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cristalknife · 3 years

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Kadam Week 2021 Day 3 ~ I did not plan for this, but I'm glad you found a solution

This is me trying to not start something on a platform only to post solely somewhere else aka AO3 and ff.net you can find the complete list of Kadam Week 2021 prompts and you might find more stories on the Kadam Week 2021 AO3 collection

That said, the third prompt is Love Letters

During most of the story Kurt and Adam are either away from each other or working at a summer camp around kids there's not much on the side of the description of them being all coupley but I think you could tell anyway they are more than just friends...

I still hope you'll give this a chance and have a good time reading it, so here we go, I present to you I did not plan for this, but I'm glad you found a solution (or read on ao3)

When Kurt signed up for a theatre summer camp for kids as a summer work project, he had honestly thought it was going to be in New York, for he was absolutely sure there was no mention of the camp being strongly discouraging taking electronics especially phones due to lack of data and mobile coverage.

He did recheck once he got home, nowhere it was written that they would have the camp in the middle of nowhere, where the no electronics rule was happily enforced by Mother Nature.

And to make things even worse Adam was flying back to the UK for two of the six weeks Kurt was going to be at the camp…

So even if Kurt managed to go into the town on his free day, and somehow the quaint small town, that was not yet willing to join the XXI century, still had a serviceable land phone, trying an international call was out of his wallet’s options.

Not if he was to take into account just how much he would miss his boyfriend.

It was even worse when Adam just patted his back when both of them met to go together at the airport before flying to their respective destinations.

To his immense surprise, once he reached the camp and his bungalow the camp’s director had a grin on her face and offered him a letter.

Upon taking a closer look a surprised smile appeared on his face.

It seemed his boyfriend had taken notice of how down he was about the whole situation and sent him a letter.

Knowing he had something to look forward to, Kurt managed to concentrate on getting familiar with the place and the other camp counsellors and instructors…

The lighter heart had been a blessing, and while he hadn’t suddenly acquired new bffs, he did manage to learn that the camp had every year an influx of three to five new counsellors.

Mostly all freshmen or second semester students, who had been fibbed into accepting the position, usually those were the ones who had something of value to share, at least in the opinion of their school's teachers.

It wasn’t until late in the evening when Kurt was in his room that he took the time to unpack properly that he found a box he was completely sure he never saw before.

Upon opening it Kurt found it was a stationary box, with adorable doodles on the letters’ paper and exactly six envelopes already with stamps and already addressed to Adam at his parent's place in the UK.

The amount sheets for the letters though was way higher and there were just as many remaining white envelopes to last Kurt the remaining of the month that was not covered by the first two weeks in which Adam was still on the other side of the ocean.

After placing the stationary box on his bedside table Kurt went for the letter that Adam had sent for him to receive upon arrival.

"Dearest Kurt,

I know you weren't expecting a lot of things about this experience, I hope you'll find it fun and enlighten. If I know you as well as I believe I do, by now you've already discovered that this specific camping program had the peculiarity of attracting every year few freshmen or second semester students recommended for the job. All of them usually arriving in here not knowing at all about the lack of modern commodities like data and mobile coverage.

All those students are one that the professors of their schools believe could learn something from the experience, and would be able to not only cope but excel in the challenge posed to them.

Some of the older counsellors have been in the same position you are in right now and then decided to return year after year.

I'm also pretty sure you've already found my parting gift in your suitcase, I know we were thinking of spending more time together and that the news of six weeks with no way of staying in contact with each other had been hard on you.

Don't worry my love, it has worked for thousands of lovers before, and if you’re amenable and desires to, then we can make do with writing letters while we are not able to talk with more modern means.

Usually it takes about a couple of days for a letter to cross the ocean and arrive at its destination. The first couple of letters you'll receive from me were sent before we left, so they could reach you and allow me to be able to put a smile on your face even without being present.

If you don't feel like writing then still please make pictures and send me proof that you're having a good time?

The camp’s director has a printer so don't try to wiggle your way out of this, because my darling I will write to you even if you'll leave me all alone to be a starstruck pining lover.

Know that I love you, and that I believe you will find the experience worthwhile in the end.

With all my love,

Adam"

Kurt was almost in tears by the time he reached the end of the letter and he shook his head grinning, Adam was absolutely wrong if he thought for a single moment that Kurt wouldn't return the sweet gesture choosing to send pictures instead.

Still as they hadn't been together that much yet there had not been a chance yet for Adam to actually see Kurt's own calligraphy set.

It was a pity he hadn't thought of taking it with him, in his misery upon the news of no electronics and no connectivity he had not thought of alternative slower ways to obtain the same result.

In his defence though, he had been under the false impression that there would be at least data coverage until right before leaving, at which point he had already packed and taken everything that he needed already and it was too late to return home and pick alternatives.

Reassigning himself to make do with a normal pen he started jetting down what was going to be the first of quite a few letters. Would they still be considered love letters since they did express the sentiment and were sent between lovers? Kurt wasn't completely sure, but the thought made him grin and blush at the same time.

"My dearest, Adam,

you wonderful man have no idea how much it means to me that you went through all the trouble of arranging this wonderful surprise for me. A way to stay in touch with you while we're apart, I confess by the time I realised how things were going to be, I was too frantic despairing to think that quickly such a simple and elegant solution.

My love, I do hope you were simply offering me an alternative to making sure I would not leave you completely alone and in the dark about how things were going for me when you mentioned eventually sending you prints of pictures.

There is no way I’d leave you pining on your lonesome, especially not while you take such attentive care to my own needs and you made sure to prevent me from suffering such fate.

There will be time to show you all the pictures I'll take, once we're together again and we can spend time in each other's arms.

You might not know yet, but by now you might have noticed that I do have an appreciation for calligraphy, and despite having to do with the poor mean of a roll pen there is no way I could waste this brilliant opportunity to write you a proper love letter.

As you rightly guessed I managed to talk with some of the other counsellors and figured out that there were few returning seniors, and the other first timers were just as blindsided as I was.

The camp’s director had a knowing smile when she handed me your letter. I suspect the others you mentioned were already in her possession but that she would pace releasing them into my hands.

Despite the brief panic you witnessed before leaving, I'm not really that averse to a nice break and being unavailable, but I usually prefer the chance to prepare and be ready for that.

I was very worried for my dad, I sent him a message while I was still in town and talked to the camp’s director about my worries and that I had left a message down at the town’s post office. I'll let you in on a secret, there is a working line in her office, under key of course.

But she allowed me to make a call to my dad when no one was looking, so that if something was to happen I would be reachable, even if I'm officially off the grid until my return to the big city life.

It was a big relief and it lifted another big weight from my shoulders.

I am so happy you thought of this, and I can't wait to hear more of your adventures from back home, as I'll share the adventures from into the woods...

With all my sincere love and admiration

Yours truly

Kurt"

To Kurt's surprise one of the breakfast rituals was the collection and distribution of the mail. With the announcement that even when the kids would arrive, this was going to be a daily ritual. As counsellors they were to encourage the kids to write back home, especially the ones feeling homesick.

As Kurt had suspected, there was a new letter for him on that day as well, and like the previous one, he kept it for the evening to cheer himself up before going to bed.

