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alangdorf · 1 year

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Hi! This is a follow-up post to my kingdom hearts fic Ten Minutes Too Late that I’ve been meaning to make for several years at this point. Under the cut will be some rambling about why I stopped writing it (tl;dr: ADHD, predictably) and then I’ll explain what my future plans for the fic & its universe were and post what stuff I did have written up. I’m totally fine with it if anyone happens to want to use my ideas for their own work btw, I probably won’t be getting around to finishing it anytime soon if ever.

Oh also! BBS Tangled AU writeup is here; I won’t bother with the few snippets of writing I did cause they were all very short false starts.

(Note: I will probably not be making a similar post for my old Undertale au. It’s been too long for me to remember much and I don’t wanna go find my notes, also it’s just not that interesting. The main secret [the Frisk in the comic was from Jerky’s timeline] was guessed immediately anyways.)

The Writing Issue

Guh. So I’ve always been really bad at the act of writing. Results are usually decent, but trying to get myself to write anything that my brain isn’t just coming up with on its own is like pulling teeth. (Honestly it should’ve been a major indicator of my ADHD growing up, but I was the guinea pig oldest child and didn’t get diagnosed ‘til I got to college and the additional time management responsibilities - and writing assignments - pushed things into unmanageable territory.) I’m also an incorrigible perfectionist and rarely manage to force myself to push out first draft material I’m not happy with. Unfortunately this also applies to writing I do for fun, so I have to really really really be inspired to be able to write and even then it’s still often a struggle.

Since I have very little practice with writing, I also just have a large gap between my skill level and my taste, and overall I’m very conscious of issues in my past writing - jokes that are lame because I couldn’t think of anything funny, inconsistent characterizations, over-reliance on plot contrivances (I’m largely resistant to being bothered by contrivances but like it’s a LOT), too much angst and not enough other stuff to balance it out because the angst is all I can focus on, trying to tackle things I don’t have enough personal experience and/or knowledge of and/or tact to handle in a way I find satisfactory, etcetera. I always like my stuff quite a lot when I’m actually rereading it, but the bad bits are what stick in my mind, so it’s hard to even think about my writing without feeling really embarrassed (and meowing). Which makes it really hard to want to focus on writing more of TMTL. Though I also just haven’t been hyperfixating on KH in several years. Maybe I’ll finish my four blaseball wips someday but the odds aren’t looking good…

TMTL Plans

Anyway, hmm, where to start… well, chapter 16 was gonna be a flashback to what happened to Ven & Vani at the start of KH1, namely that they went to the play island while Ansem was there, Ven lost his heart in a Neoshadow attack, and then Vani’s coerced into being a henchman again since Ven’s basically a hostage. He does not have a fun time with that, but he does train Riku (and yes he was the mystery person they saw at Hollow Bastion). I wrote out that chapter but I was a little dissatisfied with it. I guess at the end of this I’ll post all my snippets.

I had a whole plan for all three kids’ paths through KH1 but it was probably wayyy too overambitious to try and write the whole thing given I was never that interested in the kids or in the Disney worlds. To skip to the important bits at the end (also I don’t entirely understand my notes for the rest), Kairi gets to Hollow Bastion before Sora does and Vani ends up removing her heart (it goes to Sora) in a last-ditch effort to stop Ansem’s plan and also keep her safe-ish; in retaliation Ansem sends him to the Realm of Darkness. To be honest this was mostly just to set up Naminé’s continued existence and to get Aqua out of the RoD early.

The end of KH1 goes about as normal except Kairi tags along (also Ven wakes up but doesn’t tag along). Aqua finds Vanitas and Vanitas finds Riku and Vani portals them all out cause I guess he can do that. Then things get a little interesting: since Ven was not involved in the events of Birth by Sleep, Aqua never turned the Land of Departure into Castle Oblivion, so the events of Chain of Memories just kinda don’t happen. Naminé still pops up in the LoD, but Aqua has just returned home and takes her in. For a while. The org comes for her eventually.

The replicas also happen, but under slightly different circumstances; the org occupies part of Hollow Bastion in secret before the Restoration Committee really gets everything under control and they use several stored heart scans: Riku’s (from during kh1) to make Repliku, and, just to see what would happen, they mashed up “Princess of Heart” Kairi’s (from pre-fall of Radiant Garden) and “What I am is darkness” Vanitas’ (from during kh1) to make Xion. (That’s why I draw her with pink eyes in this au, it’s purple + red. Also the average of 4 and 26 is 15, it’s perfect) I dunno what effect them being pure light + pure darkness would have, if any. They’d probably just be a mostly regular keyblade wielder but that’s still valuable to the org.

And with Chain of Memories not happening (also Roxas still exists like normal), Axel gets four kids! I didn’t have any other plans for kh2 and beyond. Eventually Xion gets adopted into Kairi & Vanitas’ family, Roxas into Sora & Ven’s, and Namine is Aqua’s daughter and/or little sister. Also Vanqua happens but I’m not posting most of the stuff I had written for that; it was weird cause I’m not good at writing romance.

I was also very interested in writing interstitials for chapter 3, more about Vanitas and Kairi’s time in Radiant Garden and involving more of the people living there (oh man I remember I had this whole big idea about Cloud and Sephiroth being a really weird heart experiment done by apprentice Nort half-remembering the whole Ven & Vani thing), and also slice of life stuff about everyone living on Destiny islands in the long timeskip between chapter 7(?) and the start of kh1. I’ll put that list of ideas in the snippets section.

The Leftovers

The Chart(TM)

Interstitial ideas list

Ienzo sometimes hangs out with Kairi because Kids; Vanitas does NOT trust him bcuz he is an apprentice and usually brings the wrath of Even with him

Yes Braig is blackmailing Vanitas for babysitting purposes, but he’s also actively protecting him from apprentice Nort?????

Untitled Unversed Game is still so good [Note: this was basically just Unversed wreaking minor havoc in town while Vani’s sick]

All the radiant garden peeps may have had more important stuff going on at the time but they do remember the local cryptid Untitled Goose Game-ing it up for nearly a year and while they may never have seen his face or talked to him, they recognize the Unversed and they’re just like???? The cryptid’s back? And he was just a weird homeless kid the whole time? And Cid’s like yeah duh, I’ve been telling you kids that for the past decade

ALSO I only just had this idea but considering Vanitas got badly enough injured by Aqua as to be put fairly solidly out of commission for a few months, he probably didn’t manage to get entirely off the street before passing out for a while; I dunno much about ffvii Cid, but I do get the vibe that he’d be the type to pick up strays and then gripe about it constantly while picking up some more, so? You know where I’m going with this. Although this is Vanitas fresh offa bbs and four years with Xehanort prior so he does not trust anyone further than he can throw them. Also he probably doesn’t know that Xehanort got amnesia yet, so there’s that too.

Kairi keyblade training??

Oh yeah by the way Kairi and Vanitas? You have three older sisters now who are absolutely thrilled to have surprise little siblings

If he fits he sits; iF HE FITS HE SITS

Kairi settles in nicely (by repressing her trauma) but hoo boy VANITAS is gonna be INTERESTING

DON’T FORGET THE UNVERSED BTW

Also Ven settling in with Hikari and Sora and becoming a real boy

Vanitas angst but that’s a given

Riku?? Riku???????

Ok did Vanitas actually talk through his trauma during therapy or did he just get assistance wrt dealing with trauma & emotions? Either way I think said therapist is extremely in over their head

Chapter 16 + most of the rest of what I had started for future chapters in that same document

[Not edited but a bit at the end was redacted cause I really didn’t like it. Pretty much all Vanitas angst. Very long but there’s pictures at the end. Asterisks are italics cause I use discord too much; empty brackets means there should be other stuff there]

Vanitas let his brother row the boat, since this excursion had been his dumb idea in the first place and Vanitas had never been particularly confident in his nautical navigation skills. He’d gotten off late from work, and Ventus had worked even later, so the sun was already setting. But they were adults. They could handle a little darkness.

There was a bundle of jitters crawling around in the pit of his stomach, but it wasn’t his own emotion he was feeling. He stared pointedly at Ventus, who was almost a little too focused on rowing. “You’re nervous.” It wasn’t a question.

“Hm?” Ventus looked up in surprise. “Um, maybe.”

Vanitas sighed. “You’re the one who asked me to come, idiot. Why are *you* nervous?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, it’s just... we haven’t hung out in a while.”

“Well, I’m flattered you hate me that much.”

“No!” He pouted at Vanitas indignantly. “You didn’t let me finish! I was thinking we should do something together, so that’s why I suggested this. I’m just...” He frowned. “Having second thoughts. I don’t know why, but I really feel like we should go home.”

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that *before* we reached the play island,” Vanitas said dryly, pointing out the dock only five feet away.

“Oh...” Ventus sighed and hopped out. “Never mind, then.”

Vanitas waited until Ventus dragged the boat into the sand to disembark. There was no way he was getting these shoes wet. He untied the flannel from around his waist and put it on, still unbuttoned for now, over his binder. It was going to be an unseasonably chilly night.

He followed Ventus as he headed towards the other side of the island, chatting as he went. “I can’t believe it’s been so long since we first came to the islands, Vanitas! It feels like it’s only been a few days since you and Kairi showed up.” He linked his hands behind his head as he walked, his eyes widening. “Oh, man, Kairi’s *old* now... Those kids grow up so fast...”

Vanitas rolled his eyes. “*We’re* pushing *thirty*, Ventus.”

“Hey, your thirties are the best years of your life!”

“Not when you’re a hardware store manager and the town librarian. Did Hikari tell you that one?”

“... How’d you guess?”

“Because she’s forty and misses being younger.”

“Aww, no she doesn’t. Mom just wishes we could all be home more often.”

“She sure sees you often enough at work.”

Ventus stopped and shook his head. “Just because it’s a small hospital doesn’t mean we see each other all the time, you know. But we both like working there, so it’s all good.” He turned around and smirked at Vanitas. “Besides, you love your jobs, don’t try to lie to me. Taiyo’s practically your dad, and you’d *live* at the library if you could.”

Vanitas struggled to keep a genuine smile off his face. “Yeah, whatever.”

They emerged on the other beach just as the sun reached the horizon, throwing yellow light across the waves. Vanitas made sure to stand directly in its path, basking in the last warmth of the day. Ventus just squinted and made his way down the beach, waiting for Vanitas to follow, which he did, reluctantly. He asked something he’d been meaning to for a while. “Did you ever figure out how to summon your keyblade?”

“...I’ve never tried.” Ventus put his hands in his pockets, standing in the same place he’d found two displaced kids almost a decade ago. “I’d rather not get involved with... all that if I don’t have to. And if I never summon it, we can never fight and forge the χ - blade, right?”

Vanitas stood next to him, shivering in the chilly breeze. “I suppose so. But you know, Kairi finally managed to summon hers a few weeks ago. She could totally beat you up if she wanted to.” He felt he deserved his smug expression.

Ventus looked at him, shocked. “You taught Kairi how to summon her keyblade?”

“She’s older than we were when we first learned. I wanted her to be able to fight... just in case something happens.” He shivered again.

“You’re too pessimistic. Nothing bad’s going to happen.”

“Well, you never know. I still think you should learn.”

“And I think you should wear more clothes if you’re so cold!” Vanitas yelped as his brother poked his exposed belly button.

“Hey, you can’t hide perfection!”

“Ugh, you’ve been working out again, haven’t you?”

He struck a bit of a pose, showing off his abs. “You know it.” They both giggled uncontrollably at the ridiculousness of it all.

Ventus composed himself and crouched down. “I’m still in pretty good shape. I’ll race you to the secret place!”

Vanitas got ready as well. “Oh, you’re on!”

After counting down together, they took off and sprinted down the beach, Vanitas already trailing behind. There was no way he could win against Ventus without teleporting, so he just let the wind whip across his face and through his hair as he ran, not bothering to push himself. He lost sight of Ventus as he entered the passage to the other side of the island and slowed to a walk.

As Vanitas reached the other beach, he looked around for Ventus, but didn’t see him anywhere. He must have already made it to the secret place. He laughed at the fact that Ventus hadn’t even noticed he was no longer being followed and took a step forward.

His whole body was screaming. He went limp and collapsed, his legs folding underneath him and fingers scrambling desperately for purchase in the sand. His head felt like it was splitting open, fear freezing in his veins. His senses failed, and all he could feel was his heartbeat in his ears and hysterical breaths ripping through his chest. What was happening to him?

Suddenly, it all stopped. He clambered to his feet, breathing hard, as he immediately understood. Ventus. He’d been feeling Ventus. Vanitas had experienced his upset emotions before, but nothing like this. This was sheer and all-consuming terror. Something was extremely wrong.

He summoned his keyblade and bolted for the secret place without a second thought, trailing Unversed behind him. He hadn’t lost control over his Unversed in years, but he had more important things to worry about.

His boots made a regular thumping sound on the packed dirt floor of the passageway, echoing his rapid heartbeat. It was dark, but he’d never had problems seeing without light. One of the few perks of his situation. He chuckled breathlessly at the thought, trying unsuccessfully to suppress his building panic.

He skidded into the secret place, eyes immediately locking on to the body on the floor as his shattered heart leapt into his throat. His brother’s eyes were half open, and he lay in a pool of his own blood, motionless. Vanitas *screamed*.

“*Ventus!*”

“*He’s not dead, you know.*” Vanitas looked away in alarm, searching for the source of the deep voice. It was a hooded figure turned away from him and towards the wooden door at the far side of the room. Vanitas raised his keyblade with trembling hands and growled.

“What did you do to him?”

The figure just laughed and raised a covered arm. Shadows appeared all around Vanitas and peeled themselves away from the ground, growing in size until they towered over him. Long, spindly arms. Crooked and trailing antennae. Unblinking eyes glowing a sickly yellow in the darkness.

Neoshadows.

He froze in terror, holding his keyblade in a defensive position, but the Heartless ignored him and went after the Unversed already filling the room, ripping them apart, tearing them limb from limb and wringing their necks, slowly, purposefully. Their deaths came back to Vanitas in a torrent of searing agony, bringing him to his knees, gasping for air, without so much as a touch.

He dropped his keyblade and it shattered. Seeing him unarmed, the Neoshadows descended on him, wrenching his arms behind him, long, sharp fingers curling around his neck and slicing his skin. Claws ripping into him everywhere, twisting in his wounds and holding him down as his blood dripped to the floor. He tried not to scream again, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing he was suffering, but a distressed sob escaped his throat anyways.

This was torture. The Neoshadows were avoiding serious injuries, instead inflicting pain like he hadn’t felt in years. There was no way this was natural Heartless behavior. They were being controlled by the hooded figure. Vanitas stared at it, utterly petrified. He desperately wanted to fight back, but his body wasn’t responding. He couldn’t even struggle against the Neoshadows’ unrelenting grip. His pathetic fear of them had come back in full force, and he was willing to bet Ventus had the same reaction earlier.

A chill ran down his spine as he thought about it carefully. There was only one person who would know about *that* incident.

“... X-xehanort?”

The figure turned around, but Vanitas couldn’t see into its hood. “*My name is Ansem, but I was once called Xehanort.*” It chuckled, low and malicious. “*It has been such a long time, my dear apprentice.*”

This couldn’t be happening. There was no way this was real. He was safe here, he... he’d *been* safe, he’d been *free*. He’d had a normal life, a family; he’d been... happy. But it was all slipping through his fingers as he watched in misery.

“*Look at you, Vanitas. All grown up and mature...*” One of the Neoshadows ran its hand down his face, leaving a slit through his lip with its trailing claws as it caressed him. It made him feel sick. “*The years have been kind to you without me, have they not?*”

He tried not to hyperventilate. “How did you f-find me?”

“*It is but a simple matter to find one with the mark of the Recusant’s Sigil on their heart.*”

“Th-the recusant’s...?”

Oh.

*Oh no.*

Vanitas had a myriad of scars littered across his skin, both from battle and from cruel discipline, but by far the deepest were a pair of intersecting gashes that spanned the entirety of his back. They had been carefully and painfully carved into his flesh time and time again, and even after a decade they hadn’t faded. He had thought they’d been compelled by thoughtless sadism, but he realized now that they formed a recusant’s sigil, the intersection of which lay directly over his heart.

Xehanort never did anything thoughtlessly. He’d been branding Vanitas, marking him as his... *property*, making certain he’d never be able to slip from his clutches.

Vanitas’ heart sank. The past ten years had been for nothing.

He’d never escaped at all.

The hooded figure drew closer, observing him. Its cold voice permeated the air between them, twisting its way into his ears until he could hear nothing else. “*A being of pure darkness... how utterly fascinating. Surely, leaving you behind was one of the worst mistakes I ever made.*” He felt the Neoshadows tighten their grip on him possessively, and his breath hitched in his throat. ”*But it’s a mistake I intend to correct. It’s finally time to return to my side, Vanitas. Imagine all the great things we could accomplish together.*”

“N-no.”

The figure came to a halt. “*... What was that?*”

Vanitas bared his teeth, ignoring the sting of his split lip and glaring up into the dark hood. “I said *no*!”

The figure waved its arm and the Neoshadows roughly forced his head down until he was bowing, staring at a growing puddle of his own blood. Their claws sunk even deeper into his neck. He had to struggle to stay conscious through the pain and panic, trying to breathe but failing miserably.

The voice was absolutely venomous. “*You misunderstand the situation. I wasn’t giving you a choice, boy.*”

Vanitas felt bitter tears collect in the corners of his eyes. He’d thought he was better than this. He’d thought he had gotten stronger, able to put his past behind him, and yet here he was, practically a child again, forced to his knees in anguish in front of Xehanort and completely helpless. Nothing had changed. He couldn’t protect Ventus, who was still unconscious and bleeding on the floor next to him. He couldn’t even protect himself. There was nothing he could do anymore. Nothing at all.

Tears dropped to the floor, mingling with his blood, swirling in sickening patterns as he watched, his vision blurring. He squeezed his eyes shut, choking out a desperate plea. “P-please... just... d-don’t hurt Ventus anymore... I-I’ll... I’ll do whatever you want.”

“*Excellent. I’m looking forward to it. Your first task is to bring Ventus to the castle in Hollow Bastion and wait for me there. You’ll be supervised by the Neoshadows for now.*” He could hear the cruel smile in the voice as it whispered in his ear, the rest of the world melting away around him. “*Well? What do you say, Vanitas?*”

He felt numb.

“... Yes, Master.”

[]

Riku threw Soul Eater down in frustration. They clenched their hands into fists. “Fight *back!*”

Their knuckles impacted solidly on Vanitas’ cheek, but he just slackened and slid to the floor, hair falling around his face. He made no move to get up. “Riku...”

Riku felt tears pricking at the corners of their eyes and slammed them shut as they kicked Vanitas in the side. “I said fight back, you *idiot*!”

His voice was quiet and strained. “I don’t want to hurt you, Riku.”

“*Then why’d you hurt Kairi?!*” Riku tried to shout, but their voice cracked halfway through.

“I - I didn’t mean...” He swallowed hard and with some difficulty, looking at Riku imploringly. “They already have you and Ventus... I... I couldn’t let them have Kairi, too.”

Riku choked out a laugh. “Nobody ‘has’ me! I’m here because I want to be!”

Vanitas only seemed more distressed. “You’re being manipulated, Riku, we all are! The Master’s grooming you to be his new vessel!”

“*I DON’T CARE!*”

Vanitas was taken aback by the outburst, but Riku just kept yelling.

“I *don’t* care, I don’t!” They were really crying now, tears angrily streaming down their face. “I want to be *strong!* Strong enough to protect myself, and strong enough to protect Ventus and Sora and Kairi! Strong like *you*, Vanitas!”

Vanitas lowered his head. “I... I was never strong.”

“You’re right,” Riku croaked. “You’re *weak*, I see that now. I’m weak too, aren’t I?” They sank to their knees, laughing and weeping bitterly. “Sora and Kairi don’t need me anymore. And I’m not even worthy of my own keyblade. The darkness is all I have left. I’m just like you!”

[]

“They’re both important to me.”

“Remarkable, then, that you’ve managed to lose both of them through your foolish actions.”

Vanitas gave Ansem a hard glare. “I swear, I won’t let you or any of your dumb Heartless lay another finger on Ventus. But Kairi...” He looked at her lifeless body, still crumpled on the floor. His stomach turned. “She’s better off without me, anyways.”

Ansem coolly considered him for a moment, thinking. “Well, Vanitas, you may be a fascinating creature, but frankly, I’ve already got all the data I need. And if you’re refusing to follow orders...” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “Then it seems you’ve outlived your usefulness. However...” He smirked. “I do have an idea for one last test.”

Vanitas scoffed, looking away. “I won’t do it.”

Ansem stepped closer, crushing a Thornbite under his boot and chuckling as he saw Vanitas flinch. There was clear amusement in his voice when he spoke. “Don’t worry, it’s a very simple observational study. It doesn’t even require your active participation.”

He retrieved Soul Eater, pressing the tip against Vanitas’ neck, just carefully enough to avoid drawing blood. Vanitas involuntarily went limp as the sword tilted his head upwards, the sharp blade threatening to dig into the exposed flesh below his chin while his dull yellow eyes met a pair of cold teal ones.

Looking at the unfamiliar expression on that familiar face, he realized he could never fight back, not against Riku’s body. Not against this child who was still precious to him. He was powerless. Just as he had always been.

A foreign, vicious grin spread across Riku’s - Ansem’s - face. “Let’s see how much it takes to *break you.*”

[]

“But you’re a creature of pure darkness. A monster.” She leveled her keyblade at him. “This is where you belong.”

He laughed, but to Aqua’s surprise, it didn’t sound at all the way she remembered it. When they had fought, his laugh had been a taunting sound, hysterical and malicious.

The way he sounded now was... heartbroken.

Instead of raising his keyblade, he dropped it, falling to his knees and slumping over, clutching at his chest. “You’re right, Aqua... Th-this *is* where I belong...”

Aqua let her keyblade lower slightly, confused. She hadn’t been expecting him to agree with her, much less with so much sadness in his voice. “What?”

He laughed again, shuddering violently, then without warning his head drooped and he fell sideways. He hit the sand and went completely still, his breathing slowing.

What in the name of Kingdom Hearts was going on? *Vanitas*, of all people, shows up in the Realm of Darkness, has the gall to act surprised to see *her*, then passes out? She was tempted to just leave him there and go on her merry way, but it had been so long since she’d seen another person (although applying the term ‘person’ to Vanitas was questionable) that she decided to have a look.

She carefully approached, wary that he might be faking it. That certainly seemed like something he would do, pretend to be unconscious until Aqua got close enough for him to execute a surprise attack. But there continued to be no indication that he was awake. She even had to kill a few Unversed that were poking around his body.

Aqua used the toe of her shoe to flip him onto his back. To her shock, the action left behind a horrifyingly large bloodstain in the sand. She took a sharp breath as she knelt down beside him, checking him for wounds as best she could through his thick bodysuit. From up close, the coppery stench of blood was nearly overwhelming.

He was bleeding profusely from a gash on his neck, running vertically from his chin all the way down to the middle of his chest. Aqua’s heart skipped a beat as she found a series of almost methodical cuts across his torso and arms. These weren’t made by the indiscriminately attacking Heartless. He’d been deliberately hurt by somebody, and badly. It was a wonder he was even still alive.

She cast a Curaga without a second thought. He may have been an evil brat, but she wasn’t about to leave him to die.

His breathing evened out and Aqua felt herself relax slightly. She settled back on her heels, wiping the blood off her hands. For a moment, she just sat there, contemplating her sleeping enemy. Although she had said he belonged here, in truth, she had no idea how he’d ended up in the Realm of Darkness, let alone with so many injuries. What had happened since the last time she defeated him?

Vanitas continued to lay quietly inert while Aqua’s curiosity grew. She cautiously placed a hand on his helmet, remembering when she had fought him in... what was the name of that city, again? She had nearly removed his mask before he’d yelled at her and run away. But if he was really out this time...

Taking a deep breath, she gingerly pulled the helmet off, exposing a cascade of messy black hair and, beyond that... a face, wet with tears and blood and marred by bruises and old scars. Aqua’s shoulders fell in surprise. He looked just like those boys she had met here not so long ago: Sora and Ventus, if she remembered their names correctly. Perhaps Vanitas had been telling the truth about being Ventus’ brother. She wondered if they’d ever found each other, and, if they had, whether Ventus had made it out of the encounter alive.

Aqua found herself brushing hair from Vanitas’ forehead in spite of her distaste for him. Aside from too-sharp teeth and a pair of pointy ears sticking out from his tangled hair, he could nearly pass for human. She sighed, her eyebrows furrowing. Had he really just been a child this whole time? A child who did horrible things, but.....

Well, he certainly wasn’t a child anymore. He was still pretty short, but he was unmistakably older than he used to be, probably even older than herself. And if his strange behavior was any indication... *maybe* he’d changed. It seemed unlikely, though, especially if he was still running around as Xehanort’s apprentice.

What had happened to Xehanort? To Terra? Aqua was desperate to find out, and Vanitas could be her only chance. If she could manage to wake him up without him trying to kill her, that is. She looked around for something to restrain him with, but, finding not much more than sand and coconuts, she resorted to using her sash to fasten his hands together behind him. It would most likely end up being useless, but it was better than nothing.

A barrage of freezing water against the bare skin of his face. Hands roughly pulling him upright as he coughed, attempting to clear his lungs. He tried to get away, protect himself, *something,* but he couldn’t move his arms and he panicked. His coughing soon turned to gagging, black bile forcing itself through his throat before he could even think.

The hands quickly drew back while a voice he didn’t recognize cursed loudly. The muck splattered on the ground, writhing in agony as beady red eyes formed within it. A keyblade was on it in an instant, sending a jolt of pain through his chest as the fledgling Unversed was destroyed. “*Light,* Vanitas, what is *wrong* with you?” He couldn’t answer, shaking and gasping as he struggled to calm down and remember what was going on.

The hand reached for him again, and though he tried to flinch away, it caught his shoulder and squeezed firmly. “Hey, relax. I’m not gonna hurt you unless you attack me.” It definitely wasn’t the Master, then.

“H-hurts when the... Unversed are k-killed, though...” The other voice said some more words he wouldn’t dare repeat in front of the kids.

Oh. The kids...

Water dripped down his face as his vision cleared, washing blood and black sludge away with it. He could tell that his hands were tied behind his back, although considering his history with the person he’d run into, who was now sitting in front of him looking perturbed, that seemed fair. “Aqua?”

“Yeah? What?” She narrowed her eyes as though he’d said her name as a challenge.

