t be more opposite; she melts the emotion away easily but not before Nadya has a chance to see it for what it is — fear.

And Cadence, well, he’s getting kind of excited. “I’ve always known I served on account of the uniform, but I’ve never had a lick of a memory about the war itself. But now I do, Nadya, I do. It was so small, a roaring engine and fellow soldiers and what I think were bombs falling in the trenches. All fragments, really. Beautiful, wonderfully complex and confusing fragments. And it’s all thanks to you.” He leans forward and takes her hands in his. Nadya can’t tell if she’s the one shaking, or he is, or maybe they both are.

“Flechette, remember? You and Izzy.”

And she definitely remembers now. Awakening from unconsciousness, Isadora de la Rosa having been digging around in her head like she was an abandoned bin of winter clothes in the back of a garage. Cadence had been unconscious, and when he’d come to…

He sees the recognition across her face. “I should apologize for that, too. I couldn’t wrap my mind around it, and it was so fleeting… but you know how strange it is, don’t you. To have your entire life, all the things you can point to and know and name, and then suddenly there’s something new. Something you can feel in your bones is the truth.”

When Nadya swallows it feels like there’s glass in her throat. “And… you’re looking around, and you know what’s going to happen next because you—you lived it. But then you didn’t, and you’re still surprised.”

“But like a dream it never lasts long.”

“And you’re left wondering what was real and what was your imagination. Yes.”

If Nadya had known how good it would feel to have someone understand — actually understand; not because the memories were theirs but because they didn’t know what was going on just like she didn’t know what was going on — she would have laid out a red carpet for the guy.

Calling it nice doesn’t even scrape against what it really is, but there’s a relief there too. She holds on to that.

“You’re my last shot, Nadya,” Cadence insists; Nadya believes him utterly, “not only that you’re the only shot that’s yielded results. I think I’d given up a long time ago and not even realized it. Because to have hope for the first time… well, ever?”

She nods. She gets it — and not just because the longer her body heat has the chance to seep into his skin the more that starts to bleed through the cracks. Nadya yanks her hands away but luckily he doesn’t seem too insulted.

Adrian clears his throat and draws their attention. Pulls them out of their little world of someone who gets what it’s like to be someone and yourself and not knowing who either really is.

“Actually, this is a unique opportunity to study an actual measure to your abilities, Nadya.” He makes a point of ignoring the appalled silence radiating off of Kamilah beside him. “That is; if the both of you agree to a documented study.”

“Not a fan of how you’re making me sound like a lab rat.”

“You know what I mean.”

She does. And throwing a look Cadence’s way — he does, too.

“But we can hammer out the finer details tomorrow,” because he hasn’t missed Lily’s bouncing leg or the change of muffled music beyond the door, “because I think the hostess of the party has been away from it for long enough, wouldn’t you say Lily?”

“Lily would say,” Lily says, “Lily would definitely say.”

Cadence initially tries to back out but Lily won’t have it — though she does forget to tell him to duck before pulling him out of the apartment and he ends up stumbling with a red mark on his forehead. Maricruz follows at their heels and Adrian looks ready to join close behind — but he stops when he realizes no one else is coming along.

“Nadya? Kamilah? Are you coming?”

She knows what it looks like when someone is looking through you rather than at you. That’s why it hurts so much seeing it from eyes she’s always thought so beautiful; so boundless.

Nadya doesn’t regret ever falling for Kamilah. But at times like this — when she’s more content to twist herself up in her own concerns and shut everyone; shut Nadya out — she finds herself wondering how exactly she ended up doing so in the first place.

“Yeah, Adrian, I’m coming.”

She follows him out; and this time she doesn’t look back.

#bloodbound #bloodbound fanfiction #playchoices #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #adrian raines #jax matsuo #lily spencer #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #oc: maricruz espinoza #oc: cadence smith #fic: oblivion bound #oblv: bound by destiny ii #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

12 notes · View notes

brooklynislandgirl · 3 years

Note

What do you think is the best way to seduce my muse?

1. {w/ the ex con } :// Go on a trip to the local dog park (a reclaimed junkyard in Mos Espa), scout out the best bench by the buffalo grass, pick the dog owners they'd kill, describe the crimes with gory relish, share in the hell of trying to repress hysterical laughter , joke about making a shelter for the dogs in the small house next to Ben's shop, "it's a joke--I swear," completely let loose wild laughter, walk back to the crossroads together under a starry sky, with ice cream.

Drink The Honey || Accepting

She likes the way the wispy seeds feel as they brush against that spot above her knees, where her boots aren’t high enough to protect her and an incidental slit in her skirt has gone from a rip to a full tear that she’ll eventually patch over like she’s done others. Feels like it’s whispering secrets across her skin. And Beth likes secrets in the same way she likes glitter and open ocean and pretty rocks. Ben doesn’t say much. Not because he doesn’t have so many words pushed down and smooshed together inside. She thinks it’s just hard for him to let them go. Maybe he’s afraid it will leave him hollow and empty. Maybe they are secrets unready to be born. She doesn’t mind so much, it’s almost nice just to be.

He drapes himself across three rickety wooden tier-benches. One at his back where he props his elbows. One at his feet that creek beneath his boots. The one he sits on that leaves her room to sit, and she does, straddling it like a speeder, only to lean her back against him.

They pick the cutest dogs they would rescue. The lady is her least favourite owner. Who keeps pushing the pup away with her foot, who can’t be bothered to pet or play with him. He’s a status symbol, not a companion. Not even a pet, really. She will be worse to children that she will also pick out from a breeder because heaven forbid she get dirty in that way. Everything about her is brittle and pointy and polished to a fine gloss. Beth’s eyes close and her lips part with a soft breath exhaled, one that ends sigh of pure pleasure. She confides about stripping the woman of all her designer wear and leaving her tied in charitable hand-me downs, rickety chair, empty warehouse. Fed and watered just enough to keep her alive. Beth would cut away the expensive platinum blond hair. Would use a chisel to chip away at her beauty and press the wounds with alcohol soaked rags. Wouldn’t want her to get infected. The fantasy is long and torturous and very full of a quiet, inexhaustible rage for someone so young.

She lays a hand on his leg and makes small sightless designs between knee and hip as he picks his next victim, and there’s an answering kind of energy to the words that come out of his mouth, low and meant for her alone. Bare hands. Quick. Contemptible. Destroyed evidence in an acid bath. For all that his dreams can be vicious, there’s something very soft beneath Ben’s exterior.

“I know.” She understands it’s a joke and it IS funny. But there’s a yearning, too. A desire to nurture and grow. To feel unconditional love, something she doesn’t think he’s very close friends with.