As Adam has said in his second letter, indeed once the kids arrived it all became at the same time easier and harder.

Easier because the feeling of loneliness and missing Adam had to be put on the back burner during the day. And the letters kept Kurt happy and cherished during the evenings after he socialised with his peers sharing stories of the day with the others.

Harder because his kids were all super excited and easily excitable. In all honesty they reminded Kurt a lot of how he remembered feeling when he was a little younger than them and he still qualified for the Lima theatre summer camp...

By the end of the first week, once every one of his kids had sent at least one letter home, Kurt finally figured out why he had been assigned them. All of them came from small Ohio towns that, like Lima, wouldn't have catered for their artistic inclinations. Kurt made a mental note to check with the head if it had been a coincidence or not.

On the weekend of the second week, once the first period ended and the first turnover happened, the camp’s director announced that more counsellors were going to join them to help out with the new influx of kids since they would be at full capacity from there on until the end of the program.

On sunday’s morning Kurt had run late for breakfast because one of his kids who was going to stay for longer than two weeks, was not finding one of their shoes, and they had to find it before they could join the others.

With things being that way, when he entered the dining hall, all the new counsellors had already been introduced and the mail was being delivered.

Kurt guided his kid to their table and in less than three minutes all his kids still present were giggling and looking ready to burst, while attempting to appear normal. Before Kurt could turn and check what was so funny Adam's letter was being held in front of him by a very familiar hand, with an equally familiar bracelet hugging the wrist.

Kurt automatically grabbed the letter and he turned to find himself face to face with Adam.

Both their eyes shining with happiness, "Hellu Kurt. Surprise"

Kurt grinned and bit his lower lip, the giggling kids at his back reminding him that there was still work to do "Hellu Adam, I should have known you'd be one of the returning seniors, I look forward working together."

Adam nodded still smiling "As I do, I'll let you go back to your day now. I’ll see you later."

Kurt smiled brilliantly and nodded back "I'll see you later, have a good day"

The kids, as Kurt suspected had been super curious and with it being the last day for some, he indulged them in revealing that indeed that was the same friend Adam who had written to Kurt keeping him from feeling homesick in the previous weeks.

That evening once the new kids had been safely tucked in bed Kurt finally had a moment to properly greet his boyfriend "I am so happy to see you in here, though you could have told me you were going to join me in here once you got back to the states."

Adam smiled softly kissing Kurt's temple "But then you would have lived waiting for this day instead of making the most of those past couple of weeks. And maybe you wouldn’t have cherished as much the letters we were exchanging. While we’re on that note. Thank you for yours, they were wonderful and I was so happy to receive them."

Kurt smiled with his eyes closed and his arms wrapped tightly around Adam's waist "They were a balm and the one thing I kept for myself as an evening ritual. Sitting on my bed and reading your letter. I didn't have any day so bad that I had to read them before evening, which is what I had reasoned could be a good coping mechanism. Keep your letter for the night when it was private time, or as comfort if things went south and I couldn't handle them before night fell."

Adam hummed softly murmuring "I'm glad for that."

The next monday’s morning set up the pattern for the rest of their stay. They would both take their kids to breakfast and find a letter in a white envelope with their name and the camp’s address waiting for them to be delivered, just like it had happened for the past two weeks for Kurt.

The remaining month passed in no time at all, the day passed quickly and the evenings were filled with laughters and making new friends while sharing stories with the other counsellors.

Once it was Kurt’s turn for the final interview to wrap up the whole experience, the camp’s director before parting asked curious “So was Adam right? Were you able to see just how many families were touched and gained from your father’s work?”

Kurt looked taken aback so he asked confused “What do you mean?”

She smiled kindly and proceeded to explain “All the kids you took care of, they were all able to be here this summer because your father campaigned and set up a fund for supporting the arts in small towns. He had to prove that there was the request for such support, and he had been challenged to demonstrate it could work starting from the state he was representing.”

Kurt bit his lips “A state notoriously not that art oriented”

She nodded grinning, “And I can tell you we had to limit the acceptance because there are ratios we need to respect for security reasons. But all those kids you took care of came from just as many families who benefited from your dad’s work. Adam was the one who suggested you be their mentor during their stay. And I think he was right, the families and the kids themselves think that too, as every single one of your kids was ecstatic that someone like them had made it and reached his dream school.”

Kurt felt tears forming in his eyes, so he started to try blinking them away. Emotions made it a little difficult but he still managed to say a grateful “Thank you” before leaving and searching for Adam.

Once Kurt found him he hugged his boyfriend tightly and said in a low voice “Thank you for all you’ve done for me this summer, I never thought I’d see first hand the results of my dad’s work. I knew what it meant for me and how I wished those were opportunities I had, but I never suspected it was going to reaching so far and so many.”

Adam held Kurt just as tightly and said back softly “I know you were so worried for your dad earlier on during the semester. So I wanted you to realise that your dad is important for a whole lot more people than you even realise. That no matter how difficult things might get, you’re not alone in wishing the best for your dad.”

Kurt then raised his face from Adam’s chest and said grinning “And you also wanted to make sure I’d fell in love with this camp as much as you are so next year we’d come here together…”

Adam chuckled but didn’t deny the playful accusation.

By the time autumn came around and leases were up, they moved in together, and during moving day it was discovered how each kept their letters into a special boxes safe and easily accessible.

When christmas came around the couple took part into a papermaking and bookbinding crafting course.

By the following valentine’s day each set of letters had been lovingly built into a ecoleather bound diary containing all the letters the couple exchanged since their first ones the previous summer. ~The End~ AN: One last thing that's more a game, if you found the small easter egg in the story, feel free to reach back to me, I can bake you your fave virtual cookie, or make a story out of a prompt you have in mind/wish to see. (hint it's from Hamilton...)

#kadam week 2021 #kadam fic #kadam glee #kadam #glee #glee prompts filling #long post #it's a fic what did you expect #my writing is not suited for tumblr #vcg73 #my kadam fic #my glee fic #summer camp #~3K words of story

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glimmerglanger · 4 years

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if you're still taking prompts... 3 and 19 from the angsty prompts list for codywan? *hopeful*

:DDDD I am still open for those sweet, sweet prompts. I went with 3 ( “What would you do if I didn’t come back?”) and because my last Codywan was SO SO SO SAD, this one is angst with a happy ending.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“What would you do if I didn’t come back?” Cody snapped, the fourth time General Kenobi suggested that he go scout the area, find the rest of the 212th, and keep going. He had to unclench his jaw to force the words out, breathing hard in the dim light of the cavern.

Kenobi blinked at him, he looked… almost surprised. Tried to shrug and couldn’t. The stone growing up around him - faster and faster by the moment - prevented the movement. “Oh, I don’t know,” Kenobi said, flashing him a smile, and Cody had known him for long enough to identify it as strained. “Strike a dashing pose?”

Cody had to look away from him, swallowing hard. They’d had the argument four times already. Four times since they slipped into this passage on what was supposed to be a covert mission. Four times since some kind of bomb went off along the far wall. Four times since Kenobi grabbed him and shoved him aside, putting his body between Cody and the explosive, his hand raised as though to deflect it with the Force.

