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reincarnationoftheparty · 6 months

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A Slow Dance with a Stranger

Warnings: alcohol, mentions of depression.

*James always makes me cry when I read about his struggles with depression and loss, and all I wanna do is go back in time and give him the hug I know he needed. So I wrote this. This is also my first time posting something like this, so please bare with my rookie writing.*

A lone drop of water rolls down the cold glass, collecting condensation along the way. It grows heavier with accumulation, plummeting the rest of the way down to a small puddle gathered on wood, surrounding the base of the pint.

James sat reclined against the back of the leather barstool, arms crossed and glowering at the glass pint of beer. His hatred for the unwilling love he held for such a substance. It was powerful and complex, and quite frankly too intimidating to think about. So, he pushes the thought away, reaches for the handle and takes another swig.

The yeasty sweet liquid fizzes down his throat, to the pit of his stomach to join the familiar but nameless feeling that resided in his gut for as long as he could remember. Over the last year, it had gotten worse, what with Cliff’s unfortunate passing. He wasn’t too familiar with the idea of properly handling his emotions when it came to loss in his life. Although the thought of his friend’s life being cut too short tugged at his heart, it also conjured up anger. The constant reminder that the driver very well could have been lying with the patch of ice story, a cover up for careless, distracted, or intoxicated driving. Especially considering right after the bus accident occurred, James wandered out into the cold night in nothing but his boxers to find the patch of ice himself and found nothing.

The memory of that night echoed in his head like a broken record in a music hall. The crash, the panic, the cold biting his bare skin, the screams. Everyone’s screams. Cliffs silence.

There were many routes he could take these theories, and the more he plagued his mind with them, the angrier he got. The last time he let his fury flourish, he’d gotten himself and his buddies into trouble. So in attempt to abandon the thought process, he repeats the cycle, putting the pint back down on its water-ring, and watching the droplets race. He hoped the alcohol would kick in and serve the purpose he would constantly seek from it; to blur his judgement, deter himself from running his own mental investigations and stressing himself out. His heart couldn’t take much more.

He still delt with the burden of his childhood. All the conflicting emotions resided; the love and mourning for his mom, the betrayal and hatred for his dad. There wasn’t a single day that went by that he wondered when it would just go away, when he could be normal and just live his life without feeling the plethora of emotional baggage weighing down on his young yet weary shoulders. The only thing that lifted that weight temporarily was booze.

He scanned around the bar blankly. It was large, decorated in rustic driftwood and neon light aesthetic. The jukebox set to randomize, as A Picture of Me (Without You) by George Jones echoes off the walls and empty dance floor. An old drunk pair of men murmuring in soft conversation with each other on the opposite side of the bar.

It was the first sanctuary he could find after he’d stormed out of the studio, pissed off and annoyed trying to finish this new album. If he was completely honest, he was mostly agitated at the new bassist. He could lie and blame it on Jason’s constant need for direction, the way he played with a pick instead of his fingers, the list could go on if James tried hard enough. But the reality of his reasoning was, Jason wasn’t Cliff. It wasn’t a good reason, but anyone who’d lost their best friend would understand that pain. Cliff; a pure soul, the first to lend a helping hand, the last to serve judgement where it wasn’t needed. All of those qualities, gone.

Cliff, gone.

That persistent reminder poked and prodded at James’ brain and heart every time he played with the new guy, looked at the new guy, or even acknowledged the fact that the band had a new guy. He knew it wasn’t fair, he was aware it was fucked up. But he was drowning too deep in his own grief to mentally address that. Maybe one day he could apologize for his behavior, and genuinely mean it. But for now, he stuck to the only coping skills he’d picked up in life; music, drinking, and anger.

He downed the rest of his beer, signaling the bartender for a refill.

The old man drops his cloth, grabbing the empty glass and tilting it under the tap. James leans back in his chair again as he watches it refill, before shifting his gaze down the bar top, absentmindedly tapping his fingertips heavily against the wood.

The sound of the door opening interrupts the peace, as the daylight pours into the dark bar for a few seconds. He looks back and sees a girl saunter in. She looked close to his age, but her expression wielded an age much older, her eyes revealing her to be carrying a heavy burden. He turned back around, focusing on the now full pint that was slid toward him as he nodded to the bartender in thanks.

The young girl sits at the bar, a few stools adjacent from his. With his eyes hiding behind his hair, he was able to sneak a glance at her. She was slumped in her seat, bag discarded from her shoulder onto the dirty bar floor. He observed her as she adjusted the thin strap of her white sun dress and gathered her hair over to one side before propping her elbows on the bar and resting her chin between her hands.

As she dazed at the wood, similar to James a few moments ago, the old bartender walks up to where she sat.

“What can I get ya, darlin’?” He old man’s southern twang gruff, but welcoming.

When she spoke, her voice was soft and warm, like melted chocolate.

“Double shot of Jameson and a Seagrams, please.” She murmurs, sliding over a couple bills and her ID.

The old man glances down at the license and nods, wiping his hands with a towel before tossing it across his shoulder.

“You got it.” He gets to work on her order.

James averts his eyes back down, grabbing the full glass and raising it to his lips.

With the distraction of the girl across the bar, he was pulled from the twister in his conscience and into the calm after the storm, suddenly realizing how bored he truly was just slouching in the stool for nearly two hours. He tried to busy himself and fiddled with a small, wrinkled napkin — folding it, and creasing it.

In his peripheral, the bartender returns to her, sliding over the shot glass and a fruity wine cooler.

“Here ya go, if ya need an’thing, just holler.”

She thanks him silently. Without a second wasted, she grabs the small glass and downs the amber liquid, tilting her head back and swallowing with a mild cringe.

Subconsciously, he continues to watch as she pushes the tiny glass away and brings the bottle to her lips for a brief sip to chase away the awful burn. As she wipes the liquid from her top lip, her gaze flicks to his and he immediately blinks to look away, focusing back on the crinkled napkin.

He can feel her eyes burning a hole into his jam-packed skull.

The girl seemed to take instant interest in James from across the bar, hard to miss such a wild golden blonde head of hair. It was also hard to miss the energy that surrounded his space, like a heavy black cloud. His eyes told similar stories to her own; heavy baggage weighing down his eyelids, unless of course it could have been the alcohol. However, it was clear the guy was troubled, simply because she’d seen that look on many faces before. Witnessed it on the familiar face she’d seen in the mirror almost every day.

Before James could even see her move, she was settling on a stool a seat away from him, dropping her bag on the seat between them and her little pink wine cooler on the bar top.

He observed her, his brows knitted together as she settled nearly beside him, not acknowledging his presence. She took a gulp of her drink, putting it back down but holding it with both her hands.

Her voice smooth as fresh honey filled his ears.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

In ultimate shock and befuddlement, his head swiveled back to the young girl quickly, his face baring his reaction.

She looked at him almost like she knew him, like she’d seen him around before. There was a possibility she knew who he was, but judging by her outward appearance, he would never take her for a fan of Metallica. Or any metal for that matter.

Don’t judge a book by its cover, of course. But if he was a betting man, she’d most likely be jamming in her car to Peggy Lee, Bonnie Tyler, or maybe even Heart if she were to dabble in any rock genre.

He wondered how he’d even looked approachable. Most people said he’d had an intimidating demeanor, that’s also probably when he’d be around friends and had to put on that mask in order to hide his truest expression, the result of years of depression he never felt he could actually talk about. Maybe that’s the expression she was seeing?

James’ face softens and he shakes his head, grabbing his beer and muttering quietly.

“No thanks.” He takes a sip, looking ahead at nothing. Anything but her burrowing stare.

She hums in response, leaning back in her seat and holding the bottle close to her chest as she looks ahead with him. She remains silent for a few moments, before continuing.

“You know, psychology has proven bottled up emotions can only escalate before they disappear.”

She takes a sip of her drink.

James sighs. “Look, I’m not entirely in the mood to unload my baggage onto a stranger, much less talk at all. So please.”

He hates having to shut her down this way, but the thought of unraveling everything in his brain seemed too tedious to do. Especially with a stranger, somehow that just seemed even harder and made less sense.

She doesn’t back down though.

“See, but that’s just it. I’m a stranger. Who would I be to judge your issues, perhaps I’m just here to listen.”

She doesn’t seem to take a hint. James rubs his hand over his face and groans, but she doesn’t stop there.

“Look, I’m not saying you have to ‘unload your baggage’. Just the details that are bugging you, right now. Tell me what brought you here.”

She adds, taking a sip and looking at him with wide inquisitive eyes.

He rests his forearms on the edge of the bar and looks at her with bewilderment.

“Do you always just walk up to random people and push them to tell you their problems? It’s kinda rude.”

She shrugs, unfazed by his comment. “Only when they look like they really need it. Especially when they claim they don’t.”

He couldn’t comprehend the logic behind it, not completely. Maybe it was her boldness that he struggled to process. Normally the women he encountered were more reserved, only spoke to him when spoken to, waited their turn. This strange girl on the other hand not only initiated conversation, but quite literally jumped to the nitty-gritty. She was intriguing, but ultimately weird. In an inexplainable way, he was drawn to that. He felt anyone else probably would have been intimidated or freaked out, but in all honesty there was nothing inherently threatening about her.

He looks away from her again. “Well, I don’t. But thanks for the concern.” He concluded in attempts to end the conversation.

But of course, that wasn’t the end for her.

“Okay, okay…” She twirls the bottles bottom edge on the wood surface, for a few beats, the echo of a country song fills the silence.

“How about a dance?”

With his arms crossed his head twists to her, giving her a stunned grimace.

“A what?”

“A dance.” She repeats.

“With a complete stranger…?”

She only nods with an insistent smile on her face.

He shakes his head. “You aren’t right in the head lady.”

She snorts and mutters, “No need to remind me.”

He sighs, turning away from her again as she resumes the offer.

“One dance, what’s the worst that could happen?” She insists, taking a sip.

James scoffs, “I don’t know, you murder me?”

She nearly chokes on her wine cooler, wiping the spilled liquid from her face with her wrist.

“Do I honestly look like I’m capable of that? And if I was going to murder you, I’d at least make sure the bar was busier so it would be less obvious.”

He raises his eyebrows and nods, “You just confirmed you are more than capable.”

She rolls her eyes and props an elbow on the bar, “Oh, come on. I’m obviously not trying to murder you. I’m just in the mood for a little spontaneity and you look like you could use it too. You seem like a spur-of-the-moment kinda guy!”

“Spur-of-the-moment? Me?” He points his finger to his chest, baffled.

She nods again, “Mhm.” as she leans closer, her eyes plead, face resembling a kicked puppy as she resumes softly “Come on… one song. If you totally hate it, I’ll leave this bar, never to be seen again.”

Shaking his head, he huffs as he looks down in thought. She was incredibly persistent, but not aggressive. He’d be lying if he didn’t think she was cute, and as he’s mentally admitted, intriguing. Besides, sitting at the bar turned out to be incredibly uninteresting now that she was here. He also never realized how lonely he’d felt until she invaded his bubble of dwelling.

With a sigh of defeat, he reached for the pint and brought it to his lips, chugging down the rest of the brew in several gulps. He places the glass down with a thud, wipes his mouth with his sleeve and stands as he looks to her.

“One dance.” He finally agrees, as she stands with a smile and holds her hand out for him to take.

She guides him to the jukebox, slipping in a couple quarters and searches for a specific song.

James watches fixedly as she presses the arrow button, flipping through the guide with intent, almost as if she already had a song in mind.

“Ah! Here we go.” She presses in a number combination and turns to him. “Lead the way to the dance floor, good sir.” She says in a goofy English accent. He scoffs in amusement and takes her hand again, gently dragging her to the center of the floor. The opening instrumental of Take It to the Limit by the Eagles begins humming through the speakers surrounding the bar.

He couldn’t believe he was doing this.

All alone at the end of the evening,

And the bright lights have faded to blue,

I was thinkin’ ‘bout a woman

Who might have loved me

I never knew…

James takes her hand in his and hesitantly places his hand on her waist. She resists the urge to snicker at his stiffness and rests her free hand on his shoulder. They sway, the motion forced and awkward.

Stepping a little closer, she murmurs softly, “Just loosen up, pretend I’m someone you know…”

He sneers, “Pft, yeah, okay.”

A soft beguiled giggle escapes her as she smiles and adjusts her whole forearm on his upper back, shuffling a few inches little closer and laying her head against his shoulder.

You know I’ve always been a dreamer

spent my life runnin’ ‘round

And it’s so hard to change

Can’t seem to settle down

But the dreams I’ve seen lately

He struggled at the idea of her being able to feel his heart pounding in his chest, partially from bemusement, but also from the foreign feeling of physical contact so intimate. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d felt something similar to comfort like this. Her touch was almost angelic with how gentle she was. It was also hard to miss how heavenly she smelled with her head directly below his chin. He glanced down at her soft hair, brows knitted together in confusion at his predicament and how different he felt compared to what he’d expected. How does he process this feeling? It wasn’t feelings for her; no. It was ease, safe, warm.

Keep on burnin’ out and turnin’ out the same,

So put me on a highway,

And show me a sign,

And take it to the limit one more time

Slowly he begins to give in to the feeling; slackening his jaw and dropping his shoulders a little bit. She must have felt it, because she readjusted her head and arm slightly in response, seeming to get more comfortable against him. He teeters on the decision before carefully migrating his hand toward the middle of her lower back, lowering his face to hover over the top of her head, a sudden urge to be closer. He could feel his heart settle, slowing the thrums inside of him like turning off a running motor.

You can spend all your time making money

You can spend all your love making time

If it all fell to pieces tomorrow

Would you still be mine?

It was crazy wasn’t it? Who could he tell this to if he were to tell someone? The thought of explaining this story, accepting a dance with a complete stranger, it made him feel unhinged. He continuously wondered if this was just some dream. He may be buzzed, but his judgement of reality was better than to believe that. He could feel her; her smaller hand rested in his, the warm head leaned against his shoulder as her fingers wrapped onto it. To further convince himself it was all real, he’d decided to move his hand on her waist to feel the lacy fabric of her dress as it trailed to wrap his entire arm around her as he rested his cheek atop her hair to smell her sweet shampoo.

And when you’re looking for your freedom

Nobody seems to care

And you can’t find the door

Can’t find it anywhere

When there’s nothing to believe in

Now James could confirm he hadn’t felt this content in a while, at least not from a person. Music definitely helped, every time he performed with the guys was the only true moments he could free himself from the tribulations of his conscience. Her hold was like a hug he was too stubborn to ask for, but knew he’d genuinely needed. He would be too embarrassed to admit he needed any form of tender consolation to anyone who actually knew him; that’s just not what men do, they keep on keeping on until some type of saving grace comes along and makes it better. But with a stranger, apparently you don’t have to say anything.

Still you’re coming back

You’re running back

You’re coming back for more

So put me on a highway,

And show me a sign,

And take it to the limit one more time

As the songs continues to repeat the lyrics, he knows it’s coming to an end soon. So, he closes his eyes to savor the moment. Perhaps she was angel, heaven sent for him in his time of need. The only exception he’d make for believing in the higher power after his childhood.

He hadn’t the slightest clue if this was just a one-time thing, but just in case, he finally pushed his guard aside and let go of her hand, moving it to wrap his other arm around her upper back. It took her by surprise, feeling him melt in her hold, but she went with it and mirrored his actions and wrapped her arm around his torso. It had turned into a swaying hug between strangers, who genuinely needed it.

After a minute the song finally ended, fading out in reverse crescendo to silence. However, neither of them let go. Gently she lifts her head to peer up at him, causing him to return her relaxed gaze.

“Do you wanna stop?” She murmurs softly.

As another slow song plays through the speakers, he simply shakes his head, afraid that if he spoke, he’d choke up. She can see an emotion in his eyes, one he probably doesn’t understand, but he seemed content enough to continue holding her close.

She nods, smiling warmly at him. “Okay.” She whispers, gingerly placing her head back to his shoulder as they continue swaying to the music. The embrace between the two was sincere, a coziness they’d sought in each other’s presence.

After a few more songs, the girl needed to leave, bidding him goodbye with a few final words of wisdom. “All wars eventually end, but it won’t always be pretty. In the meantime, keep fighting, yet seek peace without hurting yourself.”