Walking back home ~when did she attach that word to the place he lives? Would he laugh at her, too, if she said it aloud?~ she licks a scoop of cold, creamy perfection, before holding it up high, waiting for him to take an impatient bite... because he will. She knows that, too. And she likes the impression his teeth makes. She knows he’s self conscious about that. About everything that makes Ben really Ben. Especially the ones that are a little too sharp, a little too prominent to be comfortable either in his mouth, or bared in a smile. Like hers. She slides her free hand into his back pocket, falls into step beside him though he’s notably slowed his pace so she doesn’t have to jog to keep up with him. It is one of a hundred or thousand little considerations that he makes throughout the day when she’s around and underfoot. He makes nothing of it, nor does he complain except to tease her on occasion. Like now, he’s pointing out a constellation and telling her a story about it, and how he could, if she wanted, pluck it from the sky with just a stretch of his fingers.

She asks where he’d put them, and he gets that wistful look again before he steals another lick from her ice-cream. She’s not sure if he really likes spiced tea.

Eventually they come back to his place. And this time? Beth skips ahead, taking the lead, a little recklessly. There’s a crate outside of his door that she clambers atop, feeling it shift beneath her feet. When he finally catches up, there’s a moment of silence. Those dark eyes drip downward to some spot between his feet. Her hands drift to his cheeks and lifts all the rest of his head up. She brushes her thumbs across the bones below his eyes. Leaves a little sticky melted sweetness in their wake that she isn’t sorry for at the moment. Her heart pounds in her chest and she’s sure he can feel it as if it were a quake that will shatter the world.

The tip of her nose brushes his, and she speaks against his lips. “S’where I goddah say g’night. Unless...” She swallows and again closes her eyes. “Unless ya wan me stayin’.”

#Mahalo!K <3333 #Stardust|Ben Solo #Parallel Lines|Ben and Beth #Rusty Cage|ExCon verse #Cruisin' Mos Espa|A Place Called Tatooine #kylo-wrecked

1 note · View note

damaless · 4 years

Text

Harmony & Counterpoint

Chapter Seven: Nocturne

Dearest Momo,

I wish we could have had more of a chance to catch up with each other today. I understand you have a busy schedule and some things take precedence over speaking with your parents. Would it work for you if I call sometime next week?

Regards,

Mother

Kyouka frowns down at Momo’s phone before handing it back to her. “It seems a little formal, I guess? But is it really that bad?”

“It’s terrible, Kyouka.” Momo falls back on her bed and presses her hands over her face. She continues, muffled, “She’s extremely upset with me.”

“Okay,” Kyouka says, slowly. Are all rich parents so weird, or just Momo’s?

“Regards,” Momo wails, fingers sliding up into her hair.

It’s rare for her own parents to get upset, never mind extremely upset, but she’s pretty sure it would involve some degree of actual emotional expression. Not a vaguely passive aggressive email from a disgruntled business associate. She’s out of her depth.

She sits on the edge of the bed, and Momo shifts over — making more room for her? Or putting space between them? No, she’s making room. They’ve talked about being direct with each other, and Momo doesn’t seem bothered by her being on the bed — it’s just the angry mom situation that’s got her worked up.

“And I haven’t even told them about the course I dropped,” Momo whispers, rolling onto her side, hands tucked under her cheek.

“Is that something you have to tell them?” Kyouka tilts her head. “I don’t think the school is allowed to inform them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah — I can’t remember why, but while I was back home, I asked my dad to call about my course registration.” She’d been sick, or something. “They wouldn’t even talk to him.”

“Well…” A crease appears between Momo’s brows, and Kyouka resists the sudden urge to reach over and smooth it out. “I still don’t think I can reasonably expect to hide it from them forever; I’ve never been a good liar. But at least I know they won’t be informed of it before I’m ready to have that conversation.”

“Yeah,” Kyouka says, because there’s not really much else to say about it.

As far as she can tell without actually having met them, Momo’s parents don’t seem to be emotionally neglectful or anything, they’re just a little stuffy and maybe overprotective. If Momo just tells them what an eight course schedule was doing to her physical and mental health, they’ll have to understand.

“I’m sorry,” Momo says, voice quiet. Her teeth worry at her lower lip, pearly white contrasting with pretty pink.

Wait— “Sorry for what?”

“It seems like you’re always the one supporting me while I fall apart for one reason or another.” She looks up at her through dark lashes.

Kyouka swallows.

Momo continues, “I don’t want you to feel like this is a one-sided friendship — I don’t want this to be a one-sided friendship.”

Shifting one knee farther onto the bed, Kyouka twists to face her more fully. “I mean, I agree with you, but I don’t...” She trails off. How to word this? “Even if you— just because you’re the one who needs more support right now, I don’t think that makes things one-sided.”

Momo just waits, still looking up at her with those big, dark eyes. God, she’s really fucking pretty. Kyouka’s chest aches.

“I guess— I feel like I know you well enough to know you would return the favor? Like if I did need help, for whatever reason.” She runs a fingernail along some stitching on Momo’s quilt. “Even if it weren’t, like, a crisis— like if I were just, I don’t know, feeling sad, or whatever. You’d do whatever you could to help.”

“Of course! Anyone would, wouldn’t they?” Momo pushes up onto an elbow. “Are you feeling sad?”

Is she? Maybe sad isn’t quite the right word. Melancholy. Bittersweet. Wistful. Yearning, if she wants to get really cheesy about it.

Momo’s fingers brushing against hers interrupts her journey through the thesaurus. “Do you— um. Would you like a hug, Kyouka?”

A hug. Of course she’d like a fucking hug. But…does this count as manipulation? Would it be so wrong to say yes?

“Do you want to give me one?” She asks, heart in her throat — because she’s ridiculous. Completely absurd. Why does it feel like this matters so much? It’s just a hug. If Momo wants to hug her, who is she to protest? That would just be hurtful and unnecessary.

Momo pats the bed next to her.

Oh god. Oh god oh fuck. What is— she’s in way over her head.

“Is this okay?” That crease between Momo’s brows is back. “I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable. Are there… rules? Since, you know, since you— Since you like girls. Is this a faux pas?”

Kyouka shakes her head quickly. “No rules.” Momo’s face transforms into pure relief so fast, she can’t help but laugh. “Oh wait, I always forget the one rule for all the gays — hugging is strictly forbidden.”

Momo rolls her eyes but her lips curve into a hint of a smile. “The lesbian police are coming for me now?”

“We should make the best of our remaining time together,” Kyouka says, and maybe a little too much sincerity creeps into her voice.