Vanitas could no longer feel the injuries left by Ansem in his last assault. “Did... did you heal me?”

She sighed, sweeping wet hair out of his face as he shivered. “Don’t take it personally. It’s so lonely down here that I didn’t feel like letting you die, that’s all.”

[]

“You mean...?”

Say it. Get it out in the open. It hurt less that way.

“... Yeah. Xehanort abused me.”

She looked horrified. “For *years?*”

He stared down at his shoes. “Yep...”

Aqua’s face cycled through several shades of upset before settling on disdain. “And is that supposed to make me feel sorry for you?” It was pretty obvious she *was* pitying him, but Vanitas didn’t call her out on it.

“I’m well aware it doesn’t excuse what I did to you.” He locked eyes with her earnestly. “I don’t know if you’ll care, but I’m sorry. *Really.* I was hurt and mislead, but that doesn’t make it right.” He looked down again, curling in on himself. “I can understand if you won’t forgive me.”

After a minute of awkward silence, she huffed and turned away. “Well, you’ve certainly become more mature. I wasn’t expecting to ever get an apology out of you. I... appreciate it, I guess.”

“... You’re welcome?”

They sat quietly for a few moments while Aqua contemplated something. Eventually, she faced him again in concern. “What I still don’t get, though, is what reason you’d have to go back to Xehanort *now.* You seem like you’ve become a semi-decent person, so I doubt you’re in it for the apocalyptic aspect, and he treats you terribly and nearly *killed* you when given the chance, so... why?”

He broke eye contact. “I... didn’t have a choice. He took Ventus, and I...” He took a shaky breath. “I *can’t get away* from him, Aqua. He’s constantly tracking me. He knew where I was this whole time, and he just... let me *think* I was free until he wanted his... f-favorite toy back...”

He could almost feel the weight of the sigil on his back curling around him like a vise.

Aqua’s hard expression finally broke. “Vanitas...” She took a deep breath as well. “For what it’s worth, I... I’m sorry, too. For being rude and calling you a... monster.”

He scoffed. “It’s not like it was unwarranted.”

She shook her head. “Maybe not, but I’m sure it didn’t help. I let my anger get the best of me and I didn’t see you were hurting. So... I’m sorry.”

He felt very small then. “... It’s fine.”

Ch 16 pics I never posted cause spoilers

A bit embarrassing though jfhsghd. I generally don’t post my gratuitously angsty/edgy stuff

Xion intro scene

[Notated for edits which I never made]

She chewed her lip nervously, twisting her hands in the hem of her dress. The lower levels of the castle always put her on edge. People in white coats stared at her expectantly as they all pretended not to hear the scary noises coming from deeper in. The silver-haired man who called himself Ansem but was *not* Ansem asked her about her new friend while the one-eyed guard smirked behind him. She didn’t tell the silver-haired man anything. He sighed.

//add

She sat down in the big chair and worried. The man who was not Ansem hadn’t asked to see her in a while, not since soon after the other Ansem had left and the silver-haired man had taken his name. The new Ansem wasn’t as nice as the old one. He’d sent the one-eyed guard to her house very early this morning, and she hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell her friend that she’d be busy today. He’d be upset. He didn’t like being alone. He was -

He was completely alone. He’d been used to being alone, a long time ago. But it felt so *different* this time. This time, he had known what it was like, to be happy, to actually be loved and wanted. And the stark absence of that almost hurt more than anything else.

Almost.

/*The dark claws ripped him apart slowly, almost reverently,*/ as if watching him suffer in their grip was the most fascinating thing in all the worlds. Maybe it was, to Ansem. The creature may have been calling itself his Master, but it seemed more inclined to research rather than actually teach, and the constant threat to the lives of the others caught in its clutches (and his own *pathetic* cowardice) left him a perfectly cooperative subject for its study. Though he couldn’t imagine what this sort of sadistic exercise was actually supposed to achieve, other than leaving him broken and empty.

Then again, maybe that *was* the point. What /*new and interesting thing*/ would Ansem find when it examined his heart? A battered shell, the already shattered remnants of another torn out and ground to dust until all that was left was a hollow, dark void? It wouldn’t surprise him, honestly. It already felt that way.

A sudden streak of agony shot through him as the claws sunk deeper, and he desperately tried not to scream, choking down his sobs as silently as he could. He’d promised himself that he’d be quiet, because otherwise *Riku* would hear, and then -

Who was Riku? She didn’t know a Riku.

She fidgeted, a bit confused. She could tell she was still laying in the chair, but it felt far smaller than it had previously. Or maybe... *she* had somehow grown much *bigger!* She giggled at the realization. If she showed up to the courtyard like this, she’d nearly be as tall as her friend -

He was a little too small. He almost laughed bitterly at that through the pain. He’d already been unfairly short; now he might even be able to properly share clothes with his closet-raiding (spunky, sassy, precious, perfect, *missing, in danger, better off without him*) sister -

*Vanitas!*

*Kairi...*

She beamed with happiness.

He wept in anguish.

His tears ran down her grinning face as he opened her eyes, and nothing had changed. She was still in that horrible room, in that horrible chair, with the silver-haired man that was and was not Ansem staring at him. She brought a hand up to his cheek, surprised to find it dry, with only the ghost of a smile and a faint memory of sorrow left.

He looked down at her unfamiliar hand, catching a glimpse of her hair out of the corner of his eye, shorter than his but a different color than hers. It... it wasn’t right. None of it was right. He trembled, carefully studying the rest of her. Everything was just a little bit wrong. She wasn’t quite him, but he wasn’t quite her, either. She could feel the panic and confusion bubbling up in his chest.

Who was she?

Who was he?

...Who were *they?*

//add

The awful man who was and was not Ansem smiled coldly at them, and gave them their name.

*...Xion.*

The one single Destiny Islands slice-of-life-ish drabble I started one time

Vanitas huffed into the pillow in his arms and pressed further into the corner where his bed met the wall, as he often did. [] He felt the pressure of several unmanifested Unversed threatening to tear themselves free, the incessant prickling of one escaped Thornbite’s vines curling around his ankle - or wait, maybe his foot was just falling asleep from putting pressure on it weird - and the unmistakable beginnings of a tension headache. Fantastic.

He opened one eye at the sound of his door creaking open (he did *not* tense up, he *didn’t*; he’d have to be an idiot to think there was any need to) and caught sight of a sliver of dim light from the hallway growing briefly and then shrinking back to nothing with a careful click of the door handle. He barely had enough time to process what that had been before there was a gentle tug at the one corner of his sheets that was still hanging off the far side of the bed, a wet sniffle, and a whisper.

“Vanitas?”

“What.” He replied flatly, trying not to be *too* annoyed that Kairi had showed up to interrupt his brooding.

“H-had a bad dream...” Kairi paused to take an unsteady breath, rubbing at her eyes with a blanket she’d dragged there with her. “C-can I..?”

He sighed and turned to face the wall. “Whatever. Not like I’m using that side of the bed anyways.”

Kairi stuttered out her thanks. Then with some effort, she hoisted herself up and onto the bed, pulling her blanket up after her, and situated herself in the empty space. Vanitas laid still, listening to her quiet sniveling as she tried to settle down and also blow her nose.

After a few ineffective minutes of this, he grumbled and pushed his irritation away as a small Flood. (Just to get rid of it. Obviously. Might even lessen his headache, if he got lucky for once.) It zipped straight to Kairi, nosing at her face and making her giggle just the tiniest bit. It flopped down beside her as she scratched the back of its neck and pet it gently, and it started warbling contentedly in a way that *aaaalmost* sounded like purring. Tch. Smug little bastard.

Vanitas was... still not quite used to receiving positive feedback through the link he shared with his Unversed, and the phantom sensation brushing up and down his own spine was bizarre, to say the least. It also felt *really* nice though, unfortunately, and he just barely managed to catch himself before the tension would’ve dropped from his shoulders entirely. Kairi hummed mildly behind him and tickled the underside of the Flood’s jaw, making him scowl even harder into his pillow. He heard a few quiet chuckles find their way through the sniffles. Ok yeah, she knew *exactly* what she was doing.

“So, any particular reason you decided to bother *me* instead of your parents?”

Kairi stilled at that, wrapping her arms around the Flood like it was a stuffed animal. “My dream... it was, um. Of home.” Vanitas peeked back towards her apprehensively, catching sight of her quivering lip and still-runny nose. “Of when we left.”

“Do you... remember it?“

Kairi shook her head. “I forgot after I woke up. It was... s-scary, though...” She squeezed the Flood a little tighter. “You got hurt real bad then, didn’t you?”

He hummed noncommittally in response.

“My grandma, the other kids, everyone...” Fresh tears welled up in her eyes. “Do you think anyone else made it out, or are they all... d-did they...?”

Vanitas looked away. “...I don’t know.” He very nearly caught the inside of his cheek between his teeth. He’d been utterly useless during the attack on Radiant Garden. *Worse* than useless; he’d barely escaped with his own life. And in the end, he hadn’t even really saved Kairi, had he? “...S-sorry...”

[]

“And what have I done to deserve it?”

[]

“Would *anything* be different if I’d just-“

*If I’d just died that day at the graveyard like I was* meant *to?*

“...I-if I’d never made it to the city?”

Interstitial of Sora talking to the folks at Traverse Town about Vani

“Why, if it ain’t Squall” - Leon grimaced but didn’t correct him - “an’ Yuffie. Heard you two beat up some kid earlier?” Cid raised an eyebrow.

Yuffie placed a hand over her heart in mock supplication. “For once, I am innocent.” Then she grinned as she elbowed Leon in the side. “This one was all Leon.”

“Sora here claims to know the...” Leon’s brow furrowed as he looked away. “Uh...”

“The cryptid!” Yuffie helpfully supplied.

This did not seem to help Leon. “...Right, that thing.”

Cid almost looked surprised for a moment, but quickly turned dour, squinting at Sora, who was casually standing with his hands behind his head, entirely lost as to what they were talking about. “Well that’d be one heckuva coincidence. Ya sure about that, kid?”

“Uh. Maybe?” Sora wasn’t sure where this was going, but Leon was looking between him and Cid expectantly, so he continued. “What do they look like?”

Cid chewed thoughtfully on his toothpick. “Black hair, yellow eyes, would be... oh, maybe ‘bout Squall’s age nowadays? An’ always had those weird li’l buggers with the red eyes - not Heartless, but kinda similar.”

“Oh!” Sora started in recognition. “Looked kinda like me?”

“Yeah, picked ‘em up off the street ‘bout ten years back. Real piece a’ work, that one. Darn near took my head off trynna get away after they finally woke up.”

[]

“Got the feelin’ he was expectin’ every hand to hurt instead a’ help. An’ looked to me like he learned that from experience, if y’know what I mean. Not too uncommon for kids ya find on the street, but he was worse off than most I seen.

Welp, that’s about it! Asks are always open but I can’t guarantee I’ll answer them. I also usually don’t respond to comments anymore just cause my fics are so old and hard to think about. Thanks for understanding!

#tmtl #writing #tangled au #unseentale #?#i guess #very very long under the cut #A few years ago my dismayed noise of embarrassment turned into meows #I’m nothing if not on-brand I guess

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jokertrap-ran · 3 years

Photo

(时空中的绘旅人—For All Time—) 罗夏 SR 「波波雪糕」 Rorschach SR [Bobo Ice Cream] Painting Story Translation: Azure Island

*For All Time Master-list / Rorschach’s Personal Master-list *Spoiler free: Translations will remain under cut *Card is Free Event-Obtainable. *T/N: Ice cream hotpot is just… fondue, of sorts.

“The taste of summer is delicious.”

His figure never failed to attract my attention. His overwhelming confidence when surfing is similar to that of Poseidon, the one who directs the waves of the sea.

✥ Chapter 1: 造浪池 Wave Pool

MC: AHHHHHH!!

Rorschach: Don't worry, (Y/n). I'm holding onto you.

That’s what he said, but the ferocious artificial waves that came at me made my control over my legs falter.

Rorschach: You don’t need to firmly ground yourself on it all that hard. Try to feel the rhythm of the wave.

MC: I feel nothing! Absolutely nothing!

I faintly heard the sound of his low chuckle and my face instantly heated up.

It's all his fault!

It was only because Rorschach had mentioned that he was good at surfing that the curiosity even started taking root in me.

And that was precisely why I’d invited him to be my coach for today and ended up trying out the cruise’s popular surfing simulator.

But now, looking at the situation I was in, I couldn't help but regret having bugged Rorschach to become my personal surfing coach for the day when I'd clearly overestimated my athletic prowess.

MC: I’ve overestimated my motor skills...

My low mutterings under my breath were completely blocked out by the rolling of the artificial waves.

Before I had the time to react, Rorschach had reached out to extend a gentle hold around my waist as he swiftly plucked me out of the surfing simulator.

Rorschach: Looks like you still need a personal demonstration from your dear coach.

He walked down to retrieve the surfboard, tied his feet to the ropes and slid smoothly onto the waves with practised ease.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Rorschach: Look, (Y/n). The waves are a little big, but don't fret. You are now riding it…

Due to my having dragged him out of his room in a hurry, Rorschach was dressed in clothes that were at risk of getting utterly ruined by water at any given moment.

However, he didn’t seem to mind it at all and continued sharing with me the technique of how he rode the waves along with how it felt to ride one.

Although he looked no different from his usual self now, I could sense that he'd broken free of the chains of gravity, now soaring freely.

His pose was as carefree as that of an unshackled seagull. Faint droplets of water splashed all about. His gallant confidence was way brighter than even the sun itself.

All eyes were now on him, firm and unwavering. Even the professional coach was giving occasional nods from where he stood not too far away.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Rorschach: Ack—!

MC: Watch out!

I'd somehow unwittingly grabbed his hand the moment I heard his yelp.

Although I knew that doing so wouldn't do anything to help stabilize him, I still did it anyway. Do first, think later, as it goes.

Rorschach: Ahem. Pardon me, my tongue slipped.

MC: RORSCHACH!

I couldn't help but bristle in anger, seemingly having thought that he had been in danger of flipping over. However, I never asked why he still didn't let go of my hand.

The warmth from his palm was similar to a reassuring promise, telling me not to fret any longer.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Through Rorschach's patient coaching and my unremitting endeavours, I finally managed to strike and maintain my balance on the surfboard for a few minutes with him holding onto me as support.

MC: And this is JUST a surfing simulator…

MC: I suppose you can say that I've now experienced a smidge of the true terror that is the sea.

Rorschach: Mother nature's no weakling, that's for sure, but people will always find a way to go up against her when the need arises.

Rorschach: What do you think? Was today's experience satisfactory in your book?

I vigorously nodded.

MC: Of course I'm satisfied with it! But I think it's better to actually head out to the beach and watch you ride the waves rather than cooping you up here as my coach.

Rorschach: ...Why does that feel like you've just given me a negative review?

MC: Huh? Why would I?

Blame you and your flamboyant popularity.

I silently groused.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

✥ Chapter 2: 冰激凌火锅 Ice cream Hotpot

Just then, a familiar figure not too far away caught my attention.

MC: Hey, Rorschach? Look, over there. Isn't that Feng Junhao?

Rorschach: The little rascal can’t keep to himself, can he?

A small water gun attached to his waist, looking left and right, he looked like a little officer, here to inspect things.

Being distracted, he didn’t notice both of us as we approached him. He bumped into Rorschach’s leg with a resounding smack.

Feng Junhao: Huh. It's you guys again.

Rorschach: You don't sound too happy

Feng Junhao: Hmph.

He avoided the question but fixated his gaze on me.

Feng Junhao: (Y/n), why do you like hanging out with this guy so much?

My face inexplicably flushed a deep shade of red

Rorschach: You don’t understand, do you? My artistic flair will naturally attract other artists to me.

Feng Junhao didn’t refute Rorschach; an unusual occurrence.

Feng Junhao: Hey, Rorschach…

We exchanged a dubious glance with each other.

Feng Junhao: ……

Feng Junhao: Nevermind.

Before we could even reply to him, he ran away.

MC: Rorschach, I think we should follow him and see what he’s up to.

Rorschach: Agreed.

We tailed him from a distance, watching as he walked into a fine dining establishment before coming out with a glum look on his face.

Rorschach shook his head, walking up to him.

Rorschach: Okay, little devil. What are you up to this time?

Feng Junhao seemed rather unfazed by our sudden appearance.

Feng Junhao: … The ice cream hotpot I want to eat is only sold here.

Rorschach barked out in laughter.

Rorschach: This establishment’s members-only. Let’s see, how about you and (Y/n) go take a seat and I’ll buy one and bring it over to you guys?

Feng Junhao: You’re not making fun of me? You’re buying it for me??

Rorschach slightly bent down, ruffling his hair.

Rorschach: It’s rare to see you being so honest. Consider it a reward.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

The ice cream hotpot, a dazzling array of vibrant colours and fresh ingredients exuding cold air all around, was placed on the table.

Just looking at it alone was enough to make people feel a little cooler under the scorching heat of summer.

Feng Junhao’s eyes shone bright, seemingly satisfied beyond measure at having his wish fulfilled. He had a brief exchange with Rorschach before heartily digging into the ice cream before him.

Rorschach: Is it tasty?

Feng Junhao: Can the ice cream that yours truly favours not taste good!?

Rorschach: My turn to dig in then.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Rorschach reached out and unceremoniously dug a big hole into the sweet treat.

Feng Junhao: Hey, hey, hey! Isn’t the whole hotpot supposed to be mine!?

Rorschach: Hm? When did I ever say that?

Rorschach: I was the one who bought it, and I was also the one who brought it here.

Rorschach: I’ll let your ungratefulness slide, but why are you so adamant against sharing?

Feng Junhao: E-Even if that’s so… too much ice cream does no wonders to your teeth and stomach, so let me shoulder this burden alone.

Rorschach: No way. As a gentleman, I do not advocate kid bullying actions.

Feng Junhao: Who’s. The. Kid. Here!

Rorschach: Plus, (Y/n) and I have been out in the sun for so long, so we need a little dessert to replenish our energy.

Rorschach: And since you’ve already helped us taste-test it with such enthusiasm, I’m now sure that we can eat it without a worry!

Feng Junhao: Can’t you just go buy another?

Feng Junhao: (Y/n) likes chopped peanut snow cones, not ice cream hotpots. Right?

Feng Junhao winked at me, making me nod in response, albeit reluctantly.

Rorschach: I see you always acting so manly, but you choose to “threaten” a girl now?

Rorschach: Heh, looks like I should let you have a taste of how vicious society is out there.

⊹ ˚✩ ━━━━━━━ ∘◦ ✥ ◦∘ ━━━━━━━ ✩˚ ⊹

Rorschach: Here, (Y/n). Open up.

I subconsciously did as he instructed and a strawberry, carved into the shape of a rose and topped with some ice cream, was swiftly delivered into my mouth.

Feng Junhao: AH!? But that’s the nicest strawberry I left for last!

As the two of them bickered on, I smiled, my eyes closing to form crescent moons of happiness.

Yup, the taste of summer truly is delicious.

#时空中的绘旅人 #For All Time #Otome #Translations #Netease #罗夏 #Luo Xia #Rorschach #諏訪部順一 #Suwabe Junichi

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smaidjor · 3 years

Text

and i pay for my place by the ring (Chapter 2)

This chapter took me so fucking long but after much struggle I have completed it!

It was supposed to be 3-4k words. It was exactly 6069 pre-editing according to google docs.

You're welcome.

Chapter Title: with your blessing i will go

Chapter Wordcount: 6073

Content warnings: suicidal thoughts, self-esteem issues, discussion of death, non-graphic injury.

AO3

Chapter 1

i know they're losing (companion fic)

Actual fic under the cut:

The next few weeks are miserable, and if Scott tried to claim anything else, he would absolutely be lying to himself. Not that he doesn’t already do that, but he’s not too proud to admit that not seeing Jimmy is torturous. He knows he can’t, he’s firmly placed Jimmy on the off-limits list, but that doesn’t make the self-imposed rule any easier to follow. There’s still a part of him that wants to go running back to Jimmy’s arms, to beg for forgiveness and pray that Jimmy’s warmth is enough to curb the chill in his bones.

Scott shoves that part of him down firmly. He has no time to hesitate or regret, and he will not spend his days pining and sighing over a human. (Or so he tells himself.) He will be the perfect model of an elven king if that’s what it takes to gain his people’s respect, and he will make his parents proud, not that they’re around to see it. He will . Because Scott may not care about what the Council of Elders thinks of him- he hasn’t for twenty years now- but he does care that the people of Rivendell get a leader who cares for their wellbeing. It’s the least he can do, really.

So he takes on the meetings and the paperwork and the aching, gaping hole in his chest with grim determination, ignoring the way his hands always seem to shake a little and he can never quite get warm. It’s fine. Scott is fine. He’s not going to think about golden smiles or warm brown eyes or the look on Jimmy’s face when Scott told him it was over. He’s fine .

Flipping through the stack of official mail he’s received, Scott’s startled when his hand falls on an elegant cream envelope stamped with the crest of the Ocean Empire. How long has this been here? He hurries to get it open, nearly slicing himself on the letter opener in the process.

Out slides an official invitation in neat cursive.

To High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor, Lord King of the Rivendell Empire,

You are cordially invited to a royal ball to be held at the palace of Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs, at 8 pm on the fifth of August.

Formal attire is required.

RSVP as soon as possible.

At the bottom of it, there’s a note in slightly more rushed handwriting.

Smajor- elvenking or not, I will not appreciate it if you mess with Jimmy in any way, shape or form. This ball is to be a peaceful affair, and I will not hesitate to intervene should anything occur.

Lizzie

Scott winces. He...can’t say he doesn’t deserve the warning, any more than he can say that it doesn’t hurt to be warned away from his own husband. Ex-husband, he quickly reminds himself, reaching for stationary to pen a response.

Dear Ocean Queen Lizzie Ldshadowlady, Queen of the Northern Waves and Reefs,

He stops, giving it a bit of thought. Would avoiding Jimmy be worth the political consequences of refusing an invitation like this? No, he concedes reluctantly, it wouldn’t. He can always just avoid Jimmy at the ball- Lizzie would probably be happy for it, honestly. She’s been protective over him from the start. Scott puts the pen back to paper.

Luckily, I will be able to attend the ball. It sounds like a wonderful event and I eagerly anticipate it. As for your note, I will avoid antagonizing Jimmy as much as possible. I would hate to sacrifice diplomatic relations between our kingdoms for a petty squabble. Will that be satisfactory?

Sincerely,

High King Scott Dangthatsalongname Smajor

What’s going on between him and Jimmy is far more than a petty squabble, but Lizzie doesn’t need to know that. It’s fine. It’s not like he’s going to run into Jimmy anyways, right?

The day of the ball arrives, and Scott spends far too long choosing an outfit. He’s not vain, not usually, but...Jimmy will be there. You’re not supposed to want to impress him , Scott scolds himself, but that doesn’t stop him from wearing his nicest golden jewelry. The rest of his outfit is far more strategically planned- long skirts to hide how terrible his balance is when he’s near-constantly struggling to get a full breath into his lungs, gloves to keep his dance partners from questioning his cold hands.

The ball is already in full swing by the time he arrives, the trip from Rivendell taking longer than he thought it would. He’s still greeted by the Ocean Queen herself, though, gliding over in her stunning ballgown of blue and green.

“Welcome!” Her smile is bright, warm in a way he almost envies.

Scott dips his head just enough to be respectful but not so much as to truly defer to her. He thinks that’s right, anyways; he hasn’t had to think about that particular part of etiquette lessons in some twenty years. “Thank you, Queen Lizzie. I apologize for my lateness, the trip was a bit harrowing.”

“No problem at all, I just hope you enjoy the ball!” Lizzie’s smile gains a sharper edge. “I appreciated your letter, by the way. Thank you for your promise to keep it civil, King Smajor. Now we just all have to follow through on our words!” She accompanies that bit with a little laugh, but Scott’s not a fool enough to take it as anything but a warning. She doesn’t want trouble at her ball, and who would, really?

“Hopefully we can manage at least that,” he offers wryly, earning another laugh and a bright “Hopefully!”

Scott doesn’t mean to cause trouble at the ball, he really doesn’t. But before he has a chance to even get a look around, Jimmy’s standing in front of him. And oh, this really isn’t how he hoped it’d go.

“Lord Codfather,” Scott greets, swallowing the lump in his throat. Jimmy cleans up nicely- really nicely- but Scott’s eyes keep going to the scar on his throat, the permanent reminder of how fragile and mortal Jimmy really is.

“Elvenking,” Jimmy says. The formality sounds awkward in his bright voice, and Scott wants to kiss the uncertainty right off his face. “Care for a dance?”

He can’t- he should, Scott knows. There would be value to an alliance with Jimmy, and he has no good reason to turn him down. That’s not why he says yes, though. It’s that look in Jimmy’s eyes, the hope poorly disguised by indifference. He’s so optimistic. Scott shouldn't encourage it, but he can’t find it in himself to break that fragile hope just yet.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind,” Scott says finally. He takes Jimmy’s outstretched hand in his own gloved one; Vilya rests on Jimmy’s finger, still, and it’s a battle to keep the memories of giving Jimmy that ring at bay. He wins that battle, though, letting Jimmy put a hand on his waist as they start into a simple waltz.

Jimmy is a terrible dancer, and Scott knows it. He steps on Scott’s feet, he gets off-rhythm- he’s frankly not made for dancing, much as the way he hums along to the tune is adorable. His hair, which was probably once nicely styled, has already fallen out of place, and his tunic is a little wrinkled. His hands are rough, tough from all the work he does with them, and his face has a tiny bit of mud on it that he must have missed when getting ready. He looks very much like a sweet little swamp boy, out of place in the midst of all the more elegant and powerful rulers.

He’s the most beautiful thing Scott’s ever seen.

Unlike the last time they danced, back in 3rd life where Jimmy leaned on Scott for balance as he tried to learn the complicated steps, this time it’s Scott clinging to Jimmy for stability. He feels bad about how harsh his grip gets, but he can’t afford to show weakness. He has to stay on his feet.

Scott’s silently thankful when the dance ends and he can lead them off the dance floor. He’s exhausted and shaky, and he’s not sure how much longer he can be around Jimmy without breaking down or doing something very stupid.

“Thank you for the dance, Codfather,” Scott says. He takes a step back, banishing the lingering emotion of their dance.

A beat of silence, and then.

“Can we please stop acting like we don’t know each other?” Jimmy demands, earning a ripple of gasps from nearby guests.

“What else do you want from me?” Scott snaps back, anger rising to fill the gap in his chest.

“I- something! Anything! Just acknowledge that I exist, won’t you?”