That night, James lay in his bed restless, thinking about the nameless girl who had made him feel okay for the first time in a while. Even if it was just for a few hours.

She had taken all the problems he never told her about and placed them on the back burner. Like it was nothing, like she just had to look into his eyes to see everything and understand.

It felt like finally taking a seat after running a marathon for most of his life. He eventually fell asleep to the lyrics playing on repeat in his head…

So put me on a highway

And show me a sign

And take it to the limit one more time.

#james hetfield #james hetfield x reader #kirk hammett #cliff burton #lars ulrich #metallica #metallica fanfiction #james hetfield fanfiction #james hetfield x you #kirk hammett x reader

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spiderdreamer-blog · 7 months

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Tarzan (1999)

It's hard to define sometimes where the end of the Disney Renaissance period from the late 80s through the 90s is. After the release of The Lion King, the 2D animated features steadily made less money and critical acclaim became more mixed. There was a sea change occurring thanks to more competition from companies like DreamWorks and Warner Bros., as well as the advent of the computer. For me, the dividing line is 1999's Tarzan, mostly because it's after this point that we get to what I and others call the 2000-2004 "experimental" age with films like The Emperor's New Groove, Atlantis: The Lost Empire, Lilo & Stitch, and Treasure Planet. But Tarzan has much in common with those films, representing a step away from the Broadway musical traditions and into a new, intriguing arena of animation storytelling. It's genuinely one of my favorite Disney films to revisit, and I hope this review helps explain why.

The story takes Edgar Rice Burroughs' initial novel Tarzan of the Apes as a guideline more than an actual adaptation, namely ditching concerns about nobility wealth inheritance and unflattering black African caricatures (the spinoff TV series would deal with the latter in trying to be, uh, less problematic about such). We pick up with Ye Olde Dramatically Convenient Boat Wreckage in a truly commanding opening sequence set to Phil Collins' anthemic Two Worlds. Tarzan's unnamed parents land in Africa and are put in parallel to gorillas Kala (Glenn Close, at the time coming off a very different performance for Disney as live action Cruella De Vil) and Kerchak (Lance Henriksen). Tragedy strikes for both families, and where one loses his parents, another gains a son. But Tarzan (Alex D. Linz as a child, Tony Goldwyn as an adult) grows up knowing he is "different", desperate to prove himself as an ape and belong. He seems to find an equilibrium, becoming best friends with Terk (Rosie O'Donnell) and Tantor (Wayne Knight at his most nebbishy), and even managing to vanquish Sabor, but then strangers arrive. Strangers who look like him, in the form of British scientist Archimedes Porter (Nigel Hawthorne), his daughter Jane (Minnie Driver), and their guide Clayton (BRIAN BLESSED). Now things steadily grow more complicated as Tarzan wishes to learn all he can about these outsiders and himself, but what might it cost?

One of the first, most notable things about the film to me is its complexity in the writing and characterization. Looking back, the Renaissance can have a problem in terms of male leads being love interests who don't get as much focus or slightly bland focus-tested "likable". This isn't true for ALL of them; the Beast has many layers to his personality, while Simba and Quasimodo are great, imo, because they have more baggage tying them down and thus more to rise above for true heroism. Nor does it make most of them bad characters. But it was notable enough, as was the tendency for them to be overshadowed by the villains or sidekicks, for co-directors Kevin Lima/Chris Buck and writers Tab Murphy/Bob Tzudiker/Noni White to slightly...course-correct.

Ergo, Tarzan himself is very much the main focus here. There's only one major sequence that he's not really involved with, and even when he's not onscreen, the other characters are as intrigued by his contradictions as the audience. (Insert your own Poochie jokes here, though obviously it doesn't come CLOSE to that) We truly feel his anxiety about fitting in, and the lengths he goes to are intensely relatable even at their most self-damning.

The other characters, too, feel richer and more lived-in than many of the standard types. Kala is a mother figure, one who tries to make Tarzan feel like he belongs, but is deeply scared of losing him. Kerchak is possibly my favorite character in the film because of how much you have to read into his actions because he holds so much back emotionally until the very end. Even then, he comes off as a more realistic harsh father figure than a caricature, and we can always understand where he's coming from. Jane is one of the best Disney love interests, meanwhile, feeling like a modern romantic comedy heroine with a lot of drive and initiative, as well as being just genuinely nerdy, which you don't often see even today. Clayton manages a nice two-step of seeming like an obvious bad guy but playing things down the middle until he gets what he wants. Even the comic relief gets good moments, such as Professor Porter gently supporting the romance or Tantor standing up for himself at a critical juncture.

Of course, what helps here is that said characters have some of the most beautiful environments and animation backing them up in Disney history. The African jungle is depicting as a kind of painterly, hyper-real fantasy, with impossible tree shapes and vines that bloom in the sunlight. And the then-revolutionary Deep Canvas CGI process allows Tarzan to soar through them, the camera spinning and rotating with each movement. The design sensibility is "classical" Disney to a large degree, but with slightly longer faces or larger eyes to add expressiveness. The California, Parisian, and Florida animation teams all clearly busted their asses to make this come to life. And Glen Keane's work with the Paris studio on Tarzan might be the best of his legendary career in terms of the variety of movements and subtleties in expressions. So too goes the rest of the supervising animators: Ken Duncan makes Jane truly lovable and wholly distinct from the likes of his Meg or Amelia; Randy Haycock gives Clayton a macho swagger that feels entirely his own rather than feeling like a Gaston ripoff; Bruce Smith combines remarkable anatomy work and microexpressions with Kerchak; Russ Edmonds' Kala is warm and motherly while never letting you entirely forget she's a gorilla; Dave Burgess makes Porter funny with his slightly squat, short shapes; and Mike Surrey and Sergio Pablos make for an excellent duo on Terk and Tantor in terms of contrasting their size, as well as the latter giving nervous-nelly body language to such a huge character. That's harder than it looks.

The aural end is just as good. Much hay and memery has been made of Phil Collins going ridiculously hard on the storytelling songs, which I fully support. But it really is true that they add so much here and take the burden off the characters in terms of singing save for the improvisational scat number "Trashin' The Camp". I'm partial to "Strangers Like Me" in terms of the earnest yearning and connections that Tarzan makes over the course of it. And of course the various versions of "Two Worlds" are essentially the mission statement of the film, complete with absolutely bitchin' percussion. Mark Mancina's accompanying score is also excellent, sounding like a fusion between The Lion King (which he produced/arranged for both the film and Broadway show) and his action movie work on projects like Speed or Bad Boys. Particularly great is the cue that plays when Tarzan defeats Sabor and builds up to his classic yell, which milks the heroic triumph for all its worth.

The voice cast is also excellent top to bottom. Goldwyn has a deeper timbre than many Disney male leads, less of an ingenue, and this adds to the stormier emotions; we truly feel his pain on lines like "Why didn't you tell me there were creatures that look like me?" But he's not TOO grim, thankfully, and gets some good subtly funny moments such as sounding out monkey noises in a conversation that Jane only hears one half of. Close is properly maternal, of course, getting her best showings in emotional one-on-ones with both Linz and Goldwyn as they hash out their relationship. Henriksen, like the animation, wisely underplays Kerchak and lets the emotion come out through his gruff, gravel-pit voice rather than obviously signaling things. Driver is hilarious and winning as Jane, getting some of the best laughs and most sweetly tender bits of the proceedings. It's all the more impressive when you consider she played Lady Eboshi in the Princess Mononoke dub the same year, which is the utter opposite of this performance. BRIAN BLESSED doesn't do a lot of his patented BRIAN BLESSED yelling outside of some choice bits at the end, but he makes a meal of Clayton regardless as a charismatic asshole, and I like how he plays a climactic bit of manipulation in particular. Hawthorne gets a much better showing here than his previous Disney voice role as Fflewddur Flam in The Black Cauldron, daffily sweet and humorous in equal measure, while O'Donnell and Knight are familiar vocally but use that to inform their characterizations rather than distract.

I think what I like most about this movie is that it feels incredibly well-rounded. Some Disney movies from this period might have a great villain or sidekicks but a weaker protagonist in Hercules or strong protagonists/villains but a weaker supporting cast as in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. (Then you have Pocahontas, which sucks on ALL ends!) In Tarzan, everything feels of a piece, and nobody jars against the tone or mood. Combine that with the dizzying highs of the animation and truly excellent emotional beats, and you've got a real winner that stands the test of time in my eyes.

#disney animated canon #tarzan #disney's tarzan #reviews #analysis

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bxsotted · 2 years

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Between The Lines [Stephen Strange x F!Reader]

pairing : Stephen Strange x F!reader

synopsis : Apprentince!Reader regrets leaving things unsaid after the snap and fight with Thanos but finds herself speechless when the sorcerer comes back.

words : 800

themes : angst w/ fluff

warnings : insinuation of a sexual relationship between reader and Stephen

💖 Reblogs and feedback to support my work 💖

A/N : I'm a tad bit nervous since this is the first fanfic I've written ever - I'm diving into a completely new area so any feedback or comments are very much appreciated! Hopefully I continue to write more and post more of these little drabbles/stories. Other than that, I hope you enjoy!

“I hate you.”

The words echoed through the empty walls of the Sanctum, a melody laced with a heartbreak that lasted five years. The waver in her voice gives away the hundreds of thoughts that are running through her head and the feelings that she promised she'd keep tucked away. Her stubbornness and the complexity of her relationship with the bearded sorcerer made it nearly impossible for her to voice what she truly wanted to say.

It had been five years since the man had been snapped from reality by Thanos - and even still, she couldn't find the strength to tell him what was so obvious to the world, to him; to the both of them.

He smiles, ever so softly. He’s heard those three words many times before, so much so that he’s learned to read between them.

Their dynamic was intricate from the beginning. Each of them carried their own baggage that hindered a real relationship from blooming between the two, not to mention that they each had different ways of confronting their own personal dilemmas.

She was ready to risk it all.

He was terrified of the fall.

In the early days of her training, she had been pretty open about her affinity to her mentor and she felt inclined to continue as the sorcerer never turned her down and even played along to her little game. It all quickly became physical, and he began to keep his distance once he realized this was more than simple carnal desires.

He'd try to sweep the obvious feelings that were flourishing under the rug - try to tell himself that the reason why he kept her at a distance was because it was the right thing to do. He was, after all, her mentor and she his disciple. It was wrong. It had all been a mistake. They shouldn't have and should never do this again. But he was weak, his flesh burned with desire every time he looked into her eyes - lust enveloping his mind and heart making his body act before he could begin to think straight.

Time and time again, he'd let go. Let himself forget the lies of his higher morality, drowning in his double standards and letting the smell of her skin corrupt him bit by bit as he lost himself in between her thighs.

As much as she tried to bask in the passion filled nights, lose herself in the sweet nothings that they whispered and the not so empty promises that they'd murmur to each other - the inevitable heartbreak that came with the ambivalence of their situationship was hard to ignore. The more she gave herself to Stephen, the more she longed for his love. She had told herself that she could handle having a no strings attached type of relationship. But her heart was more caring than she'd admit and the betrayal of her fondness towards the sorcerer was something that was inescapable.

And so, left in a vague and uncertain position in his heart, she swallowed her protests when Stephen had announced to her that he was needed to defeat the Deviant warlord.

She let him walk away and he left without anything else to say.

Five long years she waited with a broken heart, going through all the words that had been left unsaid - wondering if she would ever get a chance to say them to him.

He knew this was the only way of defeating Thanos, and he knew he would have to leave her behind for this long, alone with the ambiguity of their affection towards each other. His heart ached at the thought, and he promised himself that once it was all over, once he was back, he'd try his best to fix his mistakes.

And now he was here.

This is the closest they’ve been in years and yet the distance alone was tearing their hearts into pieces. They stare at each other for a while, too scared to touch, terrified of breaking each other even more than they already have.

Her eyes fill with tears, letting her emotions finally take over her as she takes the first steps, her arms wrapping around his waist with her face buried in his chest.

This warmth, the sound of his heart against his ribcage, grounding her with every beat. The metronome of her life that had banished was here. Finally.

He’s caught off guard, letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His body relaxes and his hands shake slightly. His fingertips lightly brush up against her sides before he engulfs her completely - bringing her close to him.

This warmth, the feeling of her skin under his hands. The softness that brought him back to his senses anytime he’d lose himself. Finally.

“I missed you too.”

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callmearcturus · 2 years

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I saw your comment on bloodsbane’s post and figured it would be best to follow up with you directly. What appeals to you about kink if you’re ace? Is it the emotional aspect?

(Same guy as before, ace and curious, yadda yadda)

/looks at my long long long long collection of fic with kink elements

lmao this post is gonna be a mess, sorry ahead of time.

It's hard to explain, but the most brusque and surface level version is that "eh, vanilla boning is just boring," because while I do genuinely understand for the participants that it IS fulfilling and enjoyable

obviously most of my interactions with sex are as a creator and as someone reading/watching content. and fictional vanilla sex itself does not interest me unless its exceptionally well-written or very emotionally charged (but even then, its not the Sex, its the Emotions)?

so what kink adds can be understood as The Spice.

like, many kinks explore more complex flavors of intimacy and control and trust. there are many many many scenes I've written that if I take out the Kink aspect, they lose the emotional point of the scene. the one that comes to mind right off is in a story I wrote, SWDKTOWL, there's a chapter with restraints and consensual non-consent. and while I fully hope it was titillating to read, there was also a point being made with that sex in that specific configuration, and it's a point that I couldn't have made without the kink.

it's not unlike music. if Plain Ol' Fuckin' is the metronome setting the time/beat, all the kink adds the instrumentation in. it gives it more character to me.

for me, being an ace writer who is mildly notorious for my kink smithing and how it is folded into broader stories with complex emotional themes, it's a much used part of my toolbox, as much as tropes and motifs and any other part of The Skillset.

and I'm personally a sex-disinterested ace person. even when I have written what I think is the Hottest Hot Shit To Ever Come Out Of The Skillet, I have no personal interest. and I think that's a huge reason why myself and a lot of other ace people are kinksters. (and why a lot of ace people are also into xeno!)

(this part is admittedly hard to put into words, but I'll do my best:)

because when sex is not personally important to your daily life in the way it can be for allo people, I think the barrier to entry for exploration is much lower. there is functionally very little difference to me between a piece of amateur missionary sex and professionally shot BDSM dungeons. there is, due to being ace, no real reason to assign value to one over the other. so I feel like I am able to examine the Catalog Of Kinks more open-mindedly, because my own body is not part of the equation.

so, its easier to ask "how does impact play make me feel? how does non-con make me feel? how does breathplay make me feel?" because I lack a lot of the baggage I think other people start out with.

that is my personal theory, as someone who enjoys kink and talks about kink a lot. there's exceptions to every single aspect of this because every person is singular, but this is a broad strokes explanation.

kink is great! love it.

ETA: ALSO WORTH NOTING queerness broadly also provides a lot of this removal of value-weight, so this isn't unique to ace people, just this is the ace POV on it, ANYWAAAAAY

#Anonymous #talking about writing #the wondersmith and all of her kinks #like jfc i have had LONG conversations about the overlaps in kink appeal MULTIPLE times #its interesting!!!!

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alynnl · 2 years

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for the character ask, of course your guys, Olberic and Cyrus, but also...you're favorite Octopath NPC! And two random Triangle Strategy characters you feel like talking about!

Wow! Really hitting all the bases I see!

Olberic Eisenberg

First impression: Big, strong guy. Probably has a dark past and is on a revenge quest. Learns the value of life and chooses to defend it? Meat shield.

Impression now: Still big, strong guy, but soft. So very soft. He does have a dark past but not exactly a revenge quest. More of a finding-his-purpose quest. Chooses to protect the weak and helpless, and is very laid back around those he considers friends.

Favorite moment: The duel he has with Erhardt in his chapter 3. it was one of the climaxes of his tale (the battle against Werner in chapter 4 being the other) and it really just showed, at the core, what Olberic's journey was all about. The decision Olberic makes to spare Erhardt in the end also left quite an impression on me, and I thought it was rather inspirational.