It’s just a hug. Friends hug each other sometimes. She’s not crossing a boundary.

She lies down, and Momo’s arms envelop her, pulling her to her chest, and— just a hug, yeah, no — this is Heaven on Earth. Just a hug. Just a hug. Jesus, she’s an idiot. There’s no going back after knowing what this feels like, all warm and snuggly and perfect, and Momo smells so nice.

Momo’s arms around her squeeze just the perfect amount — not so much that she feels like it would be difficult to push away, but enough that she’s drawn in against her. Her own arms find their way around Momo’s waist, her cheek presses into Momo’s shoulder, which is also comfortable — how can one person be so comfortable everywhere? — and she lets her eyes flutter closed.

This is the textbook definition of a really good hug — no, not just a really good hug; Momo’s the definition of someone who gives really good hugs. Eijirou gives good hugs, but he’s rock solid; there’s no way he could pull off this level of comfy.

She sighs softly, and snuggles closer. Momo doesn’t seem to mind.

Momo hums thoughtfully, and it resonates through her chest. “This is really nice,” she says.

“Yeah,” Kyouka breathes. “Really nice.”

It was a long day mini-golfing in the sun. Maybe she’ll just rest here…for a little while. Just for a bit.

Read the rest of the chapter on Ao3

Read from the beginning

#my writing #my stuff #my fics #h&c #harmony and counterpoint #momojirou #college au #musicians au #yaoyorozu momo #jirou kyouka #lesbian jirou kyouka #questioning yaoyorozu momo #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #mha #no quirk au #long post

20 notes · View notes

lady-divine-writes · 4 years

Text

ACITW AU one-shot “Under the Fireworks” (Rated PG)

Summary: Every year since that first year, Kurt and his family join Sebastian and his family on the Smythe estate to watch the fireworks, but this year, Sebastian might have something different planned.

Read on AO3

“It might sound strange,” Sebastian says thoughtfully, in a way that sounds totally put on, “but I feel like we’ve done this before.” He flips his end of the aging plaid blanket – an heirloom of summers past - to help Kurt straighten out the wrinkles. The blanket domes upward as it catches the air, but when it settles down and he can finally see Kurt’s face, Sebastian snickers at the unamused stare aimed his way.

“That’s because we have,” Kurt says flatly, “for the last eight years, Bas, and you make that same stupid joke every…single…year.”

“Then you should have expected it,” Sebastian says superiorly, “so don’t look so put out, princess.” Sebastian kicks off his shoes carelessly, leaving them in a heap in the grass, and crawls across the blanket to where Kurt is carefully untying his own shoes and setting them aside. “Ouch! Fuck!” Sebastian groans, lifting up off his hip.

“What was that?” Kurt asks, irritated at what he assumes is another lame joke at his expense. Frowning, he cranes his head to catch a glimpse of where Sebastian is frantically rubbing his sore ass cheek. “Let me guess…you need me to kiss it and make it better?”

Kurt waits for Sebastian to go after the obvious bait he has dangled in front of his face, but Sebastian seems uncharacteristically flustered all of a sudden - his cheeks coloring beneath Kurt’s expectant glare.

“Uh…no...it's nothing,” Sebastian says, the reply clipped and plain and slightly uneasy. He readjusts his jeans and curls up beside a befuddled Kurt. “I must have sat on a rock or something.”

Kurt hears a muffled wave of laughter in the shadows nearby, and looks around at the other blankets spread out on the nearby. To their left is Charlotte and Gregory – Charlotte resting between her husband’s legs and looking at them with a fond, nostalgic smile while Gregory chuckles good-naturedly behind her. Beside them sits Julian and Cooper, who have apparently foregone the formalities of waiting for the fireworks to start and are now engaged in a heated make-out session in full view of God and country, blissfully unconcerned with the discomfort of the family surrounding them.

Of course, there really isn’t any discomfort. If there is one thing that Kurt realized about the Smythe family pretty much from the start is that beyond the gates of their extravagant estate, love is always welcome.

Ahead of them, Liv and Brian have set up a blanket with their three children – Charles, Georgia, and Brianna. The family was surprised when such an independent and career driven woman like Olivia had children so quickly after her marriage, but the five made such a perfect fit that after the initial shock no one ever found a reason to complain. Olivia, Brian, and their children were always so happy, almost Norman Rockwell-esque in the picture they made of familial perfection, that it made Sebastian sick to his stomach just looking at them.

At least, that’s what he made a point of telling Kurt, protesting his love for the three imps excessively even though when the children came to visit Sebastian could often be found throwing a football with Charles, reading to little Georgia, or resting on the couch with baby Brianna in his arms.

Sebastian is still Kurt’s snarky meerkat, but how much that meerkat has grown - from reprehensible rogue to an almost equally reprehensible but undeniable gentleman.

Over to their right sit Kurt’s father and Carole, huddled together for warmth beneath a crocheted blanket Kurt’s mother had made longer ago than he can remember. It’s nice to see it out and about, especially making an appearance at family functions like this one. It makes Kurt feel like she’s there with them. Kurt knows she would have loved the Smythes, and he’s more than certain that she and Charlotte and Olivia would all have been thick as thieves.

The years are not being kind to Kurt’s father, and he thanks the powers that be - whoever they are - for one more year they have together. Kurt looks over at his dad, resting against Carole’s shoulder, and when he catches his son’s worried gaze, Burt smiles.

It nearly brings a tear to Kurt’s eye.

The only empty space on the grass is the spot usually occupied by Finn and Rachel, but they spent this fourth of July in New York, and Kurt knows exactly why. Finn is a private man at heart, regardless of the gregarious and attention-seeking woman that he has for a girlfriend, so he chose to have a private moment alone with her on the day he wanted to ask her to be his wife.

Kurt sighs, thinking about how romantic it will be for her, on a blanket in Central Park, with the fireworks overhead, and Finn down on one knee, asking for her hand. Finn had promised to text Kurt the minute she said yes, and he can’t help but fidget, waiting for the text alert on his phone to chime.

“What is it, babe?” Sebastian asks when Kurt squirms for the fifteenth time. “Do you have ants in your pants or something?”

“No,” Kurt says, rolling his eyes but snuggling closer.

“Because the ants around here are ruthless,” Sebastian jokes. “We should probably take you upstairs and strip you down…”

Kurt doesn’t say a word. He reaches beneath his arm and pinches Sebastian on the flank, smirking at his yelp of pain.

“No, really, tell me how you really feel,” Sebastian grumbles, yearning to rub the spot but not wanting to move and dislodge Kurt from his side. Tonight is a night for being close, and he has no intention of letting Kurt get away.