Scott swallows down the lump in his throat. “Acknowledging you exist doesn’t mean I can still be in love with you, you know.”

“I know,” Jimmy says. He sounds so bitter, so tired. “I know , trust me. I just want you to stop- to stop hurting yourself to try and avoid pain!”

“That’s not what I’m do-”

Jimmy cuts him off, a rare occurrence. “Then what are you doing? Enlighten me, o wise elf! You told me it would destroy you to lose me, but you’re losing me now by pushing me away!”

His chest tightens, and he can barely force the words out. “I’m trying to do what’s best for the both of us, Jimmy.”

“No you’re-”

It’s Scott’s turn to cut him off. “I am an elf, and I cannot love a mortal. Humans are quick flames, burning and changing quickly. You’ll fall in love again, and you’ll forget me.” It hurts, but it’s true. There will be a mortal who loves you- I’m sure there are many already.” Jimmy’s so wonderful, there are bound to be others who see it.

“But I don’t want a mortal,” Jimmy says. It’s almost childish, but his next words still break Scott’s heart. “I want you. ”

“You can’t have me.” Scott is vividly aware of the fact that there are eyes on him, that their little spat has attracted the attention of the rest of the ballroom.

“But why? Why, Scott?” Jimmy’s voice breaks, and the crack in it is damn near enough to make Scott lose his tiny bit of remaining self-control. “You said you loved me, you promised me all the time we’d be able to- to carve out, to steal from the universe.” It sounds like an accusation, and maybe it is. Scott did promise him that, after all, and then he went back on it.

It wasn’t for no reason, though. He needs Jimmy to understand that it was for a reason. “I can’t give you that!” He snaps back, and his hands tremble when they try to form fists by his side. “You’ll live sixty more years, maybe, a fraction of my life, a blink of an eye to an elf, and I can’t even give you that long! Not when I have to be the elvenking before anything else. Nothing I can do will ever be enough for you.” It’s bitter, but it’s true. Scott can’t be enough for anyone, in the end.

“Enough for me? For ME?”Jimmy’s voice rises in outrage. “All I want is for you not to die to your own dumb plan and acknowledge my existence once in a while!”

Scott’s voice rises in response. “And all I want is for you to realize I can’t love you again!”

“Why can’t you care about me?”

“Why can’t you move on?”

“You’re not moving on, you’re just trying to forget!” Jimmy shouts.

Scott falls silent, breathing hard as the ballroom goes quiet around them. He spots Lizzie sweeping through the crowd, coming to a stop next to Jimmy.

“Is everything alright, boys?” She’s smiling, but it’s strained, and her eyes promise death if this quarrel was Scott’s fault.

“My apologies, Ocean Queen,” he says, and he tries to gather his composure as he dips his head to her. “Everything is alright, but I am afraid I will have to leave early.” He doesn’t look at Jimmy.

She smiles again, dangerous this time. “No need to worry, Lord Smajor. Do try to avoid picking fights with my allies, next time, though.”

“It won’t happen again,” he promises, and he only nearly stumbles when he turns to leave.

Distantly, he can hear Jimmy shout after him. “Coward!” The word is harsh, but there’s hurt beneath it. “You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott stumbles away all the quicker.

He keeps composed all the way out the doors and most of the way down the stairs until he’s sure no one can see him from the ballroom. It’s only then that he breaks into a run, lifting up his stupid skirts so he doesn’t fall. One shoe falls off, a twisted parody of a children’s fairy tale, and he doesn’t bother to retrieve it. The prismarine stabs at his exposed foot, but Scott doesn’t have the energy to care. Instead, he beats his wings, trying to get enough momentum for a good takeoff.

For a few precious moments, he gets off the ground, and then he remembers Jimmy’s face as he left, wingbeats stuttering with the sudden emotion, and tumbles back to the rough prismarine path. It hurts , it does, but it’s nothing on the pain in his chest. Nothing on the words still echoing in his head. Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!

Scott lays there for a moment, half-wondering if anyone’s coming after him. It’s unlikely, he knows, given how badly he messed things up. He tells himself that that’s a good thing, that he doesn’t want anyone to come looking. He doesn’t need them. He should be strong.

Before anyone has time to notice or be concerned, he’s forced himself back to his feet, starting the takeoff sequence all over again.

This time, he gets in the air with little difficulty, though he lists to the side as he favors his right wing, which took the brunt of the fall. It’s fine. He’s fine, he doesn’t need help.

If Scott believed in the elven gods anymore, he would thank them for the fact that he gets back to Rivendell at all. There are tears blurring his vision, and every part of his body aches, his chest most of all. His flight is shaky at best, outright dangerous at worst, crashing into trees and rocks and the ground multiple times. Each time, he barely picks himself back up before mobs arrive. Sometimes, he questions if he should at all. He’s as good as dead anyways. And yet, the tiny stubborn part of him that got him through 3rd life won’t let him just lay down and die. For some reason, even though he’s slept enough recently (he thinks, anyways), there are phantoms on him. They sense when their prey is sleep-deprived, Scott knows, and wonders if he’s just weak enough to seem that way to them.

By the time he crash-lands on the mountainside, it’s pushing two in the morning, and Scott is more dead than alive. Not that he hasn’t been for a while now, he thinks, and laughs aloud to himself, bitter.

The night watch give him strange looks, but both elves on guard duty obligingly dip their heads when he stumbles by. He barely musters the energy to nod back.

Finally he makes it back to his house, slamming his door behind him and burying his face in his hands. This is the right thing to do, why does it hurt so much? He already lost Jimmy once, why does it feel like he’s losing him all over again when he never really got him back in the first place?

Someone coughs lightly, breaking through his thoughts. The voice is familiar when they speak- one of his advisors. “Lord Smajor? Any major events we should know of at the ball?”

Cold. Calm. Scott knows this is the way of the elves- their royalty cannot dare be human. “The Codfather’s our enemy and the Ocean Queen probably hates us too.” He doesn’t bother trying to make himself sound calm and collected, pushing off the wall and stalking towards the stairs.

“What?” The advisor’s voice pitches up in shock. “What did you do?”

“None of your business.”

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

“It wasn’t like I was fucking trying to,” He snaps.

A gasp. “Language.”

“Fuck off.”

They hurry after him, making to follow him up the stairs. “Lord Smajor-”

Scott turns to face them, taking in the shock and rage painted across their ancient face. “Leave me be.”

“Do not disrespect your elders,” the advisor scolds. “I remember when you were a child, you always were reckless, but this is a new level of disrespect! Why, Xornoth would never-”

“ Enough ,” he hisses. “Do not talk about my sibling.”

They freeze, a bit of genuine fear creeping onto their face. “My lord-”

“Get out of my house,” Scott snarls.

They wisely obey. Scott slumps against the banister as the surge of adrenaline abates, suddenly exhausted. He’s freezing, he realizes, a bone-deep chill that he doesn’t bother to pretend is from his trip home. Scott’s done lying to himself- he’s in pain, and he’s in love, but then again, those equate to roughly the same thing when all’s said and done. You can’t have heartbreak without love or love without heartbreak. (But oh how he wishes he could.)

Scott doesn’t get out of bed the next day, and no one dares try to force him. Varying members of Rivendell’s Council of Elders make a decent shot at trying to convince him, but all it takes is him fixing them with his dead-eyed stare to make them leave. The people of Rivendell are used to their ruler’s odd sleep schedule by now, brushing it off easily, and the empire itself is mostly functional without him. So instead of getting up and dealing with the corruption or making sure Rivendell’s stores are prepared for winter or any of the things he should be doing, Scott lays there in his own misery and thinks about Jimmy screaming that he’s a coward.

He’s right, that’s the worst part. Scott is a coward. He’s scared of Xornoth and the corruption and never, ever being enough, he’s scared of responsibility and his own mind, he’s scared of fading and dying alone, and- most of all- he’s absolutely terrified of how much he loves Jimmy.

His father warned him about fading, once, back before Scott was expected to carry a crown on his brow and the weight of a nation on his shoulders. He bounced Scott on his knee and told him that elven hearts are fragile, too fragile for how strongly they love. “Don’t fall too deep in love, son,” he said, and the words carried the weight of years of grief. “Don’t care too much about any one person, not if you want to live to be a legend of the ages. Doesn’t matter what kind of love it is, love can be lethal.”

Scott didn’t listen, of course- reckless, rebellious Scott, who never once listened to his elders, went and did the most dangerous thing an elf could do. He fell in love with a human.

And now he’s dying. Surely that gives him a pass to wallow in his own misery for a day or two. He’s been brave for so long, can’t he just rest a few moments? Just...just a few. He’ll just lay here a bit longer.

At that moment, the front door creaks open somewhere below him.

“My lord? Can I come up?” Someone calls from below. Their voice is also familiar- Gilnar. Gilnar’s a good captain of the guard. Dutiful, clever, and far more willing to respect him than most of Rivendell’s high ranking elves.

“If you’ve come to convince me to get up, it won’t work,” Scott calls back.

Gilnar’s head peeks over the railing a moment later. “Nope, not here for that. Just thought I’d check in, y’know?” The Sindarin words sound almost musical in their accent, rolling up and down with a unique sort of rhythm.

“Alright.”

“Are you okay, my lord?”

“No.” He’s done lying. “Leave me be.”

Gilnar shakes their head. “Sorry, my lord, can’t do that.”

“If you’re going to tell me my people need me, don’t waste your breath. I know .” Scott’s voice cracks on the last word, just a little.

“Not that either. But with all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.” They lean against the railing.

“What do you mean by that?”

They cough, a little awkwardly. “The soul-sickness. The fading.”

Scott’s mouth opens and closes, and he sputters. “How-”

“Trainin’ with the royal guard a few weeks back, your hands were freezin’ and your balance was off. You haven’t gotten up at a reasonable hour in weeks, and, well, with all due respect- I know what heartbreak looks like.”

He’s silent for a moment, utterly floored. “What do you mean by giving up?”

“Well, Lauriel and I were talkin’, and….your love’s still alive, isn’t he? The Codfather?”

“How did you-”

Gilnar flashes him a tiny grin. “He’s not subtle, and neither are you. Plus, he has Vilya.”

Deciding to shove that to the back of his mind for now, Scott sighs. “He’s a mortal, Gilnar. I’m not giving up anything that I won’t already lose in sixty years or so.”

“Luthien loved Beren, didn’t she?”

“I am not Luthien. I cannot sing so well that the gods grant me pardon.”

“And Idril loved Tuor.”

“I am not Idril. I cannot bring Jimmy to the Undying Lands.”

“Arwen still loved Aragorn.”

“I am not Arwen. I do not have the choice to give up my immortal life.”

Gilnar’s smile turns sad. “Caranthir still loved Haleth. And Celebrimbor loved Narvi just the same, didn’t he? The doomed love all the more fiercely, my lord.”

“The rest of the elves won’t be happy with me,” Scott points out.

“You think Thingol and Turgon and Elrond were happy when their daughters loved mortals? You think Luthien’s people didn’t scorn Beren at first?”

Scott doesn’t have any retort to that, and Gilnar hops up from their seat on the banister. “Well, I need to get back to my duties, my lord. Good luck with your swamp boy!”

They’re gone as soon as they arrive, and Scott stares up at the ceiling, his thoughts dragging him along a spiral of emotion.

“Coward! You’re a coward, Scott!”

Scott is a coward. He’s a liar and a coward. Nothing he does will ever be right.

“Don’t fall too deep in love, son.”

Scott did, though. Like the idiot he is, he fell in love with someone the universe didn’t want him to have.

“Caranthir still loved Haleth.”

He did. And he paid for it. Does it matter? Scott thinks that losing Jimmy might be a price worth paying for the joy of loving him.

“You cannot have embarrassed the elven realm at the largest event of the year-”

Scott didn’t mean to, but he still messed up and shouted at Jimmy. He’s a failure. Jimmy could do better. He deserves better.

“I don’t want a mortal. I want you .”

Jimmy’s so stupid. Stupid Codfather with his stupid bright eyes and stupid, stupid insistence on not giving up on someone he should never have loved to begin with. Scott loves him so much more than he could ever put into words.

“With all due respect, seems a little like you’re givin’ up on yourself just a bit, my lord.”

Jimmy deserves an apology. Scott won’t give up.

(Not on Jimmy, anyways.)

It takes him nearly a month of furious work to make the precious mithril bracelet, refining it over and over again. He picks the flowers and their meanings carefully- love, hope, protection- and the crystals too. Amethysts for protection, carefully traded for filled with any bit of magic he can spare for them. The lettering carved into the underside is yet another layer of blessings and meaning; he does it in Quenya, the Tengwar script, which Scott knows Jimmy can’t read. He has to look up how to write in it after so many years of never so much as looking at elven script, pouring over old books by candlelight. By day, he rules an empire, relying on the rush of adrenaline and motivation to carry him through even on the days when he’s swaying on his feet by the end. By night, he works on a courtship project like none he’s made before until at last, at nearly three in the morning one night, it’s finished.

It’s not the most beautiful it could have been. Scott isn’t one of the great Noldor smiths of old, he’s just an elf in love. His hands are perpetually shaky nowadays, and he has limited time to work on it between every other responsibility in his life. But every centimeter of it is handmade with all the care he could muster, and that has to count for something.

Scott hardly wants to wait to give it to Jimmy, but he forces himself to try and wait for morning. His anxiety doesn’t let him sleep much, exhausted as he is, but he curls up under the covers and stares at the bracelet on his nightstand. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off it, half-convinced it will vanish if he does. Eventually, his eyes slide shut of their own will, carrying him into an uneasy sleep.

He wakes up long after the sun's risen, staggering out of bed and throwing on a cloak for the journey to Jimmy’s. The cold that he’s been banishing with the warmth of a forge has returned tenfold, and he’s shivering despite elves normally being resistant to chills. When he takes a glance at himself in the mirror, he finds that his hair is out of place, there’s a streak of ink across his cheek, and the dark circles under his eyes look like bruises. He looks a mess, and he doesn’t care. Jimmy is all that matters now.

The journey’s both long and rough, and his landing in the swamp is more like a frantic swan dive out of the sky. Luckily, though, the ground is soft here, and Scott’s able to pick himself up and hurry for Jimmy’s house, ignoring the stares of a few Codland citizens. He knocks, heart in his throat as he waits for the door to open.

The hinges squeak, and suddenly Jimmy’s standing there, a mix of emotions that Scott doesn’t even want to try and comprehend scattered across his face. He looks a little sleepy despite the fact that it must be near noon, and so very sweet with his hair falling in his face. The sight of him knocks the air right out of Scott’s lungs, and he has to struggle to remember why he’s here again for a long moment as they stare at each other.

“Hi,” Scott says weakly.

“Scott? What- why are you here?” Jimmy sounds outraged, and Scott can’t blame him.

Scott swallows hard. “I came to apologize.” His tired brain scrambles for words, something, anything to convey how truly sorry he is. “I was scared- I am scared. I’m terrified to lose you again. But I shouldn’t have pushed you away and hurt you.”

“No, you shouldn’t have!” Jimmy snaps.

“I know.” God, he didn’t expect it to hurt this much to hear the rage in Jimmy’s voice. “I- uh- fuck.” Scott fumbles to get the box he put the bracelet in, holding it out. “I brought a gift as an apology.”

Jimmy’s silent for a long moment, examining the bracelet. Scott barely dares breathe as he turns it over and over in his hands, tracing the flower designs with his fingertips. “Did you make this yourself?”

“Mhm. I did my best, but it’s not as nice as I’d like.” And, well, isn’t that just the story of his life?

“It’s pretty,” Jimmy says. He sounds genuine.

Scott lets out a breath, letting some of the tension go. “It’s spelled, too. Protection, good fortune, that sort of thing.”

“Do the flowers mean something?”

“They do.”

Jimmy doesn’t press for details.

“I-” Scott starts, and then pauses. What does he say? An apology would be a start, maybe. “I’m sorry, Jimmy, I really am. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but I needed to apologize before my time ran out.” It’s the truth, as wholly as he can bear to give it.

“Is it that- that dire?” Jimmy’s voice shakes a little, and Scott gives a tiny nod.

“This is what I chose to do with it. Making that, coming here. You deserved an apology.”

Jimmy goes quiet again. His eyes are still on the bracelet, and Scott can hardly breathe again.

Finally, he can’t take the tension. “It wouldn’t be fair of me to ask you to love me. I can’t promise you eternity. I can’t promise you happiness. I can’t promise you that I won’t have to be the elvenking first and a husband second. But I am still yours-” he’s always been, really- “if you’ll have me.”

The silence that falls after that is even more stifling than the previous two. Scott doesn’t expect Jimmy to want him back- far from it. He’s putting his heart in Jimmy’s hands, but he doesn’t expect anything other than it shattering on the floor. Maybe Jimmy will be kind enough to let him down gently, but Scott’s fragile enough that it would only take a tiny nudge to break him. And yet he can’t stop the tiny bit of hope that blooms, though it dwindles minute by minute as Jimmy stares and stares. Finally, he opens his mouth to make his apologies again and leave to his frozen, icy empire-

And then there are hands in his hair and lips on his, warm and sudden and bold. Scott gives a little startled gasp, which is swallowed up by Jimmy’s kiss. Their noses knock together and Jimmy’s teeth click against his just a little in their haste, but Scott’s far too overwhelmed by the sudden rush of warmth to care.

When Jimmy finally pulls away, Scott’s left breathless, cheeks warm in a way no part of him has been since Jimmy died in 3rd life.

He barely pulls himself together enough to manage a wry little “So, I’ll take that as you want to stay married?”

“Of course I do! You absolute idiot!”

Jimmy sounds so startled and offended at the idea that he wouldn’t , Scott’s not sure whether to laugh or cry. “Just checking.”

Jimmy kisses him again in response, and who’s Scott to protest? No, he’s more than happy to let Jimmy pull him close and kiss away the lingering sorrow. When Jimmy pulls away this time, he’s left dizzy, half caught up in the euphoria of being loved, half terrified that this is only a cruel dream.

By the time Scott collects himself again, Jimmy’s holding out the bracelet to him. “Can you help me put this on?”

Scott can only nod, fumbling with the clasp a little. It’s not complicated, but his hands aren’t steady, and it takes him a moment to get it. Jimmy grabs his hands when he lets go, and he’s so warm that Scott can’t muster the energy to even question why.

“Come in and catch up with me?” Jimmy offers.

Scott nods again, and he can’t bear to let go of Jimmy’s hand when Jimmy turns to go inside.

They talk a lot, Jimmy more than Scott. Scott learns that Jimmy’s been picked on by other rulers (no surprise, but his blood still boils at the thought), and he shares minimal details about what he’s been up to. Jimmy doesn’t need to hear about Scott’s issues, he’s already dealing with enough.

Eventually, though, the sun is starting to set.

“I need to get home,” Scott says, though he has to force himself to. “You need sleep, not to stay up all night talking.” He goes to get up, and Jimmy immediately lunges, catching his sleeve.

“Don’t go! Please.” Jimmy sounds almost afraid, which instantly sets off alarm bells.

“Jimmy, darling, we both need to sleep,” Scott tells him, very patiently.

“We can sleep! I just….nevermind.”

Now the alarm bells are really going off in Scott’s head. He knows when his husband is hiding something serious, and Jimmy’s frantic tone isn’t helping his worry. “No, no. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Jimmy claims.

Scott frowns at him lightly. “ Jimmy .”

That’s all it takes. “I don’t want to be alone!” Jimmy blurts. He’s blushing a little. “It’s just, I’ve been alone for a long time, and there’s this demon thing that keeps showing up, and I’ve only just got you back, I’m not ready to let you go, and-”

Oh, Jimmy . Scott holds up a hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Hold on. What was that about a demon?”

“There’s this demon creature that I keep seeing, and it’s really messing with me. It sounds like you, sometimes, but all distorted, and I can’t handle it! You know me, I’m not brave or smart or anything, I’m just Jimmy!” Jimmy’s voice pitches up with distress, and Scott’s heart aches for him.

“Alright,” he says, as gently as he can manage. “How about you come to Rivendell for the night, then? I can protect us both easier there.” More like, Aeor can protect them. Scott’s useless, even with Vilya.

Jimmy nods and takes Scott’s hand with a tiny little “Thank you.”

“Always,” Scott murmurs. It comes out softer than he means it to, though it’s the truth. He’ll always do whatever he can to protect Jimmy, which is why he asks “Do you still have the ring I gave you?”

“I do, I just… give me a moment to remember where I put it.”

“Good. It’s important.” Vilya is one of the most important parts of his heritage, actually, and his advisors would pitch a fit if they knew he had given it to a mortal. For once, he can’t bring himself to care what his advisors would think, though. Jimmy is important, more important than any piece of jewelry.

Jimmy follows Scott to Rivendell, and Scott can’t resist a proud smile when Jimmy praises the buildings. He takes Jimmy inside, lets him curl up under the warm covers, his head tucked against Scott’s chest, and it’s only once Jimmy’s asleep that Scott lets himself break. He’s so tired , so utterly exhausted from being brave for so long. Even now that his husband is curled up next to him, warm and solid and real, he can hardly believe that Jimmy actually wanted him back- wanted him at all, really. Scott doesn’t want to move for fear of waking up Jimmy, but luckily for him, he’s good at crying silently. That’s what he does, tears slipping down his face to wet the pillow below. Only the faintest whimper escapes his lips, a tiny broken noise that he’s embarrassed of even in this emotional state. And when another slips out, he buries his face in Jimmy’s hair and forces himself back into silence. He’s not going to cry over the best thing that’s ever happened to him, he isn’t , but he’s just so tired of being alone that being with someone else is almost painful in contrast; he’s so cold that the slightest touch of warmth feels burning.

Jimmy shifts in his sleep, mumbling something that sounds vaguely affectionate and pulling Scott closer, and Scott nearly chokes from the effort of restraining a sob. Gods, Jimmy . He could die like this, tucked in his husband’s arms, and he doesn’t think he’d regret it.

“I love you,” he whispers into the night. It comes out choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry, Jimmy, I’m so sorry.”

Jimmy mumbles something that sounds a lot like “I love you too”, and that’s what really breaks Scott. It’s a miracle Jimmy doesn’t wake up, really, with Scott’s quiet sobs shaking the mattress. He cries until he’s all out of tears, as silently as he can manage, and only then does he slip into a sound sleep.

#scott smajor #jimmy solidarity #flower husbands #empires smp #my writing

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melanielocke · 3 years

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Conceal don't Feel - Two

Love is an Open Door

Taglist: @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised @alastair-appreciation-month @writeordie-4 @amchara

AO3

Previous chapter: One: Do You Wanna Build a Snowman

Next chapter: For the First Time in Forever (to be posted)

Cordelia had never been so disappointed in her entire life. She’d been promised a guest, someone closer to her and Alastair’s age, someone who could end her days of loneliness and be her friend. Father had told her about it himself on one of his better days, he’d invited someone of her generation to come help Alastair. She knew the guest would be there mainly for her brother, of course, but Alastair hated being around people and she was sure whoever the guest was would have plenty of time to spend with her instead. She’d longed for someone to end her loneliness for such a long time she had started fantasizing about the person who would be staying until she’d gotten some admittedly unrealistic expectations. Instead, Charles Fairchild had arrived.

He wasn’t as close to her age as had been promised. Instead, he was eight years older than her, which she guessed was technically her generation, but he found himself far too mature to spend time with silly little girls like her. Not to mention, of course, that he was here for Alastair, and Alastair alone. With Father sick so often and Mother filling in, Alastair needed someone to teach him how to be a king. Somehow, her brother tolerated Charles’ presence whereas he still told Cordelia to go away and leave him alone whenever she approached him. After a few weeks she learned Charles had a younger brother around Cordelia’s age, but of course he hadn’t been invited.

With a groan, she returned to her practice with cortana. It was all she had these days, all she cared about. Even if she was all alone and her brother had barely spoken to her in years, she had been gifted the family sword, both a great honor and responsibility. She wondered sometimes why Alastair had chosen to gift her cortana, as it was tradition the sword went to the heir to the throne.

‘I knew it was important to you,’ was all he’d said when she’d asked, but for Cordelia that wasn’t a satisfactory answer. Giving her a powerful sword that was rightfully his because he knew it was important to her implied he loved her, yet nothing else Alastair did or said showed he even cared about her a little bit. If he loved her, he would spend time with her, not hide in his room and yell at her to go away.

Nowadays, he would only ever spend times with Charles, because of course while Cordelia wasn’t good enough for him, Charles was everything. They deserved each other, Cordelia had decided. They were both boring and stupid and could only ever talk about politics. The only time Charles paid Cordelia any mind was when he told her a princess shouldn’t be eating so much chocolate and maybe she should try losing some weight. He had a point, princesses were supposed to be slim and small and Cordelia wasn’t, but he didn’t have to be so rude about it. She didn’t understand why Alastair followed Charles around like some lost puppy. He used to shut the world out, and it seemed like he’d opened the door, but right after Charles had entered it had shut down with full force once more.

She wished she could let it go, and forget about her brother, but she couldn’t. She still remembered the fun they used to have when they were little, how he’d looked out for her and helped her build the most amazing snowmen. It had all happened so sudden, one day they were playing in the snow together, the next he wouldn’t leave his room and refused to even speak to her. Perhaps there was an explanation, something that would make it all make sense. But then why was Charles the exception, and what did Alastair see in him?

***

When Charles arrived in Arendelle, Alastair redoubled his resolve to get this power under control, to never let it show. Letting Thomas see had been a mistake. He’d trusted Thomas, had cared for him, and now they would never see each other again and how could he be sure Thomas hadn’t shared his secret? He had no reason to assume Charles would even accept the way he was. He could never know.

‘The palace of Arendelle is beautiful,’ Charles said. ‘A different style from the palace of the southern isles. Not that that is still in use, it has been turned into a museum. A real shame.’

Charles made no effort to hide the disdain in his voice as he said the word museum.

‘Why?’ Alastair asked.

‘Because there’s no monarchy anymore,’ Charles said. ‘My mother was the Queen of the Southern Isles until two years ago. She ended the monarchy and was elected as president instead. She thought it unfitting for an elected leader to live in a grand palace, so she decided it should be a museum instead to preserve our country’s history.’

Alastair stared at Charles with wide eyes. ‘That’s a possibility? I could just end the monarchy and have elections for a leader? And whoever has good ideas on how to improve the country could just sign up?’

He imagined all sorts of people would be willing to give it a try, and Alastair had never wanted the throne anyway. He had no idea how he’d be king and meet with cabinet members and foreign officials and never show the ice that rested inside of him.

Charles chuckled, as if he’d just said something ridiculous.