Idea for a story: You mean I have to pick just one? Well, if we're going for a story that's set in Olberic's point of view, I have this idea rotating in my brain like a rotisserie chicken. It's postgame, established (long distance, with some visits) relationship. Olberic basically puts together a little study for Cyrus in his modest house in Cobbleston by collecting books from traveling merchants and building a bookshelf and other furniture. It is so much domestic fluff and I adore it.

Unpopular opinion: I guess I'll stand by what I've said in other posts in that I don't romantically ship him with Erhardt. I don't see it going beyond platonic because of their baggage and I stand by this view!

Favorite relationship: If we're talking romantic ships, well, I ship him with Cyrus, plain and simple. Their travel banters and group/tavern banters give me just enough interaction to realize how well they compliment one another and how much admiration Olberic has for Cyrus's wisdom. Good stuff right there.

Favorite headcanon: Again, I have to pick only one? Okay I'll go for one I included in part 1 of my Oath Keepers AU series. Olberic falls into the habit of marching, as he did when he went to war when he's on a serious mission. It's one of his old instincts to go at that steady pace to get to the action, but be ready to fight once he gets there.

Cyrus Albright

First impression: Smart guy, maybe a bit full of himself? Looks a bit like an aristocrat. Might have a bit of a superiority complex and has to learn to be humble. Easy on the eyes.

Impression now: Very smart guy but NOT full of himself. His whole philosophy is not lording the knowledge he has over others and instead spreading it to anyone who might listen (and even those who don't.) A true champion for public education. Fights against those who would use knowledge to harm others for their own selfish gain, so he's definitely a fave for this reason alone!

Favorite moment: His rebuttal to Lucia in his chapter 4. How she goes on and on about being a genius and how those who are mediocre cannot hope to measure up to her, but Cyrus retorts on how he hasn't given up on mediocrity. While his journey might have been to solve the mystery behind the missing book, Cyrus's discoveries in the Ruins of Eld (all those forsaken tomes) and his refusal to join Lucia up in her ivory tower speak volumes for his character. I believe he'd be one of those spearheading an Age of Enlightenment in Orsterra of such a thing came to pass in their world.

Idea for a story: I have so many but I have to narrow it down to just one! This one is from early game. Victor's Hollow to be exact. Cyrus wants to learn to better defend himself so he spars with Olberic to at least get proficient with a short sword. By the the time the tournament rolls around, Cyrus is no expert but he knows the fundamentals enough to be quite capable.

Unpopular opinion: Those who know me and my rambles will know this. I believe that since Cyrus is one of the eight playable characters and very much a hero of his own story, he could stand to be the hero of a few more fan works too. Let him be strong! Let him come up with clever strategies! Let him truly support the other travelers even if he's not the most physically strong! There is more to strength than (bladed) weapons!

Favorite relationship: Since I already covered Eisenbright with Olberic's entry, I'd say Cyrus's friendship with Odette is one of my favorites. She teases him and while he's exasperated he take it in stride because Odette is wise and she does give him warnings! She knows the type of trouble Cyrus could get into and really is trying to help. It's also shown that Odette is in tune to Cyrus's mystery-solving traits, since she asks for his help in Quarrycrest and he's able to crack the case! Gotta love a trusted friend who knows both his personal life and abilities.

Favorite headcanon: Cyrus knows so much history from his studies he can share new facts about every single town the travelers land in. Yes, even Orewell and Clearbrook. Any facts he doesn't know off-hand he seeks out on his own. Cyrus is more or less a living encyclopedia, and probably goes on to update Atlasdam's actual encyclopedias after his travels.

Erhardt

First impression: Olberic's final boss? Olberic's final boss. The guy just did a regicide on screen. He's probably going to gain all this power and killing the king was just the start. But Olberic will triumph over him because he cares more about protecting people than gaining power. Yep, this guy is definitely the Big Bad.

Impression now: Not the Big Bad, but definitely thoughtless? The man had years to question whether the King of Hornburg truly abandoned his hometown or not. He does some good deeds (like saving the merchants in Wellspring and coming to Olberic's aid in Riverford) but that doesn't erase the fact that his actions played a part in wiping out an entire kingdom. He's complicated for sure. Probably textbook morally gray Anti-Villain turned Anti-Hero.

Favorite moment: The aforementioned moment where he shows up as reinforcements for Olberic in Riverford. Seeing the two swordsmen in action was really something. And it's even better that he holds off the guards and allows Olberic to settle the score with Werner. Good on him.

Idea for a story: A one-shot where he saves the merchant caravan and meets Captain Bale and the people of Wellspring would be nice.

Unpopular opinion: He's pretty but he's still a war criminal. I'm willing to bet he had at least one wanted poster out for his arrest? But maybe Werner made all that disappear with the gold that he assembled (he basically bought his way out of all loose ends.)

Favorite relationship: This is a bit understated, but his friendship with Gaston and Gustav. Especially Gustav. You're telling me that after all these years, Gustav is the only one who actually knows about Erhardt's Tragic Backstory? And that he trusted the Black Knight enough to share it even when they were in the sellsword company together? They have to be rather close, I think (could be platonic, could be otherwise, it's up to interpretation.)

Favorite headcanon: This is more of an AU head canon, but I have this idea that he actually deserted Werner the day after the Fall of Hornburg. That he didn't realize, until it was too late that unarmed civilians (children included) were going to be caught up in Werner's plot to destroy Hornburg. Erhardt was under the impression that only King Alfred, his guards, and his royal court needed to die, but it was a massacre and it broke him, since the fires in Hornburg's town gave him direct flashbacks to the fires of Grynd. Needless to say, he doesn't take this well.

Frederica Aesfrost

First impression: Soft spoken, proper noble girl who is marrying into another noble house. She'll probably have some mysterious power that makes her a MacGuffin of sorts? Mostly wants to marry Serenoa out of duty.

Impression now: My beloved fire nuke! Destroy all the battlefields! YES. Character-wise, she started off as quiet and soft spoken but found her voice when it came to standing up for herself and fighting for her people. Absolute girl boss (affectionate.) She really grows throughout the course of the story, no matter which route you pick.

Favorite moment: The moment where she stands up to Erika and Thalas on the bridge battle. Gameplay wise it was hard but the dialogue that she shares with her siblings when she finally starts fighting back against their taunts is *chef's kiss* perfection. Now if she had this sorta dialogue vs. Gustadolph it would've been the icing on the cake but alas. Missed opportunity.

Idea for a story: Nobody Dies, Everybody Lives, No War AU. The entire plot centers around her and Serenoa's wedding and how there is family in-fighting and Frederica finally decides she's going to uninvite her siblings for acting so rude to her new family-to-be. Her dear cousin Dragan and uncle Svarog can stay though. And she walks down the aisle with her uncle's blessing and her cousin drunk and shedding tears about how grown up she's become.

Unpopular opinion: I don't know many popular opinions to really say what's unpopular. I just know I appreciate her writing a heck of a lot and she at least doesn't take a sudden left turn (unlike a certain someone who shall not be named.)

Favorite relationship: Her war time slow burn with Serenoa. Even though their wedding is more or less put on hold because of a war suddenly breaking out between nations, she sticks by her husband-to-be. She fights alongside him, shares conversations with him, and they grow to understand one another. It's why the chapter 17 split hits so hard if you choose the path she can't follow. It's evident in the other chapters she truly cares for Serenoa but she also has her beliefs and she's willing to fight for them. At least from what I understand in the Golden Route, those two traits are compatible and she's fighting alongside Serenoa for his convictions and beliefs.

Favorite headcanon: Frederica is a survivor. No matter which route she's in, she finds a way to endure through her hardships and keep hope alive. In the Golden Route she absolutely gives it her all "for a better world."

Erador

First impression: Loud, impulsive, maybe not the brightest (affectionate)? Fiercely loyal and might clash with Benedict on occasion.

Impression now: Absolute MVP in story and in gameplay. He's always there to support Serenoa and the rest of House Wolffort. Knows how to spend his downtime, often seeing Hossabara for a drink and interacting with a lot of the recruits. A real people person.

Favorite moment: His early story moment where he's getting excited about the tournament. I loved his enthusiasm! And even when the war rages on he doesn't let anything get him down. A true optimist if I ever saw one, even if he doesn't shy away from remembering his life and times in the Saltiron War.

Idea for a story: A small one. More drunken conversations with Corentin about how to better use his ice magic research. Maybe they try the never-melting ice in their drinks.

Unpopular opinion: I'm not sure if I want him in a romantic relationship with Benedict given the tactician's tendencies to do the whole "manipulate mansplain" act. Let's just say that the Liberty ending left me very, very sour to Benedict/Erador since I feel that Benedict wouldn't be above using Erador in one of his schemes.

Favorite relationship: His friendship with Hossabara. They seem to go way back and have a lot of stories to share. He also knows when to tone down his usual cheeriness (like when Hossabara mentions her son) - he gets more subdued. They have an "old friends" sort of vibe that I like very much.

Favorite headcanon: Extremely light sleeper, much to Benedict's annoyance. Since he's trained to be a shield bearing soldier all his life (ready to defend House/Castle Wolffort at a moment's notice), Erador reacts to the slightest sounds even when it isn't warranted. Some examples are stray dogs and cats, crickets, and even a dream that Lord Symon called him to arms. Despite all this, Benedict has chosen to remain in the bedroom next to Erador's in case of the event of an actual attack, where they can both be ready to face it head-on.

#ask game #replied #wow this was a lot #long post #Octopath Traveler #Triangle Strategy #Olberic Eisenberg #Cyrus Albright #Frederica Aesfrost #Erador #Forgive typos it's 10 PM

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jeanmoreaux · 1 year

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Hi friend!! Hope you’re not annoyed yet getting asks about sab 🤣

But something has been chugging my brain lately and it’s the hallucination scenes in the show

While it was a lovely kanej scene we got—-to me, if I was really gonna go all out as a writer making the screenplay for this show (let me imagine shhhh) I do think it would be more accurate (and yes depressing) to have Inej hallucinate about her family :< or her worst memory being taken from them or from her days at the Menagerie (brutal I know but…Inej has such a deep backstory and I feel they’ve only lightly skimmed the surface so shallowly too) . Punch the audience in the face!! These characters are wholly unique as individuals and even better together PLEASE

That’s all and I totally agree with your comments saying this whole shebang was some skimmed milk version of…not even real milk. Just a faker milk 😂😂😂

i am not annoyed at all i am so happy people are sharing their thoughts and impressions with me!! what you're saying about the hallucination sequence OMG OMG OMG L I T E R A L L Y what i have been thinking. like, the entire hallucination plot was basically just a means to give us some kanej content instead of fleshing out a character with such a complex backstory!!! just proves what i have been saying over an over again: THEY FOCUSED ON PANDERING WHEN THEY SHOULD HAVE FOCUSED ON CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT!!! they literally sacrificed an opportunity for character work for the sake of fanservice. it's so frustrating and tbh a stellar example of the many things wrong with this season. how can you have someone like inej and NOT explore her character to its fullest???????? explain me that. the writers are acting like kaz is the only character effected by trauma in the kanej dynamic (frankly even in the crows' group dynamic but that's besides the point here) when inej has gone through so much that's still eating at her as well. she has her own baggage to deal and cope with. that's also WHY she is so adamant about kaz getting his shit together first which adds such another layer to their dynamic. a layer that the writers simply choose to ignore. it's like the writers are afraid to explore meaningful themes like how surviving sexual assault influences your life and your relationships. do they think it takes from kanej??? or makes inej any less of a strong female character? which would be stupid bc, for me, her fighting prowess and knife skills were always the least impressive thing about her. but then again they let alina keep her powers so, you know, i don't think these people are yet ready to fathom what makes female characters strong besides kicking ass in a physical fight.

#SO RAMBLY AND INCOHERENT I AM SORRY. this got away from me.#aanywayyy #hi there!! hope you're doing well <333 #so glad we're both tuned into the same frequency when it comes to sab #what a mess. what a travesty. what a letdown.#answer #anon #shadow and bones spoilers #shadow and bones #mish watches sab

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pridepages · 1 year

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eARC Review: In the Case of Heartbreak

A HUGE thank you to Netgalley and Kensington Books for providing me an eARC in exchange for an honest review!

RATING: ⭐⭐⭐

GOODREADS SYNOPSIS: Ben has been baking his grandma’s cinnamon rolls at the family café for years. He’s been quietly in love with Adam Reed, his musician-slash-mechanic neighbor, for just as long. But Ben’s done waiting behind the pastry case. He’s entered a make-or-break competition to show off his own recipes. He’s going to buy his overprotective family out of the business. And he’s going to ask Adam out. TONIGHT. Except his big plans get punched down before they even half-rise. Soon Ben is dashing down the coast to his grandma’s 80th birthday party on the beach, hiding his broken heart in Maywell Bay, California. Sun, sea, and fresh breezes should blow in something new—except they don’t. They blow in Adam Reed, grinning like a pirate and stealing the show as the musical entertainment hired by Grandma for her big bash. Grandma’s signature Heartbreak Tea is the only remedy, and Grandma’s tea could take the paint off a fence. But there’s a burn of truth along with the booze in his bottle, and Ben has a decision to make. Can he take the sweetness in front of him, and brave the bitterness that comes after? Or is a little sea salt just what this cinnamon roll needs?

RELEASE DATE: 7/25/23

See my full review under the cut!

Sun, sand, summer romance...and cinnamon rolls? Maybe not the most intuitive combination, but it’s a winning one for Courtney Kae’s second Fern Falls installment: In the Case of Heartbreak.

Followers may recall that I was less than enthusiastic about the Fern Falls premiere In the Event of Love. The problems I had were that the novel felt slickly self-aware without compensating by being particularly clever, predictability of plot, and characters that made disappointing choices. The standouts of book one for me were in fact supporting characters Ben and Adam. So when I learned that a sequel starring them was on the way, I hit the request button at lightspeed in hopes that Kae would impress me on a second round.

Let me make this clear: this is a romance novel. Fern Falls isn’t going to provide us the next Great American Novel. And that’s totally fine! And I have to give credit where it’s due: Kae’s storytelling definitely matured.

First of all, the plot felt less formulaic. In book one, there was a simple set of stakes: save the Reed Family Tree Farm and get the girls together. In book two, Ben faces a more complex set of competing interwoven and escalating stakes that are both practical and emotional. All of his conflicts have direct bearing upon his emotional arcs and his relationships with other people. Even better, the resolutions also tie into his emotional growth, so all the arcs neatly weave together even if the ‘hows’ weren’t visible a hundred miles away this time.

Secondly, the backdrop may be sunny, but the themes have darkened: childhood trauma casts a long shadow over both of our heroes. Their journey becomes one of self-awareness and growth, learning how to come together in spite of the emotional baggage that hinders them. I give more credit to the development of this romance than I did the one in book one. It feels like there is a logic both to what initially keeps Ben and Adam apart, and how they eventually find their way to each other.

I only have a couple of concerns, but they do have big impact.

One: Ben and Adam lack distinct voices. Strangely, I felt like they had more individuality and life in book one. I’m not sure what it is about putting them in the spotlight, but sometimes it’s hard to tell them apart when they speak. Having distinct voices is what makes characters live in our imaginations and our memories, so this is a massive drawback.

Two: Kae has a tendency to rely a lot upon allusions to pop culture. While a couple here and there are okay, the problem is here there are many and if for some reason the reader doesn’t catch the reference meaning is going to be lost. Nods like that should be used like sea salt: sparingly and for a hint of spice!

Three: sometimes Kae’s prose feels...clinical. By which I mean that in an effort to show how aware her characters are of things like social justice and the benefits of therapy, they stop talking or thinking like real people and it can swerve into forced, preachy territory. (For example: Ben at one point spontaneously ruminates on how lucky he is to have access to therapy for his depression. I agree with that sentiment, but I don’t know a single person outside of having a conversation specifically about healthcare injustice who would break their inner monologue to comment on that. It felt like a PSA more than a real person thinking.)

Still, I found anxious, childhood-traumatized Ben relatable. Maybe that colored my enjoyment of this book, pushing me more in its favor, but there were some incredibly moving passages about the nature of feeling broken and having difficulty learning how to love. And I have to hand it to Kae, the crux of this novel is as sweet and rich as one of Ben’s cinnamon rolls: love can nourish us, but first we have to learn how to let it in.