That hadn’t worked. There’d been no concussive blow, no fire raining down on them. Instead, there had been the rock - whatever it was - cutting through the air, impacting all down the side of General Kenobi’s body.

At first, Cody had felt giddy with relief. The explosion had been nothing, just some malfunctioning trap. That was before they’d realized General Kenobi couldn’t pull away from the stone. That was before they’d realized it was spreading across him, growing. Encircling his body.

Nothing felt funny, anymore. “I’m not going anywhere,” Cody said, the same thing he’d said every other time General Kenobi brought up the idea. Kenobi sighed, trying to sound long-suffering.

“If the Separatists come back,” he started, gesturing with his free hand towards the droid bodies currently clogging the exit from their little chamber. “You have no cover. We’ve been lucky so far, but--”

“Sir,” Cody interrupted, scowling at the droids, because it was easier than looking at Obi-Wan, stuck in place in the middle of the room, one of his hands still raised, stone encircling the entire limb and spreading down his shoulder, up from his hip, around one of his legs. “They’ll kill you if I’m not here to stop them.”

“I can handle a few droids,” Kenobi insisted, and “I--” and cut off, with a little gasp.

The noise drew back Cody’s attention. He took a step closer, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, demanding, “General?”

“I’m fine,” Kenobi said, panting. “It’s just, ah, squeezing me a bit.” The stone crept further across his chest as Cody watched, stretching across his ribs.

“Sithspit,” Cody snapped, dragging a hand back over his head, tossing his helmet at the far wall. They’d tried everything, already. Shooting the damn thing had only made it grow faster. As had their explosives. Thanks to the kriffing explosive, the stone had swallowed Kenobi’s left leg completely, in fact, so high up his hip that - even if Cody had been able to prise his lightsaber from his hand - he couldn’t have cut the limb off to get Kenobi out.

Not without killing him.

Cody had been relieved about that, at the time. He hadn’t wanted to think about putting a lightsaber to Kenobi’s flesh, to carving him into pieces to save his life. He’d still had hope, then, that they’d find another way to get Kenobi out.

That hope was gone.

At least Kenobi might have lived, if Cody had moved quickly enough. At least--

“They’re coming back,” Kenobi said, panting for breath, hearing the clack and clatter of droid bodies before Cody picked them up. He swore under his breath and primed his blaster, cracking his jaw side to side as he moved to stand in front of Kenobi. “Commander, you should just--”

“I’m not leaving you,” Cody snapped, without looking over his shoulder, as the first of the droids came into view, and for a while there was nothing but weapons fire, the stench of blaster bolts, and the hot rush of a fight.

A droid tagged him in the shoulder; he’d been slow getting them all. But that was alright. If the bolt were in his shoulder, it meant it wasn’t in Kenobi. It meant they had a little longer to find a solution, a little longer to get out of this mess.

“Alright,” he said, turning back, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth, “let’s go over our options, one more time.”

They went over their options, one more time. And then another. It didn’t help. No more options magically appeared. The stone simply continued to grow, spreading across Kenobi’s chest, beginning to move upward, towards his shoulders and throat.

Cody flexed his fingers in and out, trying to shove down all the hot emotions in his chest. He’d been trained to handle situations like this calmly. Rationally. To think them through. But he was beginning to think he’d never been in a situation like this.

No one had trained him to stand by, helplessly, and watch the person he -- and watch his General die.

“Hm,” Kenobi said, breaking Cody from the terrible inward spiral of his thoughts. Cody glanced at him - looking at him hurt - and away again.

“Hm what, sir?”

“I think,” he said, his voice strained. “I think they’re trying to communicate.”

Cody did look at him then, for longer than a half-second. “What’s trying to communicate?” he asked, thinking about droids, about the Separatists, roaming through these tunnels.

Kenobi blinked, his eyes distant. “The rocks,” he said, after a moment, and Cody barked out a harsh laugh. Kenobi didn’t join him, merely looked puzzled. And it was, Cody supposed, hardly the strangest thing that would have happened to them.

“Well, communicate that they need to let you kriffing go,” Cody said, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I’m trying, Commander,” Kenobi said, before stiffening, blinking. This time, Cody heard the clink and clank of the droid bodies before he could speak. “We’re going to have--”

“Company,” Cody said, grimly. “I know. Don’t worry, sir.”

“You shouldn’t have pushed me out of the way,” Cody said, after the droids were all broken and still. He picked through their bodies, looking for weaponry to replenish his dwindling supplies. There wasn’t much to take, but he gathered what seemed useful.

“What?” Kenobi panted. The stone had almost completely swallowed his chest. It was growing out along the line of his left arm, which he’d stretched out.

Cody sat heavily against the wall, near him but not close enough to touch the stone, unlatching his shoulder armor, pulling it down. He was bleeding, heavily, underneath it, from a lucky shot during the fight. “Of the explosion. You should of just let it hit me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Kenobi said, going thready at the end. His fingers were tinged to blue, the stone tight enough to restrict his circulation.

“Sir,” Cody said, between gritted teeth, tearing open a bandage and wrapping it around his upper arm. He pulled it tight, but not half so tight as the stone was squeezing Kenobi. “It should be me--”

“No,” Kenobi cut in, some measure of strength back in his voice, iron and certainty.

Cody swallowed, eyes squeezed shut, unsure how to say that he wished it were him, that there was nothing he wouldn’t give to trade places, to give his body over to the stone if it meant Kenobi could walk out of this chamber, that he could-- “I--”

“No,” Kenobi repeated, flat and hard, and Cody nodded. Flexed his fingers in and out. Swallowed around the ache in his throat that was spreading through his chest. “Go over our options again.”

They had no options. Maybe they never had. Time sped away and Kenobi’s breathing grew labored and then thin, each sip of air sorely bought. Cody had given up on pacing, leaning against the wall, instead, his hands on his knees, his own breathing gone sharp and aching.

“Commander,” Kenobi rasped, the first thing he’d said in too long. Cody couldn’t quite look at him, almost completely consumed by the stone because Cody couldn’t figure out how to kriffing help him. His General was going to die, in the dark, in some kriffing nowhere cave, because he couldn’t figure this problem out.

“I’m not going anywhere, General,” Cody said, hoping to pre-empt the repeated argument. He couldn't go through it again.

Kenobi made a soft sound. Half a laugh. “I -- know. I wanted. To tell you. Thank you.”

Cody did look up, then, his eyes burning. Kenobi was staring at him, his eyes fond, expression gentle for all that his body had been almost completely swallowed. The stone was curiously translucent. Cody could see his body through it, crushed and held in place. The stone crept further up his neck.

Cody managed to croak, “What?” He couldn’t imagine what Kenobi would be thanking him for. He’d failed, failed in every conceivable way, and--

“I, ah, I never wanted. To die. Alone.” Kenobi smiled at him, a soft expression. His eyes were wet, shining. “So. Thank you. For staying. With me. I’m glad. Someone will. Be here.”

Cody felt like he was choking, like his throat was full of the stone. Kenobi wiggled his fingers, just a little. They were about the only part of him still mobile. Cody straightened away from the wall, took a step towards him and then another. “I’ll be with you,” he promised, because it was all he had left to offer. “Until the end.”