‘Perhaps not,’ he said quietly, already feeling stupid.

‘Being a Crown Prince is an honor, Alastair, a great privilege. Who in their right mind would give that up? Why would you not want to be king?’

Alastair sighed. ‘I guess you’re right. It’s just a lot of responsibility, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.’

‘That’s alright. That’s why I’m here. I might not be a prince anymore, but I have a lot of experience being one and later I helped with my mother’s presidential campaign and presidency. I know how to run a country.’

His friendship with Charles might have been a bit rocky at first, but Alastair soon learnt to trust him more. It was a bit like with Thomas, when Charles was near Alastair felt calmer and could control the ice.

Charles was knowledgeable and took his time to educate Alastair on everything he thought was important for a future king. He was often willing to make time for Alastair, even when it was not convenient for him, and Alastair thought as long as Charles was here, everything was going to be alright.

‘What will you do, when you return to the southern isles?’ Alastair asked him one day.

‘Run for president myself,’ Charles said. ‘It’s not the same as being king, but there’s still much good I can do for the southern isles. My mother has done a good job, but I fear she is too sentimental. I can make my country strong again, that is all I ever wanted.

Don’t worry, I won’t be leaving anytime soon. You still need plenty of my help, and I think together we can set up some better trade routes, build an alliance and find new ways in which we can help each other. I think both Arendelle and the Southern Isles could benefit from a closer relationship.’

Alastair was intrigued. Alliances with foreign kingdoms were what he feared the most of being king. He wasn’t charming, too blunt and straight forward to flatter, but perhaps with Charles he could get started on a good alliance without those skills. ‘Of course. Whatever you need.’

***

Cordelia was beyond excited. Alastair had asked her to join him for a picnic on the palace grounds this afternoon. This would be her chance to get her brother back and a picnic was a decent start. Perhaps someday coming winter they could build a snowman again. Cordelia firmly believed you were never too old to build a snowman.

She picked out her nicest dress, eternally grateful it still fit as she was always growing out of her clothes, and went out to meet Alastair in the gardens. For once he wasn’t with Charles, which was nice because Cordelia did not want to talk about politics all afternoon. She had more important things to discuss.

‘I’m glad you came,’ Alastair said.

He was tense, Cordelia could tell. It was hard to read his moods with Alastair, he rarely showed any emotion, but she had learnt to recognize the slight tension in his shoulders, his stiff demeanor, as if he was forcing himself to speak. She wondered why he would be tense.

‘Of course I came,’ Cordelia said. ‘As far as I know you’re still my only brother.’

‘I’m sorry, for the past years,’ Alastair said. ‘I know you must have been very alone.’

Cordelia nodded. ‘Yes. I know you have to study and prepare for being king and all, but why can’t we at least open the gates every once in a while? Maybe invite some girls my age, or even Charles’ younger brother?’

She knew spending a lot of time with a boy her age would be considered inappropriate, but that was still preferable to keeping the company of the portraits on the wall. She had so little experience with social interaction she didn’t even know how to speak to someone her age, and Father expected her to get married when she was older. How was she supposed to do that when she never met anyone? There was no way she was marrying Charles.

‘I’m sorry,’ Alastair said quietly. ‘We can’t do that.’

‘Father could invite Charles,’ Cordelia protested. ‘Surely we can invite someone else. I still don’t have a lady in waiting.’

‘That’ll have to wait, Layla. I’m sorry. I wish it were different.’

Alastair had called her Layla since she was a little girl, after a girl in a story their mother used to tell them, and it was a bit of a weak spot of hers. Still, she was determined not to let it go, because nothing Alastair said made any sense.

‘But why?’ Cordelia asked. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘I’m not afraid of anything,’ Alastair bit at her.

There was that temper she remembered from his childhood. It was good to see he still felt anything at all, but Cordelia did not want to make him angry the first time she’d spoken to him in years. Perhaps she should be a little more tactful about this instead of forcing answers out of him. One thing she knew for sure though, there was something Alastair knew and she didn’t. Perhaps more than one thing, Alastair always seemed to know much more than he let on. It was infuriating.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said and she hoped he would believe her apology was sincere. ‘I just wish I could have friends too.’

‘Maybe when you’re older,’ Alastair said. ‘I’ll do what I can, alright? But no promises.’

Cordelia decided to accept that for now. ‘Your life must have been very boring too. I mean, you have company, but it’s Charles. That might actually be worse than being alone.’

Alastair rolled his eyes. ‘He’s not boring. He’s a politician, and a very good one. He knows everything there is about being king, even if he won’t be one himself anymore. It is very generous of him to come here and help me.’

Cordelia made a face. ‘I don’t like him. Most of the time he ignores me, which honestly is fine, but he also tells me I eat way too much chocolate and need to lose weight.’

Her weight had become a bit of an insecurity lately. She was at the end of her growth spurt and quite tall, which she liked, she was even taller than Alastair, but while she’d stopped growing in length, she kept getting wider and had to throw out dresses all the time. Her mother had told her this was normal for girls her age, but Cordelia was pretty sure most girls her age were much thinner than she was, and princesses were expected to be small and skinny.

If Charles was to be believed, it was because of all the sweets she ate, and reminding her of it was hurtful, not to mention he was always rude and condescending about it, as if she couldn’t possibly know what was good for her.

‘I’m sorry, I’ll ask him not to bother you,’ Alastair promised. ‘But I really need him here, alright? I will be king one day, and I desperately need his help.’

Cordelia snorted. ‘Maybe if you wanted to learn how to be a better king, you could actually go outside and spend time with the people of Arendelle instead of hiding here in the castle.’

‘That’s not possible,’ Alastair said stiffly.

He was worried. Cordelia couldn’t tell what it was, but she was determined to find out.

‘Are you scared to leave the palace?’ Cordelia asked. ‘I read a book some time back about someone who was scared to leave their house. It was very intriguing.’

‘I’m not scared, Cordelia,’ Alastair hissed, but something about his stiff mannerism revealed otherwise.

She nodded. ‘Alright, so you have a fear of going outside like that character in the book. Maybe there’s a doctor somewhere who can help you overcome your fear since I have no idea how it’s done and I imagine dragging you outside might make it worse. But that’s alright, I could go out and into the city for you and report back what I learn. We could be a great team, like we used to be.’

‘No, Cordelia, that’s not… I’m not afraid.’ He stopped abruptly, twisting his fingers together.

Alastair was wearing a pair of fancy black gloves. Now that she noticed, he always wore gloves. Perhaps if he was scared of going outside, he was also scared of dirt? The palace was cleaned, of course, but some rooms weren’t cleaned as often because of the limited staff and would collect dust. She did remember her brother had always been rather neat, that had to be it.

‘We’re done here,’ Alastair said. ‘Goodbye.’

He stood up and walked away. They hadn’t even eaten anything yet. Cordelia ran after him.

‘Where are you going?’

‘Back inside. I changed my mind, I don’t want to have a picnic with you.’

Cordelia didn’t understand. He’d invited her, he’d wanted to spend time with her. Had she done something wrong to change his mind? It didn’t make any sense, she might have been a little pushy, but he had to understand it was for his own good, right?

‘Why? Am I suddenly not good enough for you anymore?’ Cordelia yelled, grabbing his shoulder.

‘Leave me alone, Cordelia,’ Alastair hissed. ‘I mean it.’

Cordelia was taken back by the sudden vehemence in his voice.

‘Fine, go back inside to stupid Charles and his stupid lessons!’ she yelled after him as he walked inside.

He didn’t look back, not even once. As if she was nothing. Great, that was her one chance to win back her brother, to improve her situation here somewhat. Now she had no idea what to do.

She returned to the picnic site and collapsed onto the blanket she’d laid out for the two of them. She stuffed some chocolate into her mouth. Chocolate she’d specifically requested for Alastair, because she knew he liked anything sweet, and loved chocolate most of all. Cordelia did too, curse stupid Charles and his stupid comments about her eating habits. She was the princess, she could eat as much chocolate as she wanted. She needed some way to cope with being alone all the time and if Charles thought it was bad for her maybe he should go find her a friend. As it was, she returned to days of loneliness and practicing with cortana. What else was she supposed to do?

***

‘Your father didn’t show up to our meeting again,’ Charles said. ‘We were supposed to discuss your progress weekly, but most of the time he isn’t there. Do you know if he’s alright?’

‘He’s just sick,’ Alastair said, terrified Charles would find out about his father’s drinking. ‘No one knows what’s wrong with him, but it’s been getting worse. Mother has taken over most of his tasks so he can rest. Thanks to you, I can start helping out too. I’ve been working on my correspondence, and I was wondering if you could double check my letter to the Duke of Weselton?’

Charles nodded. ‘I’ll look at your letter. I am sorry to hear about your father’s illness, Alastair, I know it’s been hard on you. How’s your sister under all this?’

Alastair sighed. A couple of months ago, he’d thought he was making progress. Around Charles he felt so much better, he felt as if the ice wasn’t even there unless he called for it. He had thought maybe he could give his sister another chance and he’d invited her to a picnic. If everything had gone well and he’d felt in control around her, he could have told her the truth there, and show her what he was capable of. But when he’d met with Cordelia, everything came back in full force and he’d have to fight with every bit of his willpower to repress his fear and keep the ice inside of him. Cordelia was still mad about his sudden departure, but he’d had no other choice if he wanted to keep her safe. When he’d gotten back to his bedroom, he’d lost control and caused a snowstorm. While he thought his control had improved since Charles had come, the size of any outburst that slipped through had grown.

He was lucky Cordelia hadn’t seen it and at least now that Father was drunk all the time, he wouldn’t notice and put Alastair in chains. He knew it was all his fault though, his father wouldn’t have started drinking if it weren’t for him.

‘I think it’s difficult for her,’ Alastair said. ‘She mentioned you made some comments about her eating habits the other day. I know you mean well, but she doesn’t like it.’

‘I’m just concerned for her. It’s unhealthy to eat so much chocolate,’ Charles insisted. ‘She’ll thank me when she doesn’t have to throw out another of her custom made gowns.’

Alastair didn’t think it was fair to shame her for growing out of clothes when he did the same. He’d started his growth spurt lately and most of his suits had become too short. They weren’t thrown away either, they were sold second hand, as were Cordelia’s old gowns.

‘I think she’s insecure about how she looks,’ Alastair said. ‘And she has plenty to worry about, I don’t think she should be worrying about her weight on top of that. Your comments aren’t helping her.’

He didn’t understand why his control was so much worse around Cordelia. A long time ago, he’d hurt her, and he was terrified it would happen again. Perhaps that was different with Charles. With Charles he could not feel, like he was supposed to.

The problem, of course, was that with Charles he did feel. Just like he had with Thomas. It had not appeared as fast as it had with Thomas, but it was so much stronger now that he’d gotten to know Charles, had spent nearly a year with him.

He wanted Charles. Loved him, even. Alastair didn’t understand why he felt this way. Years ago, he’d met his cousin Jem who’d told him how he loved both Will and Tessa romantically. Alastair couldn’t imagine loving more than one person at the same time, nor could he imagine loving a woman, but perhaps some men longed for the love of other men instead of women.

Perhaps being in love was what calmed his moods, as long as he wasn’t scared. Right now, he wasn’t, not yet. He knew it was unlikely Charles felt the same way. That was alright, because he still wanted to be near him and then everything would be fine.

‘You know, I always found it unusual how empty this castle is,’ Charles said one day. ‘No one else ever stays, your parents always travel to meet foreign leaders and never invite anyone over. There aren’t half as many cleaners and servants as there were in my old palace.’

‘We minimized the staff,’ Alastair said. ‘It seems wasteful to spend money on staff when that could be spent on improving the kingdom.’

‘You don’t even have friends,’ Charles said. ‘No other noblemen visit, ever. You don’t have any companions, nor a page. You sleep alone. It’s odd.’

Alastair frowned. ‘How is it odd that I sleep alone?’

‘When I was still a prince, I had a page. A boy around my age, who shared my bed at night. It was normal at home, for noblemen and women to have a page or lady in waiting share their bed. A good way to make sure your virtue remains intact and you do not share your bed with a woman you are not married to.’

Alastair wasn’t sure that would be effective. Who was to say nothing improper happened between the nobleman and the person who shared their bed?

‘There’s no one here I could lose my virtue to,’ Alastair said. ‘But I know what you mean, my mother does share her bed with Risa, her lady in waiting. My father doesn’t though, he sleeps alone.’

No one could find out he was a drunk. No one would believe in him as a king anymore, and therefore it was up to Alastair to keep anyone from finding out, just like he had to keep everyone from finding out about the ice inside of him.

‘I imagine you don’t have a page anymore at home?’ Alastair asked.

‘We had a fall out shortly before my mother gave up the crown,’ Charles said in a tone that indicated he did not want to talk about it.

Charles did not bring the topic up again for some time, not until he was complaining about his younger brother one day.

‘He’s been campaigning for the right for men to love other men,’ Charles said with a sigh. ‘And for women to love women. Here I was thinking he’d never give up on being silly and going out partying, but this is worse.’

Alastair tilted his head. ‘Why? Is he not fighting for a good cause?’

‘He will make everything much harder for me, for our family,’ Charles said. ‘People are shunning him, of course. They’re wondering, why is he campaigning for this, what does it mean about him? And my brother does not have the good sense to hide he likes both men and women.’

So Charles’ brother was like his cousin Jem, then? Alastair had not met Matthew Fairchild, but it was difficult to hear Charles talk like this. He felt a familiar tingling in his fingers, a warning he might lose control. Something he had not yet felt around Charles.

‘That is very brave of him,’ Alastair said.

‘I prefer to think of it as foolish,’ Charles said. ‘The people won’t accept him, he won’t change a thing. He’ll just make everything harder for himself, and for me. People will watch us more closely. No one batted an eye when Daniel, my former page, shared my bed for years.’

Alastair gasped. ‘You mean to say you love men?’

‘Unfortunately I do. It’s not easy for someone like me. I have to keep it a secret, or I risk losing everything. No one would vote for a man like me to be president. But with the proper precautions, I’ve been quite successful at hiding my affections and desires while still indulging in them. I wish my brother understood that.’

Alastair put his hand on Charles’ and felt the tingling fade. It wasn’t gone, not entirely, but he wouldn’t lose control. ‘Does your brother know about you?’

‘No. I never wanted him to. You’re the first person I’ve told after Daniel, I know I can trust you to keep my secret.’

Alastair felt special to be entrusted with such a secret, and could it mean Charles returned his feelings? Had Charles told him because he hoped Alastair might want to be with him?

‘When I’m king, I will do what your brother has been campaigning for, I will change the laws and allow two men or two women to be together,’ Alastair promised. ‘Get married, even.’

Charles waved his hand dismissively. ‘Don’t be silly, Alastair.’

His heart sank, the tingling increased. He had to tell Charles about his affections, or else everything would become snow and ice.

‘But I’m like you,’ Alastair said. ‘I like men. And I don’t want to hide forever. What’s even the point in being king if I can’t change such things?’

‘They’ll cast you out, Alastair,’ Charles said. ‘Don’t waste your birthright on something the people will never accept. Best to keep your affections a secret. You’re a prince, you can pick any boy you like to be your page or companion and share your bed. No one would suspect a thing.’

Charles put his hand on Alastair’s shoulder, a bit too long for it to be called friendly, right?

‘What about you?’ Alastair asked. ‘I feel choosing a page to be my love would be unfair. Like, would he even get a say in that? It wouldn’t be like that with you.’

Charles smiled and cupped his cheek with his hand. It was smooth, the hand of someone who had not done manual labor. ‘You’re in love with me, aren’t you?’ he said, his voice gentle.

Alastair rubbed his hands together, forcing the tingling to stop. He felt frost underneath his gloves, but it was still hidden. Conceal, don’t feel.

‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘I suspected as much,’ Charles said. ‘I like you too, Alastair. You’re smart and beautiful, and you will be a great king someday. But this has to be a secret. You understand that, don’t you? I will be with you, but only as long as you can keep your affections concealed.’

Alastair nodded. ‘Of course.’

Then Charles kissed him, and it was like fire, a sudden heat that melted his frozen heart, that stopped the tingling in his fingers, that calmed the storm inside of him. Perhaps love was the answer after all.

Alastair and Charles explored much more than just kissing together. Charles came to share his bed, claiming it was improper how Alastair slept alone all night. No one suspected a thing, but then of course, there was no one who could suspect. It was the first time in years where Alastair felt he might be happy. Even if he was still too dangerous to be around his sister. He tried once more. No promises this time, he just sought her out in her room to see if they could talk. The storm returned almost immediately and Alastair realized his sister would never be safe if he went near her. The only one he could be around was Charles.

It was amazing at first. Long nights together, Charles touching him, making love to him. He’d never known being touched by someone could feel so good, nor that it would melt the ice inside his heart. Charles knew exactly what he was doing and what he wanted, and Alastair was happy to oblige.

It was wonderful outside of the bedroom too. He loved how Charles would gently touch his shoulder, his wrist as he guided him through their lessons. But it didn’t take long for the secrecy of it all to start to weigh on him. Charles’ younger brother had fled farther south for his own safety, confirming Charles’ beliefs it was better to keep their love a secret. Alastair was scared the same might happen to him, but what could possibly be worse than people finding out he was a monster with ice in his heart?

Perhaps it would be better to leave, to flee into the woods and snow touched mountains and make his home there. The cold didn’t bother him, he would survive. But Charles could not come with him there, and so he stayed. Even while Charles mocked his ideas, told him he was still too young to understand what it was to rule a kingdom and treated him like was a child despite being old enough to be Charles’ lover.

Once he’d been in control around Charles, but not anymore. He wasn’t sure why it had gotten worse, why he was so scared Charles would leave him, that he wasn’t good enough anymore. He redoubled his resolve, made sure to read everything Charles asked him to, be everything his lover needed him to be. Charles was all he had, he didn’t think he could survive being abandoned. They stayed like this for several years. Alastair never took his gloves, not even when they had sex, and never explained why. Charles thought it was odd, but had come to accept it.

Even when he lost control, the gloves kept it in for a little longer, offered a bit of protection, and the time to get away before the storm began. Whenever he didn’t trust himself anymore, he went to his own private bathroom, a place even Charles wasn’t allowed to enter. Now that Charles shared his bed, his bedroom wasn’t a safe place to lose control anymore and he couldn’t exactly ask Charles to leave. So instead, this bathroom had frozen several times over, and whenever he was going to lose control he just told Charles he needed to use the bathroom. At this point, all the pipes had broken, so nothing could be used, but everything had been cut off from the water network long ago and his outbursts didn’t affect the other bathrooms. Charles had not uncovered his secret, and although it was difficult to keep it from him, it was for the best.

***

Cordelia took her father’s hand. ‘Where are you going? Are you sure you’re well enough to travel?’

‘I’m feeling much better, Cordelia dear,’ he said with a smile. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back before you know it.’

Cordelia wasn’t sure where exactly her parents would be traveling. It wasn’t the first time he left, of course, to meet with foreign nobles, but this time he would be going on a much longer journey, and it had been a while since he’d traveled anywhere. He’d been too sick and Mother had written letters to keep up relations instead.

‘Can’t I come with you?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Not this time,’ her father said. ‘But I promise on my next journey you can come with me. It’s almost time for you to be presented to the world. But this is something I have to do myself, I’m afraid.’

The idea of being presented to the world sounded good, but perhaps that would be a bit much all at once. Perhaps it would be nicer to start with a smaller group of people who could be her friends.

‘What if the people won’t like me?’ Cordelia asked.

‘Of course they will. You are beautiful, compassionate and nurturing, what’s not to like?’

Cordelia could always count on her father to tell her she was beautiful, even if not long ago she’d had to throw out nearly all of her gowns because she’d gained too much weight to fit into them.

‘I’ll still be here, azizam,’ her mother said, which surprised her.

‘Oh, I thought you were going too,’ Cordelia said.

‘I was, but Alastair insisted he was not ready to take over while I was gone and needed me to stay,’ her mother explained. ‘I know that’s not true and Alastair is more than ready, but I thought staying would put his mind at ease.’

Cordelia supposed that should make her less lonely, but her mother spent all her time on filling in for her father and she wasn’t sure where that left her. She knew everyone was keeping something from her, but she couldn’t figure out what and it was frustrating. She’d tried asking her father, who had told her not to worry, that everything would be alright in the end. Then she’d asked her mother, who’d told her that her brother was going through a difficult time, without offering any explanation. Apparently, boys his age often went through times like this, except in Alastair’s case that had been years now. Not that Cordelia knew any other boys Alastair’s age to compare his behavior to, but that was hardly her fault.

It turned out her father wasn’t back before she knew it. It took months to even get word from him. Of course, it was a long journey by ship and it made sense they did not hear anything at first, but after a couple of months Cordelia began to worry. They should have heard something by now, what could have become of him?

‘He’ll be alright, Cordelia,’ her mother had said. ‘We’ll hear from him soon enough. He must have decided to stay longer than intended and it would take time for a letter to reach us.’

But Cordelia could tell her mother was worried too, more so with every passing day during which they did not hear from Elias. Several months after he’d first left, a messenger came.

‘I am terribly sorry to bring you this news, Your Majesty,’ the messenger said, addressing her mother. ‘The King’s ship went down in the southern seas. There were no survivors.’

Cordelia had been in shock at first. Then she’d burst into tears. Mother had cried too, although a bit more concealed. Alastair though, had not shown a thing. He’d taken the news quietly, asked a few questions, and then retreated to his room. As if he didn’t feel a thing, as if he didn’t care.

The funeral was a quiet ceremony, and Alastair didn’t attend. She had been forced to ask Charles where he was and why he hadn’t come to his own father’s funeral. Charles didn’t know the answer either, said something about Alastair being upset and indisposed, but she could tell it didn’t make sense to him either.

Determined not to let him slip away from her like he always did, she went to his room after the funeral, knocking on the door. No response. When she was younger, Alastair would yell at her to go away, he would get angry that she had the nerve to bother him. As awful as that was, his silence was worse.

‘Please, Alastair,’ she said. ‘I know you’re in there. I don’t know why you didn’t come to the funeral, and maybe it was just too hard… But people asked about you, where you’ve been. And I want to be there for you. Just let me in, and we can talk about.’

‘Leave me alone, Cordelia!’ she heard from the other side of the door. He didn’t open it. ‘I don’t care Father is dead, that’s why I didn’t go the funeral. You shouldn’t either.’

It was not the answer she’d expected, although it wasn’t the first time it had seemed like Alastair did not love Father. Sometimes she wondered if Alastair could feel anything at all. She guessed not. There was ice inside his heart, and Cordelia did not know how to reach him anymore. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

With Father gone, her mother was Queen-Regent for now, taking on all of Father’s duties with some help from Alastair here and there until his coronation. Her mother was pregnant, and Cordelia didn’t think it would be good for her to spend so much time working while expecting a child. At least the pregnancy meant that once the baby was here, she would have someone to play with.

In four months, Alastair would turn twenty one and would be crowned king. He only ever spent time preparing for his coronation and his reign, Charles always hovering around him. It was impossible to catch him alone.

Of course, a coronation brought opportunities. Alastair couldn’t be crowned in a small, private ceremony, people from all over the country and even beyond would be invited. Cordelia would finally have a chance to meet actual real life people.

***

Alastair did not attend his father’s funeral. He’d expected knowing his father was gone would bring relief. No more hiding the empty bottles, no more covering up his sickness. No risk Cordelia would find out. Most of all, no risk Father would decide he was too dangerous and would chain him in the dungeons. He had never forgotten that day and even now he still had nightmares. Father had always been cruel to him, and he thought his death would set Alastair free. Instead, he felt empty, he felt a horrible guilt for hating a man who was now dead. He felt the snow and ice tingling against his fingers, seeking release. He pushed it back down with all he had. Conceal, don’t feel, that was what his father had taught him. No emotion, push it all down. Alright then, he would not feel. He would not mourn Father, would not care that he was gone. He would not attend the funeral and pay his respects, it was too dangerous anyway, and Father did not deserve that.

He knew people would ask why, where he’d been, and he made something up about being too sick and overcome with grief to attend. It was a lie. Even without the risk of exposing his ice, he would not have wanted to attend. He hated his father, and he couldn’t bear to listen to people speak on what a great king he’d been. Worse, what a great father he’d been. And there was no one he could talk to. Charles didn’t know what Father was really like, he believed in the lie of his illness. Cordelia was the same, worse even, for she adored Father, she always had. He’d considered telling her the truth, but that would be selfish. It would break her heart, and for what? And Mother had loved Father. Now that he was gone, she wanted to remember the good parts. She was having another baby, and was devastated the baby would never meet his father. Lucky child, he thought. That almost sounded like he resented the baby for getting the safe and carefree childhood he had never had, but that wasn’t true. He was almost glad Father was gone for their sake, and he hoped the baby would grow up happy and loved and protected, even if Alastair could provide none of that himself. It was too dangerous and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to the baby because of him.

***

‘Alastair, are you in there?’

No response. Sona had gotten used to that at this point. She had grown more worried every day. Alastair was to be king in a couple of months, but he had barely left his private quarters since Elias’ death. The only person he spoke to was Charles, and even then Charles had confided in her that he felt Alastair pull away from him. That he wasn’t sure Alastair was ready to be king.

She’d thought, perhaps, as his mother she could reach him. Charles didn’t know about the ice despite them being very close. But with her and Cordelia, all Alastair did was push them away.

He had seemed happy, at least, when she’d told him of her pregnancy, excited to meet the new baby. Mostly, he’d been terrified though and Sona thought perhaps Alastair was scared he’d hurt the baby. She didn’t know what to do anymore. She had to protect her baby, of course, but Alastair was her child too and she didn’t know how to reach him.

Sona knocked on the bedroom door once more. He couldn’t hide in there forever. It was Charles who opened, wearing a dressing robe. Sona knew Charles had been sleeping in Alastair’s bedroom for the past years. It was a way, apparently, to make sure Alastair’s virtue was intact for marriage. Not that Alastair had shown any interest in getting married and with his ice, Sona feared it was too dangerous. She wasn’t sure how Alastair had managed to keep his ice from Charles while sharing a bed, but that was impressive, right?

It pained her, she wanted nothing more than for Alastair to be happy, but she didn’t know how. She’d considered going back to Tessa, had asked Elias to reconsider, but he’d refused. ‘Alastair belongs here,’ Elias used to say. ‘That witch will only take him away from us.’

And now he was to be crowned king and it was too late. At least Charles had been good for him, right? Sona had noticed the way Alastair lit up around Charles, the way he seemed so eager to please him.