#in the case of heartbreak #courtney kae #mlm #gay #pansexual #bisexual #lgbt reads #queer lit #earc review

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the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 3 years

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the storyteller a munkustrap fanmix [listen]

#CATS Musical #Munkustrap #fanmix #my fanmix #my posts #i can't do things in halves apparently - all three brothers need their own list #(tugger in coming)#also while i was making this i really was thinking about the levels of complexity we can read into munk #beyond just the 'he's the protector and the dad and keeps everyone safe'#he IS that - but i feel he's also a torn and troubled individual #who has his own baggage that often comes at the expense of his own well being #he wanted to run away from his responsibility too - he's lonely too - but i feel like he feels as though he has no right to that you know?#but he's also...vibrant and jubilant - something about the thought of him referring to his fellow cats as brothers and sisters just...#hits right #hope that comes through #idk that's just what i think #again this is all based in a reading i have of munk in my head #and some of these are borderline shippy but in the way i would feel munk feels about it #(and are also kinda specific to my ships but general enough that you can apply to many)#also yes i included let it go - yes i regret that (no not really it's a good song when it isn't be shoved down your windpipe)

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neoculturetravesty · 3 years

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Rough but soft

Image taken from here.

Pairing: Johnny x Reader Genre: smut, pwp, romance, angst Warnings: 18+, soft dom Johnny, oral (female receiving), protected sex, rough sex, fingering, anus rubbing (female receiving), mild choking, hickeys, lots and lots of angst. Reader wants Johnny to have at her but she also wants so much more. Readers comes with lots of self-doubt, baggage and insecurities. Word Count: 8.2k+ words of straight up filth and angst aka my fav combo

Summary: You’re so tired of trying to find a man who would understand the deep complexities of what you need, sleeping with him, being utterly unsatisfied and then spending the next few weeks avoiding him because you were too ashamed. You were tired of baring your soul, your body, the inner workings of your mind to yet another man who couldn’t satisfy you. So when you meet Johnny Suh, you know right away that he would be the man that makes all your wet dreams come true. But you shouldn’t want him. He’s an idol, and you work for him. You have no right to want him, to lust after him... and you definitely have no right to catch feelings for him.

A/N: This one is for all my Johnny stans! I didn’t plan for this one-shot to get so long but ugh, once I started writing, all my demons were unleashed. Hope you like it!

You could’ve sworn your apartment was the hottest it had ever been. You didn’t remember messing with the thermostat or closing any windows. You weren’t exactly dressed warmly, either. You were just in your underwear with a pretty spaghetti sleeved top on. Perhaps the heat had more to do with the fact that you were sat on the lap of a man you really liked or the fact that the two of you had been furiously making out for the past ten minutes.

Johnny’s hands were all over you. They were in your hair, pulling you towards him, angling your head every which way to get more purchase with his tongue. Then his hands were on the small of your back pushing up into your top to feel your bare skin. And when his hands had enough of the skin there, they were up and down the curve of your legs that were curled up into him as you sat side saddle. While your pants laid discarded on the floor, his clothes were still fully on but you supposed there was some use for that by how strongly you were clutching onto the lapel of his jacket.

Your brain was so fuzzy with the scent of him that you couldn’t even remember what had brought this on. The last thing you remembered was Johnny showing up at your door unannounced, a couple of bottles of soju in hand. Your past few meets had been similarly unplanned, so for convenience’s sake and definitely not anything else, you just went ahead and gave him the code of your apartment. Yes, it was way too early on in the relationship--if you could even call it that, whatever the two of you were doing. You could sense that he was taken aback by it. Whether he was moved by it, or whether to be polite, he had pulled you into him and kissed you.

Now the soju laid abandoned on the table as you drank one another in. He kissed you deeply now, as you sat on him on the couch, like he had been thirsty for days and your tongue quenched him. He was taking the lead in this unrestrained makeout session. But you knew that. He knew that. It’s what you had wanted. It’s what you had asked of him.

You were really putting yourself out there, sharing your deepest secrets and unholy desires with a man you weren’t supposed to be with. But the moment you had met Johnny, you could tell that he felt your energy and you certainly felt his. You knew right away what the both of you had wanted from one another, even if you didn’t say it. You knew it in the way he would entrap you with his gaze when you talked to him. You knew it in the way his arm would pull you in when someone passed by you. You knew it in the way he would let his touch linger any time his hands accidentally brushed against you. It had taken a few dates for you to get to this point, but now this… this was the point of no return. You had to be brave and finally get what you had always craved; or chicken out and go back to being unsatisfied as ever from yet another relationship.

Other men did not give you what you wanted, what you truly wanted; which was to feel a controlled loss of control, not just of the body but also of the mind. You wanted someone who could, quite crassly, hold you down and have at you, but also whisper sweet nothings in your ear while he did so. You wanted a cerebral connection of the souls and you wanted an animalistic gratification of the bodies at the same time. You wanted to have your cake and eat it too. You were so tired of the cycle--of trying to find a man you thought would understand the deep complexities of what you needed, sleeping with him, being utterly unsatisfied and then spending the next few weeks avoiding him because you were too ashamed. You were tired of baring your soul, your body, the inner workings of your mind to yet another man who couldn’t satisfy you.

When you first met Johnny, you knew right away that this man had what it takes to make all your wet dreams come true. Like his presence validated all that you felt without having to use the words. You felt it in your gut, even when you hadn’t been with him. Your gut could very well have been wrong, because God knows you’ve been wrong so many times before. But your feeling was strong this time... and you just had to find out. So you had approached him.

You knew you were being reckless by being with Johnny in this way. He was, obviously, a famous person, but also--you worked for him. You were a young professional who had finally landed a job in a big company. If someone were to find out, that would mean the end of your career. Johnny could possibly get away with an apology letter that his team would help him curate. But you would be done for. You knew it was risky the first time you slept with him. You knew it the second time. But now as you met for the third time, hungrily kissing one another, you knew things were different. Because, finally, the two of you had been honest about how you wanted one another.

Over the past couple of weeks, you had finally started to communicate in words what the two of you had already felt in one another’s energy. He admitted that he craved you in a much coarser way than he had let on the first couple of times. And you had told him about all your indecent fantasies and how wilfully you wanted to be used, to be claimed, to be made to feel something.

“It’s always the quiet ones.” Johnny had chuckled back then and you supposed he was right. That’s how people saw you. The quiet one, the determined one, the one that gets her work done on time, the one that never breaks the rules. Onlooking men thought you were some sort of a righteous Virgin Mary because of the innocence on your face. Part of you wondered if being with Johnny was a rebellion against all those men who had ever put you on that unwarranted pedestal. But you also knew that it wasn’t. Because you didn’t just want a body to unleash your lecherous demons on. You wanted it with him, with Johnny, with the man who was slowly lighting your fire, no matter how much you told yourself that it was a bad idea.

That man in question was now softly panting in your face, because his lips had finally unlatched themselves from yours for the first time in 10 minutes. He smiles at you and then buries himself in the junction between your shoulder and neck, kissing and sucking and talking.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I couldn’t get any work done because I kept thinking about you.” He says into your neck, sucking down on the skin and you knew he was marking you because it makes you moan out. There is a smile on his face as he pulls back to look at you. He takes your hand in his and leads it to the inside of his thigh, making you feel his hardness through the rough fabric of his pants.

“You feel that? I’ve been like this all day thinking about you.” he says while you look at him with your lips parted. He kisses you again, making you lean back, feeling his heat build under you.

“I want you to feel the same. I want to make you feel exactly what you do to me.” He says and now his warm hand is slipping into the front of your underwear and you feel the quickening of your heartbeat. You begin softly moaning before he’s even done anything, simply from the anticipation. But then his fingers are flush against your warmth, rubbing up and down, no purpose yet, just feeling.

He’s close to you, too close, you can feel the heat coming off his face on your own skin, you can feel his breath fanning against you. His lips are close enough that they brush against yours as he coos at you “My pretty girl is so wet for me.” The heel of his palm is steady on your clit, pressing down but not giving you as much friction as you need, while his fingers move over and between your folds, feeling your warmth, your wetness, spreading it around as if to see how slick he can make it. His lips have found their way to the base of your throat now and he’s kissing, he’s nipping and he’s sucking and fuck your life because it is turning you on so much you feel like you would spontaneously combust. You’re melting against him at the same time you’re tensing and Johnny can feel your want grow on his fingers. He pulls back to see his work on your skin.

“Mmm, are you going to spend the next week hiding this away, baby?” He asks while his palm keeps cupping your sex, fingers feeling you up, overheating your flesh. It’s rude, the way his hand is down your underwear, the way he is marking you, the way he is talking to you. But your skin is on fire and you’re putty in his arms and fuck, you wouldn’t mind if he were ruder.

“Let me mark you where it would be easier to hide.” He says sweetly and suddenly, his hand that was cradling the small of your back is at the delicate strap of your top and his fingers are looping at your neckline, gently pulling down till he’s made your breast bare and he’s bowing into it, sucking on the first spot of skin his lips could find. Your own lips part and your fingers find his hair as he makes quick work of you, pulling away with a wet, vulgar sound, smiling down at the growing redness on your smooth skin. He blows on it, making you shiver.

“There. Fuck, baby, you look so pretty wearing my marks.” he sighs and then fixes your top over your shoulder so you’re covered again, and somehow, that chivalrous act makes you more bashful than being exposed did. His lips are back on yours and his arm is behind your neck, supporting you. His fingers in your underwear are becoming bolder, circling your needy hole, loving how the more he rubs it, the more you leak out your need onto him. He enjoys having that control over you for a moment, breaking the kiss just so he can watch the contorts of your face as he continues his slow torture. But seeing you like this stirs something more feral in him and suddenly his hand goes lower and starts to rub you where it feels forbidden. You freeze.

For a moment, your breath hitches in your throat and your eyes shoot open. Fuck, you can’t think. This man has actually put you on your wit’s end. He’s rubbing you there like he knew how you’d react and he just wanted to have this power over you. A display of his claim over your body. You suddenly feel impossibly shy, though the emotion is too mild to truly describe the storm that’s building in you. Your mind is racing, wondering fuck, fuck fuck, do you want this? Do you really want this? Was this something you had talked about with him? Fuck, you can’t remember. But if you’re not sure, why the fuck is it making you so fucking wet?

His lips pressing into your forehead bring you out of your commotion. “Don’t worry, pretty girl, I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to.” he says gently, like he read your mind and Jesus Christ, you almost come from the striking contrast between his soft words, his nurturing kiss and the absolutely filthy action of his fingers on your pucker, rubbing not to pleasure but to feel, to claim, almost as if to say ‘Look, I can touch you here.’

“Johnny, please, do something.” you plead at him because frankly, you’ve had enough. Now you just want him to rip away at your remaining clothes and have at it, to have you, to fuck you like he was too polite to do the first couple of times.

But one thing you’ve learnt in the time you’ve been working together (and also the time you’ve spent under him between the sheets) is that Johnny is a patient man. He’s smiling when he looks at you and his voice is so caring in contrast to his presence when he says “Does my baby want more?”

“Yes, please, Johnny, please.” you’re pulling onto his jacket because your hands can’t find purchase anywhere else and you’re whining because you’re needy and the anticipation has been building up for a couple of weeks and you’ve had enough. You want him and you want him now.

Thankfully, he doesn’t tease you any longer because he withdraws his hand from your underwear, hooks his arm under your knees whilst the other cradles your shoulders and he’s lifting you off bridal style and making his way to your room. It blows your mind how Johnny can be filthy and romantic at the same time. He sets you down politely and you prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him as he takes off his jacket. You’d be lying if you said that Johnny simply taking his jacket off wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever seen. You had yourself a fine man in front of you and he had made it tonight’s mission to please you. Your eyes were hooded as you looked at him lustfully. He notices and sinks to his knees, pulling your legs till you were on the edge of the bed.

“My girl’s been waiting for this, hasn’t she?” he says and peppers kisses on the inside of your thigh before he loops his fingers around the band of your underwear and slowly slides it down your legs. He looks at you lying bare for him, basically nude and he inhales. “What a pretty sight.” he mutters and then his lips finally go straight for your clit, his tongue rolling over it and over it, his hands holding your legs apart and you let out a deep exhale because yes, yes, yes, this is what you wanted. He’s wasted no time because you told him you needed more and he was all too happy to oblige. So you lay back into the sheets, taking deep breaths, being fascinated by the rise and fall of your own chest. Johnny had learnt early on that you were the quiet type in bed, but tonight, he was determined to make you moan more than you had before.

You let your head fall back and your eyes close as you feel his warm tongue roll generously over your nub, his mouth servicing you till your hips are grinding against him. The need builds and now you want an erotic visual to help you along so you lift up and tug on his shirt and he understands because he straightens up and pulls it off of him. You see the beautiful caramel planes of his toned chest; your mouth waters. He’s hovering over you now, kissing you with lips that are still covered in your scent till you’re crawling back into the bed. He adjusts your head onto the pillows, making sure you’re comfortable which tells you that he’s not nearly done.

He puts another pillow under your hips and settles between your legs once more. He holds your gaze as he lowers himself and slowly spits down onto your clit. He looks at you, as if challenging you to stop him and uses the pad of his thumb to rub the slobber around. The sight is as vulgar as it is titillating and suddenly you find yourself thanking the heavens above that you found Johnny Suh.

“Does that feel good, baby?” he asks with a voice like honey and you look down at him.

“Yes. More, Johnny, please, I want more.” you tell him because fuck, you need it bad, and he nods. He brings his hand to your opening then and gently rubs till he is covered in your slick, then carefully eases his middle finger into you. You’re impossibly wet and he likes it. He wants you to be this turned on.

He starts to move his finger, slowly fucking you with it then brings his mouth hot on your clit, licking deep, luxuriously strokes onto it. “Is this better, baby?” he asks but you reply with a pent out moan, your hands instinctively going to clutch your breasts, squeezing them through your top that isn’t doing a very good job at covering you.

Johnny watches and he is pleased with himself. Pleased that he is making you this way, that you’re getting what you want from him. You both shared in your greed of a very similar sexual palette. Lately, you had been open to him about it and Johnny was so grateful to have met you. It turned him on to be with a woman who was so in tune with her needs. It turned him on more to know that he was the one fulfilling them.

“More, Johnny, please… faster…” you guide him and he hurries to add another finger inside you and suddenly you’re smiling wide because it feels so fucking good. Your hands go to his hair, tugging on it, pressing his head into you even more and you’re grinding up into his face like a harlot, because frankly speaking, you don’t remember being this fucking horny in a good while. You can’t bring yourself to be self-conscious in this moment because it feels so good, so decadent, so freeing, and you can’t tell if you’re being louder than usual.

Johnny can. Because he’s not stopping and now he’s moaning into your slick warmth and his entire mouth is sweet with your taste and he knows you’re close so he only lifts up briefly to say “Come for me, baby.” and you’re pulling his hair, biting your lip, digging one heel so far into the mattress your leg is numb and you’re coming apart on his fingers. Johnny doesn’t stop through it, prolonging your orgasm while your entire body tenses, then comes to life before you let out a deep, happy exhale and Johnny finally lets go, rubbing the insides of your thighs to calm you.

You grin at him and sit up to kiss him, your fingers splayed behind his neck, kissing him in gratitude for making you feel good, tasting your nectar on his lips, then rubbing your palms on his firm chest. You look down towards what could only be his growing need and your fingers fumble to undo his fly. You begin to get on your hands and knees but he stops you.

“Johnny, let me--” you begin wanting to reciprocate the favor, looking up at him but his expression makes your voice get caught in your throat. His eyes are hooded, dark, lustful.

“No. I want to be inside you. I want to fuck you, right here in your pussy.” he said shortly, and you think you might die. How could those curt, pornographic words turn you on so much? It’s not like you hadn’t heard them before from several other men. Perhaps it was the fact that this particular man had only ever spoken to you with polite respect before. To hear such filthy words from his handsome mouth was an experience you were never going to forget. You wanted him with all the heat that was building up between your legs. But, also... there was something else that you wouldn’t allow yourself to think. That you wanted him because perhaps, you were falling for him, no matter how much you tried to stop yourself.

Johnny reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. He finds a condom and holds the foil between his teeth while he gets off the bed to rid himself of his pants. Suddenly, and without any sort of a warning, your heart begins to sink.