Kurt sighs again and looks up into Sebastian’s eyes – soft and moss-green beneath the ambient light.

“I’m just thinking about Finn and Rachel,” Kurt admits, his voice wistful and dreamy, matching the expression on his face. Sebastian nods. He knows all about Frankenteen (or Frankenadult, he guesses, since they haven’t been teenagers for years…Sebastian is going to have to think up a new nickname he decides) and his plans to ask his hobbit girlfriend to marry him. He wants to laugh at the corn syrupiness of it all – the obnoxious sentiment that usually makes Sebastian want to hurl.

He would laugh, if his own plans weren’t exactly the same.

The first firework whistles its way into the night sky, exploding with a pop and a brilliant spray of white light. Kurt forgets about Finn and Rachel for the moment and stares star-struck at the gorgeous display, and this year’s display promises to be the most lavish ever, but several other pairs of eyes are pinned instead on Kurt and Sebastian’s blanket, where a shaking Sebastian fumbles in his back pocket for a tiny black box – a box that holds the culmination of the last eight years of their lives, years filled with insults and banter, difficult college years spent apart, a few not-so-serious breakups, one almost serious one, and then the utter and complete realization that there was nothing in the world that they wanted more than each other.

Kurt feels Sebastian move, feels him pull away and he holds his breath, a small smile slipping onto his lips as he dutifully keeps his eyes glued to the sky.

He bites his lip and waits because he knows.

Sebastian could never keep a secret, at least not from Kurt. Kurt knows everyone is watching them. He knows his dream of the last year and a half is about to come true.

After this evening, he’ll spend the night with Sebastian, celebrating the rest of their lives together, but first he’ll go to his bucket list and cross out a recent addition #247- get engaged to my boyfriend on a picnic blanket under the fireworks.

#acitw #acitw au #kurtbastian #sebkurt #sekurt #kurt hummel #sebastian smythe

11 notes · View notes

megabees · 4 years

Text

extraordinary magic

Their love is magic.

Hers, divine. His, some learning and some passion, but never a solid answer.

His, harnessed through song, hers through prayer.

Throughout their lives, though they seem to blend into each other. His music, a form of prayer, her devotion, almost a song.

-----------------------------------

After the defeat of Vecna, after everything calms down, Pike still works at the temple. It’s a sort of peace she gets there, despite being the Chosen of Sarenrae, despite knowing she can call for her intervention whenever needed. There is an odd form of respect inherent in a temple, a calmness and a comfort in the idea that things are bigger than you.

Pike yearns for that quiet some days. Her bad days usually find her there at the temple, searching for just something to calm the mind, calm the racing thoughts, make the heart stop beating as if every single threat is coming towards her, like she will have to watch all of her friends die and not be able to save a single one. She already couldn’t save one. Anxious. Afraid. Alone.

In the temple, she is never alone. Sarenrae is always with her.

Scanlan’s bad days take a different form.

Scanlan has never been good with a loss of control, a loss of knowledge, not having the upper hand. He’s done a lot of stupid shit, he knows that his actions have consequences, but his worst moments come when he can’t control what people think of him, or when he can’t change other’s minds. On his bad days, he replays Vax’s death over and over again, knowing that he could have controlled this loss, knowing He Could Have Saved Him. In this case, he didn’t have the upper hand. He couldn’t outsmart a god.

When the crushing weight of his lack of control hits him, when the grief is overbearing and there is nothing he can do to change it, the only option for him is to sleep. For Scanlan, there is no “working through the pain”, no easy solution to help him find peace. Music becomes too loud, light becomes too bright, nothing can bring him numbness other than sleep. It is the rawest form of escapism, the truest form of freedom.

Pike knows this. Usually, on one of Scanlan’s bad days, she will allow him to sleep as long as he needs, until the sun begins to set and he needs to eat. She will bring him dinner, and then they will sit in bed and hold each other, knowing that the pain may be everlasting, but the current wave is only temporary.

On one of these such days, Scanlan wakes before Pike brings him dinner. For some reason, the grief isn’t as crushing as it usually is when he rises, so he sneaks out to the kitchen to surprise Pike. He is unprepared for what he sees.

Pike, lit by the setting sun, her white hair reflecting orange and gold and pink. Haloed almost, how fitting, he thinks, and she is breathtaking. She’s humming a small tune, softly and under her breath, shaking her hips in time with her own little beat while stirring a pot of stew. In this light, Scanlan has never been more in love with her. She is capable of healing with magic, but for him, in this moment, her music, it makes him whole.

-----------------------------------------------

Occasionally, when Vasselheim or Emon’s temples come calling, Pike has to leave Scanlan in Westeruun to go assist with a resurrection or rebuilding or some other form of clerical duties.

They don’t like to separate. Scanlan would like her to tell all of the other religious figures that he’s her constant plus one, but Pike knows that if they were to go together, she wouldn’t want to do her duties, she would just want to cause chaos with him. It is a hard life to constantly be devout.

For her, leaving reminds her of loss. She has missed so much, she has been unable to save her friends so many times due to not being there. She has been so saddled with responsibility that she isn’t always able to help, she has been gone so often before that home didn’t feel like home. You go away for a time, and when you come back, everything is the same, but everything is different. There are events you miss, and jokes you can’t be a part of, and even if people miss you, everything is not the same.

But what do you do when that happens? You still have a duty, you still must serve, you made a commitment. Pike loves her goddess, this is a fact, but she also loves and has loved so many others. She can not be like a dragon and just hold all that she holds dear to her close.

So she serves, and she goes to Vasselheim, and she goes to Emon; whoever, wherever needs the Champion of Sarenrae. Her problems, her feelings of loss and missing out do not compare to other people’s problems, so she leaves Scanlan, and teleports out with Allura, or Keyleth, or whatever magical authority needs her at that moment. Perhaps it will be a short trip this time.

Scanlan hates it when she leaves. He is so afraid for her safety, so worried that something will happen and she will dedicate herself to saving someone else, rather than save herself. She will fight, rather than run. She is brave like that.

It’s not that she’s not incredibly powerful, because he has seen what she can do, it is just that she is so selfless. She is so good. That’s why she’s needed, after all. He can not have her all to himself, she needs to help. She needs to be needed.

But everytime she leaves, Scanlan trusts in the one thing he knows has Pike’s interests at their heart. Other than Grog and himself, the only person Scanlan trusts is Sarenrae. Although he is the Champion of Ioun, and isn’t a big “God Guy”, Pike loves Sarenrae. So every time she leaves, whether it be early morning or mid-afternoon, Scanlan sees her off and then walks to the shrine they have built to Sarenrae in the backyard, prays for Pike’s safety, and then goes on with his day.