‘Your Majesty,’ Charles addressed her. ‘If I knew you were coming, I would have dressed for the occasion.’

‘I am sorry,’ Sona said. ‘Did I wake you? I didn’t realize you tucked in early, I’ve always been a late sleeper myself. I was just looking for Alastair, is he here?’

‘No, he must have left when I was asleep. Usually he goes to the bathroom, his own private one. Even I am not allowed in there. He’s very attached to his privacy.’

Sona knew about the bathroom, the place he went to when he lost control. It was good for him to have such a place right? Somewhere it didn’t matter if the ice became too much for him, because no one would get hurt.

Sona forced a smile. ‘Thank you Charles. I think I’ll look for him there.’

‘I don’t think he’d like that.’

‘He’s my son, and I am worried about him.’

‘He’s been showing progress in his lessons lately,’ Charles said. ‘I do not think you have to worry.’

Sona just nodded, and closed the door. Charles was smart, responsible, and he knew politics, but sometimes she felt he didn’t know Alastair, didn’t understand him. Risa hated Charles, acted as if he’d stolen Alastair away from them, but Sona felt that was a bit too simplistic. It was a difficult situation for everyone, and they were all doing the best they could. Alastair had chosen to spend his time around Charles, and if that was what made him feel better, who was she to judge?

Sona knocked on the bathroom door. No response.

‘Alastair, I’m coming in!’ she called.

She didn’t like invading his privacy, but at least he’d be forced to acknowledge he was in there if he wanted to stop her. He didn’t say anything. Perhaps he wasn’t in the bathroom after all, but it couldn’t hurt to check.

She pulled on the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Had Alastair locked himself in there? When she pulled a little harder, it broke open and Sona realized why she’d been unable to open the door. It was frozen. Everything in the bathroom was frozen, about half a meter of snow lying on the floor. It was a good thing the door opened to the outside, or she would not have gotten it open at all.

Alastair was lying on the snow, covered in a thin summer blanket. The cold had never bothered him, but he had always liked to hold a blanket when he slept. When he was little, he would sleep with a thin summer blanket in the coldest days of winter, perfectly content.

Should she wake him? He seemed peaceful, at least, now that he was asleep. But he had lost control in here before falling asleep, and she wanted to know what had happened. He hadn’t responded well to his father’s death, and she knew Elias and Alastair had never had the best relationship, but instead of grieving with her and Cordelia, he’d shut them out even more. Sona didn’t think he was alright.

Before she could make a decision, Alastair opened his eyes and pushed himself into a sitting position. Sona wrapped her arms around herself, it was freezing cold in here. That couldn’t be good for the baby, but she was determined to talk to her son.

‘What happened, azizam?’ she asked.

‘I’m sorry, maman,’ he said. ‘I lost control.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘What happened?’

‘I was with Charles,’ he said. ‘He told me he’d been writing with the Duke of Weselton.’

Sona frowned. ‘What’s wrong with that? He’s one of our closest trading partners. Charles has not sabotaged our relationship with Weselton, has he?’

‘No, not like that. You see, the Duke has a daughter around my age and no other heir, and Charles wants to marry her. She will be here for the coronation, and Charles intends to propose there. He thinks the Duke is a powerful ally for him as well as for us. And the laws in Weselton are pretty backward, so if the Duke dies his daughter’s husband will inherit the title, the lands, everything.’

Sona knew Charles liked power, of course. Risa hated him for it, thought he couldn’t be trusted, but Sona couldn’t help but see that even if Charles was a little too power hungry for his own good, Alastair adored him. But if he took the title and became Duke of Weselton, why would that upset Alastair so much? Wouldn’t he be happy for his friend?

‘What does any of that have to do with you?’

Alastair sighed. ‘I know, it’s stupid. But he’ll leave me alone if he marries her. He’d go live in Weselton in the Duke’s palace. He cannot stay here anymore. He’s all I have, I couldn’t bear it if he left.’

Sona took his hand. It was ice cold. ‘You always knew he would return home someday, right? Charles was here to teach you and prepare you, and he has done that. You are ready to be king, joon-am. I know controlling the ice is hard, but you’re smart and compassionate and you will do fine if he’s not there.’

Secretly Sona thought perhaps Alastair would do even better without Charles there. She knew Alastair was kinder, and she feared perhaps it came from a place of self loathing but Alastair was not the kind of king who’d put his own needs before anyone else’s.

Alastair nodded weakly. ‘But I’d be all alone. When Charles and I first became friends, it was the first time I could control myself. As long as it was going well, I mean. I did sometimes lose control when he was upset with me, but he never saw. I don’t know what I’ll do when he’s gone.’

Alastair was crying. The tears froze into snowflakes before they even reached his cheeks. Watching her son cry had always been one of the strangest thing, as if he started snowing. It was heartbreaking to watch, and Sona wished she could hug him, but she knew Alastair wouldn’t let her. He was far too scared he’d hurt the baby.

‘You’re going to be alright,’ Sona said. ‘You’re lonely, I know that. Cordelia is too. But the coronation offers opportunities. Perhaps you’ll meet someone else who helps calm your moods and your ice. You could invite someone to stay, if you want, open the gates.’

Alastair shook his head. ‘It’s too dangerous. Charles is the only one I can trust. I tried, maman. I tried with Cordelia, but every time I go near her I am so scared I’ll hurt her and then the ice takes over.’

‘Perhaps we should return to Tessa,’ Sona suggested.

‘No. The coronation is too close. This curse, it can’t be controlled. Best to be alone, and do what’s right for Arendelle.’

Sona guessed if Alastair wouldn’t return to the village, she’d try to send an invitation for the coronation. Perhaps Tessa could come here and help figure out why Alastair couldn’t control the ice. It was the least she could do for her son.

#Alastair Carstairs #Cordelia Carstairs #Sona Carstairs #Charles Fairchild #Conceal don't feel #Frozen AU #fanfiction #the last hours #tlh

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barbers-glimmerin-darlin · 3 years

Text

At The Touch Of Your Hand

Charlie Barber x (Female) Reader (Historical AU)

As a young woman whose entire life has already been mapped out for her, you believed there was very little to look forward to as you entered the ballroom. It was just another ball, during another season, with the same foppish men shallowly vying for attention. However things are bound to take a turn for the unexpected when Charles Barber makes his re-entrance to society after six years in obscurity.

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Warnings: Period typical sexism, historical inaccuracies

Word count: 2.9k

“I’ll not be listening to any more of your incessant griping tonight Judith.” Your father’s voice was firm and unwavering, his distaste for his wife’s unending list of complaints evidently getting the better of him.

“You cannot possibly think him to be an agreeable man Edward! Not after he-”

“Enough Judith!”

Your mother’s mouth bubbled open and closed as if she were impersonating some incredibly affronted fish, it was very rare that father would plainly tell mama he had tired of listening to her whining. You swapped a furtive glance with Jemima, the tension spiking to a palpable degree, your mind instantly began scrambling to fill in the gaping hole left in your mothers remark.

After he what? What could he have done, this enigmatic man, whom you had never heard of before this night, to have warranted such obvious distaste from your mother? You could not help but feel that whatever it was should be much cause for concern, if it meant that your mother was unwilling to host him. Judith Bell would usually be seen falling over herself for the opportunity to have such a man welcomed to dinner, an impressive man, titled.

Before your racing mind had the chance to create a whole plethora of beastly scenarios to cast this man in, along came one of the very few things in the world that made you want to disable all intelligent brain function in your mind.

Hartley.

You regrettably saw him approach you over your father’s shoulder, straightening his gloves and smoothing his flaccid hair as he neared. Every last cell in your body heaved a long groan at the sight of him, so bland, so thoroughly unimpressive, truly he was an unremarkable sight to behold. In no time at all, he stood proudly before you.

“Miss Bell, I believe the first waltz is almost afoot.” He declared. You saw your mother’s previously enraged face fracture into an unbearably bright beam at his appearance, all distaste for Lord Barber’s presence seemingly forgotten.

You flashed a tight smile as he held out his gloved hand for you to take. You accepted, placing your hand in his with the lightest tough you could manage, as if placing your hand solidly within his pudgy one would solidify your future with him. Unfortunately you feared that there was very little you could do to escape that.

He led you briskly onto the dancefloor, amongst the sea of brightly coloured silk taffeta frocks, and then proceeded to draw you into a hold appropriate for a waltz. It was far too intimate for you, even though his hands were in no danger of straying, you would have much preferred a livelier jig that required much changing of partners.

As the rhythmic arrangement of the waltz began to fill the room, you willed your feet to move in a reasonably graceful fashion, it’s not that you were a bad dancer, you were just much better when paired with a partner you actually wanted to dance with. Robert was a long way from fitting that criteria.

You could not help but note the hotness of his hand upon your shoulder, and you guessed it would probably be sweaty if he were to take that glove off, you repressed a shudder at the thought of his slimy hand upon your skin. Sweaty hands were indicative of nerves, what on earth could he be nervous about? If he could not struggle his way through a meagre waltz without being overcome with nerves, what chance did he have of upholding one end of a fiery debate, or withstand a passionate feeling about anything?

You allowed your eyes and mind to wander as you twirled about the dancefloor, you spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd, many of your mother’s acquaintances gathered to watch their own daughters on the dancefloor, your mother was no exception. She watched you with beady eyes, looking for mistakes in your footing or your posture, clutching her dainty glass of sherry in her clawed fingers.

You were vaguely aware of Robert droning on about a business venture his father was allowing him to head, something pertaining a new weaving technique for linen, you really did not care to give much attention to it, you occasionally emitted a noise of agreement to create the illusion of engagement.

As you rounded the dancefloor once again, your eyes swept over a broad form that was becoming undeniably familiar all too quickly. Charles stood a little way back from the dancefloor, conversing with a stout man who you recognised as the host of the ball, Lord Harrington. Although upon closer inspection, you were forced to reconsider your observation that he was participating in conversation. It appeared that he was being talked at rather than talked to, his attention otherwise much diverted, much like yours. His glittering eyes were very much fixed on the couples dancing before him.

Unbeknownst to you, his eyes were not travelling aimlessly amongst the group of merry dancers, his gaze was solely tracking you. He watched as the buttery yellow light shimmered upon the lavender fabric of your gown, sparkled through your hair, and highlighted the barely exposed curve of your shoulders. He drank this in all without your knowledge, your attention far too occupied with ensuring Hartley did not step on your silk slippered feet. What an enchanting little creature he saw twirling before him.

“Did I see Lord Barber making conversation with your father earlier?” You were forced to tune back into Hartley’s voice as he spoke directly to you, stopping your eyes from repeatedly searching out the towering height of Barber,

“Yes, I believe he knows my father.” You replied flatly, not really eager to discuss the man with Robert. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, Charles had begun to feel rather sacred to you.

“I’m interested in making his acquaintance myself while he’s in town, quite the recluse he’s been for the past five years or so from what I understand.” Robert remarked, this did admittedly capture your interest. Why would a man like him have hidden himself away from society, other than the obvious fact that it was a dreadful environment, it was practically created for powerful men like him.

“I confess I was unaware of his existence until tonight.” You offered blandly, while you were tempted to probe Hartley for more information, you found his predisposition for gossiping more repellent that intriguing.

“People don’t talk about him much anymore. Though what I have heard them say is undoubtedly interesting, I’m sure his reappearance tonight will be the talk of the town by tomorrow breakfast.” Robert’s sentence was punctuated by a ridiculously salacious chuckle at the end, which made you long to put more distance between your bodies.

“Undoubtedly, people do little else but talk the day after a ball.” You deadpanned, avoiding eye contact with his misty eyes.

“Although I dare say there ought to be rather a lot of talk of just how ravishing you look in this gown.” Your stomach dropped at his words, spoken in a voice that he had forced down into a lower octave. You flicked your eyes up to his, only to find him inconspicuously allowing himself a good look at your chest. You swallowed back the tart response that your brain formulated, much in favour of finishing the dance as quickly as possible. You settled on a lifeless little laugh.

As soon as the band began to cease their performance you delicately pushed yourself out of his hold, and lowered into a quick curtsy.

“Thank you for the dance Mr Hartley, it was quite… satisfactory.” And without waiting for his response you turned on your heel and began to hasten away, in search of Jemima. You were eager to tell her in agonising detail how utterly lecherous he had been. But you didn’t even make it off of the dancefloor before a broad chest blocked your path. Your eyes were obscured by a wall of icy blue and white, and you didn’t even really need to glance upwards to confirm the identity of the individual.

The scent of fresh mint and fragrant pine greeted your senses, cleansing them of the heavy musky smell, with an undercurrent of body odour that you had endured with Hartley moments before. You refrained from indulging in a deep inhale as you summoned the courage to raise your eyes towards his face.

Charles Barber’s smirking face.

“In a rush, Miss Bell?” He asked, his honeyed voice vibrated through the air, breathing against your ears like a summer wind. You momentarily forgot every word you had learned since infancy, and struggled for a response.

“No I- I mean yes I was just- I’m not in a rush per say I just-”

“Were making a fleeting exit from your partner over there?” He stopped your aimless flailing with his words, allowing his full lips to quirk even further into an amused smirk. You felt your cheeks warming rapidly.

“I was just in search of my sister.” You replied, unsure if it was proper to admit that you were, in fact, shamelessly fleeing Hartley.

“Well, by the looks of things, he will presently approach and ask you for another dance. Allow me to be so bold as to assume that you would like to avoid such an occurrence.” Charles remarked, quickly glancing over your head to where you assumed he could see Robert.

“I would be reluctant to dance with him again so soon.” You said quietly, unsure of his next assumption.

“Well in that case, would you do me the honour of the next dance, Miss Bell?” Your heart gave itself to flittering beats as you absorbed his words. You could hardly fathom the idea of sharing a dining table with him, and you were being offered a dance? The pristine white glove upon his expansive hand moved into your line of sight as he offered his hand to you. You could not help but raise your eyes to his, though you promptly wish you hadn’t when you were met with the scorching intensity of his gaze. It was fight or flight really.

“Yes my lord, I would be honoured.” You replied, placing your hand firmly in his.

The experience of being led into a dance by Charles Barber was worlds away from that of the artless movements of Hartley. You knew that much.

You stood facing each other, as part of a long line of men and women standing parallel to one another along the centre of the marble floor, you could not help but notice that he was the tallest in the line by a considerable amount. Your heart was racing as you heard the shaking violin strike up the opening measures of the dance. The line of ladies ducked into graceful curtsy, directed at the men before them, and then the dance fell into an elegant sequence of turns and fleeting touches of hands.

It was not two measures into the dance that Barber clearly felt that he was in rhythm enough to begin to talk to you as you moved around each other, and the other occupants of the dancefloor.

“Are you enjoying the evening?” He asked as you passed close by one another, his eyes firmly fixed upon yours, paying no mind to his feet or the people around him, though his body continued to move with a grace and ease you would have thought impossible for a man of his stature.

“Very much so, Lord and Lady Harrington do always host the most beautiful parties.” You replied politely, though it was untrue that your night had been pleasant up until this point, the unfamiliar feelings fluttering about your stomach presently were enough to erase all memory of the previous encounters from your mind.

“I agree with you wholeheartedly Miss, though I might add that I think Lord Harrington has very little to do with the festivities you see around you. I believe it is fair to say that Lady Harrington is the brains of the operation.” He concurred, his face breaking into a smile, one you might call mischievous if you were so inclined to such flirtatious words. You could not stifle the laugh that escaped at his remark towards the esteemed Lord Harrington.

“Are you well acquainted with the hosts, my lord?” You asked him, the smile laid upon your face beginning to ache slightly, though you could not for the life of you force it down. You gasped silently as your hands entwined, as he led you side by side down the line formed by the other couples, as part of your dance.

“Old friends of my late father’s.” He explained, looking sideways at you. His hand dwarfed yours, it warmed his glove in a way that was so different to the sticky heat of Hartley’s hand. You found yourself wishing that there were no gloves separating your hands from touching skin to skin. A tingling sensation began in the palm of your hand, still held in his, and worked its way to the tips of your fingers and up your arm. In that moment, you decided the touch of his hand was something quite inexplicably magical.

“And you, Lord Barber? Are you enjoying yourself?” You asked, longing to hear the velvet of his voice again. He smiled down at you warmly, sending the tingles from your hand all over your body.

“I am enjoying the evening far more than I anticipated, it has been pleasant to see old friends.” He started, his eyes moved swiftly once up and down the length of you, never hesitating anywhere for too long. As he met your eyes again, his smile curled into a smaller one, far more intimate, meant only for you. “It has been even lovelier making new acquaintances, which is not something I usually find myself able to say.” He tells you.

Your mind raced to stumble through the meanings in his well measured words. Did he mean meeting you? Part of you screamed that he must mean that, why else would he have bothered to make such a point of saying it to you? A larger part reasoned that he had undoubtedly met many new people tonight, and why in this vast room full of people would he single you out as a lovely new acquaintance?

All too soon it was time for your hands to part once again, you already missed his large warm palm and it hadn’t even left yours yet. As he opened his fingers to loosen his grasp on your hand, and pulled his palm away from yours, your eyes widened as you felt the tip of his middle finger trace a burning line across your palm as he slipped his hand away from yours. A shiver shot down the length of your spine at the sensation, which you had felt so keenly despite the presence of your silk glove.

Another glance towards his regal face showed you that his smile had faded, melted into a look of deep concentration. The chocolate of his eyes had darkened, the light sparkled in the depths of them. So many thoughts were rushing through them, but you couldn’t comprehend a single one of them, your own brain was still trying to make sense of the litany of feelings coursing through you from the mere brush of the tip of his finger along your palm.

It was a wonder you had managed to complete the dance without bumping into a single other occupant of the dancefloor, as you had quite forgotten that you were sharing the space with anyone else at all besides him. You could scarcely remember a time before you found yourself cradled in his gaze, you could not remember what your hand had felt like before it had been encased by his. It was only the end of the melody that brought the end of the dance to your awareness, you found yourself short of breath, though you were absolutely certain it had nothing to do with the steps of the dance.

You bowed to each other once again, as was customary, and then he went a step further by enclosing your hand in his. He lifted your slightly quaking hand up towards his face, and you held your breath as his warm lips pressed down gently upon your glove. Had you not have held your breath, you were quite certain he would have robbed you of it. The impression of his lips seemed to burn your knuckles in a delightful way, in a way that made you yearn to tear the white silk from your body and request that he press his lips to your bare skin. You couldn’t correct the way your own lips parted slightly, something which he seemed to note as his eyes roamed your face as he straightened back up to his full height, allowing your hand to fall back to your side.

“Thank you for the dance Miss Bell, it was quite… enchanting.” He spoke softly, caressing your face with his eyes for a moment longer before inclining his head, turning, and leaving the space, your eyes were stuck to his wide shoulders as he left. You were pulled out of your little world, where you and he were the only inhabitants, by Jemima’s voice suddenly at your ear.

“Just to warn you, sister dear, mama is quite enraged.”

Tags: @millenialcatlady @safarigirlsp @mariesackler @direnightshade @sacklerscumrag @stumbleonmywords @fizzywoohoo @hopeamarsu @roanniom @kylobien (Please let me know if you would like adding or removing!)

#Charlie Barber #Marriage Story #Charlie Barber x Reader #Historical AU #ATTOYH #ADCU #Adam Driver

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obeymeaskme · 3 years

Text

Obey Me!: Human and Demon hearts!

A/N: I've been working on a Fanfic for Obey me with a close friend of mine. It takes place after the game, and possibly in a AU. Each of my chapters are about 10 pages long, so I have split them up into sections for everyone! Please enjoy!

Chapter one: The Arrivals (1/2)

Word Count: 1,530

Rating: 18+

The world is an ever changing place. Some make a fair living, and others struggle with the flex and flow of life. Yet there were still opportunities left for two young girls looking for respite from their previous lives. Noelle, a short pudgy, artistic type who was the one to suggest moving to the countryside. Bella, Noelle’s long term friend who was searching for work, had agreed due to the open jobs in the town they had settled into. Even with their seemingly bright future, the skies above their trailer grew darker by the minute. It seemed almost unnatural to them. Noelle had paused outside while helping unpack boxes into the house. She looked up at the sky to stare at the shifting clouds, and shuddered when she caught a glimpse of lightning whip through the clouds.

“I know we're nowhere close to tornado alley out here, but I swear if these creepy clouds mean there's a storm coming, I'm not going to be happy...”

Bella laughed and stole the boxes from her hands, taking what was left of the packages.

“If you're that scared don't stand outside, silly!”

Soon enough the air was thick with humidity, and the girls made their way inside. Noelle began stretching as Bella took a seat on a stray bean bag chair and began to complain.

“I don't know what's gonna suck more. Unpacking, or trying to find our beds. I'm so tired...”

“I'm tired too. We did bring a blow up mattress. I can get that going, and one of us can hoard the bean bags...” Noelle responded with a flat tone.

“You want to sleep on the bean bags don't you?” Bella playfully accused.

Noelle gave no verbal response, and opted for just nodding as she rummaged through the boxes for the air pump and mattress.

Later on in the evening they unpacked most of the Tupperware, ate their dinner, and unfolded their bedding; Creating a small space for temporary living. In the corner of boxes they had placed a kindle that was playing a news station. Noelle had given a second shudder as the Anchor explained that the dark purple clouds was just a rare occurrence, only lasting a few days. Even when pronounced that the possible storm wasn't deadly, the atmosphere felt like it was about to crack. Furthering the girl's concerns.

Bella had crawled out of her makeshift bed, and found a box labeled “Bella's Stuffed Animalz”. The 'Z' was scrawled over the 'S' in an attempt of a joke done by her current roommate. Dumping out the contents, an armful of cow plushies, and a realistic seal squishy covered her bed. Tossing the seal towards Noelle's way she stroke up conversation about their new life. The longer they chatted, the more they yawned until finally both girls had fallen asleep. Unaware of what the next few days will bring.

Morning came, and so did the sun, but instead of golden rays, the previous forecast had turned the world around then into a filter of purples and blues. The same news station played in the background as the girls continued their adventure in unpacking boxes. After the morning had dragged on, a break was in order. It was a new day, and most of the boxes had dispersed. A sign of their hard work. Hard work that Noelle decided was to be rewarded with a trip to the nearby town. Begrudgingly Bella had agreed, and the two made their way down the road. The Town itself was nothing special. A straight way of small stores, and a handful of side roads that probably lead to other houses. Two Stomachs growled at the sight of a Pizza shop where they chose to spend lunch before they had gone window shopping.

Both the girls were fairly happy with the lack of social introductions, and the short walks to the stores were even better. It was a slow pace that they both ached for after years of past hardships and day to day life. A final destination came about, but only by the sheer magnetic allure the oddity shop had given them. The Purple banner had matched the sky above them, though the clouds seemed as if they were soon about to part. A bell jingled against the door as they walked in. Both in awe that such a store would exist in this kind of town.

The shop was a mix of herbs, Wicca and witch tools, and various other hand crafted items that seemed to sparkle on their own. The further the girls went in, the more drawn to the corner of the store they became. Very quickly they had walked up to a bland bulletin board that was littered in 'Help Wanted' and theater ads. Yet among all the paper clutter, they had both reached out to a paper advertising for a transfer program. The touching of their hands had broken them out of their trace, and they looked at each other, then back to the paper to examine it more.

The ad seemed like it was hung up a millennium ago. Stains and aged finger oils had caused the paper to look ill compared to the others. Yet the black ink border and description seemed fresh, and also most modern.

“Where does one's soul inlay in the human body? The Heart? The Mind? Or the Nature of a human's will and desire for knowledge. Come forth to the Royal Academy of Diavolo! Help Create A Peaceful Change with the Human Soul!

No School-Age-Or Degree Necessary”

Noelle chuckled as she shook her head.

“This sounds more like a cult than an Academy. ‘Cause Diavolo sounds like a cult god...”

As if on cue a creaky old voice spoke from behind them.

“So close, but no dice!”

Chills ran down the girls spine as a hunched over, yet tall elderly woman had seemingly mocked them. A blush ran across Noelle's face, and Bella had shifted from discomfort.

“Oh please, don't get so nervous. I'm only playing around. That ad you read is for a very well and respected school, that not many people get in. Well... half because not many people are interested.”

Noelle had shaken off her nerves and read the ad again, taking an application form from the packet. She considered it, and then took a second one.

“there's no number to call...”

“The RAD is a bit old fashioned, but that's precisely why they're good at what they do. Yet they somehow manage to barely hit the mark for modern day technology. I know the headmaster personally, and I tell you, if you want the experience of a lifetime, I'd risk filling one of those out.”

The Woman didn't leave. She seemed to be waiting for an answer. Only when the girls told her they'd think about it, did they get to exit the shop, and walk away from the old ladies tracking eyes. To say they got back to their small home as quickly as possible was an understatement.

After they made a beeline to the door, Bella had turned around and locked it. Giving the girls a feeling of satisfactory safety. The house was calm for once, and though the sky above had finally started clearing up Noelle's hand seemed to twitch and itch towards the papers in her bag.

“I... I kind of want to fill one out... Do you?”

“No, not really. You said it yourself, it sounds like a cult...”

“I just looked it up, and the only thing I'm finding out is that Diavolo means Devil...”

It was a false, calm, silence and both of their tangled up nerves returned as they laughed. Only to try and relieve stress. Bella shook her head and took one of the applications, and scoffed.

“I'll fill it out, but it's not like we're going to actually send them. There's not even a return address on these.”

Noelle read her paper over and over again. Bella was right. It was a basic form with Name, Number, past Achievements, and a whole other list of personality questions. The Academy symbol wasn't even on it. It came down as a simple prank to them. That woman might just be trying to scare them off. Maybe the town had a hallmark type of thing against newcomers? It didn't matter. No, now they had begun filling out the papers as a joke. They took the questions seriously. Noelle wanted to mock “Diavolo” since he'd never receive those papers. And he'd never get to read them. Soon after finishing the applications, they had thrown them out after tearing them up, and reminisced about the achievements written on the papers. Poking fun of their personality assessments telling them both that they were likely candidates.

Dusk had taken over the day, and the clouds had finally cleared. Signaling another day has gone by, and sleep once again took over the household. Leaving behind a finished home, and two cautious sleepers.

#obey me: human and demon hearts #Obey me #obey me one master to rule them all #obey me fanfic #obey me oc #obey me shall we date

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hellyeahbakubby · 4 years

Text

“i’m not going anywhere” | bakugou k.