You don’t know what it is, but while you sit there watching Johnny strip himself, you feel something deep in the pit of your stomach. You don’t recognize this emotion… this sinking feeling. Is it despair? It can’t be, but it comes close. Is it fright? No, that definitely wasn’t it. You try to think back to all the times you’ve had this feeling in your belly and finally, you identify it. This feeling felt a lot like heartbreak.

You couldn’t understand what was going on inside your head. It was as if behind your crazed sexual want for Johnny in your conscious, your subconscious was fighting you with another, more pressing craving. Like watching him pull out that condom had confirmed some sort of a fear, but you simply couldn’t put your finger on which one it was.

You’re confused. All this man did was extract a condom from his wallet. Why did that break your heart? Shouldn’t you be happy that for once in your sexual escapades, a man had been the one to be prepared? Shouldn’t you be relieved that the man you were sleeping with was putting your safety first? Then what was this strange feeling in the pit of your stomach? You’re still pondering it over whilst Johnny rolls the culpable rubber onto himself and makes his way to you. And when his lips are on yours again, you finally work it out. Your traitor mind had had a thought that broke through the giddiness of your happy orgasm and put a stinging doubt in your heart: ‘He brought a condom because he only came here for sex.’

Johnny notices a change in your demeanor by the way your kiss is less present. He pulls back and strokes the top of your head. “Are you sure you still want it that way, baby? We can go easy if you’ve changed your mind.” He kisses you again as if to tell you that he means it.

“I don’t want you to go easy. I want you to show me how far you can take it.” you say resoundingly. You’re not sure why you’ve said this despite the tempest in your mind. Maybe your fucking libido is betraying you again.

He looks at you for a moment as if trying to read your face, then kisses your lips once more. “Okay, baby. But remember, you can tell me to stop any time, okay?” he assures you and you’re reminded that he really has the patience of a saint. Because his cock is thick and angry with want yet he’s still taking the time to communicate the logistics of what you’re about to do.

“I will.” you nod. “Johnny, please… just… just fuck me, please.” You beg because you’ve decided… this is what you want. You want it this way at least once, because you won’t be able to stand not knowing. If your heart breaks at the end of this, so be it. You were used to it. And if this would be the last you would see of Johnny, you wanted to make it count.

He doesn’t need telling twice because now that you’re begging, his mind is clouded with the need to own you. So he pushes your legs back into your chest, laying you bare and open for him. You feel vulnerable in this position, too vulnerable, especially with what your mind is doing to you. Usually, it would take you some time to build up to this stance but he wants to start here, where he’s in control and that’s the shit you signed up for. Your breath is quickening in your chest from nervous anticipation and you cry out when Johnny makes his first, unforgiving stroke straight into your core.

Your eyes close and you’re not sure if you moaned out from pain, pleasure, frustration, emotion, or everything rolled into one. Johnny stills, bracing himself on the backs of your thighs. His own eyes are closed as well and you’re both getting used to the sensation, the fullness, the tightness. He exhales, and brings his lips to your forehead and then to your lips and then he stays there.

His left hand keeps holding onto your leg but his right hand creeps up your body till it softly closes around your throat. You feel the effect of this simple action in your core and in the way it squeezes around him, making him hiss.

“I’m going to fuck you now, okay baby?” he says to prepare you and you nod and suddenly he’s slamming into you and it’s pulled such an infernal keen out of you that you’re sure this is it. This is what you’ve always wanted, this is the feeling you’ve been chasing all your life. Your head had rolled to its side, your cheek pressing into the pillow to absorb the intensity you feel while Johnny is hovering over you, hand braced around your neck, pumping into you right from the start.

Your body is jolting up in time with his thrusts, your breasts lewdly moving under your top. Johnny is looking down at you in wonder, timing his movements to his grunts and watching your face through all the emotions. It’s too much too soon and your hands are flying meaninglessly to grip at something, something that would anchor you because fuck, Johnny has set a pace that you can’t possibly match right from the start. You try to grip at the sheets, or the pillow under your hips but you finally settle on Johnny’s arms. You’re pulling at him as if you want this to end, as if you’re telling him to stop but you don’t want him to stop. You never want him to stop.

“Is this what you wanted, babygirl? Is this how you wanted to be fucked?” Johnny asks as he keeps slamming into you. Why the fuck did it hurt so good? You usually liked there to be a build up, to have it start low and slow and build to it’s crescendo. So how come you were allowing this man to use your body like this and how come you never wanted this moment to end?

“Yes, yes, yes, Johnny, please… don’t stop, don’t stop…” the sound of your own voice shocks you, almost like you’re having an out of body experience and you’re actually dismayed by how manic you sound. Your voice is thick with lust, it is breathless, your pussy is the wettest it has ever been because you can feel your own slick running down your cleft. You can feel Johnny stirring places inside you you weren’t sure existed. His own moans have picked up and his hand around your throat has tightened, as if he were truly using it to anchor himself.

“Can I go faster, baby?” He asks with a strained voice and you take no time in answering “Yesss!” even though your eyebrows knit together from how much this is already.

His eyes close and he bares his teeth, almost like he was in pain and was trying to absorb it and then he lays over you, his head is by your shoulder while his hand never leaves your neck and suddenly, he’s moaning out, going faster, fucking you into the mattress.

The carnal sounds of your skins slapping and Johnny’s deep moans probably mask the fact that you’re crying out. Your hands are around Johnny’s wide back, your head is pressing into his shoulder, you’re clinging onto him with everything you have… you’re almost hanging onto him while he fucks you down, going so fast you feel lightheaded.

“Johnny please, I need to come.” you whimper and you’re not sure if you’re sobbing or not.

“No, no, baby, just let me go a bit longer.” he whines into your neck like he was in heaven and never wanted to leave. So you take deep breaths, you try to lay back and let Johnny have at it, give him what he needs because he was giving you what you needed. But his moans are hot in your neck, his weight is luxurious over your body, his length is so good inside you that you can’t really hold out any longer, no matter how much you’re trying to let him have his time.

“Johnny, please, I need to come or I will die.” you all but growl at him. You’ve never heard your voice sound like that but you can’t bring yourself to care.

He pulls back and then brings one hand to the top of your head, cradling it, stroking it. “Look at me, baby.”

You try, you really try but he’s giving you so much pleasure, it feels almost sinful to take it with eyes wide open but his hand on your neck has come up to grab at your jaw, holding your chin.

“No, no, no, baby, don’t hide from me. Look at me. I’m not going to let you come if you don’t look at me.” he says and now he’s using his words to own you, too, not just his body and this doesn’t help the matter. You get so fucking turned on that you want your release now and you realize that the only way you’re going to get it is if you obey. That thought alone is as profane as it is freeing.

So you look at him, and you’re worried about how wanton you look, how disheveled you look, how disoriented you look. But he’s holding your head prisoner, grabbing your chin, cradling the crown of your head, looking down at you so tenderly while he fucks into you.

He pecks your lips romantically and says “Come for me now, pretty girl.” and you finally meet your sweet, sweet relief. You’re whining, you’re panting, you’re frowning, every single muscle in your body is tensing against him, but you dare not look away. You don’t even realize how deep your fingertips are digging into both his biceps while you come on his cock and he moves in you through it all, holding your gaze.

“I’ve got you, baby, I’ve got you...” he keeps assuring you, stroking your head while you shake and quiver under him.

It’s the first time you’ve done this, looked at your partner through your orgasm, being made to keep your eyes open just to connect with him in a moment of complete and utter vulnerability. It is godless. It is liberating. It is the most erotic thing you’ve ever done.

You didn’t realize you were straining your neck till your head falls back into the pillows and you feel the tension subside. You feel spent and you thank the heavens above that Johnny has stilled in you. In your euphoria, you didn’t register whether Johnny got to finish or not. He’s kissing you in a way that is--dare you say it? So loving. You push that thought away to let your mind ponder over something else: damn, Johnny Suh is a talented man. He’s smiling when he looks at you and kisses you deep.

“You look so beautiful when you come for me like that.” He strokes the side of your face sweetly and then his hands are tugging your top off of you, making you completely exposed to him. The hickey he gave you earlier is blooming now and he hums deeply in his chest as he sees it.

“You need a matching one here.” he says and begins to mark you on the other side, but it doesn’t extract quite the same reaction from you as the first one had done because you’re too spent. Johnny doesn’t seem to mind because he’s letting you lay back as he kneads at your breasts, tongue circling over your peaks. You lazily run your fingers in his hair. He comes up and kisses the side of your face.

“Are you okay, baby?” he asks kindly and you nod, pulling his head into a slow kiss as your answer.

“Mmm, okay, good. Because I’m not done with you yet.” he says in between kisses and that’s when you realize he’s still hard. So he hadn’t, in fact, finished.

He brings his fingers to your clit and circles gently but you jump away from his touch, grabbing at his wrist. “No, I don’t think I can take that anymore.” you tell him desperately and he takes mercy on you.

“Then flip over for me.” He pulls out of you carefully and it’s then that you realize how swollen you are. You’re going to be sore tomorrow, you know it. When you take too long, he grabs at your waist, turning you on your belly and swats at your ass. You gasp, more at the sound of the impact than the impact itself and then your motivation is back. You want to please your man. You want him to come for you.

Johnny takes a pillow and places it vertically and lays you on top of it, giving you something to hold onto. It feels soft and comfortable. He’s been chivalrous so far. He’s been taking care of you and so he feels like he’s earned his keep. He can have you any way he wants. So he spreads your cheeks with both hands and licks at your hole a few times, just to make sure you’re still wet enough for what he’s about to do. He takes his hardness in his hands and lays himself on top of you carefully, not with his entire weight, though… he’s still supporting himself on his free arm that’s on your side. He rubs his tip against you a few times and you gasp with how swollen and sensitive you feel.

“Ready, baby?” he says in your ear and you can hear him so much more intimately in this position. He listens for your approval and then he pushes into you so fast, it has you yelping, it has your chest lifting off the pillow you’ve been hugging, it has you panicking, saying

“Johnny, wait, wait, wait, wait, please…” your sentence ends in more gasping sounds of discomfort. Johnny snakes an arm under you, holding onto your shoulders and his lips are on your temple, kissing over and over.

“Shh… baby… shhh, it’s me, it’s only me…” he reassures you and you know in your heart he’s never going to hurt you, but you simply couldn’t have held back your visceral reaction. He feels it, feels the anxiety in your body because he’s easing your head into the crook of his elbow and his lips are kissing at your temple and your shoulder so tenderly, you feel like you’re going to cry. “I’m going to go slow, okay?” he tells you softly. He cradles you with his arm that’s around your shoulders and snakes his other arm under you, his hand splaying out over your abdomen. He pulls you up into him, kissing your skin repeatedly to communicate care and then he starts moving into you, slow.

You whimper, but there is no pain now, only pleasure. You’re biting your lip because somehow it still feels intense, even at this pace. Rough or soft, this man was making you feel things you had only ever fantasized about. ‘Is it always going to be like this?’ you wonder, but you stop yourself. You didn’t have the luxury to have such thoughts because there wasn’t going to be another time. The thought has tears stinging in your eyes and you hide your face in Johnny’s forearm that’s encasing your chest.

Thankfully, it works because Johnny is cooing in your ear again “Does it feel good now, baby?” and it does, fuck, it does, but you don’t want him to be this nice if it’s going to make you have such treacherous thoughts. So you say,

“Faster. I want it hard.”

Johnny turns your head with his hand so he can look at you when he asks “Are you sure, baby?”

You nod and while he’s not totally convinced, it’s what you’ve asked. It’s what you’d been asking the past couple of weeks. So he has to oblige. He strengthens his cradling arms and pulls you into him tighter as if to buckle you up and then he lifts his hips and starts moving into you faster and you hear the slapping of his skin on yours once again.

His forearm moves higher from the planes of your chest to your neck and suddenly, he’s holding you in a headlock, and even if he’s not applying any pressure, it’s enough to make you moan. His breaths are more labored now and so he talks.

“Fuck, Y/N… I think about you all the time. All I ever do is think about you. Did you know that?” he groans right in your ear and your heart swells. You feel hopeful again, like you were before he had pulled the condom out. Your moan comes out in a broken laugh, like a sound of relief but you’re pleading at him again.

“Faster, please, please…” you beg and he wants to give you everything so he lays his entire weight on top of you and really pins you down. It takes a lot of effort, but he wants to please you and soon he manages to build a rhythm that’s so impossibly fast that you feel nothing but him, hear nothing but him, think nothing but him. You don’t realize that you’re chanting his name over and over, you don’t realize that you’re pulling onto his forearm around your neck as tight as you can, you don’t realize that you’re writhing so much under him that you’ve exploded on him, you don’t realize that you’re not falling for this man. You had pretty much already fallen for him.

“Ahh… Y/N…” he gasps and he’s said something else as well, but the ringing in your ears made it difficult to hear it.

You feel the absence of him when he pulls out of you abruptly and he’s sitting up, urgently stroking himself, groaning as he finally finds his own release.

A moment of stillness hangs in the air. Like the calm after a hurricane. The telling sounds of your impieties have ended, leaving only your breaths in their wake.

Johnny leans over you, combing your hair away from your face as if to check on you as you lay on your stomach unmoving. He kisses your cheek, then strokes the spot tenderly with the backs of his fingers. Your eyes close because you don’t know what’s going to happen now. Johnny moves away, sitting on the edge of the bed to discard the condom and you sneak a peek at him. You watch the muscles in his broad back protrude and you miss him already. He lifts off and walks away for a moment and your heart yearns for him. You wonder what it would be like to wake up to him next to you. You close your eyes again because his words from earlier are still ringing in your ears ‘I think about you all the time.’ They sounded so sincere, though men would say whatever you needed to hear during sex. But they came from him, and he’s never made an empty promise.

You feel the warm wetness of a washcloth being carefully dabbed on your skin, between your legs, over your sex and suddenly your heart is so full. He’s softly turning you around and easing you into a shirt he probably found in your closet. How could you not fall for such a man?

“Come here.” his voice says and you open your eyes to see that he’s laid down again, wearing only his boxers and he’s pulling you into his chest. You lay your head over his heart and listen to it thrum in his chest. This moment is surreal and you can’t help but feel like this is where you belong, and that feeling is solidified when you feel his arms wrap around you, his lips on the crown of your head. You’d never had afterglow feel this sweet, perhaps because you’d never had sex that felt this good. This is what you had wanted all your life. This feeling right here. No one had understood your needs better than this man. Johnny knew perfectly how to take you rough but soft. To make it coarse but sweet. To make you feel used but safe. To make you feel docile yet liberated. And he had told you that he thought about you all the time. You feel a smile grow on your lips as they pressed against his chest. This moment felt absolutely perfect.

“I have to get back to the dorms.”

And there it was.

You turn your head to the sound of his voice and he slowly sits up. “I’ve got an early morning schedule tomorrow and I don’t want to have to explain why I didn’t come in with the guys.” He says as he gets off the bed and starts dressing himself. You nod because, well. What did you expect? You stand up as well, picking up your discarded underwear and sliding it on, keeping your back to him because you couldn’t stand to see his face.

“I’m going to see you there, anyway, right?” He asks and you try to keep your face as devoid of emotion as possible.

“Right.” You reply because you don’t trust yourself to say anything else. You feel like your chest has been hollowed, like someone has sucker punched you in the belly. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t hope. You had told yourself that you just wanted to see if Johnny could give you what you liked in bed. That was all. He hadn’t promised you anything else. He wasn’t obligated to stay. And what he was saying made sense. You both had the same appointment tomorrow, both for different reasons, but you both had to be at the same place at the same time. You knew everything in this situation was logical. So why was your heart shattering in your chest?

He’s dressed now and he’s looking for his phone, his keys and his wallet outside in the living room. You follow him slowly, wrapping your arms protectively over the shirt he put on you. He gets everything he needs and heads for the door and you walk him out only because it feels like the right thing to do. He turns to look at you at the door and you look at him. Words remain unspoken. You’re not sure what he reads on your face because he looks like he was going to say something but he changed his mind.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” He says and he’s polite enough to smile. He turns on his heel, and is out the door that closes with a finalizing shut. And just like that, he’s gone.