It is one of these early mornings that Pike discovers Scanlan’s prayers. She headed off to Zephrah with Keyleth, then promptly forgot her mace at home, and had to go back to get it. While rooting through their adventuring gear, tangled up as it is with Scanlan’s instruments and swords, she catches a glimpse of Scanlan, arms up to the sun. Grabbing her mace, she heads out to speak to him, overhearing what he is saying.

Please, keep her safe. I can not do it all on my own, and you know she will never admit weakness. Show her that leaving does not mean abandonment, and that there is a way to heal from a distance. Touch her with the rays of the sun, with every freckle that appears, it is just a sign of our love. Guide her, provide her hope, and when she is done, bring her back to me.

-----------------------------------------------

They tell all their friends about the baby coming at the same time, at a picnic thrown on the anniversary of all of them meeting. It has been long enough that the occasion, while still sad is not riddled with grief over Vax, and is one of the few times that Keyleth will come in from Zephrah and the De Rolo’s (all of them!) come in from Whitestone. Grog is overjoyed, and the announcement provides for an excuse for them all to get together again in four months for a shower, and three months after that to meet the little tyke.

It’s a tough pregnancy, mostly emotionally, for both Scanlan and Pike don’t have much to go on for parenting, and certainly don’t know how to prep for an infant, but both of them have always done better in crisis rather than in stasis, so they make it through okay.

And when she is born, little Wilhelmina Juniper, she is the cutest thing they’ve ever seen, with lungs of her father and the fierceness of her mother.

They settle into domesticity with Mina pretty quickly, but one thing they learn about their child is that she, much like her mother and father, is prone to wandering and escaping and staying awake because there’s just too much to do during the day. Suffice to say, she’s a bit rowdy. Vex describes her as a little terror, and Grog is thrilled but exhausted by the whirlwind that is the littlest Shorthalt-Trickfoot.

There is one thing that is guaranteed to put little Mina to sleep though, and it is a lullaby sung by both of her parents. Passed down by Wilhand to help put Pike to sleep, it is a hymn from Sarenrae’s temple, one of returning home, of seeking redemption, of compassion for all. There is no place where the two of them feel more at home than singing over their child, showing her the intersection between music and the divine.

It is one of these such nights, with the two gnomes holding hands over Mina’s bed finishing the song, when they notice faint sparkles in the air. Shocked, the two look down at their child, watching sparkles explode from her hands as she clapped.

With Mina having magic, they learn quickly how to stop a firebolt in its path, as well as how to control a child who does not know how their magic works, and eventually, she goes off to learn how to control it at a school and becomes very powerful, as expected.

The Trickfoot-Shorthalts have two more kids, all who grow up incredibly loved, and they sing the same lullaby to all of them, each one growing up knowing that music can be a source for divine magic.

------------------------

A bard, a sorcerer, a monk and a wizard sit in the front row of the Temple of the Sarenrae, the Everlight in the early morning. They are celebrating the renewal of vows of Pike Trickfoot-Shorthalt and Scanlan Trickfoot-Shorthalt, Champions of Sarenrae and Ioun, and they are the children of the lucky couple. Kaylie, the bard, attempts to appear as she is not crying, while Mina, the sorcerer, is openly weeping. The monk and the wizard, the two youngest Trickfoot-Shorthalts, grin, watching as their parents descend from the front of the temple. Others are there, Vex’s eyes bright clutching Percy’s hand, Keyleth wistful, Grog right behind Pike on the altar, but the two gnomes at the front have eyes only for each other.

As they descend, without any warning, a breeze blows both of their hair back and a sunbeam seems to illuminate them in golden light. A chorus of violins begins to play, and they suddenly find themselves floating above the crowd. Giggling, the gnomes hold hands and wave, noticing how shocked some of their guests look at the show, despite no one seeming to cast anything.

It makes sense though, for Pike and Scanlan. After all, their love has and always will be magic.

#critical role #pikelan #pike trickfoot #scanlan shorthalt #i spent so much time on this whoops

44 notes · View notes

desroundtree · 4 years

Text

Five Months

It’s been five months since I’ve been out of my neighborhood. Five months since I’ve physically seen anyone besides my family. Five months since the world changed and left some of us scared enough to see that we did in fact need change. Really badly.

Now that five months is gone it seems as if all the feelings every one had at the beginning of the pandemic is what I’m experiencing right now. The sadness that just doesn’t leave, the yearning to not be in the moment I’m in, the need to be outside and talk and laugh and dance and sing. I still don’t feel like I can do half of those things, but I know that in time those things will feel easier. I will be more comfortable or as comfortable as the rest of the world seems to be with a virus that doesn’t have a cure and has killed over 160,000 people.

Maybe.

Probably not.

The truth is I miss things. Things that probably seem pretty stupid to most but are the world to me - especially as I battle what feels like every medical condition under the sun. I miss street festivals and food trucks. I miss soft serve ice cream and concerts. Parks and petting other people’s dogs. Sunlight and a warm breeze. Laughing and day drinking. Traveling and making plans. Smiling at babies.

I miss everything my little life had to offer even with all the pain and bullshit. I still understood that these things would be there to make me happy and now that they aren’t - I’m just realizing that those small things are as important as any of the big things people complain about missing. Those small things fill the nooks and crannies that make me - me.

But now I just feel like I have been changed, and not in a good way, by this experience. I am even more reluctant than normal, more wistful than I’ve been in a while and the truth is the sadness is the worst it has ever been. It’s deep and all encompassing and is fully entwined with what has happened and what is still happening in this country and in the world. It’s sadness that makes my bones ache and robs me of my breath. Sometimes I don’t know what is worse, the pain or the despair that comes along with it because everything feels bad at this point.

Trying is harder than it has ever been, maybe that’s pandemic talk since a lot of people struggled in the beginning mostly with the disconnect from the world. I struggled with everything, swallowed it then let it eat me up from the inside out. I swallowed my fear and and ate it like a holiday meal.

Because let’s be honest. That’s much easier than facing all the things, all the time. Plus, having a child during a pandemic has you doing all sorts of mental and emotional jumping jacks just to make them feel NORMAL. Which is not really normal to them, just safe. As parents we have been thrust into this terrible place where we are just trying to convince everyone that everything will be alright.