He slid his fingers across Kenobi’s, careful of the stone creeping over his palm. Kenobi’s fingers were cold. He made a little sound, soft. Wet. Cody leaned forward, careful, careful, so that he could rest their foreheads together. So that Kenobi could feel something besides the cold press of stone, crawling over his chin.

“You need. To stay. Back. Commander,” he panted, and Cody knew there would be only moments before he could not speak anymore. Before the stone took that, too. Cody squeezed his eyes shut; they burned. And considered just… staying where he was. Letting the stone spread across to him, so Kenobi didn’t have to be alone, not ever, so that he’d--

“That’s. An order,” Kenobi rasped out. “Now. Go.”

Cody took a jerked step back, his chest squeezed tight, watching the stone crawl up over his General’s cheeks.He said, crooking his mouth, “Until. The end.” And it covered his mouth, stealing Cody’s chance to gather his courage, to take a kiss, once, before it was too late. It covered his nose. Kriffing hell. Cody’s own breathing sounded too loud in the close space, jagged and broken.

Kenobi looked at him and then he closed his eyes, pale lashes settling on his cheeks, as the stone swept upwards and--

And Cody’s knees hit the ground. He’d believed, a tiny part of him, right up until that moment, that they’d find a solution. That his brothers would burst in, or Skywalker would, that someone would appear and wave a hand and make this alright.

There was a sound in his throat, something like a scream, fighting to get out. He fell forward, hands gripping the sides of his head, because he had failed, failed in every conceivable way, he’d never even - even found the way to shape the words for the things he felt.

He didn’t know what the words were, in any case.

He thought his heart might burst. It hurt, terribly, under his skin. He wept, bitter tears, choking on his grief, and it was then, with his back bowed over, that the stone shattered.

The noise of the explosion was horrific. Cody recoiled back, an arm raised to protect his face automatically. Sharps of stone spun past him and then began swirling through the air, their movements flowing around him without touching him.

Kenobi collapsed in the midst of the swirling stone, limp and boneless, sprawling across the floor. Cody lurched towards him without thinking, grabbing handfuls of his robes, pulling him over onto his back, jamming fingers against his pulsepoint and feeling-- nothing.

He swore, breathlessly, not sure what was happening and beyond caring. Kenobi’s chest wasn’t rising and falling. He wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. Cody shifted up onto his knees, hands folding together on Kenobi’s chest, starting compressions automatically.

He felt ribs snap under his hands and winced, but that was--necessary. He’d bring Kenobi back. He might have been unable to stop this from happening, been unable to keep Kenobi alive, but he’d be damned if he weren’t going to drag Kenobi back to the world of the living.

Cody counted compressions and shifted, tilting Kenobi’s head back, covering his nose, fitting their mouths together and shoving air into his lungs. He stroked Kenobi’s hair, absently, as he moved again, falling into a pattern, desperation fueling his movements and a harsh, flat determination.

He’d keep going until either Kenobi breathed again beneath his hands, or he died. There were no other options Cody was willing to consider, his heart racing, blood burning in his veins, too breathless to plead, to do anything but grapple with death itself and--

And Kenobi coughed, under his hands, trying to roll onto his side. Cody pulled him over, hands touching everywhere as Kenobi shifted, each move short and jerky. He stroked over Kenobi’s hair, over his shoulders, down his side, aware he was speaking but unable to discern any of the words.

He could only curl over, pressing his forehead against Kenobi’s shoulder, gripping at his tunics, relief searing through him so hot and fast that he felt turned to ash inside. “You’re alright,” he gasped, rocking them both back and forth, “you’re alright.”

Kenobi coughed again; it sounded agonized. Cody remembered the feeling of his ribs snapping underhand, and grimaced. “Oh,” Kenobi rasped, reaching out and patting vaguely at his leg, “yes, I was right, the rocks were just trying to--”

Cody could not find a single cell in his body that cared about the rocks. He hauled Obi-Wan up, off of the stone, cupped both sides of his face, and kissed him. It seemed the only thing to do to lance the aching pain in his chest.

Kenobi blinked at him when he pulled away a moment later, and he said, “I’m sorry, sir, I know that’s not--”

He stopped talking when Kenobi pulled him back close once more, kissing him hard, for just a moment. “We’ll have to get back to this later,” he said, flashing Cody a smile that was incredibly distracting, even more so than Cody was used to. “Seems we’re trespassing, so, Commander, if you don’t mind, we need to leave.”

#codywan #my fics #standalone fic #angst but with a HAPPY ENDING #glimmer replies #ask me anything

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sabineelectricheart · 4 years

Text

Counting Fingers

Summary: Dimitri cannot fathom how the tiny fingers of his son’s will ever be able to hold a sword, so he swears himself a vow. One he keeps over the years.

Rating: K - Intended for general audience 5 years and older. Content should be free of any coarse language, violence, and adult themes.

Words: 2500

Notes: I am obsessed with Three Houses. I mean, I am an obsessive person, so nothing new there, but still, if I keep up like that, I’ll be booted from college.

As the sun breaks the dark skies of a harsh winter night, Dimitri could not quite believe how small the fingers and toes of new-born babies actually were.

Ten little fingers. Ten tiny toes.

He looks at his own hands, large and calloused from the years of training, hunting and war. He has trouble believing that his hand has ever been so small, he could not fathom how such fragile limbs would ever be able to hold onto swords and lances.

The king of Faerghus has become also a father, and such a title was bringing such anxiety he had not remember feeling for many moons. He had no-one to confide or help him dealing with such strange territory, as both him and his wife were orphans, his friends are yet to take the plunge towards family life and the nobility was strife with tales of terrible parenting with horrible consequences.

He would pace around the room to try to relieve his mind of such a burdensome fixation, but it has been a long night and he could not support the weight of his own large body. Besides, he had done it for hours to no avail.

It was while the blond man stared emptily at the warm crib in front of him that something magical came to pass. The tiny green-haired, blue-eyed baby stared dead ahead into his father’s eyes and reached to him. As a whole hand of tiny fingers wrapped around one of hiss, Dimitri made a silent vow.

This vow he made as he glanced between his new-born son and his wife, sleeping peacefully after an intense delivery. This vow he made to remind himself of the importance of family.

The ten fingers and ten toes of his new-born son would never once experience the level of pain he had. His son would never go through the emotional torment of never knowing his parents. His son would never experience true loneliness.

While this boy cannot hold a sword in his feeble hands, be a day or the rest of eternity, his father will raise his own on his defence, and so the Goddess smite him if he ever goes back on his word.

Dimitri made the vow in utter silence, sealing it with a kiss to his son’s head. As if in response to the promise made, his son squeezes his father’s finger, gripping it with all the strength in one of his tiny hands.

Ten fingers, ten toes. All perfect, and all there.

*_*_*_*_*

It is a huff and a cry that follows that has Dimitri rushing from the stables into the large courtyard that separates the horses from the main halls of their home, which had a large tree where the children of the estate usually learn climbing, himself included when he was that age.

Despite knowing full well that such happenings were the facts of life and that it does not hurt that much to fall from one of those branches, the monarch’s heart stops at the sight of his son sprawled on the floor, fat tears running down his face more from shock than pain.