You’re not sure how long you stand there, looking at the broad expanse of wood he’s just disappeared behind. You’re not sure why your shoulders are shaking or why your breath keeps choking your throat. You turn around because what’s the point? You’ve done this before. This has happened to you before. Why should this time be different from any of the other times?

You don’t know how you make it back to your room because your legs are so weak and your vision is so blurred. You really thought it was going to be different this time. That he was going to be different. But once again, your heart has been broken. He had used you good, left his marks on you so you would see him, feel him for days, and just like that, he had left.

Why did no one ever stay? What was it about you that made men look at you like a pump and dump? Why did you bare your mind, your soul, your body in front of yet another man when you knew what was going to happen? Why did you never learn? Why did you keep hoping that things would be different? Why did you give yourself so easily when no one ever wanted you? Why were you so unwanted?

You’re pretty sure you’re sobbing because your hand is instinctively clutching onto your heart. The heart that had already been broken too many times, but this time, the injury felt much, much worse because you were in love. You were in love with Johnny. You knew that now. You know you were foolish to have fallen for a man you weren’t allowed to want. You had known it all along. You had never meant for things to go this far. No, you had hoped that things would go this far. Hoping was, in fact, the biggest sin you had committed in this strange tragedy. And you had paid the price for it. He didn’t want you, he could never want you. Why would a man like him want you? What were you to him? You were just another willing girl that threw herself at him. The man had been happy to sleep with you like normal people did, but no. You asked him, practically begged him to take you like a back alley whore. So of course, he was going to fuck you into oblivion and when the blood wasn’t rushing to his cock, he would realize how fucking deplorable you were as a woman for allowing this to happen to your body. Of course he couldn’t want you. You were unwantable. Suddenly, you can’t hold yourself up anymore… it was too much, it was all too much. It hurt so bad. You didn’t expect it to hurt so much that your legs couldn’t hold you up and you were sinking to your knees.

Strong hands grabbing at your shoulders, turning your around.

You look up, tears blurring your vision, your breath hitching faster than your heartbeat, like you’re hyperventilating. You’re still clutching onto your chest like you’re trying to hold yourself together but failing. And he’s the one holding you, the one who caught you before you could fall to your knees. It’s him. He’s here, right in front of you. He’s looking back at you, with eyes intense, nostrils flared. And you’re looking back at him, unable to hide the outpour that he had left when he walked out that door. And you remember--he had your code.

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?!” he asks urgently, holding onto your shoulders tight.

“I didn’t know I could.” you reply truthfully, your voice shaking and it makes you cry more and you can’t fake it anymore. This is what you feel and he’s seen it now. There was no point in hiding it.

“Y/N…” he takes your face in his hands strongly and kisses your tears. “Y/N, can’t you see? Can’t you see that I’m in love with you?” he says at you with such a burning intensity that it puts a halt to your tears.

“Huh…?” you look at him with round eyes, your self-doubt making it so hard for you to take in his confession.

But he makes it clear. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I think I’ve been in love with you for a while. I didn’t tell you because… I wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted. If that’s how you wanted to be with me. But I see it now, Y/N. I know you’re in love with me, too. Am I wrong?”

You can’t find your voice because the emotion is welling up inside you again. So you shake your head furiously. You weren’t like Johnny--you never could find the right words at the right time. You communicated everything physically. That’s why you pull him into a kiss and though your face is streaked with tears, you can’t bring yourself to care.

He pulls you in strongly, kissing you like a victory, kissing you like a promise.

You don’t believe this. After years and years of searching, trial and error, getting your heart broken and doing it all over again, you finally got the man. You finally got a man who wanted you in the same way you wanted him. You had yourself a man that cared for you and loved you. You had yourself a man that was willing to be patient with you when you couldn’t put in words what you felt in your heart.

You had yourself a man whom you could ask to stay and he would.

So tonight, you laid on his chest and he held you impossibly close. Telling you that he won’t go anywhere as long as you wanted him. Telling you that he loved you exactly how you were, broken pieces and all. Telling you that you were worth the effort he would have to make in the morning to seem unsuspicious to prying eyes. Because in exchange, he got to hold you close into the night. Tonight, you prayed for sleep to take you quickly because you were excited to wake up. Because in your heart, you knew that when you did, he would finally still be next to you.

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frigidfries · 2 years

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how about chara for the ask game!!

chara. chara chara chara

favorite thing about them:

so. you see one of my FAVORITE tropes in media is that the narrator was a character all along. partially because- especially when i was younger- i would pay super close attention to narration and choices and diction in a game to glean anything like a canon personality to a silent protagonist. and the narrator being a person in the story itself was basically a 'you were right to pay attention! it is that deep!' to me. and my fondness for this predates undertale!

i know narrachara isnt canon-canon, but... man! if it is, then chara is easily one of the most complex characters in undertale by the fact they have the most "screentime"(?) to work with!

it means they're funny and bitingly sarcastic when they want to be, it means they have opinions on anime debates, that they like plants and fun facts, they're impatient, they have a deep sense of right and wrong, they think a heroine who can save the underground is the coolest thing ever, they know some DEEP CUT old video game references, they like obscure japanese novels about tea and kitchens and loss...

its just so cool to me that a character that barely exists in the narrative- only known through second hand stories and footage, even less than we know about asriel- is revealed to be the narrative. and so many emotional beats get to hit so much harder. its just... a nice idea, you know? that we get to meet something like the real them at all.

least favorite thing about them:

ah hmmm. hm. i have reached the point of "they obviously have some pretty severe issues i don't think were helped by the unknowing, well-intentioned pressure of their loved ones and the entire underground as one of the two only 'hopes' of an entire group of people, and they did and can do some really jacked up things, but also think about them as a catholic 12 year old and everything makes sense."

tldr; i love chara discussions but i think we can all move past totally black or white reads of them because that doesn't fit in at all with the themes and style of toby's writing. utdr simply doesn't have pure evil or perfect good

favorite line:

brotp:

sighs. sighs. i talked about them and asriel in his post but. augh. they were so important to each other. making edgy ocs- chara remembered the name of every single attack. they gagged over their parents PDA together. they... man. man. objectively not great for each other, but i think they desperately needed each other in their lives.

frisk and chara are also. just! man!!!! they get impatient over repeated checking but its impossible for me to not read so much of it as... painfully fond. it's you! you won! hey, you're not made of money. that's called a 'water sausage'. ...there's a lot there, i think.

otp/notp:

same digs with asriel i dont ship them with anyone, really!

random headcanon:

they knew dr. gaster when they were both alive/whole and they liked that he treated them as a Peer. An Intellectual Equal. (read: dr. gaster did actually treat them like a child he just did it in a way that made chara feel respected lol)

golden flowers are weeds. they choke out any garden they're in and are incredibly tenacious. chara likes them so much because have spent hours wistfully relating to them while looking out of their original city's library windows

fell in 2012 and has all the baggage and trappings of being a 11-12 y/o closeted nonbinary kid who was too online in 2012

songs i associate with them:

some excerpts from the playlist i made for them when i was 16

The Scary Jokes - Catabolic Seed

My Chemical Romance - The End

Rilo Kiley - The Execution of All Things

..... Panic! At the Disco - The Only Difference Between Martyrdom and Suicide Is The Press Coverage

favorite image:

of course, offical and my own LMAO

#long post #IM SO SORRY ABOUT HOW LONG THIS IS. but. chara. aughuhgh #ask #ask meme

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kineticallyanywhere · 3 years

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So. Dndads. Best dad? Best ‘saving the kids’ arc? Best anchor arc? Worst arc? Who had the most development?

oh man so there's "best" and there's "favorite" which feel like two different things. Both are gonna be subjective, but "best" refers to what's fitting the definition of "good" and "favorite" is what I will take for all it's trashy corners because it hits all the right trope buttons for me

Best Dad: Darryl. Henry's a close second, but his baggage holds him back. Darryl is affirming to his kid, they have a relationship based on both love and respect, they're actively adjusting boundaries and learning to listen to each other. Does it help that Darryl came from the most stable home and has the least complex relationship with his kid? Absolutely! But Darryl was even able to dad the twins. That's a feat all on it's own. Favorite Dad: Henry. He's just... so much???? And just always trying to be a good person??? He likes hugs and complimenting his friends??? You all most know I'm the biggest sucker for that. Sure every other dad fact is a crime against mankind and an embarrassment to our species but he's only 75% (give or take) human anyway! ...his cool backstory is like 1000 bonus points. [Slaps hood of Henry] you could fit so many AUs in this

Best Kid-Saver Arc: Tower of Terry. It's got the hahas. It's got the tears. It's got subverting Anthony's plans and then picking on him relentlessly about it. This arc contains multitudes Favorite Kid-Saver Arc: Lord of Chaos. Cause its freaking hysterical. Don't get me wrong, Tower of Terry and Forknights are close in the running. You guys KNOW I ADORE Tower of Terry. Obsessed over it for two months. But Lord of Chaos is what really hooked me in the first place and I could listen to that thing on repeat its just so funny

Best Anchor Arc: Football. In terms of having a structure, being hysterical, having a clear and developing emotional arc, and a full sense of closure at the end? Football, hands down. Favorite Anchor Arc: Oakvale. You may be sensing a pattern here, but this one was actually really hard. There are parts of this arc that drag and I know a lot of my enjoyment of it just comes from the Drama and the Lore and the Beary-Warning-Henry-30-Episodes-Ago-That-If-He's-Not-Careful-They-Could-End-Reality-Hope-You-Don't-Forget-About-That-Subplot-For-The-Mental-Health-Metaphor-It's-A-Spectacular-Metaphor-But-He's-Really-Not-Lying-This-Time

Worst Arc: This is really really really hard. Also the most subjective on all fronts so I'm just combining "worst" and "least favorite". Because every arc has something going for it. And I hate that I'm sitting here trying to decide between Battle Axe of Hatred and Foster Dad (which I guess is what I'm calling Jodie's arc, after the trial ends), because they're both "Glenn arcs". Glenn Close had development (fight me*) and both of these arcs got something done, but... Y'know, I think I gotta go with BattleAxe. This doesn't mean I think it's bad! It did what it was supposed to do, it established Glenn and Nick's relationship dynamic! Glenn didn't have to grow or change in his first arc, Henry certainly didn't! Ron was ahead of the curve! Battleaxe, I think, suffered by the same moment that made it iconic, and I wouldn't change it for the world, it's just not an arc I revisit much. Foster Dad was incredibly long and kinda all over the place, but every individual episode was a riot and Jimmy was a delight. Every other arc is helped by either having an off-the-wall premise or something really emotionally potent. BattleAxe is honestly pretty straight forward DnD. And it gave us Paeden I would trade it for nothing every arc in this show is fantastic.

Most Development: Darryl Everybody developed (fight me*, episode 1 Glenn would not say any of the things episode 68 pt2 Glenn said), but two of the hardest things for a person to do are acknowledge their own insecurities, take on perspectives outside of their own, and ask for help. And Darryl did all of those things. Every single one of these dads has come so far. None of them are who they were when the show started and I'm so proud. I land the pin on Darryl specifically because I feel like Henry and Glenn still have some work to do and Ron kinda had a head start. Not to say we aren't all improving and changing constantly, but in terms of moving from one major stage to the other, Darryl is much more polished off.

tl;dr yes

*but like you don't have to. If you don't agree that's fine

#ask ka #me talking #all of it and all of them are best tho #theyre all great #i love them all #dungeons and daddies #dndads

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queenlucythevaliant · 2 years

Text

For King David

I’ve had so many conversations with people who can’t bring themselves to like David.

I understand the sentiment; I do. But David, with his heart of faith and music and the shining sword— I can’t imagine reading the story of his life in Scripture, seeing his heart splayed out before you in his seventy some-odd Psalms, and not feeling something tender for the man. Some kinship. Some admiration for this broken, human king and his songs.

Perhaps he was not always a man of righteousness, but he was a man of conviction, a man of the Lord’s heart and its delights, its longings. God Himself called David a man after His own heart. Who are we to argue?

One day when David was beyond childhood, yet scarcely anything more, Samuel came and anointed his head with oil. It was greasy on David’s hair, dripped down into his eyes, ran into his nose when he inhaled and made it hard to breathe. “You are the one that the Lord has chosen,” Samuel told him. It was a blessing. (Wasn’t it?)

It was. It was.

Saul had been thirty when he was anointed and he had hidden from a calling which he neither desired nor understood. David was so much younger, barely more than a child when Samuel came to him bearing a horn of oil and anointed him in the presence of his older brothers. The Spirit of the Lord rushed upon him and David, breathless, felt himself created anew.

Yet during his time on the run, he thought about Saul a great deal. David ran from Saul across the whole land and Saul’s pursuit reminded everyone that David did not hide from God, only from the king whom God had abandoned. Yet Saul had no way to show them that he had been unwilling, once: that he had been dragged, trembling, from amidst the heap of baggage where he had hidden.

(I have always felt such pity for Saul.)

Everyone knows the story of how David killed Goliath. "Saul has killed his thousands and David his tens of thousands," the people shouted. Now, even our children know the bloody tale.

David volunteered to fight Goliath when no one else would. Of course, he had already been anointed, and maybe that made it easier to be brave. It’s a complex subject, isn’t it? How do calling and courage interact?

Yet David must have been the best kind of person to lead men into battle. He inspired confidence in his soldiers even long before he was king. They followed him as he evaded Saul for years, after all. The chariots of God are twice ten-thousand, thousands upon thousands; the Lord is among them. David made them confident that there was indeed a Hope for all Israel.

But David was also an adulterer and a murderer. He was responsible, through his sin, for nearly all of the great heartbreaks of his own life. He coveted Bathsheba, so he took her. He envied Uriah, so he had him killed. And then he had the gall to say unto God, against you, you only, have I sinned—

But wait. That’s not right. No, it was David’s posture before God that made him clean. Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

He did not remember, later, what he felt when he first saw Bathsheba, nor what he said the first time he had her brought to his chambers. He remembered only how beautiful she was there beneath the sky, only the way her hair had glittered in the sunlight; only how he had wanted her. He did not remember if kissing her had felt like sin.

Of course, David had not always been so selfish and cruel with the women in his life. Once, he had met Abigail in the desert, and she stayed his hand against bloodshed with cleverness and a blessing. Her mouth tucked in at the corner when she smiled, yet David treated her with all the courtesy she was due. Did kingship make him forget? Was Bathsheba less worthy of his respect than Abigail, or did he merely become too important to treat her with the dignity she deserved?

After God dashed his greatest hope (you cannot, you will not build My Temple), David still had words of praise. The LORD is my shield and the lifter of my head. David had always had words of praise, right from the start. He trains my hands for war. The LORD lives, and blessed be my rock. I think David would have died with the righteous, burning sword of God in his hands, with Zion’s shield braced against her enemies. I’d imagine he longed to, more than once.

Regrettably, David did not die in battle.

Amnon assaulted Tamar; one part of David’s heart viciously, brutally violated another. Then Absalom exacted vengeance for his sister at sword point, and David was left to reckon with Amnon’s corpse, Tamar’s bruises, and Absalom’s anger. His own sin weighed heavy on his heart; the cost it exacted from his family was far, far too high. You have kept count of my tossings and put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?

Then Absalom fled before anything more could be done. He stole the hearts of the people of Israel, and David returned to his armor, the old warrior.

It ended so grotesquely, Absalom hanging by his hair in the tree. Absalom in the tree: an image that David could never shake from his mind for the rest of his days. Absalom’s hair had been so handsome, like his father’s. O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!

Yet even after that, his family went on breaking. Adonijah tried to wrest the kingdom from his father and he was dealt with in due course. Oh, David, you old warrior. By then, he was used to family infighting, as terrible a thing as it was. There was almost a numbness to it, I think, for he did not cry out for Adonijah, not like he did for Absalom. It was terrible, but David barely noticed the piece of his heart that Adonijah took with him when he died. And so senseless a death! But David was so old, then.

Maybe it was all tragedy: David’s life, his calling, his sin, his family. Yet I do not think he saw it that way.

David, dear heart-son of God, was heavy with calling and sin and tragedy, yet he was feather-light with blessing. He danced naked before the Lord when the Ark was restored. Yes, he did, and it didn’t matter a whit what else befell him. David didn’t build the Temple, but he oversaw the return of the Ark. You have turned for me my mourning into dancing; you have loosed my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness. It was a very beautiful day. Beautiful, because what can joy before God be except beauty?