I’m feeling all the fear as the world seems to want to rush back to a normal that got us all sick in the first place. A normal that had us push through so often, we infected those around us. A normal that just wasn’t really normal at all if you break it down. But this isn’t about normal since not one thing about this situation can even be considered that. And all I want is normal, I’m sure I’m not alone in this either. I crave something that feels like what summer should feel like, what life could be if I wasn’t in pain constantly and too scared to move from where I am to where anyone else is. I don’t know.

Maybe I’m wrong but it just feels like something that’s been pushed upon us, like the diseases I have. It’s something we are trying to learn to deal with, still, even though it’s almost been half a year since this started. Just like we are learning about the virus, I’m learning what the stress and heartache of the virus does. I’m learning to understand on a spiritual level how it still changes us even if no one we know got sick or no one died in our families.

I don’t like that there is no empathy for others and what they have lost or are still fighting. There shouldn’t be a marker for empathy, it should be given often and freely.

Maybe people are just tired for the same reason I’m tired. Five months is a long time to have to change your life completely and adapt. Five months is a long time to have to think about someone other than yourself - strangers and the elderly and the immunocompromised and the mentally ill and the rest of us still struggling to figure out how and why the last five months happened. Some of us are preparing for the next five months and trying not to break down in the process. We are hoping and praying that the actions of others don’t equate to punishment for all of us and that’s my biggest fear. My biggest fear are the repercussions those that are still not partaking in anything, still wearing a mask and following the rules, still being about someone other than ourselves will have to deal with. We are still in quarantine even though the world is rushing to that new normal people have come up with in their heads.

Five months is a long time, in a pandemic it feels like years. Years that we’ve been separated from the world, following the arrows in the supermarket, and washing our hands vigorously. It feels like it’s been years that we have been away from anyone and everything. It feels like years that we have been wearing masks and staying 6ft apart. It feels awful and it does that everyday.

There are hopes that I have, wishes we all have - and sometimes I feel like those are the only thing that really keep me going. Life is so short and trying to be a part of it lately, sucks. Because there really isn’t a way to do it without the paranoia that last five months has given me as a gift. I sit and wonder how long it’s going to take me to feel the comfort others have found so easily.

I know I’ll be ok. I know we will be ok because we really have no choice. But what we have to do is pull together so we don’t have another five months like the ones we just experienced. I thought I would be able to learn to be grateful - for the time, for the patience it would teach me, for the peace I could find.

Right now, I just want it all to be over and not have to pretend it’s the truth.

#Five Months #Quarantine #COVID19 #Coronavirus #NYC #Brooklyn #Chronic Illness #Chronic Pain #Depression #MDD #Major Depressive Disorder #Anxiety #Mental Health #Pandemic

2 notes · View notes

kitt-rider · 4 years

Text

my emotional journey of the episode ‘knightmares’. i have A Lot To Say

so kitt and michael’s first interaction after michael loses his memory is this

kitt: michael? michael please, stop! it's me! kitt! *chase ensues, kitt leaps over something to get to michael* michael: *shoots at kitt in panic* alright out! hands away from your body! kitt: this is not quite the reunion i'd hoped for michael... michael: i said; get out of the car! kitt, sounding hurt: michael, have you really forgotten me? michael: has small flashbacks to kitt jumping kitt: are you alright? michael: no! no, i'm confused! nothing makes sense to me any more, this face, is not my face! my whole world has disappeared and now i'm talking to a car kitt: i think i can explain everything, michael michael: how do you know my name? kitt: we're partners you and i, we're a team. please, let me help you. get in michael: no thanks kitt: as you pointed out, i'm only a car. please. trust me

and it. it’s a lot. there’s so much emotion in kitt’s voice here, like. something i’ve noticed is that they’ve grown so close that if they’re apart for too long, or don’t know what the other is doing or where they are or how they are, they freak out. if the watch breaks, or loses connection, they get really thrown off kilter, both of them. they’re so entwined that they feel lost without the other, as though they’ve become two halves of a whole.

kitt sounds really hurt when he realises michael has forgotten him. this is the most human we’ve seen kitt so far, not that he hasn’t been before, but the emotional range in his vocals are just. they’re so raw and it’s so clear to anyone, even if this were to be the only episode they watched, that the two of them have something really special, that the two of them love each other. but then michael has little flashes of kitt jumping. it starts to come back to him. this is a big deal because it’s the first instance of him remembering something. kitt is so deeply embedded in him that his brain automatically responds quicker and easier to kitt, and kitt is a stronger trigger than anything else has been so far.

kitt speaks very softly, coaxing michael with gentle words of love. the “trust me” absolutely killed me, idk why. maybe because michael DID end up trusting kitt and getting in, or maybe because it was just the gentleness of kitt’s words. i just. hnnnng.

so then michael gets in, freaks out, they go to the foundation, devon and april try to talk to him, they can’t, so he leaves. kitt follows. and the next interaction is this

*kitt is following michael who wants him to go, eventually they stop and michael opens the door* michael: i'd tell you to get this through your head but you're a machine, so run this through your data processor. get lost! kitt: i can't do that michael. i'm programmed to respond to your needs. despite your being unaware of it, you need me! michael: what if i don't want you? kitt: ...i suppose i'll be quite hurt michael: ...alright. it is pretty hard to get around without a set of wheels. alright. i drive from here on kitt: absolutely. providing you'll promise me one thing michael: what? kitt: please do not refer to me as a car, or a set of wheels. it's most demeaning. i'm the knight industries two thousand. *wistfully* you always called me kitt...

OOF!!! mega oof! kitt can't stand michael calling him a machine because it's not right, his michael always treats him as a person, always calls him kitt, always refers to him as if he were a human bc kitt does have a soul, and he has personality like one. he's not used to michael being so standoffish and mean (although it's not really michael's fault since he's probably freaking out, and also it's like he's reverted to when he first met kitt when he didn't understand that kitt isn't just a machine) so he's. hurt. and his voice is all soft and wistful. it hurts for michael to refer to him as “machine” or even a “car”, because for so long michael has called him buddy, pal, or kitt, as kitt himself said. and it’s important to kitt that that continues, because he loves michael very much, and the thought that their relationship might not be as close as it once was is something he can’t bear.

and then they drive and all that, we get michael literally calling kitt hot, and kitt smugly replying that he knows. and then on the way, more conversation and.

michael: you know it's a terrible feeling, every time i pass a mirror or i see a reflection in the window... i see a stranger's face kitt: i wish i could help you regain your memory. especially your memory of ME. ...we have quite a history together