Those tragedies must only happen in Spring, when the Goddess cannot protect the lands of Fódlan, the blond is sure. He brushes his son down, checking for any major injuries as he does so.

The fatherly heart returns to a normal beating rhythm once he realises that Lambert is entirely uninjured, suffering shock more than anything.

“How many fingers, Lambert?” Dimitri asks, reaching out brush the tears away from his son’s chubby face.

“Ten.” The boy responded on a hiccup.

“How many toes?” The man asks once more.

“Ten.” Came the predicted response, now without being broken in the middle with the throat spasm.

Dimitri kisses his son’s verdant hair. “Ten fingers and ten toes. It all seems in perfect order to me. Do you feel any better?”

Lambert nods, wiping away the last of his tears and smiling shakily up at his father. Dimitri smiles back at his son, lifting him under the arms and settling him on his hip.

“I think we have had enough of the outside for now. We ought to catch something on this wind.” Dimitri comments softly. “Will you help me prepare the tea, Lambert? Your mother must be arriving soon, and I am sure she would appreciate having a hot beverage and a pastry to chase away the cold.”

It was difficult to raise a child when the love of his life spent six moons with them, three in Fhirdiad and three in Garreg Mach, and six moons away, caring for the Church and souls of their realm. However, Dimitri knows he prefers six moons to no moon at all, and the Archbishop had plenty of admirers who would be more than happy to have any moon they could get.

Lambert nods once more, tucking his small head into the crook of his father’s neck. The man chuckles softly, heading back inside and sneaking through the large corridors onwards to the Royal Apartments, where he settles his son on a chair by the table.

“What should we brew, Lambert?” The blond asks. “Chamomile or apple and cinnamon?”

“Chamomile!” His son shouts, a smile on his face as Dimitri prepares the flowers, boils the water and sets up the fancy porcelain cups in their due places.

When the Archbishop finally arrives from the long trip from the centre of the realm, pressing a lingering kiss to Dimitri’s cheek before dropping a kiss to Lambert’ head, the father was explaining to the child how good tea and good company fostered lasting relations.

“What’s happening here?” The religious woman asks, good-humoured.

“We’re having a tea party, Mama!”

She laughs. “I can see that. What are we having?”

“Chamomile tea and honey pastries.” Dimitri states.

“Naturally.” She counters, while picking up their son and setting him back on her lap, as she helps him with his cup and cutlery.

Dimitri watches you with a warm smile, thinking back to his younger years. He thinks back to the dark years when he did not know whether he would make it through the winter, never mind make it to having a family. To the times he was lost to his own nefarious thoughts.

The rich laughter of his son brings the king back from his memories, fetches him back from the precipice in which he found himself teetering. He lets himself have his small panic and he lets himself fall prey to the anxiety that has unfurled in his gut, but he only lets it keep hold of him for the amount of time it takes him to count the fingers and toes on his son.

Ten fingers, ten toes. Dimitri’s mind calms and his smile returns to his face.

Ten fingers, ten toes. All will be well.

*_*_*_*_*

Dimitri lurches upright. A hand is brought to his throat as he drags in air; his mind rattled and his body shaking.

It had felt so real. It had been real. He had experienced such nightmares before, during the five years that the Crest of Flames had been missing and presumed dead, but now, knowing he had much more to lose, it felt even more terrifying.

He glances over to the empty right side of his marital bed. The Wyvern Moon was high in the sky and the king had been forced to return to Fhirdiad, as to oversee the harvests and preparations for the harsh wintertime to come.

Alas, if reality does not provide, the man’s memories are ready to jump into action. If his wife were here with him, he would see a hand outstretched towards him even in sleep. His eyes run over the imaginary figure; watching it sleeping form rise and fall as breath leaves its metaphysical body.

Dimitri sighs, feeling the loneliness grip into his battered heart. The silver wedding encrusted band on his left hand signally a happy future from the nightmare he had found himself in, regardless of the hurdles that practical reality imposes upon the man.

The monarch presses a kiss to the most precious piece of jewellery in his possession, brushing the thick covers from his body before leaving the too large of a bed.

He shives against the cold air of the autumnal night; the landing freezing as Dimitri sits at the doorstep of his chambers, hanging his head in his hands.

When his former professor returned from her long slumber, she might have managed to silence the voices on his head, but they did not go away, merely transformed what once was a shout into a thin whisper. Yet, even that is hard to ignore on the long months he is alone.

As a result, Dimitri spends most nights having to repress the urge to stand guard by the front door, lance at the ready for whomever should come crashing through posing a threat to his wife and his son.

Lambert stands by his own nursery door; his stuffed animal hanging from his still too weak of a hand as Dimitri tries to settle his breathing and heartbeat.

“Daddy?” He asks, voice quiet yet ringing through the silent house.

“Lambert.” Dimitri says, a hand reaching for his son.

Lambert goes into his arms willingly, yawning tiredly as he settles his head against his father’s shoulder. Lambert does not say a lot, even this young he knows that his father struggles to sleep on some nights. The boy forgot how many times he had found the man asleep on some odd surface throughout the castle, as it happens more often than not. Fortunately for his father, a blanket is often thrown haphazardly over his body by one of the early-rising maids or guards.

“How many fingers?” Lambert asks, stumbling over the harder sounds in the words.

Dimitri swivels to face his son; the question being the last thing he expected. “Ten, Lambert.”

“How many toes?” Lambert follows, kicking his feet in the air for emphasis.

The weight on Dimitri’s chest feels lighter as he answers his son, “Ten, Lambert.”

Ten fingers, ten toes, Lambert reminds Dimitri, ten fingers, ten toes, and all will be well. As long as we have all ten fingers and all ten toes, we can do just about anything, even if it is defeating the terrors that haunt us at night.

*_*_*_*_*

The very same vow is made when Princess Arabella of Blayyid makes her grand entrance into the world on a sunny Lone Moon morning. Dimitri felt sure that he had the same awe-filled expression on his face from when he first held Lambert.

On the barren lands of Faerghus, every child is a blessing, but he is sure that his court celebrates more his daughter than they did his son. Her arrival, while hardly a surprise, given how hard and tirelessly they worked to conceive her, had been challenging, as it would appear that divine figures had difficulties in producing scions, and the distance was hardly any help.

The nerves do not rack Dimitri as much as they did before Lambert arrived, though, even if they still turn his stomach as he watches his beloved wife go through the same unpleasant experiences of motherhood, with cravings, pains and the horrible delivery.

The sacrifices would be worth it, they were sure. After the rough patch of pregnancy, parenthood would be a breeze. Or so they thought when they looked to Lambert as an example, proving that, so far, neither of them had failed that disastrously at parenting. The small boy turning into young child that knew his manners and was devoted to his family and nation.

It is Lambert who whispers the vow. He stands over the crib of his baby sister, eyes wide in awe at the small bundle of blankets. He turns to his father; catching his attention from whatever conversation he was having with you.

“Ten fingers and ten toes.” Lambert whispers, pointing to Arabella’s hands and feet.

“Ten fingers and ten toes.” Dimitri states, the vow unleashed to the world and sealed with the very same kiss he had placed upon Lambert’s head all those years ago.