David wrote nearly a hundred Psalms is his lifetime. What does that tell us about his heart? Whatever sins he committed, whatever price he paid, one cannot escape the fact that he wrote Psalms to God all his life. A Psalm of David. What does that mean to you?

In the end, David stood before his people sick and dying and he prayed for them. I have been young, and now am old, yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken. He led his people well, in his sinful humanity. He loved them, so he lifted them up to the Lord.

I wonder if David was tired, at the end. I wonder if he wished he could have died in battle years before: died young and straightforwardly, the way Jonathan died. I wonder if he thought of Tamar’s bruised body, of Absalom hanging by his hair from the branches of a tree, of Solomon ordering Adonijah’s death in spite of Bathsheba’s pleas. Maybe. I certainly wouldn’t blame him if he did. But I think he died with music in his heart. I believe, whatever the case, he was eager to reach those fathomless heavens. As for me, I shall behold your face in righteousness; when I awake, I shall be satisfied with your likeness.

#okay so here's the deal #probably 80% of my original posts are edited versions of writing that I've been privately doing and then stockpiling for years now #i actually have a whole bunch of pieces that i've done on Bible figures #i'm really on the fence about posting them bc (a) they feel more personal than the Narnia stuff somehow #even though i don't know if that's really true across the board #and bc there's a lot more stuff i could have gotten wrong in terms of history and culture and even some of the actual Biblical details #like. i like to consider myself pretty knowlegable about random Biblical minutia but I am very much not a Bible scholar #posting this is kind of my way of getting my toes wet and seeing how i like posting this sort of thing #the reason i started posting here at all was bc i didn't like that all my writing and whatnot was essentially moldering on my computer #i wanted it to be seen in some context #and it's weirder to go to friends and family and to say 'please read this there's a lot of my heart in it' than it is to throw it out #into the Internet Void and see if strangers like it #but. like. this very well could not be the right context for poeces like this #pontifications and creations #the unquenchable fire #Leah stories #Bible humans

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Honesty

Characters: Kaeya, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,830

Warnings: None

Premise: Some habits just turn bad over time, and not matter how much we try they can be terribly difficult to stop.

In which Kaeya keeps to himself.

Author’s Note: This was requested by a lovely anon! I thank you once more, and I hope that this was as you envisioned it. Also didn’t expect this to be so incredibly long but I hope that’s not unwelcome!

Kaeya is one of my favorite characters to write, but I also find him one of the hardest as well. He’s very good at slipping through your grasp, and it can be hard to convey such an outwardly complex and flirtatious character without making him a cardboard cutout. But it’s also incredibly gratifying when you think you’ve done it well. I hope this is one of the times.

Non bulleted pointed version on Ao3

It wasn’t that Kaeya wasn’t used to attention. It was simply that he wasn’t used to your attention.

I mean Kaeya was hardly the most innocent man in Monstadt; almost everyone spoke of the handsome and slightly ill-behaved cavalry captain. Kaeya certainly did nothing to discourage the talk, or the flirting, not when it was so fun. It felt good to be looked at for reasons, well if not positive at least they weren’t in the same league as the notoriety he’d picked up otherwise. Disapproving citizens were certainly better than a disapproving brother, especially since said brother had a habit of parroting Kaeya’s darkest thoughts.

Of course Kaeya wasn’t looking for anything when it came to said flirtations. Not only because the appeal was never there, at least not in any legitimate sense, but because Kaeya secretly felt he was a bit of a burden, something he’d never even admit to himself. And no one wanted a partner with emotional baggage. If there was anything Kaeya was quite sure of it was that. And he hadn’t the time, nor really the ability, to fix all his problems, if he wasn’t permanently broken already. Better to keep away from any firm attachments, one that might ruin the lives of those around him.

This admittedly terrible conclusion was all perfectly fine in theory, but then you’d arrived and it’d all fallen to the wayside.

You were perfection to Kaeya, in more ways than he could count. He loved your smile, as well as the various other expressions you pulled, whether snarky or appalled or excited; he loved the way you laughed, even when you complained it sounded vaguely seal like at some points and like you were dying at others; he loved your every mood and whim, no matter how silly or reckless. He loved when you had a temper and when you showed more restraint than he did, he loved when you acted like a character you’d just read about and he loved when you later got embarrassed by it and begged him to forget it. The list went on and on and on, so many things did he love about you. Most of all he loved that you never seemed in a hurry, not that any of the others had, but the boundaries had shifted quite a bit this time.

So what had begun not so much as flirtation but as awkward friendship blossomed into something more, and Kaeya knew it. Not that there was any proper confirmation, but really was there a need? He told himself that the idea was ridiculous, no need to make things official. Besides, it wasn’t as if Kaeya had changed much at all. Indeed he’d done quite the opposite, determined not to let things shift in the way you two interacted.

Of course he’d excused his actions. After all, though the knight had many contradictory opinions of himself, of his actions, of his past, but they tended towards the negative. He was evil, he was cruel, a shameless opportunist and a failure even in that. Most importantly, in regards to the matter at hand, Kaeya tended to think that he was in no position to enjoy a proper and serious relationship; it wasn’t in him. He’d only bring disaster upon his head and upon the heads of those he loved. How could he let it happen?

That were what he told himself, what again and again he drilled it into his mind. And he ignored the small part of him that told himself it wasn’t any of that, the part which jeered that, if he were altogether truthful, the reason for a lack of meaningful reciprocation ultimately lay in the overwhelming fear he kept buried deep within himself. The fear of telling others about himself. About his actions, his opinions, his morality. The unpolished and deeply irritating bits that even Kaeya couldn’t stand.

But that was buried under too many layers of denial to play into what he was doing, and Kaeya had thoroughly convinced himself that his actions were for the good of everyone, yourself included. So the charade continue, with you saying more and more and Kaeya saying altogether nothing of consequence at all.

“Kaeya, what do you think of me?” You asked one day. It was a summer afternoon, the lazy kind, when all seemed static and half asleep. Kaeya was one of those things, and jolted to full wakefulness, surprised and ill at ease by the sudden question. You didn’t look at all upset, though maybe a bit bashful. The blush that dusted your cheeks and nose was the cutest thing, and if he weren’t so utterly afraid Kaeya might’ve wanted to tease you a bit, and see said blush grow a little bit deeper.

“What do you mean? You’re my fine adventuring friend.” He said, trying to relax once more, hoping the initial jolt of shock hadn’t been evident. It was hard to keep alert at all times around you, especially in what had just been such a relaxing atmosphere. But he had to keep calm and steady, suave as always. Who knows what might happen if not?

“Well I’m glad to hear that,” you began, cadence becoming a little slower, “I’m very glad to hear that. But, well, I was sort of wondering… if it might be a bit… different than that.”

“Is this a sudden confession?” Kaeya asked, tone light and playful.

“No!” You blurted out, gaze dropping. You started tearing at the grass slightly, but the action didn’t worry Kaeya too much. If it wasn’t a confession then it’d be easy enough to sneak out of, and then you two might go back to enjoying the afternoon as usual.

“It’s just…” you continued, staring intently at the ground “it’s just that I want to know. I mean I’m sure it’s obvious how much I care about you, well and truly care about you. You’re my closest friend Kaeya, but you’re also more than that. You’re my confidante, the first person I go to talk to about, well, anything. I said this wasn’t a confession, and it isn’t. But I want to know where we are. And I want you to be honest, what do you think of me?”

You lifted your head up, gaze piercing through Kaeya’s soul. He felt nothing in that moment but terror, the feeling of the ground suddenly giving way below him. What was he to say? What could he say? What did he think of you, the question seemed so simple but Kaeya found he couldn’t answer it, not truthfully. What you meant to him, well you meant almost everything. Kaeya loved you, loved you so much. He wanted to tell you everything about him, wanted to learn everything about you. He wanted to hold you in his arms and listen forever to your voice, to the things you had to say. He wanted to bask in your presence, to drown in it. He loved you, and he knew you loved him too; but it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t tell you what he wanted to say, what you wanted to hear. It was for your own good, and, Kaeya was realizing very quickly, the idea of doing so, of confessing himself, of laying his soul bare, was something so utterly and completely frightening.

“Like I said you’re my dear adventuring friend.” Kaeya managed to get out, hoping there was no streak of falsehood in his voice. Picking up some of the torn up grass he scattered it onto your head, causing a groan of annoyance. Laughing at his childishness Kaeya steered the conversation towards another topic, hoping the former one would never come up again.

It didn’t, but Kaeya still sensed a change. It was gradual enough, indeed it was so gradual he hardly noticed at first. But eventually the change became too great, and Kaeya felt a distinct sinking sensation the first time he’d passed you on the streets on Monstadt and you’d done little more than smile, instead of running up like you usually did to ask him where he was going and tease him about missing work, sure that he was up to no good.

The initial realization having passed a bunch of little things came to the sudden forefront of Kaeya’s mind. Come to think of it you two never met outside of work anymore; gone were the days it seemed when you two would go for a walk after having sandwiches together, both complaining about the others work and wondering when you might ever have a break.

Gone too was the familiarity in some ways. When you two spoke now there was a formality, a distance that seemed to have popped up. You no longer asked Kaeya about his brother, and in return he stopped asking you about your own family, uneasy by the sudden loss of intimacy, and unwilling to be the one to break the barrier.

As the weeks passed by and you grew more and more distant Kaeya grew more and more frantic. He found himself thinking incessantly about you, about what you were doing, where you were going, whether or not you’d ever smile at him the way you used to, if you’d blush again at his teasing. A small piece of him knew that it was his own fault, and knew that it somehow connected back to the conversation you two had had in the summertime. But self-awareness doesn’t always mean change, and Kaeya still refused to do anything about it.

Then he started dreaming about you. He wasn’t sure why, you two saw each other less and less, and there was no reason for him to suddenly start these dreams, but somehow it’d happen. The dreams were mundane, painfully so. They were much like any other dream in content; the only difference being your presence. You were as before in his dreams, as if he’d somehow been able to rewind the clock, but only in his sleep. The two of you did this and that. You saved reckless Pallad, you rode Dvalin with the Traveller, you ran around the Winery, stealing glasses when no one was looking. Always you two were off, doing something completely normal, and always did Kaeya feel such joy that waking up felt rather like torture. He began to dread it, meeting you in his dreams. It felt painful, so very painful, as if he were betraying himself, as if he were betraying you too in some way. He shouldn’t’ve been dreaming of you, and yet he kept right at it, as if his mind were somehow unable to let go.

After three weeks of not seeing you Kaeya relented. He couldn’t go on like this, not one more moment. His work was becoming sloppier and sloppier, and he felt as if he hadn’t slept in years. He’d woken up in the middle of the night, so wretched from the whole situation that he felt like crying out of frustration. In the dark there was no one to pretend to, and he found himself staring at the curtained window, suddenly hit with his utter selfishness. He loved you, he loved you and you loved him, at least you had. And he’d thrown it all away, not out of any kindness or nobility, but out of his own fear, his own inability to be honest for even a moment. It was his fault that this was all happening, and as such he had to make amends.

He found himself at what had been your normal after-work meeting spot, leaning against a squat sort of maple tree. It was the perfect meeting place, far enough from the city to be picturesque, but close enough not to be a trip. Now Kaeya waited, praying to Barbatos that you might, by some miracle, appear.

Evidently the Anemo Archon was in a somewhat favorable mood, that or Kaeya was simply lucky, for he spotted you about fifteen minutes later, walking leisurely towards the tree. You weren’t truly paying attention to your destination, instead glancing in the direction of Cider Lake, expression slightly clouded. Turning your head you stopped dead in your tracks, shaking your head slightly, as if you truly couldn’t believe the sight in front of you.

“I…have something to say.” Kaeya began, not altogether sure what that was. Once he’d come to the conclusion that he was the source of the whole problem it became evident that the only was to solve such a thing was through honesty. But it had been so long since Kaeya had been honest, really truly honest, and he now felt awkward and slightly shaky, as if learning to walk all over again.

“What is it?” Your tone, though surprised, held no hostility in it, instead it seemed vaguely curious. The thought gave Kaeya a bit of strength, and he drew himself up a little more, determined to see this through no matter what.

“I want to apologize for how I’ve treated you. I haven’t… haven’t been honest. I think you realized that, indeed I think you realized it long before I did. But, now that I’ve realized it I want to say I’m so deeply sorry.” He paused for a moment, not sure how to continue on. “Do you remember when you asked me what I thought of you?” He finally asked.

“Of course I do.” You smiled slightly, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “You said I was your friend.”

“Well I was lying.” Kaeya’s voice was blunt, the flirtatious tone that he usually put on nowhere to be found. “In truth you mean so much to me, so much more than I could put into words. You said that you weren’t making a confession, but I am. I like you, no, I love you. You mean more to me than everything, than my past, than my work as a knight, than my shame I carry in regards to my brother. Being around you is like soaking in the sun, or gazing at the moon, and I took it for granted. I took your entire presence for granted, and I understand why you felt the need to distance yourself. Our friendship was built on dishonesty, all because I was afraid. I am afraid still, so very afraid, but I find what I fear more than telling you all of this is never having the opportunity to. You’d don’t have to reciprocate, don’t have to approve of anything I just said. But if there’s any little bit of you that felt as you did this summer I want to apologize to it, and tell you I feel the same.”

The silence was deafening, oppressive. For once Kaeya found he couldn’t keep your gaze; his entire affect, his personality, it was all gone, and what was left was raw and badly kept. Shifting his gaze towards the lake he held his breath and waited for your answer.

He felt your fingers glance his. Snapping his head towards where you were he searched your face for something that might reveal what you were thinking, but you quickly looked at the ground.

“Thank you.” Your voice was no more than a whisper, but to Kaeya it was a lifeline, the fact that he was able to hear your voice once more. “Thank you for being honest.” You slipped your hand into his. “And to answer your unsaid question, I do feel the same way I did when I asked you before. And this too is now a confession, or rather an assent. I love you Kaeya, I’ve never stopped loving you. And though I may still feel a bit hurt by your lack of honesty then, I only ask you this,” you finally moved to look him in the eyes, your gaze misted over by hope and joy and a hint of sorrow, “will you be honest with me now?”

“Until the day I die.” Kaeya breathed out.

“That’s all I needed to hear.” You replied, dropping his hand and flinging your arms around his neck.

Kaeya immediately wrapped his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “Thank you” he whispered, over and over again. The fear that had once filled his mind was no more, instead he felt as if he were floating, kept tethered to reality only by your embrace. He was relieved, but more so he was happy, so unbelievably happy. You’d given him a chance he’d never give himself; you’d opened your life back up to him, and now you two might never have to be separated again, not truly anyways.

“Want to know something?” Kaeya asked, tone playful, as you two walked back to Monstadt, hands linked.”

“What?” You asked, slightly curious. Kaeya smiled, before leaning over and giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“I love you.” He whispered against your skin. And he meant it. With his whole heart he meant it.

#thank you so much for your request!#I hope it's rather not too long #I got ahead of myself lol #anyways... yeah!#requested #kaeya #kaeya x reader #gn!reader #scenario #genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #my writing

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blackswaneuroparedux · 3 years

Text

Anonymous asked: As a beginner in Classics I love your Classicist themed posts. I find your caption perfect posts a lot to think upon. I suppose it’s been more than a few years since you read Classics at Cambridge but my question is do you still bother to read any Classic texts and if so what are you currently reading?

I don’t know whether to be flattered or get depressed by your (sincere) remarks. Thank you so much for reminding me how old I must come across as my youngish Millennial bones are already starting to creak from all my sins of past sport injuries and physical exertions. I’m reminded of what J.R.R Tolkien wrote, “I feel thin, sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I know the feeling (sigh).

But pay heed, dear follower, to what Menander said of old age, Τίμα το γήρας, ου γαρ έρχεται μόνον (respect old age, for it does not come alone). Presumably he means we all carry baggage. One hopes that will be wisdom which is often in the form of experience, suffering, and regret. So I’m not ready to trade in my high heels and hiking boots for a walking stick and granny glasses just yet.

To answer your question, yes, I still to read Classical literature and poetry in their original text alongside trustworthy translations. Every day in fact.