GOD. it's so much. it's all so much!!!!! kitt is desperate for michael to remember him, not just cause he's programmed for michael's sake, but bc he wants michael to remember him specifically, as he says. kitt is going all ways out of professional this episode, and his voice is just. especially when he says the history part, it's so, so soft and full of love and yearning. i can't get over them, honestly. the episodes where kitt is reprogrammed or removed from the car and where michael loses his memory are quickly becoming my favourites, mostly bc there's so much affection and love between them in it. like. their bond is so strong, and these episodes like to prove that that bond breaks through everything.

kitt wouldn’t say he wanted michael to specifically remember him over everything else if it were simply his programming/in a professional sense, which means he wants michael to remember him for HIM. because having a human he’s imprinted on so much feel indifferent to him is just awful, and insulting to the hell and high water they went through.

gahhhh and then! they get to the dam and michael gets in trouble, and goes “kitt! i need you!” and kitt excitedly goes “it’s about time!” AND I!!!! aside from the fact that “i need you” as a general phrase is A Lot to me, because i associate it with “i love you” and in fact, sometimes i need you is even more of a romantic gesture to say than i love you, it’s just so sweet how excited kitt is that things are falling back into place, that his michael is his michael again, and they’ll be a team once more.

then they head off, and kitt shows off his analyser and michael. “you.. .are a regular wonder on wheels, aren’t you?” and kitt “i like to think so”

AND THEN. AND THEN?!

michael: kitt? you said you knew me before the accident. what was michael knight like? kitt, softly and full of love: michael knight was bright, agile, often quite logical. he was also stubborn, impatient, readily distracted by pretty girls. and he listened to possibly the most appalling music to ever shatter my airwaves michael: sounds like my kinda guy kitt: yes that’s what i’m afraid of

and this interaction is so... affectionate? so loving. even though michael is still trying to remember, he smiles automatically, even jokes around a little. kitt analyses the material and then michael says he’s impressed. and then i get a damn BOMB dropped on me.

michael: kane’s? i’m impressed! i mean how does a chemical analyser identify a store? kitt: it didn’t! there’s a card inside michael, smiling: good work kitt kitt: oh one other thing about michael knight michael: what’s that? kitt: i was extremely fond of him

like. i have no words. it’s all right there. i can’t really say any more than what kitt did. and he says it as though it’s a fact. he says it as a way to describe michael, bc now, kitt is a part of michael, and everything that embodies him. kitt loves michael, and it’s a fact. it’s an identifier of who michael knight is. michael knight is someone kitt loves very much.

michael tries to get into a building that’s locked. kitt unlocks it

michael: should i say thanks? kitt: if you do i’ll say ‘you’re welcome’ michael: thanks! kitt; de nada (no problem, no need for thanks, you’re welcome)

god! can they BE any cuter? their interactions are so precious.

once again we get an “i need you” from michael. i love that. it looks like from now on, that will be a regular thing, bc michael’s only just started saying it a couple of eps ago. something else i love is that the two of them fit back together quickly and easily. they’re already acting as a unit/as they did before not long after they’ve started working together again. they also bicker again, and it falls naturally into place.

michael: i got a hunch that door is not gonna stand in our way kitt: michael this is beginning to sound like old times!

and then

that’s michael’s expression in response. a warm, wide smile. things are coming together again. he’s starting to remember kitt.

AND THEN

kitt: michael i pride myself on never pointing out the obvious, but i’m afraid we’re driving into a trap michael: i’m not worried kitt, i have an edge. a secret weapon kitt: really? what is it? michael: you

and then kitt blushes!!! for sure! there’s no other way to see it! he’s blushing not only from being a little flustered that michael’s praising him like he did before, but also because even a little while of michael not being affectionate and loving towards him was awful and he’s so happy that michael is becoming more and more like his old self again that his “cheeks” glow with happiness. ugghgngn!!! god. so much! they are so much, and so in love.

so the girl is saved and everything is well. he regains his memory, and we end on michael and kitt being all domestic and married-coupley.

kitt: welcome back michael. i thought as a little present i’d play you some of that appalling music you like so much michael: thanks buddy. come on. let’s shatter some airwaves! *music plays* michael: you know i was thinking. i could have april install an electronic board here and she could hook it up to your speakers kitt: michael? michael: yeah? kitt: don’t press your luck michael: whatever you say pal, whatever you say

AND!! THAT IS JUST SO. coupley! hhhhhhh. and ofc, michael will take kitt on vacation. i was wondering for a moment if he wouldn’t, but that was dumb. of course michael will take kitt with him! he can’t stand to be apart from him! they both can’t stand it!

god. i kind of want to write a little ficlet of the vacay, and i probably will, because i am SO full of fluff. golly. what an episode! michael and kitt are in love and as the show goes on that just becomes more and more apparent <3

#.txt #knight rider #michael x kitt #this is so LONG ujfsdfs #but i have so much to say about them...#kinda an analysis kinda not so Sort Of Meta

27 notes · View notes

btsvt-adventures · 5 years

Text

Ice Skating AU - The Beginning

A/n: So obviously this deviates from the original Yuri On Ice anime, but since most of the story IS based off Yuri On Ice, I’ll keep it as it is :D THIS AU IS INPIRED BY YURI ON ICE. I'm changing it's name to just Ice Skating AU since I decided to expand on the universe and give Jeonghan a different backstory :)

I originally just really wanted to adapt a oneshot I wrote, but it ran away from me. Regardless, I like that this gives Jeonghan in this AU a bit more backstory other than just being an amazing skater haha

Pairing: Jihan (Jisoo x Jeonghan)

Warning(s): None really, just some fluff, wistfulness, wishful thinking and all that

Want more of this AU? Ask me here!

Swish. The puck hits the back of the net, clattering onto the ice, and the team erupt into celebration, clapping Jeonghan on the back while their opponents slump in defeat as the obnoxiously loud sound of the final buzzer goes off.

The redhead Captain grins tiredly, nodding his acknowledgements at the never-ending congratulations and celebrations, but his heart’s not in it. He yearns for a different kind of swish.

It’s not the swish of the net, or the swish of his teammates flying past him in hot pursuit of the little black disc. He’s aches for the almost silent swish of his skates when they slice the air in a camel spin, and the swish of air that rushes by him when he executes a perfect triple axel.

But no one would understand. They’d tease him, laugh at him, mock him even, because that kind skating is for girls.

“Serves them right for trying to challenge the top college hockey team in Korea,” Soonyoung scoffs, and Jeonghan snaps back to reality when he sees his vice-captain being slammed into the barrier.

Ouch.

“Don’t be a sore loser!” Jihoon snarls, standing protectively over Soonyoung. His vice-captain gets up dizzily, being careful to not get his fingers sliced off, shooting an unfocused glare at their opponents.