*_*_*_*_*

It finally arrived. The Great Tree Moon was finally rising on the night sky, and with it came the much awaited day for all noble parents in the realm, and the monarchs were no exception.

Today was the day when a member of the Blaiddyd dynasty would be making their way towards the officers’ academy in Garreg Mach. The large and rather comfortable coach in front of the Royal Family was already completely loaded and ready for departure.

Lambert looks towards the carriage before fixing his tear-filled gaze on his father, who is barely keeping it together himself. The teen boy was the first of his three children to be going away to school. He knew he would be emotional, but he just did not prepare himself for the pit of dread eating its way through his stomach lining.

Dimitri reaches out to ruffle his son’s hair. His first born, his eldest, the one who made him a father, who had moulded him into the man he is today. The heir to the throne.

“Write to your mother and I when you get settled.” The man commanded.

Lambert nods.

“As soon as I get to my room.” He replies, voice quiet.

“Try to enjoy yourself, and do not be too concerned with being class leader on your first year.” The Archbishop advises. “Remember, there is time to sow and time to harvest, time for fun and time for seriousness, and both of us will be there with you when the Blue Sea Moon come.”

A weight is lifted off of Lambert’s heart. He does not want to admit it, but he is scared, he is feeling the weight of Fódlan on his young shoulders. He is more than happy to be able to count on his mother’s wise advice while in school, and the breathing space his father was letting him have.

Dimitri pulls Lambert into a hug; unable to let his son go without one more. As they part, Dimitri pats Lambert on the shoulder, nodding towards the open carriage door, silently letting him know that it is okay now. It is okay to let go and leave their home.

Lambert does so with a wobbling lip, trying his best to project strength to the person he most admires in the world.

“Fingers and toes.” Dimitri shouts, not caring about the odd looks from the servants and knights assembled in the hall. These were his final verbal words to his son until the Rite of Rebirth. He would make sure they were those that he vowed over his cradle when he was only a few hours old.

Lambert sticks his head out of the carriage window.

“Fingers and toes!” He cries, throwing the promise back to his loving father.

The boy would return safe and sound. All ten fingers and all ten toes.

*_*_*_*_*

Fire Emblem Masterlist

Three Houses Masterlist

#fire emblem #Dimitri Blaiddyd

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bi-naesala · 4 years

Text

Blood is the currency of the soul

Dismas goes to find an old friend with a specific request.

(Also on AO3)

(Spicy content up ahed!)

The way Dismas’ steps echo through the empty church hall will never stop being creepy, no matter for how many years he’s heard them. That’s something he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

It’s not that he’s not used to creepy things, not when his job is to hunt down and kill all the monsters that fester the land, it’s just that this is supposed to be a place of worship and light but now it’s cold, dead and abandoned.

It’s such a weird place to be used as a house, especially if you are a vampire.

“Hey.”

He cringes at the sound of his coarse voice; it’s certainly not something that should be heard in a church.

That simple greeting serves to warn the creature living here of his presence, creature that’s hiding behind the altar like he always does.

The first thing he sees are a couple of red eyes peeking from the stone surface, but they’re soon joined by a familiar head and a familiar body.

“Good evening, Dismas,” the creature says. He looks happy to see him, like he always does.

He begins to slowly walk towards him, until they meet halfway through their steps. The creature is imposing, but Dismas knows well that he poses no actual threat, especially to him.

“Good evening,” Dismas echoes him. When the creature steps into his personal space, he doesn’t move away not even an inch, and when he cradles his face in his hands - movements so tender for such a deadly monster - he can’t help but to smile.

“I missed you,” the creature says then, so earnest. Dismas rolls his eyes, though the smile doesn’t disappear from his face.

“You always miss me, Reynauld,” he replies, amused, though despite everything deep down he’s glad about this. It’s nice feeling wanted by someone, even if that someone is a vampire, but well, Rey is a special case.

Dismas still remembers their first meeting quite well, despite having been more than a couple of decades ago already. He was but a novice in the monster hunting business, maybe that’s why he let him live.

Reynauld looked so pitiful as he approached him - and what kind of vampire would voluntarily approach a hunter? - begging to be killed, that Dismas just… He didn’t have the heart to do it.

No matter how much he begged him, Dismas was paralyzed. He couldn’t bring himself to harm him! It was something so weird and unexpected that for a moment he feared that it was all a trick, a way to make him lower his guard, but no: Reynauld was being honest.

That day, he left him where he found him, right there, in that wretched church.

The next day, however, he came back, and the day after again. The creature was still there, barely reacting to his presence if not to ask him to put an end to his life - or unlife, Dismas guesses - but the young hunter still couldn’t bring himself to do it; it should’ve been easy, right? The easiest kill in Dismas’ life, and yet he couldn’t help but to pity this creature who so much wanted to die. Hell, he never even attacked him! He never tried to take his blood despite the fact that he was clearly starving.

Eventually, he did something he knew he should’ve never done, something that goes against everything that had been taught to him: he got closer to the creature, removed one of his gloves and he sliced his wrist.

As soon as the smell of dripping blood hit the creature’s nostril, he recoiled like he’d been hit, crawling away from Dismas and muttering something that he wasn’t able to catch amidst as series of “no, no, no, no”.

“I’m giving it to you,” Dismas said then. Those were his first words towards the creature. “Take what you need.”

The creature made himself smaller on the ground.

“I can’t… No… Light please…” He began to crawl towards Dismas. “… NO!”

Before Dismas could react, the vampire lounged at him, making both of them fall on the cold ground. Dismas tried to move but all he could feel is extreme pain, like someone was sucking the life right out of him.

Then everything went black.

When Dismas came to, first of all he was surprised by still being alive, secondly, he couldn’t believe that he fell for such an obvious trap.

Where was he even… Oh, he was still here.

Just what was exactly that creature’s plan?

He heard the sound of sniffles coming from behind the altar. It must’ve been him.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he got up, trying his best to ignore the feeling of nausea that almost made him throw up. This time he didn’t move unarmed, dirk already in hand in case the beast tried some funny shit.

He walked with caution, measuring each step, circling the altar, until he got a view of the creature hiding under it. He was curled up around himself - almost like a baby - and there were crimson streaks across his visage.

Was the beast… crying?

“Hey.”

Immediately the creature’s gaze snapped up, looking at Dismas with incredulous gaze.

“You!” he exclaimed. “You’re alive!”

Weird: even though he was clearly surprised, he hadn’t assumed any defensive position at the reveal. Actually, he even looked relieved.

“I am.”

Immediately the creature pathetically groveled at his feet, blabbering so fast that all Dismas could understand was “forgive me”. Alright, he had gotten enough of this story; he crouched down, putting himself at the same level of the beast, and put his hands on his shoulders, stopping him.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, I forgive you,” he begun. “But what exactly are you?”

“What do you mean?” the creature asked, confused.

“I mean, what happened to you? Why do you act so weird?” Dismas replied. “What kind of vampire begs to be killed, then eats, then asks for forgiveness?”

The vampire didn’t reply immediately; he still looked confused. Maybe, Dismas realized, he didn’t know it himself; it’s rare, but he’d heard tales of certain victims that don’t end up quite dead as the vampire feeding upon them thought. A mistake in carelessness.