I learned Latin when I was around 8 or 9 years old and Greek came later - my father and grandfather are Classicists - and so it would be hard to shake it off even if I tried.

So why ‘bother’ to read Classics? There are several reasons. First, the Classics are the Swiss Army knife to unpick my understanding other European languages that I grew up with learning. Second, it increases my cultural literacy out of which you can form informed aesthetic judgements about any art form from art, music, and literature. Third, Classical history is our shared history which is so important to fathom one’s roots and traditions. Fourth, spending time with the Classics - poetry, myth, literature, history - inspires moral insight and virtue. Fifth, grappling with classical literature informs the mind by developing intellectual discipline, reason, and logic.

And finally, and perhaps one I find especially important, is that engaging with Classical literature, poetry, or history, is incredibly humbling; for the classical world first codified the great virtues of prudence, temperance, justice, loyalty, sacrifice, and courage. These are qualities that we all painfully fall short of in our every day lives and yet we still aspire to such heights.

I’m quite eclectic in my reading. I don’t really have a method other than what my mood happens to be. I have my trusty battered note book and pen and I sit my arse down to translate passages wherever I can carve out a place to think. It’s my answer to staving off premature dementia when I really get old because quite frankly I’m useless at Soduku. We spend so much time staring at screens and passively texting that we don’t allow ourselves to slow down and think that physically writing gives you that luxury of slow motion time and space. In writing things out you are taking the time to reflect on thoughts behind the written word.

I do make a point of reading Homer’s The Odyssey every year because it’s just one of my favourite stories of all time. Herodotus and Thucydides were authors I used to read almost every day when I was in the military and especially when I went out to war in Afghanistan. Not so much these days. Of the Greek poets, I still read Euripides for weighty stuff and Aristophanes for toilet humour. Aeschylus, Archilochus and Alcman, Sappho, Hesiod, and Mimnermus, Anacreon, Simonides, and others I read sporadically.

I read more Latin than Greek if I am honest. From Seneca, Caesar, Cicero, Sallust, Tacitus, Livy, Apuleius, Virgil, Ovid, the younger Pliny to Augustine (yes, that Saint Augustine of Hippo). Again, there is no method. I pull out a copy from my book shelves and put it in my tote bag when I know I’m going on a plane trip for work reasons.

At the moment I am spending time with Horace. More precisely, his famous odes.

Of all the Greek and Latin poets, I feel spiritually comfortable with Horace. He praises a simple life of moderation in a much gentler tone than other Roman writers. Although Horace’s odes were written in imitation of Greek writers like Sappho, I like his take on friendship, love, alcohol, Roman politics and poetry itself. With the arguable exception of Virgil, there is no more celebrated Roman poet than Horace. His Odes set a fashion among English speakers that come to bear on poets to this day. His Ars Poetica, a rumination on the art of poetry in the form of a letter, is one of the seminal works of literary criticism. Ben Jonson, Pope, Auden, and Frost are but a few of the major poets of the English language who owe a debt to the Roman.

We owe to Horace the phrases, “carpe diem” or “seize the day” and the “golden mean” for his beloved moderation. Victorian poet Alfred Lord Tennyson, of Ancient Mariner fame, praised the odes in verse and Wilfred Owen’s great World War I poem, Dulce et Decorum est, is a response to Horace’s oft-quoted belief that it is “sweet and fitting” to die for one’s country.

Unlike many poets, Horace lived a full life. And not always a happy one. Horace was born in Venusia, a small town in southern Italy, to a formerly enslaved mother. He was fortunate to have been the recipient of intense parental direction. His father spent a comparable fortune on his education, sending him to Rome to study. He later studied in Athens amidst the Stoics and Epicurean philosophers, immersing himself in Greek poetry. While led a life of scholarly idyll in Athens, a revolution came to Rome. Julius Caesar was murdered, and Horace fatefully lined up behind Brutus in the conflicts that would ensue. His learning enabled him to become a commander during the Battle of Philippi, but Horace saw his forces routed by those of Octavian and Mark Antony, another stop on the former’s road to becoming Emperor Augustus.

When he returned to Italy, Horace found that his family’s estate had been expropriated by Rome, and Horace was, according to his writings, left destitute. In 39 B.C., after Augustus granted amnesty, Horace became a secretary in the Roman treasury by buying the position of questor's scribe. In 38, Horace met and became the client of the artists' patron Maecenas, a close lieutenant to Augustus, who provided Horace with a villa in the Sabine Hills. From there he began to write his satires. Horace became the major lyric Latin poet of the era of the Augustus age. He is famed for his Odes as well as his caustic satires, and his book on writing, the Ars Poetica. His life and career were owed to Augustus, who was close to his patron, Maecenas. From this lofty, if tenuous, position, Horace became the voice of the new Roman Empire. When Horace died at age 59, he left his estate to Augustus and was buried near the tomb of his patron Maecenas.

Horace’s simple diction and exquisite arrangement give the odes an inevitable quality; the expression makes familiar thoughts new. While the language of the odes may be simple, their structure is complex. The odes can be seen as rhetorical arguments with a kind of logic that leads the reader to sometimes unexpected places. His odes speak of a love of the countryside that dedicates a farmer to his ancestral lands; exposes the ambition that drives one man to Olympic glory, another to political acclaim, and a third to wealth; the greed that compels the merchant to brave dangerous seas again and again rather than live modestly but safely; and even the tensions between the sexes that are at the root of the odes about relationships with women.

What I like then about Horace is his sense of moderation and he shows the gap between what we think we want and what we actually need. Horace has a preference for the small and simple over the grandiose. He’s all for independence and self-reliance.

If there is one thing I would nit pick Horace upon is his flippancy to the value of the religious and spiritual. The gods are often on his lips, but, in defiance of much contemporary feeling, he absolutely denied an afterlife - which as a Christian I would disagree with. So inevitably “gather ye rosebuds while ye may” is an ever recurrent theme, though Horace insists on a Golden Mean of moderation - deploring excess and always refusing, deprecating, dissuading.

All in all he champions the quiet life, a prayer I think many men and women pray to the gods to grant them when they are caught in the open Aegean, and a dark cloud has blotted out the moon, and the sailors no longer have the bright stars to guide them. A quiet life is the prayer of Thrace when madness leads to war. A quiet life is the prayer of the Medes when fighting with painted quivers: a commodity, Grosphus, that cannot be bought by jewels or purple or gold? For no riches, no consul’s lictor, can move on the disorders of an unhappy mind and the anxieties that flutter around coffered ceilings.

Caelum non animum mutant qui trans mare currunt (they change their sky, not their soul, who rush across the sea.)

Part of Horace’s persona - lack of political ambition, satisfaction with his life, gratitude for his land, and pride in his craft and the recognition it wins him - is an expression of an intricate web of awareness of place. Reading Horace will centre you and get you to focus on what is most important in life. In Horace’s discussion of what people in his society value, and where they place their energy and time, we can find something familiar. Horace brings his reader to the question - what do we value?

Much like many of our own societies, Rome was bustling with trade and commerce, ambition, and an area of vast, diverse civilisation. People there faced similar decisions as we do today, in what we pursue and why. As many of us debate our place and purpose in our world, our poet reassures us all. We have been coursing through Mondays for thousands of years. Horace beckons us: take a brief moment from the day’s busy hours. Stretch a little, close your eyes while facing the warm sun, and hear the birds and the quiet stream. The mind that is happy for the present should refuse to worry about what is further ahead; it should dilute bitter things with a mild smile.

I would encourage anyone to read these treasures in translations. For you though, as a budding Classicist, read the texts in Latin and Greek if you can. Wrestle with the word. The struggle is its own reward. Whether one reads from the original or from a worthy translation, the moral virtue (one hopes) is wisdom and enlightenment.

Pulvis et umbra sumus

(We are but dust and shadow.)

Thanks for your question.

#question #ask #classical #greek #latin #horace #poetry #literature #arts #cambridge #classics #personal #study #habits #reading #books #culture #personal growth

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miniature-space-hamster · 3 years

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Merweek Day Five: We Are Family

Karina Shepard is finally released from the hospital after the battle of London, and Kaidan brings her to his family home in Vancouver, where she meets his parents for the first time.

“Kaidan…” Shepard’s eyes focusing on the blur of pine that seemed to stretch endlessly from her view in the skycar, her voice sounded distant. A growing tightness filled her chest. “Are your parents going to like me?” She paused, already sounding somewhat defeated, resisting the urge to start picking at newly painted nails. She brought a finger to her mouth, seconds from chewing before stopping herself. She needed something to distract her from their destination. There was only about fifteen minutes left until they were at Kaidan’s family home.

Without breaking eye contact from the road, Kaidan gave her a crooked smile and raised eyebrows. “Why wouldn’t they, Karina?” She always seemed to surprise him with questions like this. She could face a Reaper on foot without flinching, but the thought of meeting his mother was what she worried about.

Karina wasn’t sure where to start, she sighed sharply before speaking but the noise got lost in the hum of the engines. “I mean… we were sleeping together when I was still your CO, for starters. We stole the Normandy and committed treason. Not to mention I’m the reason you got tangled with Cerberus…” She took a breath, but it didn’t feel deep enough. “How much do they even know?”

“I told my mother we were together after our date at Apollo’s.” He kept his words plain, clearly code for they didn’t know anything prior. At least no more than the average civilian.

Karina nodded, remembering Apollo’s with a slight smile threatening at the corner of tightly pulled lips. It was the closest they’ve ever gotten to normalcy during the war. A taste, albeit brief, of what was to come after the Reaper’s defeat. Kaidan was so awkward and vulnerable as he fumbled through his words. It was cute.

She finally ripped her gaze from the scenery, turning to Kaidan. “Speaking of Apollo’s, depending on how this goes I might need another sanity check.” There was a slight laugh at the end of her words, but it was strained. She tapped the door with her nails, desperately in search of stimuli to ease her anxiety. “I haven’t done anything family related in over a decade.”

Kaidan drove with one hand, reaching out for her thigh with the other and squeezed. Karina took his hand into hers before she even realized it. She focused on the strong, calloused fingers interlocked with her own. She let her free hand trace the familiar shape of his knuckles.

Kaidan knew this was going to be hard for her. She no longer had a family to call her own after Mindoir. Though he knew nothing could replace that, he wanted to at least make her feel at home with his own family.

They pulled into a driveway, past the forest of dense pine that finally brought the distant orchard into view. This was the first time he’s been home since the war. Kaidan was barely holding back a smile as he finally turned to Karina. “We’ll be fine, don’t worry. It’ll just be for the weekend.”

He hopped out of the car and made his way to Karina’s side, helping her out and grabbing her cane from the back seat, hesitating for a moment before considering getting the wheelchair in the trunk. “Are you good to walk?”

Karina gave him a slight nod, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

Kaidan sighed quietly, knowing that didn’t answer his question. She always said she was fine, regardless of whether it was true or not. He looked her up and down, trying to assess the situation himself before nodding and grabbing the cane.

The doctors didn’t expect her to be able to walk so soon after her injuries, and all the surgeries that followed the battle at London. She still struggled though. At times it was like her legs had forgotten how to keep her up. But she was out of the hospital now, and that on its own felt like a victory

Kaidan offered Karina his arm, which she took with her free hand in equal parts comfort and support. She took a shaky breath when Kaidan rang the doorbell. The chime echoed through the house as she heard frantic steps shuffling towards the door.

They were greeted by a small, silver haired woman who barely made it to Karina’s chest. Her eyes lit up behind thick, black frames when she saw Kaidan. He had to lean over as she smiled and pulled him into a tight hug. It was clear Kaidan got his eyes and smile from his mother. She patted his back several times before she pulled away and turned towards Karina.

“It’s so good to finally meet you.” She pulled Karina in for a hug just as she did for Kaidan, without warning, as if she’d known her for years. Karina felt her muscles tensing up, not expecting such sudden contact. She could count on one Turian hand how many people hug her like this. Several moments passed until she returned the embrace with unsure arms. His mother soon after released, much to Karina’s relief. “Hope the trip wasn’t too bad.”

“We didn’t have any trouble.” Kaidan cut in, noticing that Karina looked more than a little overwhelmed. He took half a step in her direction, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Karina leaned against him, desperately hoping the attention could be shifted away from her.

It was then Karina saw movement from the hallway headed in their direction. A white haired man who looked almost exactly like Kaidan stepped out.

He walked with such purpose, though it was clear he walked on old injuries that never quite healed right. Despite this, he still carried the posture of someone who served. Karina felt her own posture stiffen reflexively, suddenly feeling like she was a new recruit awaiting inspection all over again. The man stayed silent as he approached, not breaking eye contact.

Kaidan pulled his father in for a hug, neither saying a word. Kaidan’s arms shook slightly. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever see his father again after the reaper war when he was declared missing.

Kaidan retracted before making introductions. “Dad, this is Karina.”

She received a firm handshake from the man. His posture was stiff and awkward as he extended his hand. He clearly didn’t know how to address her, but the feeling was mutual.

Introductions felt like a blur that Karina wasn’t fully present for. Her mind kept drifting off before being pulled back by key words in the conversation. She was never good with small talk, and something about her surroundings kept bringing her mind back to Mindoir, and her own parents.

Luckily, Kaidan and his mother carried the conversation with relative ease. She was updating him about their family. A cousin, as far as Karina could tell. She struggled to keep up with the names.

Karina continued to sip on the wine presented in silence, letting the flavor keep her anchored in the moment. It was a dry red wine, but she couldn’t figure out what kind and felt too awkward to interrupt and ask.

And then the one question she was dreading hit like a bullet to the chest.

“So how’s your family doing, Karina?”

It was a simple enough question, from a well meaning woman who didn’t want to exclude company from conversation, but it required a far more complex answer.

She swallowed hard as she looked over to Kaidan, who looked a shade paler than he did before as he met her gaze. He was seconds from trying to intercept the conversation, before Karina put a hand on his. She knew she’d have to talk about it eventually.

“Oh, I don’t have any family.” It was simple enough, and shut the conversation down before it got too deep. She wasn’t prepared to drop her baggage on a family she hadn’t even gotten the chance to fully know yet.

Karina thought she should feel her pulse rising in her throat by now, but the sensation didn’t come. The ache was a dull one, faded by a decade's time. She quietly pushed the feeling down, shifting the collar of her turtleneck sweater. She silently cleared her throat before changing the subject.

“This wine is lovely. Did it come from this orchard?”

Karina found herself in Kaidan’s childhood bed as the night came to a close, both drained from the combination of wine and late night conversation, but neither could find sleep quite yet. Karina looked around the room decorated in hockey sticks and trophies. It looked like it hadn’t been touched since Kaidan joined the Alliance.

Kaidan caressed her cheek with delicate precision, kissing her temple before speaking. “How’re you feeling? Still need that sanity check?”

Karina leaned against the man at her side, letting her head fall against his shoulder. “Oddly enough, I’m feeling okay.” She paused for a moment, fighting the exhaustion to get the words out. “It’s weird though.”

Kaidan leaned his head against hers. The arm wrapped around her tightening with concern. “How so?”

She sighed. “Just thinking about my own family, I guess. It doesn't hurt as much as it used to.”

He squeezed her shoulder as he kissed the crown of her head, “Time has a way of doing that, huh?”

She wrapped her arms around his waist in response, holding back a yawn. “It’s like I’m almost missing the feeling of loss, because at least there was something there. Y’know?”

Kaidan nodded thoughtfully before planting another kiss, this time more tender as it barely grazed her scalp. “It wasn’t the family you were born with, but I think you managed to find your own family in the time since. You have the old Normandy crew.”

Karina nodded as she began to recline more on the bed, feeling the exhaustion finally begin to overcome her. Kaidan matched her pace, finding their usual position on an unfamiliar bed. Karina let her legs graze his own before they tangled themselves into one another.

“Maybe one day you’ll feel that way here?” Kaidan offered with a low voice, looking at the ceiling as he held Karina close to his side.

Karina pulled herself in closer, until their bodies were flush and her head rested on his chest, nuzzling before finding her usual spot. “I think I’d like that.”

#merweek2021 #mass effect #mass effect fanfiction #shenko #fshenko #kaidan alenko #commander shepard #Karina Shepard

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