♔ - Katsuki provides comfort for a anxious/depressed reader.

pairing - ua!bakugou x reader

tags - mentions/hints at suicidal thoughts, anxious reader, light angst but eventually fluff, wholesome katsuki

a/n - I wrote this for a friend who is going through some stuff rn but I don’t usually/prefer not to write things relating to mental health issues simply because lots of these issues are personal because of my friends and family and that I am not an expert or professional

masterlist ▬

WARNING: the following content has light mentions of suicidal thoughts, if this is something that triggers you please do not read it. ALSO if you are feeling this way or anything ike this, reach out to those around you or go online and find helplines. Someone will listen and people do care. You are worthy and strong and you deserve to be happy <3

Once again I was shut in my room, angry, bitter thoughts piling up in my mind, becoming harder and harder to block out. The louder they became the more my head ached and the worse the sick, heavy feeling in my stomach became. It was so noisy in my head, so busy with vile, ugly thoughts, thoughts I wished I could banish into the pits of hell. They whispered and hissed, calling up the need to vomit, as if hurling up my intestines would get rid of them. The worst part of their existence being that I was the one who’d conjured them. They were my thoughts. No invading force had put them there. All it took was a tiny wish, an ache for everything to go away and the seedling was planted.

Well there is a way to make it all go away. No more worrying, no more suffering. It was a pesky, persistent thought that had no business floating around in my head. A way out that I refused to even consider as an option. It was a stupid ‘what if’ conjured up by cruel curiosity to imagine a reality where I chose the unthinkable. No more fear of failing and no more concoction of self-deprecation that mixed up my insides like a blender. No more hugs, no more adventures, no more listening to Kaminari’s terrible jokes and no more toothy smiles from Kiri. It was a stupid choice with a price I’d never pay and yet it continued to dance around as though it were even worthy of my time.

My thumb repeated the same motion as I flicked through the images on my screen, I barely even saw them, far too preoccupied with the stress threatening to crack me in two. Pressure building, my mind wandered from last week’s test to the daunting task of joining an agency in the future. The number of ways I could fail miserably closing in and outnumbering the hope and confidence I tried desperately to protect and maintain. I was so ordinary, pitied and helpless, the only opportunities available provided by luck soon to run out. No doubt my weakness would soon win the fight for my future, overcoming what few strengths I had. I was barely good at anything, coming up short time and time again when compared to my high achieving peers. It was almost as if I were destined to fail, everything building up the moment of climax where I would surely stumble and fall.

boom boom boy x you still up?

The message appeared on my screen and I relaxed a little. My head felt a little less like a rock melon and the violent storm in my stomach lessened. I breathed in slowly, steadying my trembling body.

you yeah what's up?

boom boom boy x cant sleep can I come over?

you sure

boom boom boy x cool, be right there

Everything seemed to mellow out, reduced to a faint echo with the promise of Katsuki. Although he'd never outright say it he was surprisingly well aware of when I was feeling less than satisfactory, his ability to provide reassurance unchallenged. Whether it was a soft squeeze of a hand in passing or the gift of my favourite snack left at my room's door, he was unwavering in his compassion, something I’d come to realise was, although rarely seen by the rest of the world, given whenever I needed it more than I could voice.

He’d sat with me as I shook and cried, kept his arms around me as my lungs grew erratic, whispered to me when my eyes blurred and my throat became dry. He’d become a rock of sorts, something I could latch onto to stop myself from falling into the rapids. He was a certainty and security, providing comfort and rationality, helping me step out of my despair into fresh air.

Having given up on the pleasantry of knocking a while ago, I was unsurprised when my door opened and Katsuki stepped into the room. I looked up at him and gave him a small smile. The dim light from my bedside lamp enhancing his strong angles and his pale hair, he gave a small nod in return.

I moved myself to face him more as he sat down on my bed beside me, his additional weight making the mattress dip. Unrolling the blanket he’d brought with him, he swung it around my shoulders, moving closer so he was wrapped in its embrace as well. Snuggling into the velvety texture of the fabric I let out a contented sigh. Wriggling around until he was comfortable, the blanket covering the two of us, Katsuki pulled out his phone opening a simple mobile game that revolved around some sort of pattern. Crossing my legs tighter, I let my knee rest atop his.

There was never any necessity to speak when he was around, a silent, unspoken understanding of the aid he provided with presence alone. Feeling the heaviness of him beside me and the way he’d breath in roughly through his nose eased my nerves and helped my focus drift somewhere more pleasant. Going back to my aimless scrolling I found it much easier to ignore the thoughts plaguing me moments ago.

After some time of simply occupying the same space, I felt his hand move to mine, curling around the fist and opening it so he could hold it with firm security, an act of tenderness. Gently tossing aside my phone, I lent sideways, falling against his shoulder, my cheek pressed firmly against him. His strong frame was comforting and it sent a notion of safety through me.

“Hey,” he said, gruff tone uncharacteristically soft. I shut my eyes, content to just hold his hand and sit there. His distinct smell surrounding me and his solid warmth heating me slowly, I relaxed into him.

“Thanks, Katsu,” I mumbled. He ran his thumb over the back on my hand in response.

“Whatever,” he grumbled, making me smile, “I ain’t going anywhere though, alright?”

“I know,” I assured him. Getting a grunt in response, I felt him shift a little beside me before he placed a kiss to the side of my head. He squeezed my hand as he did so and a whirlwind of butterflies flitted up through me, a pleasant change from the feeling that had been there before. He’d assured me time and time again that no matter that I thought or which anxieties had me in their grasp, he’d always be there to support me, his secure arms always ready to wrap around me and his hand outstretched whenever I needed it. And now as he sat with me, comforting and soothing, he did everything in his power to show me how valued I was.

“I love you so much,” he whispered.

#bakugou katsuki #bakugo #bakugou #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugō #bnha #bnha fanfiction #mha #mha bakugou #katsuki bakugo imagine #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #bnha bakugou

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ada-mike · 3 years

Text

The Truth Always Comes Out - Digimon (Davis/Yolei)

Hey, guys, long time no see. Hope you’re all doing well, all things considered. I decided to dust off this blog and post a little FanFiction for a change! Fancy that. Why FanFiction for a fairly rare pair in a children’s cartoon from twenty years ago? Good question. I was honestly inspired by the work of a truly amazing writer @tanyatakaishi and their incredible story Innocent Games, whose sequel is currently in progress and definitely worth the read whether you’re into Digimon or not (but you should be into Digimon, i mean seriously?) But yeah, drop by and give Innocent Games a read, drop a comment and a kudo too while you’re at it. This short story I’m posting myself is so inspired by Innocent Games, it’s pretty safe to call it a FanFiction of a FanFiction, doesn’t really fit into any canon, and is just something I had rattling around my head that I needed to bang out. Please give it a read and let me know your thoughts! Stay safe, ya’ll.

- Mike

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In hindsight, he really should have known better. Yolei had always possessed an inquisitive streak to put it lightly (whether or not the matter being investigated was her business was rarely a concern) and she was typically about as adept at snooping things out as Davis was poor at hiding them.

And really, on his laptop of all places?

Davis, along with the rest of their friends, had spent his fair share of time around – as well as inside of – computers, but regardless, they were still Yolei's domain through and through, her expertise. And as his father had once told him many years ago, during a family trip to the supermarket where Davis had denied, despite being caught, that he'd tried to shoplift a pack of gum down the front of his shorts: The truth always comes out.

His thoughts were scattered though as they stumbled through the front door and into the blackness of the dorm he shared with Ken. Yolei was strung over his back like a long-legged, lilac-haired knapsack – having mounted him during the elevator ride, laughing, the liquor in her belly turning her playful.

The haze of alcohol still hung heavy in Davis’s mind too, enough so that his legs wobbled dangerously as he carried her through the blackness to where he approximated the futon was.

“Is Ken here?” Her breath was warm in his hair and the heat climbed up his neck to settle in the tips of his ears.

“Nah,” He said. “He’s with his parents this weekend.”

“Perfect.” She purred.

Davis picked up the pace, stumbling over a pair of soccer cleats in the dark. He spun in a circle, pulling a fresh laugh from Yolei, before depositing them both on the sagging futon cushion. Yolei sat pinned behind him, a little squished, but regardless it was the perfect position to plant sloppy kisses on his exposed neck. Davis squirmed, his heart racing.

“It doesn’t smell in here, does it?” He asked.

“Only a little.”

“It’s the trash, I bet. I haven’t taken it out since Monday.” He moved to rise, but she pulled him back into her lap, near growling:

“Leave it.”

“Mmm,” He hummed. “You like the funk, huh? It sets the mood for you?”

“You’re about to ruin the mood if you don’t shut it.”

“Such a way with words, love.”

Love.

That word. It was enough to diffuse squabble that had been sparking.

Davis sunk back into her and she wrapped her arms around him, feeling up and down his chest, then down his gut. He seized one of her hands and brought it to his mouth, kissing her sharp knuckles, the pads of her fingers, her wrist. It was surprisingly tender for him.

And it drove her absolutely wild.

Her free hand had just wrapped around the buckle of his belt, when the door to the bedroom creaked open.

“Davish?”

They both flinched as tiny feet pounded on the floor, leapt, then thudded lightly on the futon by their side. Yolei reached and flicked on the lamp switch by her head.

“DemiVeemon!” Davis was grinning at the sight of his partner, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I thought you’d still be sleeping, buddy.”

“I had a dream that we were on a boat! I wanted to tell you about it!” The in-training Digimon clambered onto Yolei’s knee. “Yolei, your face is so red you look like a tomato!”

“It’s hot.” She explained. And it was, the compounding moments of passion followed by DemiVeemon’s interruption had them both sweating slightly.

“Where’s Poromon?” The Digimon asked, unperturbed. Fresh from his nap, he was ready to play.

“Um- He’s spending the night in the Digital World.” She dug her nails into Davis’s side, causing him to wince in pain, the soft touches suddenly gone. “I kind of thought you’d be there too.”

“Nope!” Chirped DemiVeemon. “But we could all go now!”

“Tomorrow, buddy.” Davis brushed his hands over DemiVeemon’s ears. Even if a trip to the Digital World could be fit into their agenda, the phantom feeling of Yolei's hands on him was fresh and that very likely meant that standing up anytime would be a bad move. “But hey, you know, I think I still have some Udon in the fridge from yesterday. Ya hungry?”

“Yes!”

As DemiVeemon scampered away, Davis sighed and lifted himself out from between Yolei’s legs so he could sit beside her.

“Sorry about that,” He settled his arms on her shoulders, leaning close. “But where were we?”

“Davis, no.” She pushed him back. “I told you that I was taking Poromon to the Digital World so we could be alone tonight. Why didn’t you do the same?”

“I was going to. I just – I dunno, felt bad about dumping him there.” Davis rubbed his nose. The alcohol's buzz was fading from him now, much too fast for his liking. “He’ll be in a food coma in twenty minutes though, I guarantee it. Then we can get back to -”

“Hold on,” Her eyes sharpened into knives behind her glasses “You think I dumped Poromon in the Digital World?”

“No, I-”

“I did not dump him,” She continued, shifting further away on the cushion as she sat up straighter. “He’s helping out in Primary Village. I’ll be there to pick him up again tomorrow.”

“I know!” Davis felt a fresh wave of heat roll up his ears, annoyed that she was picking apart his words tonight of all nights. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

“I have no reason to feel guilty.” She folded her arms and sank back, eyes settling on the kitchen where DemiVeemon’s ears were casting shadows up the wall from the light of the open refrigerator. “He’s fine, just – dammit, Davis.” A heavy sigh billowed her lips, then: “You and I just got back together, what? Three days ago? And between school and everything, you and I haven’t had time… We needed a night like this.”

It was true. This most recent “break” of theirs had been a rough one and longer than any previous up to now. Almost an entire two months had passed where they barely spoke a single word to each other, only interacting when strictly necessary for Digimon matters, or the occasional late-night message over their D-Terminals.

Davis slumped back too.

“Tonight was a good night.” He said lamely.

She just nodded.

They sat in silence for a minute as DemiVeemon finished rummaging for food. He eventually waddled past them back to Davis’s bedroom, a warm bowl nearly as big as he was balanced on his head. All dreams of boats forgotten for the time being. Whether or not he had heard the beginning of their spat, Davis wasn’t sure. Regardless, he now wished his partner had stayed to break some of the tension that hung heavy in the room.

What he really wanted was another drink.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Instead, he lurched forward, propping himself on one arm as he reached over Yolei. She opened her mouth, ready to rebuke him again, until he reached past her and snatched the clunky laptop that sat on the end table.

It was five pounds heavier and just as many years outdated for anything Yolei would have considered satisfactory, but Davis had got it for a good price in a resale shop and desperately needed a computer for school. He grunted as he settled back in his seat and flipped open the lid, determined to find a way to break the awkward silence.

“Can I – um, play some music?”

He was already scrolling through his rather extensive music library, not waiting for an answer, but Yolei nodded anyways.

“Just no dub-step, please for the love of God.”

He chuckled and something in her chest unwound. He eventually settled on something, and with a double-click the room was filed with smooth guitar and steady drums. They listened, Davis nodding his head in beat and Yolei watching him.

“The speakers on that thing are awful.”

“Yeah.”

The song transitioned, adding more varied guitar and aggressive vocals.

“I haven’t heard this one before.”

“Ken showed it to me.”

“It’s good.”

“Yeah.”

As the song started to fade, Davis reached, without looking, and rubbed a line up and down Yolei’s thigh. She unfolded her arms, but before she could move further towards him, he was lifting the laptop from his lap and moving it into her’s. He stood up.

“Gotta take a piss.” He muttered, trudging towards the bathroom, tripping over the same pair of cleats as he went.

Yolei watched him leave, long nails tapping on the plastic laptop chassis. After the bathroom door closed and she heard him emptying his bladder into the toilet through the thin wall, she sighed and began flicking through his music.

She had gotten a little too defensive earlier and she knew it.

The truth was, she did feel a little guilty for parting ways with her Digimon, even if it was only for a night. Despite the lack of crises in the Digital World needing their intervention, it sometimes felt like she was shirking responsibility by turning more attention to other aspects of her life.

But she was older. She was busy – they all were.

Breaking up with Davis a few months ago had been a mistake, a rash decision after a stupid fight.

Drawing a good night out by coming home with him and arguing tonight had been a mistake. The wounds from the breakup were still fairly fresh. They couldn’t exactly just pickup where they left off.

Hell, maybe getting back together had been the mistake.

She wasn’t even reading the list of songs anymore as she scrolled. Her ring finger tapped a little too quickly on the arrow keys and the music program locked up from overestimation. Grumbling, she tapped more—even though she knew better—and the window was suddenly minimized, and then she was confronted with the egregious mess of folders on Davis’s desktop.

What immediately caught her eye was the folder labeled ‘Sexy Sexy Sexy’, and with that, any thought of innocently returning Davis’s music library vanished up in smoke.

Eyebrow quirked, she clicked and opened the oddly-named folder without hesitation. Of course she knew that most every guy had that particular folder stashed away. Having it on the desktop was definitely bold though.

What she saw though almost made her guffaw, and she struggled to steel herself.

The folder contained pictures upon pictures of different styles of ramen, most likely purloined from some high-end bistro’s online menu, judging by the nearly indecent high quality and their tiny watermarks in the corner of each. Nearly every photo was accompanied with an adjacent text document, containing what Yolei astutely guessed were Davis’s attempts at parsing out the recipe by looks alone.

This ramen folder was probably more organized and cared for than the one he used for homework, and a quick visit back to the desktop and to a directory simply dubbed ‘hw’ confirmed this.

Yolei glanced at the bathroom door. Things inside had gone silent, but if history and the number of sliders he ate at the bar were reliable indicators, Davis would probably be preoccupied for a few more minutes. She had plenty of time.

Yolei cruised through the rest of his desktop in record time, finding nothing of note outside of a few folders containing game roms, a second folder of his own home-brewed ramen recipes, and much to her surprise: an alarming amount of digitized Shoujo manga, definitely pirated. She filed that away for teasing ammunition later.

Now, to find the really good stuff.

Her practiced fingers danced over the keyboard, running a shell command to search for recently accessed items. Buried in several sub-folders was one entry that caught her eye, a single folder with a timestamp indicating it was opened just an hour or so before he’d picked her up for their date earlier that evening.

The folder was named ‘yolei’.

A swirl of emotions flooded her as she opened the file with her namesake, and she found it was a dumping ground of yet more photographs.

Instead of gratuitous snapshots of food however, they all featured her.

Yolei immediately recognized a series of selfies she’d sent him herself – some as early as when they had first started their on-again/off-again relationship years ago. It had never occurred to her that Davis would be the type to save them anywhere but his phone. It was surprisingly sentimental of him.

An image of Davis lying in his bed, clicking through and lovingly studying a slideshow of her, sprung to mind and she felt a warm swell of affection for him. She had done something similar on occasion, when their respective university work had kept them apart for multiple days on end.

There were other styles of pictures too. As she scrolled further, she found photos they had taken together at her high school graduation ceremony, shots of them at a beach trip, and one from her recent birthday where he’d tried to wrestle her face into the cake. She couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

She came to a stop at one photo in particular, the image’s age betrayed by how grainy it’s quality was.

They couldn’t have been older than thirteen. Davis was round-faced and grinning in the middle, one arm slung over Ken to his left and the other over a mildly miffed Kari. T.K. stood on Kari’s other side (Yolei had forgotten about that silly hat he used to wear) and on the opposite edge stood Yolei herself, all spindly limbs and thick, round glasses—stained brilliant white from the flash of the camera.

Their Digimon partners stood huddled around their feet and Yolei felt a fresh pang when her eyes fell on Hawkmon.

She scrolled further, perhaps more quickly than necessary, but then came to a screeching halt.

“Bastard.” She hissed, an angry blush spreading across her cheeks.

“What?” Davis had somehow exited the bathroom and was halfway back to his seat. Yolei had been so engrossed in her recent discovery she hadn’t even heard him flush.

Without missing a beat, she twirled the laptop around and pointed the screen at him accusatory.

“What the hell is this?”

To his credit, Davis had learned since the gum smuggling attempt in his youth that it was best not to lie when he’d be caught.

“Oh,” His mouth formed a perfect O-shape. Now he was blushing too. “I can explain-”

“You better!” She rattled the laptop at him, the hinge wobbling dangerously. “I told you to delete these, Davis!”

It had been her one demand when they had broken up most recently. He had listed several himself, including the unconditional return of the multiple sweater-shirts she’d swiped from his dorm. She considered this a devastating blow, as they made the perfect sleeping shirts in her opinion. But to be fair, he actually needed them more than she did, his winter wardrobe being sparse as it was.

“I did delete them!” He shot back.

“Oh—that is so obviously not true.” She flipped the laptop back around so she could look at them again. The photos were definitely there, present and accounted for, completely not deleted. Her eyes were flashing as she glared back up at him. “Why did you keep these?!”

“Look, you specifically asked me to delete from my phone,” He explained. “And that’s what I did.”

“Oh, so you thought you could keep these on a technicality, huh?”

“We’re back together now so why does it matter?” He threw his hands in the air. “They’re not even that bad of pictures.”

“They’re disgusting.”

Davis chose not to argue with that. Certainly most of the photos could be construed as less-than appealing.

His laptop currently contained the only copies in existence of seventeen candid photos of Yolei, caught in various stages of sleep, sickness, and general foulness.

It had started as kind of sweet. On one of the nights she had slept over he’d woken first, and had snapped a quick picture of her face as she slept rather serenely, messy hair splayed over his pillow. When he’d showed her the picture later, he’d called her beautiful. She made a show of rolling her eyes, but smiled and blushed all the same.

For the second photo, he’d caught her while she was trying to subtly pick her nose.

It had kind of snowballed from there.

“Why were you even going through my laptop anyways?” He demanded in turn.

“I was looking for music.” Yolei turned her nose up matter-of-factly.

“In my pictures? Yeah, Right.”

“You’re missing the point.” She waved her hand as if his words were a fly buzzing by her ears. “This is a major breach of privacy.”

“Now that, you’re right about.” He stepped forward finally and reached for his laptop, but she pulled it to her chest.

“I mean my privacy, you jackass.”

“I took those, so they’re actually mine.”

“But they’re not pictures of you, are they?” She looked down, scrutinizing one of her in an unseemly, homemade guacamole facemask, filename: ‘she-hulk’. She had seen all these pictures before at one point or another, usually accompanied with some gentle ribbing at her expense, but seeing the collage now felt entirely different. “Davis, how could I ever trust you again? You promised me that you’d get rid of these.”

She was right of course, and that caused the words to sting all the more. Davis was near a hundred percent sober now, but his vision still blurred. Hot tears of shame, and a heaping dose of frustration, pricking his eyes. He fought and managed to keep his voice level, mostly:

“Yeah, well... how am I supposed to just go around like it’s nothing when you could be sniffing through my drawers every time I turn my back?”

She didn’t have an answer for that.

A half minute passed where neither said anything. The music from the laptop was still playing passively, shuffling through Davis’s library automatically and currently playing some upbeat video game OST Yolei didn’t recognize. Eventually he moved and sank down onto the futon with her again, a few inches of space between them, and both their eyes settled on the gallery of photos still on display on the glowing screen in Yolei’s arms.

Davis remembered telling his friends oh so recently that he and Yolei were back together. Tai and Izzy had exchanged a quick glance, a silent exchange of barely-contained, mild exasperation. He imaged them placing bets on how long he and Yolei would last this time and pictured money exchanging hands when he broke the news that they were surely once again parting ways-

“That was the most sick I’d ever been in my entire life.” Yolei muttered suddenly, indicating one of the pictures. “I literally thought I was dying.”

He chuckled despite himself.

“Your nose is so red there.”

“Yeah, the tissues from I-Mart were like sandpaper. They still are.”

“Red looks good on you though.” Their eyes met then, and Davis continued quickly, stammering slightly. “I mean, not many people can pull off crimson flight pants, but- um… you did.. for years.”

Her face had an unreadable quality to it, and it seemed as if she might respond with something, but then she turned away and began scrolling through his computer again. He noticed her eyes weren’t focused though and he didn’t have it in him to try and dissuade her from searching still. There was nothing else to find anyway.

“Why do you even have this folder?” She asked, eyes forward.

He debated with himself for a few seconds, then decided on the truth.

“I like… having photos. You know, of you.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “And when we broke up last time, and you told me to delete all those ugly pics of you, I did.” Yolei’s mouth opened to object, but he continued before she could interject. “I really did. I honestly just forgot that they were on my laptop with everything else too, and when I saw them later, I just… couldn’t get rid of them.” He stared at her profile, tracing with his eyes the lines of her cheek, the bump on her nose. “I really thought this last time was the real deal.”

“Me too.”

“Do you think we should break up again?”

“I don’t know.” Even though they weren’t quite touching, Yolei felt him stiffen by her side. She closed her eyes, and said her next words to the blackness of her eyelids. “I don’t want to.”

He breathed out, the air leaving him as if released from a balloon.

“God, me neither.”

She twisted on her seat, opening her eyes to meet his gaze.

“I’m sorry for looking through your laptop. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay.” He responded quickly.

Yolei continued anyways.

“If I’m being honest too, I was looking to see what kind of porn you had saved on here.”

“What?” Davis balked. “Seriously? Why would you think I had… that stuff… on there? I don’t even…” He shook his head, the image of incredulity. “I don’t even watch that.” Yolei watched him steadily, a single brow raised. “What? I don’t!”

“Sure. We’ll talk about that some other time.” She was only half teasing.

The promise of ‘some other time’ bolstered his spirits quickly. He eyed his laptop in her hands, suddenly loathing the pathetic thing and how he’d used it to hide away the secret vestiges of what he had once thought would be all that remained of his and Yolei’s relationship. She had owned up to her transgressions.

What he needed to do was apologize.

Standing, he pulled the laptop from her slack grip before she could argue, and looking her dead in the eyes, gripped each half of the computer and snapped it in half along the hinge. The music died with a pitiful wheeze and splinters of plastic flew everywhere, a few bouncing off Yolei’s glasses to disappear into the fibers of the rug at her feet.

“Davis!”

“I shouldn’t have kept those pictures.” He discarded the broken halves of the computer, speaking passionately. “I want us to start over fresh, okay? I don’t want any dumb secrets or anything like that to cause any problems. I want you to trust me, because I trust you – I really do.” He swallowed hard. “I still love you, Yolei.”

Her eyes shone and laughter bubbled in her throat.

“But you computer-”

“I needed a new one anyways. You can help me pick one out!”

“Yeah, but,” She wiped her eyes clear. “What about all the other pictures? My graduation, the Digimon?”

“I still have those on my phone, no worries.”

“And your homework?”

“My homework?” It took a second for Davis’s brain to catch up. His eyes passed from one broken piece of the laptop to the other, then his hands rose to bury themselves in his hair. “Oh shit, shit. My mid-term paper is saved on there...”

Yolei wanted to laugh, she wanted to cry, but instead she reached out and pulled him to her. She gently unwound his fingers from his hair and twined them with hers. She kissed him and kept pulling until he was climbing onto the battered futon with her, then over her.

In the morning, she would take off the back panel of his broken computer and pull the hard drive. She’d help him recover his homework and maybe, just maybe, a couple of the more agreeable photos that she would allow him to keep.

For now though, he didn’t need any of the digital keepsakes. As far as either of them were concerned, any number of pictures paled in comparison to the real thing.

For now though, she held him close and breathed in his ear.

“I love you too.”

When DemiVeemon bounced back into the living area sometime later, he found the pair asleep and huddled under a blanket together on the futon. The small Digimon took in the mess on the floor, the couple’s mussed hair, their slow and steady breaths, chests rising as one. Of course, he had heard every word of their argument from Davis’s bedroom, but he was used to the ruckus by now and too preoccupied with his noodles to care. Anyways, no doubt there would be many such squabbles in the future for him to witness.

He decided to let them sleep for now and bounded to the kitchen in search of a mid-night snack. He would just have tell Davis about his dream some other time.

#digimon #davis motomiya #daisuke motomiya #yolei inoue #miyako inoue #daivis/yolei #daiyako #demiveemon #my fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

drxwsyni · 4 years

Note

if you have requests open, could you please do a blurb/scenario where overhaul is too needy and clingy for touch ? it would be nice to see him be normal once. like the s/o is doing something like reading, and then suddenly he starts smoothering her in kisses, wanting to cuddle and etc. ?

how dare you come into my inbox and request something so gosh diddly darn soft anon, this is a yandere blog for crying out loud. also i’ve never really written fluff before, so i hope this lives up to your expectations given where i took this. i really spent a while trying to make this so i’m sorry if it wasn’t what you imagined. anyhoot―thanks for requesting my fav villain!

warnings: implied kidnapping and stockholm syndrome

_____

Yandere Chisaki Kai/Overhaul x f!Reader

(2.9k words) Title: affection

Time seemed to pass quickly in an unchanging environment. Having lost yourself long ago to the stagnant surroundings and uncompromising directives, existing was now a calm, passive experience.