“That last shot was a goddamn foul!” the opponent’s captain, a Do Kyungsoo, snaps, towering over Jihoon. Jihoon really doesn’t look that intimidating, especially since he dyed his hair cotton candy pink (ironically, Jihoon’s one of the most terrifying hockey players in the team), but the tension is broken before it can escalate.

Jeonghan turns away from the scene, heading off the ice, wishing he had the rink to himself so he can practice in peace, thanking the skating gods that the ice will get smoothed over before his private practice, so he doesn’t have to wobble over the digs and divots him and his hockey mates have left all over the rink.

He hops into the shower, sighing when he feels the aches melt away under the hot water. He inspects his hip idly, frowning when he can see a bruise beginning to form from a tackle earlier in the game.

This sport is so violent, he muses quietly, towelling off quickly and slipping into his clothes so he can grab some food and a nap before coming back to the rink to work on his secret little skill .

Unfortunately, life (read: his team) had other plans.

“Hyung, come on, you can rest after dinner! We’re going for samgyeopsal,” their youngest whines, tugging at Jeonghan’s sleeve.

“I’d love to Channie-ah, but I’m really tired,” Jeonghan murmurs, internally wincing a little at the lie, hating that he’s disappointing Chan.

He would love to join them for dinner, but he also wants to work on his routines without feeling sick and bloated from the mildly disgusting amounts of meat his team ate. He needed to get them perfect. He was going to make the switch this fall, and he knew he needed to be the best if he wanted to avoid being made fun of and lose all of his friends.

“Jeonghan hyung, please, please, please join us?” Seokmin chirps, and he’s bombarded with pleas and whines he can’t bring himself to refuse. “Fine, fine,” he sighs, ruffling Chan’s hair and mentally calculating the hours he has left, grimacing slightly when he realizes he only has a few hours to practice.

Three hours, two bottles of soju, and far too much meat later, Jeonghan drops his skate bag on the empty benches, shooting a fond smile to the old night guard patrolling the rink. He was the only other person who knew Jeonghan figure skated. Heck, the old man was the one who taught him everything he knew, and gifted him with a passion for figure skating.

“Late night tonight?” he asks, settling down to watch Jeonghan warm up on his figure skates.

“The boys wanted dinner after we won the game, so it’s a late night I guess, coach,” he teases, and the night guard laughs, waving away the term.

“Boy, call me coach again and I won’t teach you Yuzuru Hanyu’s Sochi Short Program,” the guard snarks, and Jeonghan pouts, pulling away from the barrier to practice key points in the routine.

“Extend more! Your leg needs to be straighter,” the guard calls out, watching Jeonghan glide across the ice effortlessly.

“Again,” he demands, not letting Jeonghan move on until he’s satisfied.

Jeonghan’s dead tired after his grueling session, but it feels so good to be doing something he truly loves. The music, the movements, the grace and poise, it made him so, so happy.

“You need to tell your team. They need to see how good you are,” the guard sighs, settling down next to Jeonghan’s panting form.

“They’ll make fun of me, kick me out of the team,” Jeonghan protests, shaking his head. “No, not until I can prove I’m good enough. Not until I’ve made it into the amateur finals,” he insists, and the guard glances up, spotting figures huddled in a dark corner of the rink.

“Well then, go polish your routine, sitting on your ass isn’t gonna help,” the guard nags, and Jeonghan snorts so hard he almost chokes, coughing as he gets back up and into the rink.

He shakes off his nerves, head held high as he settles into his starting position.

Extend your lines, finish your movements.

The music starts, and nothing else matters to Jeonghan.

He revels in the swish of his blades and the movement of his body, fluid and sharp in time with the music. Jeonghan feels so free, letting the music flow in his bones and the rush of exhilaration as he pulls off each jump, spin, and trick flawlessly.

He’s so lost in the music, he doesn’t realize his audience has multiplied to more than just his not-coach coach. Jeonghan finishes breathlessly, eyes shut as he takes in the joy and happiness he feels right now.

And then he hears the applause.

His eyes fly open, and he’s greeted by his teammates... cheering?

He’s stunned, hands flopping to his sides as he stares in shock at his entire team hollering and cheering for him. Jeonghan spots the guard standing, smirking knowingly at him, and immediately knows that it’s his doing.

“HYUNG WOOOO THAT WAS SO GOOD!” Seokmin’s voice travels through the rink and Jeonghan laughs nervously, scratching his head shyly.

Oh fuck

Oh holy fuck

They know now

Oh my holy fucking shit.

Soonyoung’s quiet, regarding Jeonghan intently. He steps off the ice, still panting from the exertion, and Soonyoung turns to look at Jeonghan. He’s fully expecting anger of some sort, or disbelief that their beloved captain figure skates, but the words that leave his mouth leave Jeonghan stunned.

“Please show us how you turn so quick. It’ll really give us an edge over the rest.”

What?

“You’re... not angry?” Jeonghan asks in disbelief, and Soonyoung stares at Jeonghan, confused. “I mean... it’s nothing like hockey,” he trails off, and Soonyoung laughs lightly.

“Hyung, I’m a dance major, why on earth would I be upset that you like to dance? You’re really good, you should totally compete,” he winks, and Jeonghan turns scarlet.

He stumbles over his explanation, stuttering that he was afraid that the team would make him choose between hockey and figure skating, and that they would tease him for wanting to figure skate instead of playing ice hockey.

“You were always too pretty for hockey,” Chan interrupts Jeonghan’s panicked rambling, and the rest of his team nod in agreement.

“If you really want to choose figure skating we’ll all definitely support you! We’ll just also be sad because you’re really good at ice hockey,” Wonwoo offers, and Jeonghan nods thankfully, feeling a wave of relief overcome him, and suddenly he’s exhausted.

The old guard sees the exhaustion on Jeonghan’s face, and shoos the ice hockey team away, patting Jeonghan on the shoulder comfortingly. “You don’t have to make a decision now. It’s getting pretty late, so get some rest, and tomorrow we’ll work on drills,” he reassures, and Jeonghan shoots him a grateful look.

Jeonghan knows he’s going to quit ice hockey, but he doesn’t want to let his team down mid-season. It means he’ll miss this year’s qualifiers, but it also just means he has more time to practice and perfect his skills, and wow the world when he finally makes his debut.

Please like and reblog

If you’d like more of this AU, or your own lil thing, of if you just wanna yell at me, you can do so here~

#seventeen #svt #thekpopnetwork #ice skating au #yuri on ice au #jihan #jeonghan #jisoo #joshua #angel #soojinnie's biases #my baby boys #skater Jeonghan #backstory hehe #also surprise update

11 notes · View notes