In these situations, there’s only one way to act: grant mercy to the newborn creature and kill it before it can become something dangerous. Still, with what heart could he do that?

He tried his best to appear non-threatening, which might’ve been a bit hard considering that he was still holding his dirk in hand, but whatever, he was never good at this stuff.

“Listen, how about you and I have a chat,” he begins, “You seem in trouble and I might be able to help you.”

He could see the conflict in the creature’s eyes; he was clearly having a hard time deciding what to do. Well, Dismas didn’t blame him: if their positions were switched, he would’ve had a hard time too for sure.

Eventually, however, he weakly nodded.

“If you’re offering, then I suppose I can accept it…”

“Dismas?”

He shakes his head, coming back to the present and - most importantly - to the amused Reynauld in front of him. He looks so different from the first time they met; he looks definitely better: with time he managed to accept his new condition as a vampire, also thanks to Dismas’ help. Dismas has no idea how he manages to balance the nature of his new existence - or un-existence he guesses - and his religious beliefs, but hey, whatever works for him.

“What?”

“You were spacing out,” Reynauld replies, tilting his head. “What were you thinking about?”

“Will you laugh if I say I was thinking about you?”

Reynauld’s smile grows larger at those words; Dismas finds it beautiful. When he closes his arms around his waist, pulling him closer, he rests his hands on his chest in order to keep himself uptight.

“No, but I can say that I’m flattered.”

They kiss, softly, Dismas humming against Reynauld’s lips a reply that is soon forgotten.

Oh, how long it took Reynauld to accept his touch: at first he was too afraid for them to stand close to each other, afraid that the mere contact would be enough for his worse instincts - the one he always tries his best to keep in check - to resurface and take control of him, like when Dismas sliced his wrist to feed him.

With time and experience, however, he managed to keep himself in check, and of the fear that was holding him back there is no trace now.

He can’t help but to roll his eyes when Reynauld pulls him up - an easy feat for him - and takes him to a familiar place, though the gesture is half-hearted at best.

“What would your god say if he saw us defile his church like this?” he teases as Reynauld lowers him onto the altar. Despite still wearing his clothes, Dismas can’t help but to shiver at the cold.

“’My God’, as you call him, has sent you to me, so I don’t see why I shouldn’t honor you the way you deserve,” Reynauld replies, before cutting off any possible reply from Dismas with another kiss.

Yes, in the years they’ve known each other, Reynauld has convinced himself that Dismas is some sort of godsend or some bullshit like that. He’s still unsure of how he feels about it, but he’s figured that, for Reynauld’s sake, he’ll put up with it.

This doesn’t mean that he can’t tease him about it, however. As Reynauld had learned in the years they’ve known each other, nothing is sacred to him, not even religion. It’s a wonder how patient he is with him in this regard; Dismas has always wanted to ask him about it, but each time he decides to do it, he stops himself before any word can leave his mouth. Things have always been like this between the two of them: they talk about their past, but never enough not to sound vague. To be quite honest, it’s one of the things Dismas appreciates more about this relationship: the ability to mind your own business; they both understand that the past is a tricky thing, so why suffer because of it when they can just focus on the present, on each other?

Dismas’ train of thoughts is forcibly interrupted when Reynauld kisses him; Dismas chuckles, keeping him close with his arms around his shoulders, and returns the gesture in kind, parting his lips to sneak his tongue between Reynauld’s, caressing his fangs with it. He’s tempting fate like this, he knows it, but what’s life without risk? Boring, that’s what it is.

He’s rewarded by an animalistic growl from Reynauld, a sound he makes only when the most bestial part of him takes control, and he’s pushed with his back against the altar by the same Reynauld who’s now pressing his body against his, leaving him with no way to move. It’s like Dismas is trapped, and he loves it.

This aggression doesn’t last long, however, and soon they’re back to exchange soft kisses and caresses. Dismas has always liked it when Reynauld goes hard and fast, but lately he’s finding himself enjoying this side of him too; maybe he’s mellowing out with age.

He can’t help but to cringe at that thought. Yes, he’s getting old, while Reynauld…

Dismas has never been one to care about looks. It just never was his priority.

Now, however, he can’t help but to be a little self-conscious about his aging body, about the wrinkles that are starting to appear, at the gray that has begun to pepper his hair, at the loss of muscle mass.

Reynauld is always quick to shut down his insecurities whenever they come up, even when Dismas doesn’t voice them - by now they know each other pretty well, enough to know what they’re thinking.

He always takes his face between his hands, caressing his cheekbones with his thumbs, kissing each and every wrinkle, caressing his graying hair.

“You’re as beautiful as the day we met,” he always says, and what can Dismas do, if not to believe him?

Still, he likes it less and less to be naked in front of him. He doesn’t feel adequate, that’s all: Reynauld’s beautiful, powerful, and he’s not so thin that he might snap like a twig if someone blows his way. How is he supposed to compare?

Things are going to get worse and worse as he gets older, he knows this. On one hand, it’s reassuring to know that Reynauld would never dream to abandon him just because he doesn’t look as young as he once did, but on the other…

They have talked about it once, during a moment of weakness on Reynauld’s part: the pain of knowing that eventually he’ll lose Dismas was too much to bear, and he asked him to allow him to turn him. He begged even, on his knees, something that took Dismas so much by surprise that he couldn’t find the words to say.

After that episode, they never spoke about it again, but as of late Dismas has been wondering, wondering a lot. Most importantly, he’s reached a conclusion, which brings him to the main reason why he’s come here in the first place.

“Reynauld,” he calls him in fact, taking his face between his hands. “I want you to turn me.”

He hears the way Reynauld’s breath hitches at those words, how it quivers into something resembling a whine. How much as he thought about this?

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice trembling, despite the fact that he looks eager to do it, he still waits, he still wants to make sure. Dismas loves him so much, though his consideration this time is pretty useless. He nods.

“I think I’ve waited too much…” he mutters then. It was supposed to be a joke, but of course Reynauld takes it seriously.

“We waited until you were ready,” he replies in fact, going back to mouth at his neck. “If you’re worried about your appearance, you should know that--”

“That I’m beautiful as the day we met, I know, you always tell me,” Dismas interrupts him, unable to hold back a cheeky smile that Reynauld immediately kisses away.

Dismas thought that he would’ve gone straight for the turning, but he doesn’t. Actually, Rey’s acting like this short conversation never happened, beginning to tear Dismas’ coat open and then his shirt, kissing every inch of skin he uncovers. It makes Dismas almost forget about it too.

“R-Reynauld!” he manages to mutter however, once Reynauld has unbuttoned his shirt and is not getting comfortable with his head between Dismas’ legs. He raises his gaze to look at the hunter; his eyes are ravenous, but not in the dangerous way, it makes Dismas shiver.

“What?” he asks then. Did he truly forget?

“Didn’t we say…” Dismas begins, but thankfully Reynauld understands immediately what the deal is; so he hasn’t actually forgotten. Good.

“Let me have you as you one last time.”

… As you? What…

“Rey, I’m not going to turn into a monster or something. I mean, you haven’t, so why should I?” Dismas points out. Is there something about the turning process he’s not privy to? Something Reynauld hasn’t told him?