Gradually, your mindset began to shift. Likely for the better, you acknowledged and accepted the proclamations of Chisaki Kai.

It was peculiar―there was a certain attachment he had to you, and it was quite evident. He cared for you, but it was on a detached level. Few times existed in your memory in which he had displayed innate affection, something with physical warmth to it. Mostly, his devotion was shown in the act of providing for you―maintaining your good health, a comfortable place to rest, relaxing pastimes―anything to make your life with him more pleasant.

When it came to more personal exchanges, Chisaki was lacking deeply. On the rare occasion he’d indulge you in closeness, but something seemed to be holding him back. Contact was limited―a hand on the small of your back, moving a strand of wayward hair from your face. If he was feeling particularly bold, he might gently cup your cheek as he admired the details in your irises for a fleeting moment.

It never moved beyond these happenings though, whether you wished they would or not.

You took them as they came, but slowly the lack of contact was having its own effects on your health. It was more of a mental than physical affliction―the loss of touch meant the loss of an irreplaceable comfort.

Unfortunately, Chisaki had his boundaries, something you were well aware of. It was the driving force preventing you from bringing up the concern. Instead, you continued to subsist day in and day out. By now the need to resist had faded completely, and you were left to the subjection of his will.

Today, that will had you occupied in his office. The yakuza leader seemed to take solace in your company, although distant, thus having you frequently stationed in his proximity. Novel in hand, leaning against the armrest behind you, your mind drifted from the contents of the pages as you relaxed against the soft leather. Always in his line of site, the couch you were laying on was positioned against the wall to Kai’s right as he worked diligently at his desk.

If there was one trait of his that prevailed over all others, it was his attention to detail in your condition. He picked up on everything before you comprehended the reality yourself. It was because of this you eventually began to willingly let him make all the decisions, knowing you’d never be on the same level of proficiency.

His office was normally a quiet environment―you deduced it was something he maintained when you were around. It was easier to immerse yourself in a good book like this, devoid of distractions. Yet, every so often your thoughts departed from the story, taking up residence in the details of your surroundings.

The warm yet sufficiently illuminating lighting, crisp and sterile scented air, ambient noises of a quietly ticking clock or the typing of a keyboard. It all served to subdue your nerves, letting your mind ease into placidity. Your eyes drifted to the wall on your left, lost in the grooved details of the high-grade wooden panelling.

“Angel.”

Your head turned to the source of the sound, pulling you out of your thoughts. Chisaki had moved to seat himself on the edge of the couch next to you, a look of worry in his eyes coupled with slightly furrowed eyebrows. You offered a hum in response.

“How did you sleep last night? You tend to get...distracted, when you’re tired.” He must’ve noticed the wandering look in your eyes―eyes that should've been focused on your novel. As always, he knows you better than you know yourself.

“Well enough, I guess.” You gave a warm smile in hopes of easing his concerns.

He continued with an inquisitive look. “How many hours?”

You knew the question to be an order to tell the truth, despite it sounding harmless enough. “Maybe five. I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn’t fall back asleep.”

Chisaki let out a sigh, likely disappointed at the response.

Yet, it would seem today he was feeling generous with affection.

His gloved right hand drifted to your face, settling on cupping the side of it while his thumb lightly caressed your cheekbone. “You know to wake me up if you're having trouble sleeping.”

“I didn’t want to bother you Kai. I’m really not that tired, so you don’t need to worry.” Upsetting him was the last thing you wanted to do, knowing how it affected his ability to work sometimes.

“We’ve been over this before, angel. It doesn’t matter what I’m doing. If something is wrong you’re to tell me immediately.”

But you couldn’t tell him what was wrong. The truth was something even he wouldn’t be able to fix as far as you were concerned.

You could have woken him up last night, and you probably would’ve been met with sleeping pills to ease your affliction. It would’ve done the trick, but in reality it wouldn’t have been what you truly needed. Even after all this time, admitting it to yourself was difficult. But you couldn’t deny the comfort you felt in his touch. The two of you even slept in the same bed―it wouldn’t take much for him to fix the issue if he wasn’t so insistent on ‘giving you your space.’

For now, you resolved to lean into his hand, silently conveying your feelings. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d be up for so long.”

He must’ve picked up on the movement, seeing as his eyes widened ever so slightly. Much to your surprise, he didn’t withdraw his hand.

Once again he regarded you with mild distress. “Your health will deteriorate if you remain exhausted. Tell me next time, I’ll give you something to help with the restlessness.”

That’s not what you wanted. “I don’t like taking the pills though. They make me feel...weird.”

He gave a small laugh, “How else am I supposed to put you to sleep?”

You bit down on your lower lip nervously, looking away from his gaze. He’d likely never understand, and it was a reality you would have to get used to―just as you had with all the other difficulties he presented you.

“Hey, look at me.” Your eyes immediately followed his command, seeing him now glaring down at you. “You’re acting strange, what are you thinking about?”

What were you supposed to tell him?

You’d have to lie your way out of this one and pray he didn’t pick up on it. You opened your mouth to speak, but a knock at the heavy wooden door effectively cut you off.

“Just a minute.” Chisaki called out to whoever provided the interruption before regarding you again. His hand slipped to the top of your exposed knee, given that you were wearing a dress that came just above it. “Whatever’s wrong―you're telling me later, understand?”

You gave a small nod in response, which he deemed satisfactory enough.

Giving your knee a small squeeze, he stood from the couch, moving to retake his place in the chair behind his desk. He invited the individual waiting on the other side of the door in, and you returned to the company of your book.

Yet, as hard as you tried to focus on its contents, you couldn’t help but fret over the prospect of having to tell him exactly how you were feeling.

_____

The following couple of hours were spent in the continued presence of Kai as he dealt with a few of his subordinates in the office. Since the interaction you picked up on his brief glances in your direction, doing what you assumed was making sure you weren’t falling asleep.

Eventually, dinner had rolled around. The two of you ate in almost complete silence, save for a few comments made here and there regarding your opinions on the new novel you were reading, and him on having to deal with some incompetent underlings.

It would seem for the moment he had disregarded his promise to interrogate you on the topic of your change in behaviour. Maybe for once he wouldn’t be so painfully thorough, and instead let this one incident slide.

That’s what you hoped for, not being able to come to terms with the reality of having to tell him the truth. But you knew better―he was never one to go back on his word, not even with you.

Chisaki returned to the office for a few hours after dinner, letting Kurono accompany you on a walk through the compound's courtyard.

The place was by far your most favoured area in the base. It was the only thing that really changed in your life―the seasons, weather, anything nature had to offer―the only constant that was inconstant. You always took as much time as possible to relish in the environment, and were never truly satisfied by the time you were escorted away, back to the shared bedroom.

Kai was already in the room when you returned, some unidentifiable files in hand as he sat on the edge of the bed, hunched over the papers.

It was fairly late, nearing when he had designated an appropriate bedtime for yourself.

He lifted his head as you entered the room, watching as you shut the door behind you.

“I drew you a bath. We’re having that talk once you’re ready for bed.”

Following his unspoken commands, you headed into the bathroom, not before picking out a pair of pyjamas for the night.

Naturally, you spent as long as possible soaking in the gradually cooling off water. Having scrubbed your body down long ago, it was now a matter of biding your time until you could work up the courage to return to him.

Unfortunately that courage never came, rather it was more of an inescapable dread that you had no choice but to deal with. If you waited any longer it would only make things worse for the both of you.

Coming to terms with the situation, you finished up with your bath and finished getting ready for bed.

Upon exiting the bathroom you saw Kai was already in bed, sitting up against the headboard on his phone. By the end of the day he never truly finished his work as far as you could tell, leaving times like this to be spent tending to emails or occasionally answering a phone call. He never bothered to hide his occupation from you. It wasn’t always a bad thing, but some of the discussions he had were, for lack of better words, alarming. Sometimes, ignorance really is bliss.

The only light left on in the room was that of the lamp on his bedside table. His eyes never strayed from his phone as you made your way over to your side of the bed. You settled for lying on your side, facing away from him under the blankets.

It was around 9:00 pm at this point. Normally Chisaki stayed up for a couple of hours, either in bed on his phone or at the small desk just to the side of the room. He insisted that you go to bed at the same time every night, and remained in the room to make sure you actually fell asleep.

Like usual, the two of you never talked in these moments. That continued to be your reality for a few minutes, but his promise was more than enough to keep the exhaustion away for the time being.

You heard a deep sigh from his side of the bed, followed by the gentle thud of a phone being laid on the nightstand. There was a slight shift in the bed before movement ceased once again.

“So, what’s on your mind?”

You really didn’t want to open up to him about this. “Nothing really, I guess.”

For the most part you’d been good at hiding it, but last night was just one amongst many that had you awake for long hours. Keeping the issue from him wasn’t the easiest, but it was better than the alternative―than this.

“Angel, I’m going to need you to cooperate here. I can tell your behaviour has changed.”

Maybe you weren’t as good at hiding it as you thought.

“Just a little tired is all, I’m fine.”

You’re definitely not fine.

“How long have you felt like this.”

Longer than you could feasibly remember, but you digress.

“Maybe a month...or two.”

The pause suggested that, like you expected, your answers tonight would likely irritate him.

“I’ll pick up some medication to help you stay asleep then.”

Again with this, it’s like he has selective memory or something.

“I don’t li―”

“You don’t like the way it makes you feel, I know. But you’ll fall ill if you remain in this state.”

You never had the room to be demanding with Kai. Realistically, you never needed to. Somehow he always managed to take care of everything―even things you didn’t realize were a problem. Not when it came to this however. Nowadays, he just barely missed the mark, and it was enough to cause issues of its own.

“It’s just...not everything can be solved with pills.”

God, what were you saying? It would be so much easier to just accept his answer and move on.

That’s what you thought, but something was causing you to reply against your will, for better or for worse.

“You’re going to have to be a little more specific, my love.” You felt the bed shift once again, the only light going out with a click.

You’ve already dug yourself deep enough into this mess, where’s the harm in going a little further?

“I guess I’m just...lonely?”

There was a moment of silence that felt like it lasted an eternity. You’d never discussed this topic with him before―at least you think you hadn’t. A lot of your memories felt foggy due to the almost completely unchanging routine you’d been subjected to for who knows how long.

You heard another sigh from his side of the bed. It was already something you’d anticipated―him not being able to provide for you in this way despite being more than capable of doing so with all other concerns. All you could do now was wait for the inevitable, medically approached solution he had conjured.

“Well, if that’s the case…” Yet, in a swift motion you felt an arm wrap around your waist, pulling you back from your position on the edge of the bed, “...I suppose it’d be quite irresponsible of me to neglect this problem any longer.”

He slotted you securely against his chest, arm remaining firmly draped over your frame effectively keeping you from moving even an inch out of his grasp.

The sudden contact sent your mind reeling, while your body was seemingly unable to put up resistance―but at this point there wasn’t much need to resist anyways. In fact, you were more concerned with Chisaki, him stepping way outside of what you perceived to be his comfort zone.

“I―y-you don’t have to―”

“You should know that I’ve been holding back for your sake. Had I known you were so afflicted I would’ve indulged myself much sooner.”

Naturally, this only confused you further.

“I thought you didn’t like touching people?” Your voice was quiet―small even.

He almost laughed at the comment, but it came out as more of a breathy exhale. “That’s correct, angel.” Almost tantalizingly slow, he started leaving a trail of light kisses down your neck, pausing only to speak. “You however...I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you.”

You felt the grip around your waist tighten ever so slightly. Not in a threatening way―more so to bring you closer to him, if that was even possible.

“Why did you wait?” For as long as you’ve known him, Chisaki was a man to take whatever he wanted without question. So the prospect of your current situation was baffling.

You could almost feel the slight smile he had against your skin as he lightly hovered over it. “I wanted you to come to me first...and now that you have,” his lips ghosted the shell of your ear, “I don’t plan on keeping the same restraint any longer.”

A shiver ran up and down your spine, you inwardly cursing yourself for having sensitive ears.

He continued, “But I suppose for now I should let you sleep, seeing as I’ve been preventing you from doing so for quite some time.” You felt him plant a final, gentle kiss atop the crown of your head.

It had been so long since someone had held you―made you feel genuinely loved―that it had your heart beating a million times a minute. Chisaki must’ve picked up on it, being so close, as his hand drifted to rest atop yours, rubbing small, soothing circles into it with his thumb.

This is what you wanted, right? For him to take this extra step?

Vaguely, you could register a slight feeling of...apprehension?

But, surely there was no need to feel worried anymore. Not after he’d looked after you―cared for you―for so long.

You tried to connect the sensation to reasoning. And yet, no matter how hard your brain searched for answers, a correspondence never formed. Rather, the sentiment faded as quickly as it arised, and was replaced with the comfort of his closeness to you―his affection.

So, you let it gradually lull you into sleep, knowing it’d be there―he’d be there―when you woke up. And it would still be there whenever you needed it, just as everything else was provided for you without you even having to ask.

#yandere bnha #yandere overhaul #yandere chisaki kai #yandere my hero academia #yandere #yandere mha #yandere bnha x reader #yandere mha x reader #yandere overhaul x reader #yandere chisaki kai x reader #yandere x reader

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secondhand-trash · 4 years

Text

❝Is it ‘running through the airport’ kind of love?❞

❝The only person I’d run through an airport for is you.❞

Season 2 ep 6, Fleabag

A/N: I’m not sure if I made it obvious enough by the many Fleabag quotes on the list and the many times I tried to not-so-subtly shove Fleabag references into my past writings, but I love Fleabag. I think it’s such a brilliant show and I wish I can see it for the first time again just to feel the impact.

(Update from 2021: this is scheduled to be rewritten because I think there’s so much missed potential in this one)

There was nothing you could think of that was possibly worse than sitting next to your ex in a wedding.

Your back was stiff, your hands placed soundly in your lap as you tried to make sure you took up as little as space as possible so there was no way, literally no way you would need to talk to the man next to you at all.

Perhaps it was bit of a petty thought, but you hope that Oikawa was feeling just as but preferably more uncomfortable than you were. Even though, knowing him, he probably wouldn’t.

Don’t talk to me... don’t talk to me...

“So... how have you been?”

Ah fuck.

You tried to not make your exasperation too obvious as you turned to his side slightly, putting on a smile that was friendly enough to be polite but also enough distant for him to know that you were not particularly thrilled for this conversation.

It wasn’t that you two ended on bad terms, but the way you slowly drifted apart was nowhere near satisfactory either.

“Good,” you said, “you?”

His throat tightened at your clear disinterested. The more logical thing he should have done when he walked through the door and saw you at the end of the row all by yourself was to sit at the other end of the room, one that made sure you two would not be in each other’s view until the whole ceremony was over. But it had been so long, and his legs were moving before his mind could stop him until he was standing right next to you.

“Pretty much the same thing,” he replied, trying his best to keep the conversation going, “are you here with anyone?”

“No,” you weren’t sure why you were telling him all this, but there had always been something about Oikawa that made you say things and only regret it later, “don’t really have anyone I can bring to an old classmate’s wedding, let’s be real.”

“Oh?” his voice slightly sharpened, tilting his head in both interest and in shock, “really?”

You shrugged, “Just ended things with someone and now I can’t bother to get myself out there again.”

He paused as if he was lost of words for a rare moment. He opened his mouth for a brief second only to close it again, finger tapping against his thigh. You knew what he was hesitating to say, and you sighed before giving him the ease of not having to ask at all.

“He is leaving the country,” you looked up as you bite your lips, curving into a bitter smile. The reason was all too familiar for this to not be ironic and you didn’t know if laughing was an appropriate response, “I love him but I just don’t want to handle the distance.”

You were not too heartbroken by it. You liked him enough, but it was nothing earth-shattering to the point you could not live without the man. It was just tiring, that was all.

“Is it ‘running through the airport’ kind of love?”

He said that with the expectation to see some sort of wavering in your stillness, to see some sort of sign that whatever feeling it was, you still felt something for him. He wouldn’t even mind if you had glared at him, or be pissed that he brought it up. He was shocked when he saw you smile.

You ran through an airport for the man who was now sitting next to you and even though it was an utterly stupid decision on your part, the reminiscence of your naïve romance brought a bitter-sweet sore to your chest. It was when he was about to leave the country to go to the other end of the globe, and you had ran through the airport to crash into him. It was quite the storm among your high school circle, your graduating class’ favourite story to recall even years later.

You remembered the way his arms felt around your shoulders, the way his voice almost cracked as he said to you-

Wait, what did he say?

You were almost shocked that the entire incident was a blur in your head when you had always regarded it as the singular memory that represented the ending of your high school life.

You only remembered that it seemed right at the time. You were young, reckless and head-over-heels in love. What most people left out when they brought up it up over a gathering in remembrance of your days of no regrets was the fact that even though it felt like the dramatic climax to a romance film, life was not scripted.

People did not want to know how the protagonist spent weeks and weeks staying up every night just to say good morning to the love interest who was miles away. No one would want their fantasies to be broken as main character spent nights crying themselves to sleep when all they want was for someone to be there for them but they didn’t even have the heart to blame anyone for their solitude. They especially had no interest in the way he brushed off each missed phone call with a hasty explanation that he was busy with his work.

It was better to leave the story as it was than to know all the ways passion could run dry when you eventually had to be faced with the harsh reality that one day you would not be young, and one day you would be tired of waiting.

It was much easier to run through an airport than waiting by the phone for days on end.

You were quiet until you slowly parted your lips.

“The only person I’d run through an airport for is you.”

His eyes widened, “What-”

“Dearly beloved...”

“It’s starting.”

You did not talk again for the rest of the ceremony and perhaps it was the doing of your own oversensitivity, but you had a feeling that you could feel his eyes on you occasionally throughout the bit of time he had next to you.

“Are you going anywhere later?” You turned back as you were about to leave. Oikawa was standing by the wall, his hands shoved in the pocket of his well-ironed dress pants.

“No?”

“Want to get a drink?”

You should say no, you really should say no...

But as if it was the last bit of recklessness left in your bones, you weren’t sure if you want to.

“Sure.”

Another A/N: aye I feel like this is kinda messy and nowhere near my best work but i just really want to make a try to see if I can use that quote in some way that is different to how it worked in its original text so💀sorry ms waller-bridge

(more lines I like from things I like as prompts for people I like)

#oikawa x reader #oikawa imagine #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader

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masterthespianduchovny · 4 years

Text

You know what, I’m sick and tired of show runners swearing that their shitty series finales was because the fans didn’t get what they wanted.

More times than not, if you find yourself on the worst TV finales of all time, you earned that shit, bud.

Because, you know a show’s finale is bad when people won’t shut up about it years later. People rarely talk about mediocre endings or endings that were serviceable.

But, bad endings, especially on iconic shows, that pisses people the fuck off.

And there is nothing brave about doing what you wanted to do to the detriment of your show, characters, fans, and legacy. It’s cheap. Because, rather than do the hard work of trying to stick the landing, you indulged your worst impulse.

It should rewarding for sticking with a show. It should feel rewarding to rewatch a show. It should feel rewarding to be apart of a fandom. Instead it feels like a slap to the face as the show runners condescend to you. And go with what they want rather than do what makes sense for the series.

I truly hate the phrase, “The fans are upset because they didn’t get what they wanted.”

It’s such fucking bullshit because what I want--what most fans want--is a satisfactory ending. We want loose ends tied up, answers, or a plan of sort that lets us know you cared for the show as much as we invested in it.

1.) I think about Game of Thrones and how they shit on the plot, characters, and all of that world building. People say, “Oh, you wanted a Disney ending”, but what the fuck does that mean? Because some people did get a Disney ending and that’s the fucking Starks. And, guess what, I actively rooted for them until mid way through season 8. I liked Dany okay, but I was a Stark fan through and through and became a Dany fan and loathed the Starks by the end. They are the ones with the Disney ending...they have a Stark on the throne as another Stark rules the North as the Queen, Jon with the Wildlings, and Arya allegedly living out her fantasy of exploring the world. How is that not a Disney ending???

You know what I expected? A main character to die like Dany or Jon. A major betrayal by a main character like Sansa. Where is the Disney ending in that?

Dipshit and Dipshit sacrificed character development, world building, and fucking sense to ram their ending down our throat and we’re allegedly upset because we didn’t get what we want when all we wanted was a satisfying ending? That doesn’t even touch on glossing over the magical aspect and the significance of the Night King.

2.) I’ve divorced myself so much from How I Met Your Mother that I can barely remember the show. This, like GOT, is a show I’ve never revisited, despite owning at least 2-3 seasons. This show left such a sour taste in my mouth that the series is retroactively ruined for me. HIMYM is what happens when, as a creator, you’re so married to your original idea that you refuse to let it go when it doesn’t make sense 15 million years down the road. The sacrificed character development of Robin, Ted, and Barney for this to make sense. They had fans spend, what, a season on a wedding that was ended in less than five minutes. They somehow make meeting the mother everything fans wanted and more--the magic was there--only to kill her off and have him end up with Robin. IF they were going to have the mother die, I’d rather us sit with her in that last show with the kids. After Ted tells them this story, they go to the hospital and sit and talk with her. I know there is an alternate ending, but I stopped watching in season 8 (maybe), so it means nothing to me. I knew the show was on bullshit by season 7 and had enough.

3.) The X-Files. My feelings and relationship with the X-Files is much more complicated because I didn’t watch the series until AFTER the original series ended. So, my investment, although deeper, wasn’t enough to make me not finish the series and subsequently rewatch it. But, the Chris Carter, the creator and show runner, actions are so egregious that it’s baffling and infuriating.

Unlike the GOT show runners who wanted to end early to get Star Wars money and HIMYM show runners who went on far to long and were married to an ending, Chris Carter hated the core of his fans AND took his resentment out on the characters if he had an issue with the actors. He was a man without a plan that had a great idea, an ounce of talent, and great writers and directors surrounding him. Despite losing a lead actor, someone who he knew he was losing IN ADVANCE, and having time to appropriately deal with this departure, he did the most fuck shit things he could do. Try to undermine the relationship between the two core leads, prop up this new character, not focus on a main character absence in a way that was poignant, and continued to offer up a shitty mythology. When the other core lead wanted to dial back her responsibilities, he still was serving stale shit. His series finale was essentially a fucking clip show. This isn’t fucking Cheers (no shade to Cheers, I just mean that a clip show is appropriate for a comedy and not a sci fi drama), this was the X Files and we wanted answers and something to blow our minds, but he basically told us to blow it out our asses.

So, you’d think that a man whose show was cancelled because he couldn’t helm his creation without his core leads because the leads stepped back or away he’d learn his lesson, right?

NOPE, he kept serving uninspired drivel, undermining his characters, and creating unnecessary or fucking ridiculous conflicts that he had no intention on exploring. He retconned his mess of a conspiracy and made it even more convoluted, so much so, that the other main lead has sworn off revisiting the show!

And I don’t want to hear anything about, “it’s difficult to please everyone” and “how do you end shows like that?”

Because, you know what: THESE MEN WERE PAID TO KNOW AND/OR FIGURE OUT HOW TO END THEIR SHOWS.

All of these shows should've prepared for an endgame or pivoted to make the show narratively and emotionally satisfying. Instead, it’s nothing, but turmoil because it’s so rage inducing.

These men had a team of writers at their disposal. They had narrative arcs or overarching plots that should’ve been OUTLINED. Yet, they let their hubris do the talking and fucked up their own careers.

Dipshit and Dipset lost their Star Wars contract due to the GOT fiasco. I honestly don’t believe they stepped away. They rushed the ending for SWs, yet they decided to leave after shit hit the fan???

Carter and Bays lost their TV How I Met Your Father. Have they even worked in Hollywood since then?

Chris Carter can only get work for the X-Files and that’s only because people want to see David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson--and that’s as a pairing. Even if he wanted to do a season 12, which I know he does, he cannot because Gillian refuses to come back.

Stop defending these shitty as show runners and writers who fuck over their series. It is their jobs to tell us a story and make that shit worth wild. They’ve literally made millions off of this, but somehow we’re supposed to excuse them giving us a shitty ending.

A show that is not well known that struggled with viewerships for years, 12 monkeys, does what the other girls couldn’t (or wouldn’t) do! They had a far more complex plot--time travel--and their network treated them like ass, yet they delivered one of the most narratively and emotionally satisfying series finales I’ve seen in years. You know why? Because she show runner actually cared. And, even though I expected heartbreak and nothing close to a happy ending, I was satisfying surprised and happy at the end result.

I fucking hate lazy ass show runners who think they know it all.

#the x files #how i met your mother #game of thrones #12 monkeys

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swanlake1998 · 3 years

Link

Article: Tokenism vs. Representation: How Can We Tell Them Apart?

Date: January 19, 2021

By: Theresa Ruth Howard

Last year's Black Lives Matter protests jolted the ballet world into action. All of a sudden, things that once "took time" instantaneously became easy fixes, like it was an episode of Oprah's favorite things for Black people: "You get an opportunity, and you get an opportunity!" Much of this sudden, reactionary change has elicited high levels of skepticism, prompting the query: Is this true representation or is it merely tokenism?

There is empirical data that white people seldom keep word when it comes to BIPOC individuals. Social justice (especially when it comes to Black people) has almost always been a trend, a tool wielded to benefit white people more in the end, and there usually is an end marked by a lull and a slow, silent rolling back of the majority of what has been accomplished.

In the early stages of addressing systemic racism, until companies have a proven track record, it will always be a "damned when you do, damned if you don't" situation. Trust must be earned. Nothing done will be enough because it feels like trying to make an ocean out of a desert with an eye dropper.

That is not to say that there isn't meaningful progress being made. We are in the midst of a global shift. Power is being redistributed, rules and criteria are being altered. The standards of what was once acceptable, or enough, no longer suffice. People are no longer just "grateful" to have a seat at the table—not only do they expect to eat, they want to help plan the menu. The truth is, we lack a suitable metric to measure this progress because we have never been here before.

What is “representation”? What exactly is “tokenism”?   

The Oxford Dictionary defines "tokenism" as "the practice or policy of making merely a token effort or granting only minimal concessions, especially to minority or suppressed groups."

The complexity of the question "What qualifies as tokenism and what as representation?" rivals that of Blackness itself. There is often a conflation perhaps because representation is part and parcel of tokenism, making it difficult to discern one from the other, or at what point it shifts. What it looks like for the bystander may not be how it is experienced by the person in the situation.

It is important to note that the act of being the "only" or one of a few does not in and of itself amount to tokenism. Too often that assumption is made by the public and it is unfair, reductive and wounding to those holding those spaces. What determines tokenism depends more on why and how someone occupies the space.

This is where the process of diversification gets slippery, manufacturing conflicts of confidence for Black dancers who, like sacrificial lambs, may question the reasons they were hired, cast or promoted. Were they given an opportunity for their talent, or because they are Black, and in what measure? These are often the speculative whispers from colleagues, classmates, parents and patrons. It is a psychological head trip to which one will rarely get a satisfactory answer.

The way diversification is approached says everything. When the motivations are authentic, there will be respect, sensitivity and mindfulness; an effort to cultivate cultural competence will be made. This requires a great deal of humility. In order to be able to interact effectively with people of different cultures, racial and ethnic backgrounds, you have to admit that you have blind spots, and are ignorant of things and, more importantly, are desirous to learn. This requires engaging them as human beings, not just tools as a means to an end.

Faculty additions

The recent hiring of full-time Black faculty members at Boston Ballet School (Andrea Long-Naidu), Pacific Northwest Ballet School (Ikolo Griffin), San Francisco Ballet School (Jason Ambrose) and School of American Ballet (Aesha Ash) all came to fruition during the COVID-19 crisis and the BLM reckonings. All four schools were part of the Equity Project's 21-ballet-organization learning cohort—the three-year partnership between Dance Theatre of Harlem, Dance/USA and the International Association of Blacks in Dance that aimed to increase the presence of Blacks in ballet, onstage and off. (Full disclosure, I was a member of the design and facilitation team.) There were a number of school directors in the room, including BBS director Margaret Tracey, PNB's Peter Boal (artistic director of both school and company), SFBS's former administrator Andrea Yannone and director Patrick Armand, and SAB's chairman of faculty Kay Mazzo.

One of the constant discussions was the importance of having representation on school faculties; it was drilled into their psyches. There were multiple conversations, and eventually the ball started rolling downhill. Unfortunately, the news of these faculty additions was only made public after last summer's social media protests by Black ballet dancers, making them appear reactionary.

The announcements began with a cacophony of press about Ash's appointment at SAB, which was met with underground backlash. Much like the overwhelming coverage about New York City Ballet's first Black Marie in 2019, which other companies had been quietly and consistently doing for years (without fanfare), the jump over contrition and bolt towards heroism for many soured representation into tokenism. In contrast, when Balanchine took Arthur Mitchell into NYCB as its first Black principal dancer, Mitchell asked that there not be a press release heralding the advancement. Instead, he wanted simply to appear onstage as a matter of fact.

When you wave a flag too hard late in the game, and are overly pleased with the little you have done over decades, you get no pat on the back. Though pleased for Sister Ash, inherent distrust has the Black community sitting with its arms folded, watching and waiting to be served the pudding that holds the proof of change.

This is the flip side of the representation coin. Organizations can dust their hands off and feel good about the progress they have made, while the actual burden and responsibility of "representing" gets laid squarely on these new Black hires. Ironically, these Black instructors return to the space of racial isolation they inhabited as dancers, with one major difference: Now they are expected to be an agent of change.

With the media blitz around her being SAB's first full-time Black faculty member, Ash is very clear when I ask her what her role is. "I am a teacher," she says. "I am not there to transform the entire structure. I was hired to be a teacher and I am hyper-focused on being the best darn teacher that I can be."

Her refrain sounds exactly like most Black ballet dancers who just want to dance, but whose very presence is a statement of silent resistance to a centuries-old system of whiteness. With this lack of representation, coupled with the increased visibility via social media—whether intended or not—they are instantaneously branded as "role models," and saddled with the pressure of expectations from the public at large, the Black community specifically, as well as their organization.

For these new faculty members, if and when their institutions make a faux pas, you can be certain the first question will be "Where were they?" When presented with this reality, Ash resolutely replies, "Let's make it very clear that I'm not the executive director or the artistic director of the School of American Ballet. But if I see things that don't look right to me, I'm absolutely going to feel very comfortable going in there and saying 'This does not look right.' " She sees her role as a long-time member of the Alumni Advisory Committee on Diversity and Inclusion as the space to do that.

Conversely, when asked what Ash's role is, Mazzo replies—along with giving glowing compliments about Ash's teaching abilities—"We feel that we hired an activist who wants to make more change," referring to her creation of her Swan Dreams Project. "We'll look to her for her perspective, her opinions or insights or feedback. It'll carry an enormous amount of weight as we continue to evolve and learn. I think she might not even realize what that means."

It could well be within this sliver of obfuscation that genuine representation can curdle into tokenism—the space where boundaries are unclear and assumptions are made. There has to be an agreement and clear boundaries with veto power enabling a person to control the way their Blackness, gender, sexual orientation or identity (in body and voice) are utilized both internally and externally for it not to wander into the realm of tokenism.

A person's desire to participate (and to what degree) should not be assumed because they represent a particular demographic. Having your thoughts, feelings, experience and emotional labor taken into consideration is something that is often not afforded to marginalized people. Being granted the power of choice with regards to participation, though not the norm, would be equitable. In this way the truest measure of whether something is tokenizing lies with the person in the experience: If they have agency and are empowered, it matters little how things appear.

In extending the invitation to Andrea Long-Naidu to join the Boston Ballet School, director Margaret Tracey was clear: "I need someone like this to hold me accountable. Knowing Andrea's commitment to supporting the Black student in the white ballet world made me think this is the kind of person I need on my team." The discussions between the two solidified what feels like a developing partnership.

Long-Naidu is looking for a space that will allow her to stretch into her desire to be a part of the change, and influence the field's push towards diversification. "I want to be at a high-level ballet institution where I am working with dancers, where I can make a difference," she says. Over the past five years she has been stepping into her power, both as an educator and as an advocate. "I am finding my voice in this work. I want to be a part of helping predominantly white institutions be more welcoming for Black bodies."

It helps that the two share history as former NYCB dancers, allowing for the uncomfortable dialogue necessary both for the learning curve and the strengthening of the new allyship. They align in their growth journeys: Tracey is prepared to receive radical feedback and Long-Naidu is ready to share. "Andrea is my first hire where I have shifted my focus from whether this outside person is a good fit for us to making sure that our environment is not stuck in a place that may not allow someone like her to fit in," says Tracey.

Casting and marketing

We all want to see Black and brown dancers rise through the ranks. What we don't want is Black dancers being cast when they are not ready, or prepared for a role just for a company to showcase it has them. This is the epitome of tokenism and sets dancers up to fail, a luxury, by virtue of their Blackness, they do not have. Blackness is held to a different standard so unlike their white peers, whose failings are their own, the "representation" Black dancers carry comes with the heavy burden of the entire race.

Artistic directors might not view it this way when casting, but being culturally competent would mean taking this into consideration. When fast-tracking a Black dancer, true equity would mean providing the extra support (technical and emotional) they might need to have them succeed. Hence, it's not about what is normally done; it is about what is necessary in this instance.

Tokenism in casting can stigmatize the dancer amongst their peers and the artistic staff, setting off the cascade of whispering echoes of "They only got it because they are Black." Even though white people have been getting opportunities because they are white for eons, it creates yet another level of isolation, stress and vulnerability in a Black dancer, potentially crippling both their confidence and their career.

Ballet organizations that have been actively working to educate and examine themselves, and are successfully expanding recruitment, increasing diversity in training pipelines, company rosters, faculties and administration, are grappling with how to best communicate progress without tooting their own horns too loudly. This is the space between a rock and a hard place; if they quietly go about their work, no one will know, and if they promote too heavily it could be perceived as pandering.

This culture shift demands transparency. Gone are the days of blind acceptance; the people demand receipts. Ballet has seldom had to explain itself, aloft at the pinnacle of the dance hierarchy, supported by centuries of tradition, the very act of "showing" deemed beneath it. Those days are on the wane.

The majority of ballet companies use the traditional rankings system. Star power is real, ballet lovers are loyalist, and marketing campaigns often follow suit by using images of principal artists or those performing lead roles. Hence, when most of your diversity (specifically Black dancers) resides in the corps de ballet, purposefully diverting from the marketing norms to telegraph the presence of nonwhite artists is by definition tokenism.

That is, of course, if marketing followed that hierarchy to begin with. When Tamara Rojo took the helm of English National Ballet in 2012, the company underwent a rebrand, highlighting ENB as a company that tells stories. Together with Heather Clark Charrington (director of marketing and communications since 2014), she transformed the promotional black-and-white backstage images into evocative art pieces capturing a moment, feeling or mood of a work. Together, Rojo and Charrington identify the dancer who can best capture it, regardless of rank or role. Many times there isn't correlation between the dancer on the poster and the principals on the stage.

Ironically, this nonhierarchical norm had gone unnoticed until 2018, when the breathtakingly stunning poster of Swan Lake featuring Precious Adams was released, and comments about casting and tokenism were raised. This is a prime example of when righteous indignation based on assumptions and lack of knowledge results in possible collateral damage to the very person you are advocating for. If companies are expected to do better by their artists, then the public needs to check itself, as well.

We need new procedures and practices to check our work. If your whole marketing department is white, perhaps consider enlisting the eyes of nonwhite members of the organization or cultivating external critical friends to look through a different lens to vet images and copy. The trick is you have to trust and listen to their feedback.

COVID commissions

The call to give Black choreographers opportunities was right up there with the call for ballet teachers, and the excuse was the same: "We can't find them." It seems that the glow from the world being on fire illuminated the field such that suddenly Black choreographers could be seen raining from the sky like extraterrestrial squids in Watchmen.

Black folk have been in the game long enough to know that the majority of recent commissions are purely reactionary. "Of course when I received multiple commissions, it crossed my mind that it was in alignment with the Black Lives Matter movement…and being a Black woman I tick two boxes," says Francesca Harper, who has eight commissions on deck. "I have been creating films since the beginning of my career—two of the companies came to me specifically because I can create something for film."

However, the nagging question of Blackness versus talent conjures uncertainty. "You wonder, Are they really looking at me?" asks Harper. "Are they looking at my work? That, for me, is always a painful moment."

Darrell Grand Moultrie is another of the numerous Black choreographers the ballet world is now inviting to take center stage, albeit virtually. While he has choreographed repeatedly on Atlanta Ballet, Colorado Ballet, Dance Theatre of Harlem, Cincinnati Ballet, BalletMet, Ailey II, Milwaukee Ballet, Tulsa Ballet, Richmond Ballet, Smuin Ballet, Sacramento Ballet, when American Ballet Theatre's Kevin McKenzie called to extend an invitation, according to Moultire, McKenzie apologetically said, "Unfortunately, I have not been exposed to your work."

Before Moultrie accepted the commission to choreograph in a bubble for ABT's virtual gala in November, he made three things clear: "First of all, I wanted this to be on the Met stage," Moultrie says. The second was a commitment to make that happen post-COVID. The third was he wanted to up McKenzie's "exposure" to Black choreographers in the game. McKenzie agreed.

"I think my commission with ABT is Kevin opening up to see who is out here," Moultrie says. However, that work should have already happened: Over the term of the Equity Project (which ABT was a part of), names of Black choreographers were often bandied about, including veterans Donald Byrd, Robert Garland, the overlooked Christopher Huggins, and Jennifer Archibald, who deserves a bump up, and Amy Hall Garner, who is on the come up.

The "it takes time" and "we can't find" mantras are to some degree the by-product of a lackadaisical attitude. One can believe that these recent gestures are earnest attempts to right a wrong. But the ease with which it could have been done before (and was not) is insulting, and makes it look and feel like tokenism.

It always feels like when Black people's houses are on fire, white folk can't seem to find a cup of water to fill it, yet when their houses are ablaze, here we come with buckets and hoses, always in service. At this critical time when the world is operating in crisis mode and on the learning curve of working remotely and presenting digitally, it feels like Blackness is used as a convenient tool to get out of the diversity doghouse. The fact that these opportunities are being given with anemic budgets cannot be overlooked and one has to wonder if these commissions offer parity.

Black people are too familiar with this type of post-woke euphoria, white guilt and shame married to a need to save face, creating just enough access and opportunity to smother the flames. Then, slowly, things begin to settle pretty much where they were before.

That being said, this time feels different (though we say that every time) because the landscape and the rules have changed. Increased exposure, transparency, the power of influencers' individual platforms and call-out culture all make it possible for anyone to write or contribute to the narrative. This collaborative quilt of divergent perspectives, which in time will become history, will now include more voices and experiences, forming a mosaic revealing a more comprehensive picture.

The work that ballet is attempting is a process, not a project. As to whether or not this is sustainable representation or mere tokenism, Moultrie sums it up this way: "We know what is happening right now is just a reaction. A good reaction, but only time will tell."

#article #ballet #theresa ruth howard #racism #anti black racism #aesha ash #andrea long-naidu #francesca harper #darrell grand moultrie #dance magazine

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byakuyasdarling · 3 years

Text

This post: Me rambling about my stupid selfship at midnight because I’m happy. Except, I actually say 1 important thing about them at the start lmao.

Granted, I’m probably accidentally going to repeat what I have already established in more formal posts. I’m just spitballing here, and some of this may not even be final.

All under the cut :D

The brief and actual serious point I somehow rambled off to at one point writing this:

Of course, his main goal was always to bring the Togami family to new heights, but at this point that includes her too. She’s become part of his family vision and acts accordingly. He doesn’t see too much of an issue having one dedicated partner rather than normal Togami tradition of courting a lot of woman for heirs.

Although I probably will never make the fankids, or go that far into their story into the future, you can trust that they definitely have kids. S/I is quite motherly — she enjoys taking care of people. Byakuya, of course, wants heirs for his family too. He isn’t a fan of children, but oh gosh does he love his own (his narcissism at its finest, lmao).

This doesn’t really reflect my values, but they’ll have between 4-5 kids — y’know, trying to appease the family traditions (kinda). (On a personal note: I would not have more than 2 kids ffs lmao).

One definitely looks like a clone of his father and his name IS DEFINITELY Félix. JUST because in their fancy smancy universe Byakuya is half French, half Japanese (which GIVE ME A BREAK, that makes sense considering his complexion and the fact he knows French AND CANON NEVER SAYS OTHERWISE) and the name is French. ADDITIONALLY, EVERYTIME I WATCH THE MIRACULOUS LADYPUG PV FÉLIX LOOKS AND ACTS SO MUCH LIKE BYAKUYA, so it’s fiinnneee.

What happens with the whole “head male” tradition? Well no one gets exhiled, that’s for sure. Definitely the most competent leader out of the children will take on a similar role, but the others will probably play some role in the conglomerate either way that will play to their individual strengths, rather than to try and create a singular perfect man to lead.

Anyway, important rant over, stupid rant begins✨

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More mushy than usual today! Just because I’m really happy and I just want to love him <<333

My favourite paragraph I wrote concerning them was:

“Success and wealth could only give him (Byakuya) so much happiness — it’s an expectation and a constant for him now, and has no effect on his feelings at all. But seeing her so excited and happy? Now that’s something for him to smile about.”

So I’m TALKING ABOUT THIS BECAUSE UGH... His rare smiles are just — they make me melt just thinking about it.

They’re small, and hard to see at a glance; still fairly few and far between. He normally smiles when he’s a bit lethargic and tired, while watching her just being herself; happy. S/I gets very mushy when he smiles — it definitely puts her in a natural trance-like state where she becomes a lot more unaware of what she’s doing. She’ll lean into him and just becomes putty in his arms. Soon after she’ll start pressing slow kisses into his cheek and then nuzzle her face into the crook of his neck.

She is m e g a embarrassing. Byakuya doesn’t really do anything aside from putting his arms over her and keeping her up. He may make an off-handed and slightly teasing comment of “silly girl,” and variations of that phrase.

He’s never going to directly admit he enjoys all of this: just seeing the mere effect he can have on her with a simple tug of his lips amuses him. He isn’t adverse to affection when it’s on his terms (which it pretty much always is anyway).

Byakuya has his own ways of showing he cares for her deeply. After all, she’s one of — if not the only thing in his life he doesn’t consider replaceable.

He definitely worries about her often. It doesn’t show on his face, or even in his tone — but it’s pretty blatant in his body language. If he isn’t touching her hand or whatever — he’s watching her. He’s definitely very invasive when it comes to privacy (definitely one of his faults). He doesn’t comprehend why there’s something he shouldn’t know about, he’s her partner afterall, he loves her.

Trust, honesty, and loyalty are very big with Byakuya. Not in himself mind you, Byakuya is fine with lying to get his way, but not with her. Everything must be honest so he can act accordingly — there’s no logic for her to lie to him, as there is no logic for him to lie to her. S/I doesn’t have anything to hide from him — but she can lie about the fact that her father doesn’t treat her the best at times to avoid Byakuya blowing up at him. Byakuya isn’t pleased that she does this.

In general too, when he gets her to sleep, he does hold her very close. At first he thought the sensation was odd and uncomfortable, but he got acclimated to it; now enjoying her the feeling of her being safely pressed against him. Again though, that’s his secret — he would hate if the notion of him being all soft gets out to the public, lmao.

A lot of his care also just comes out in the ways he always tries to provide everything she needs. I mean — he’s a billionaire, he’s got it, he can give it.

When it comes to talking about his own problems, Byakuya pretty much just... doesn’t...

He prefers to tackle his issues on his own. Of course S/I always asks how he’s feeling, however, his responses are pretty lacklustre; sometimes he directs that question back at her:

“Fine. Something appears to troubling you, however.”

“Satisfactory at best.”

“I’m well, darling.”

If he is running out of patience with... whatever he is dealing with, he can accidentally squeeze her hand too tight and similar things. He’s not hurting her, but it is unusual for something to break into his composure like that. He’s attempting to ground himself. S/I’s adoration does tend to calm parts of him down though.

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Anyway, I’ve been rambling on about my thought about him for an hour and 30 minutes now. If you read this far, have an incredible day 💙💙 Stay amazing !!

#ship tag: book lovers ♡#caps tw #tw caps #Andreagami

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kim-bobbae · 4 years

Text

87. “I saved you a seat.”

“I don’t get it,” He said flatly, evidently annoyed. “You’re always complaining about me being away and when I’m finally back you’re throwing a fit cos me sitting here and watching you work stresses you out? Come on.”

“I’m not throwing a fit,” You argued.

“Yeah?” He challenged, raising a brow as he folded his arms and leaned back on the sofa behind your desk, eyes staring you down.

“What?”

“Do you want my company or not?” He asked, the straightforwardness catching you a little off guard.

“You don’t have to be here if you don’t want to…” You murmured, then clicked your tongue in annoyance at the sound of your email notification as you swiveled in your chair and turned your attention back to your desktop.

“If you don’t want to…” He repeated after you, rolling his eyes.

He knew very well that you were ‘in the zone’ with the pile of work that you had to do, and how fickle minded yet demanding your client was being on a Saturday night was doing nothing to make your job any easier. But he especially hated it whenever you used that line on him because what the fuck, why did it have to be on him. There he was, despite being jet lagged himself, giving you shoulder massages and trying to talk you through your stresses but all he got in response was you swatting his hands away and asking him to leave you alone cos it was getting distracting.

“Yeah whatever I don’t really deserve this crap after trying so hard to help you keep your emotions in check if you, a grown working professional, can’t deal with your own responsibilities,” He stated.

And that kinda hurt.

“Jay-” You started, swallowing a potential outburst as your eyes were still fixated on the screen, scanning through the endless lines of requirements your client had just sent, unreasonably asking to be met by the same night.

He watched as you closed your eyes, dropped your head to the table and your hands grabbed at your hair, then wordlessly picked up his keys and cast one last glance before making his way out of the study.

“I’m just trying to finish so I can make it-” You tried explaining after calming down, but the click of the main door signaling that he had left your apartment only drew out a long, heavy sigh. “…tonight.”

“Ayeee,” Gray greeted as soon as Jay entered the office.

“Long time no see!”

“Hey,” He said with a small smile.

Having left your house a few hours ago, Jay had sought solace in his studio, attempting to distract himself by working on some new tracks but obviously none of them were coming out satisfactory and it was adding on to his exasperation on top of the whole episode between the two of you this afternoon.

It rarely ended with him walking out on you even though he usually preferred to have some time to cool off before talking it out on the occasion that you guys argued. But ever since he left for the world tour, you struggled to keep yourself mentally sane with the ridiculous workload that you were facing at your new job and the lack of mental and emotional support. It was easier when he was around – you would bring your work to his office if you had to work overtime, he would come over to write his lyrics, but more importantly, he could pull you into his arms whenever he saw that the stress was driving you up the wall.

Needless to say, the past five months was a real struggle with you often crying over the phone to him despite your best efforts to keep it in. He knew the nature of your work and your low threshold for work stress, but he didn’t expect that you would have driven him away even after not seeing him for so long when he had put in the effort to spend time with you instead of recovering from his jet lag.

“What’s up? Everything okay?” Kiseok asked, reaching his hand out for a handshake.

“Yeah of course,” He shrugged.

“Is Ji Eun not joining us tonight?”

“Maybe later, she’s kinda held up at work,” He replied, casually going over to the refrigerator to grab himself a drink to avoid any further questions about you.

It worked, though, as everyone went on to catch up with one another, chilling with some card games and Nitendo Switch as per the usual.

The guys at AOMG had arranged for a casual gathering at the office on a Saturday night to congratulate Jay on concluding his successful world tour.

“You coming?”

Your phone buzzed, and you diverted your attention from your bedroom ceiling to your mobile phone as the message preview from Hoody lit up the screen.

It was only three hours into the said time of the party when you had finally sent out the documents to your client, a huge wave of relief coming over you as you slumped into your seat, wanting to just stare into blank space and do absolutely nothing for a while.

“I don’t know, should I? I just got done with work and it’s super late though.”

“Duh, it’s a party for Jay, come and chill out. Pretty sure he’s been waiting, he seems pretty restless.”

You sighed, putting your phone face down on the table then rubbed your face, sighing for what seemed like the hundredth time. It was a no brainer that you wanted to be there to celebrate the occasion with him. More than that, it was the end of all the woes of long distance that the both of you were more excited about cos if anyone thought Jay was busy in Korea, he was almost untouchable on a tour, though you had to commend his efforts to squeeze in a Facetime call every other night or sometimes even getting DJ Wegun to film it so you could watch him perform for a bit.

Maybe it was the fact that he had not been physically around you for so long that needed some getting used to, but you honestly didn’t mean to come off the wrong way when you asked him to leave you alone. Of course you wanted the hugs and the kisses, but at that point of time you just needed to get the work done as soon as possible.

“Ugh I’m a mess,” You groaned, as you walked over to the mirror beside your wardrobe – the dark circles were deeper than the pits of your stomach and your complexion was embarrassing from the lack of proper sleep the past couple of days.

Nevertheless, you picked out a casual set of clothes and with some make up and self-convincing, you managed to get yourself out of the house and to the office.

Yeah, it’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be fun. You repeated mentally.

“Ji Eun!” Loco greeted with a grin as soon as you walked in.

“Hey…” You smiled, unable to mask the weariness in your voice. “Sorry I’m late, but I brought some chips to make up for it if that’s okay.”

Jay’s ears perked up at the sound of your voice, and the way everyone’s attention was turning to you made it impossible for him to avoid looking at you.

“Aw you didn’t have to,” Kiseok said, hands on your shoulders as he brought you over to where everyone else was sitting.

“Everything at work okay?” Elo asked gently, noticing your lack of energy.

“Oh you know, the usual,” You shrugged.

Taking a quick glance around you had noticed that the only seat available was the one beside Jay and it was then when you linked arms with Hoody and walked towards the ice box, naturally avoiding Jay as you caught up with her in a hushed conversation. After all, you didn’t want to put it out there that their boss just had a fight with his girlfriend, nor did you want to ruin the atmosphere with talk about work at a party.

Jay could not help but take quick glances at you from time to time, the crease in your forehead and the subtle frown on your face as you spoke about what he assumed to be work woes to Hoody only making him feel worse about this afternoon. After all, you guys haven’t had proper quality time since he touched down yesterday for him to notice the weight you had lost and your lack of energy.

“You okay?” Loco asked, noticing how Jay went quiet ever since your arrival.

“Ya Hoody, don’t steal his girl, it’s his party today,” Ugly Duck remarked, turning all the attention on you.

“Sorry wha-?”

“Join us, we were just getting started with another round of drinks!” Sungwoo chimed.

“I saved you a seat,” Jay said in the quietest voice, barely looking at you as he cleared his throat.

You bit your lip, looking up at Jay for a split second before the both of you looked away from each other simultaneously. You tried as best as possible to stall for time and lingered awkwardly around Wonjae at the opposite end of the room. By now, it was becoming a little obvious that something wasn’t right between the both of you, but they knew better than to spell it out until a slightly tipsy Kiseok broke the silence.

“What? Afraid that you’ll jump on each other? Go ahead, we’ll look away,” Kiseok chuckled.

Seeing that Jay was having none of it as he smacked Kiseok’s head with a cushion, you took the opportunity while their attention was diverted and excused yourself to the pantry.

You sighed, unwrapping a bowl of instant ramen as you began regretting your decision to even turn up at the party when really, you would rather curl up in bed with Netflix than tread carefully around Jay after months of long distance.

Jay figured that it wasn’t wise to drag this out any longer and finally got up from the couch, biting on his inner cheek as he walked up to you quietly. There you were, sitting on the bar stool at the island, propping your chin on your hand as you stared blankly at the electric kettle not even noticing that he had walked right up beside you.

“Haven’t had dinner?”

“Oh…no, kinda made my way here as soon as I was done,” You explained, surprised, then pressed your lips to form a tight line.

He then reached for the bowl, unwrapping the condiments and wordlessly prepared it for you.

“Thanks,” You whispered.

“No worries.”

And for a while you sat there, looking at him whilst biting on your lip, not exactly sure of what to say to get rid of the deafening silence.

Noticing this from the side of his eye, he let out a soft chuckle, “What?”

“Nothing,” You replied, and as he looked at you with a brow raised, you sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drive you away...”

“Me too,” He sighed, leaning down to rest his elbows on the island as he brought his face closer to yours. “I’m sorry.”

A part of you wanted to go off on a long ass apology, but a part of you didn’t want to start this whole drama all over again, nor did you really have any emotional energy left in you. Instead, you simply looked at him, the both of you staying like that for the longest time.

“I know, you don’t have to say anything,” He said, finally wrapping his arms around your frame and pulling you closer to him.

#Jay Park #jay park scenarios #jay park drabbles #AOMG #aomg scenarios #khh #khh scenarios #100 ways to say i love you

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