“I know, I know, but…” the other replies, succeeding immediately into calming Dismas down - he doesn’t have to worry about too unpleasant side effects at least - but then he continues. “Let me just have this, please?”

Oh well, if he puts it that way…

“Fine,” he says, but when Reynauld still doesn’t move, he adds: “Are you going to ravage me like the big boy that you are, or are you just going to stand there all night?”

At those words, Reynauld rolls his eyes, though there’s a fond smile on his face. Dismas is about to say something else, but he’s quickly shut down by a kiss.

When Reynauld lowers himself between Dismas’ legs again, the other also sighs for the relief; he’s been building up more and more tension without any way to release it, but now hopefully Rey will put a remedy to that.

He shivers at the light bites Reynauld presses into his thighs; in all the times they’ve known each other, Rey has always tried to keep himself in check when it comes to biting, aware that if he lets go even just one bit, it might lead to some unpleasant situations. This time, however, there’s none of his usual hesitation in the way he covers his skin in red marks.

A moan leaves Dismas’ lips when, once he’s satisfied with his work, Reynauld immediately takes him in his mouth, without any kind of warning. He bucks his hips up, surprised, but Reynauld keeps him still as he begins to suck him off with a speed and vigor that Dismas is now mad that he’s always withheld from him.

Still, he’s ever so careful in the way he moves his mouth, mindful not to brush his tusks against the sensitive skin; not that Dismas wouldn’t like it but, judging by the time in which he came immediately after he had accidentally grazed against his cock, he would like it too much, and Reynauld wants this to last.

Apparently, however, that doesn’t go along with Dismas’ plan, who begins to grind his hips against him, trying to get more.

“Reynauld… Rey, c’mon,” he moans, impatient as ever. Were Reynauld free to move as he pleases, he would’ve shaken his head.

In the end, if he has to be honest with himself, he doesn’t really mind it, quite the opposite actually. He knows he just gives more voice to the most egocentric part of himself, something that he shouldn’t do, but hearing, feeling, how much Dismas wants him is something that he’s come to need the more time they’ve spent together. The thought of someone needing him, still wanting him despite his nature, has kept him from making very displeasing thoughts, and helped him come to terms with the fact that, even if his life has been irredeemably changed, this doesn’t mean that he can’t try to make the most of it, even if he keeps staying hidden from everything and everyone, except Dismas.

That’s why, once Dismas begins to beg, he gives in.

He gets up, already taking care of his pants, lowering them enough to pull his cock free, giving it just a few tugs.

Oh, he can’t wait to be inside Dismas. What? He’s not the only one with an extinguishable desire, even though Reynauld has a habit to hide it; after all, Dismas acts enough for the two of them already, there’s no need for him to give his contribution too.

“Oil… Do you have oil?” he asks before he can do anything though. It makes Dismas rolls his eyes - he’s not made of glass for fuck’s sake - but he guesses he appreciates his care.

“Pocket…” he mutters, reaching for the jacket that Reynauld has left on the altar. After fumbling a bit, he manages to procure himself a small vial of oil, and to offer it to Reynauld. “Here.”

Reynauld takes it, opening and beginning to smear some on his fingers, only for Dismas to stop him.

“There’s no need for that…” he says, making a meaningful pause as the meaning of what he said sinks in. Oh…

“You scoundrel…” Reynauld mutters, though there’s no heat in his voice. He’s smirking, actually. “Did you want me that much?”

“Of course, you old fool,” Dismas replies through gritted teeth. He never liked having to openly admit this kind of stuff, which makes extorting the truth out of him a huge pastime of Reynauld, though he usually has to work harder than this to obtain some resorts; he must be very desperate.

Oh well, it is what it is. There’s something more important to think about, now.

As he pushes his oiled cock against Dismas’ rim, Reynauld can’t help the shaky moans that leaves his lips, not that Dismas is quiet, quite the contrary actually. Yes, they make quite a pair, the two of them, with how loud they are. Good thing they’re in an isolated place, right?

His voice trembles once Reynauld bottoms out, and he tells him to get a move on.

“We don’t have all day!” he says, which, as a matter of fact…

“We do, technically,” Reynauld retorts, although he gently begins to rock his hips back and forth, finding it hard to remain still, not when Dismas is so warm and inviting. He always talks big game about patience and all that bullshit, but then he’s the first one who can’t resist the temptation of a warm body beside his; not that Dismas is complaining of course. Whatever floats his boat.

Frankly, as long as he doesn’t stop moving, he doesn’t care.

Gods damn it, he really isn’t young anymore, not with the shitty stamina he has nowadays, because he already feels close to coming. Thankfully for him, Reynauld isn’t that far off himself, so at least he doesn’t have to be too embarrassed about it, but that’s just because Reynauld gets overwhelmed easily during sex no matter how many times they’ve done it.

“Fuck…” he mutters, gritting his teeth.

“Language,” Reynauld reprimands him, but Dismas doesn’t let him utter another word as he grabs him by the hair and draws him closer for a kiss, clashing their mouth together. For such a big bad vampire, he sure can’t handle a few swear words here and here.

At least he seems to get the message and doesn’t stop pounding into him. Dismas’ back is beginning to hurt, but he sucks it up, not wanting to interrupt the moment. Besides, the pleasure he’s feeling is far greater than the pain.

He has no problems digging his nails in Reynauld’s back, leaving red marks, keeping him as close as he can. It makes Reynauld shiver, but he keeps going. Thanks to his vampiric abilities, besides, those wounds heal quite fast, though Reynauld would lie if he said that he wouldn’t mind if he could be able to wear them for longer, just like Dismas wears his. Would Dismas feel the same way he does if he could see the visible signs of what he’s done on Reynauld’s skin? He can’t help but to wonder, though now he should be focusing on something else, shouldn’t he?

Dismas’ voice echoes through the empty church, filling it with his moans as he comes. It would probably be considered a sacrilegious act if only someone else was there to witness it; hell, Reynauld might’ve thought so at first, but after years of being together he’s gotten more tolerant to it, still without losing his faith, even if for the people who share it he’d be considered a monster. And yet, Dismas can’t help but to think, Reynauld is way more human than some of the people he’s met throughout his life.

“Gods above, I love you so fucking much,” he can’t help but to mutter before he can’t stop himself. He’s usually not one for these kinds of words: he’s more of a man of action, not words. Even when sometimes he says them, it’s mostly in response to something that Reynauld tells him first; sometimes he’s wanted to be the one pronouncing them first, but there’s always something that blocks him, a sense of shame that he’s never entirely gotten rid of, not towards his feelings per se, let’s be clear, but about having to voice them.

There’s nothing of that hesitation this time. He’s saying it with a sincerity that he hasn’t managed to reach since forever. All because of this man in front of him, a man that has become the most important part of his life, the man he can’t live without.

He can’t help but to smile, seeing Reynauld being thrown off his rhythm by that quiet admission, but he soon recovers.

“Me too, Dismas,” he says then, pressing his forehead against Dismas. “I love you too. Dismas… I love you so much.”

He comes. It makes Dismas squirm as he gets filled up, but it’s not unpleasant, not at all. He doesn’t have the time to say anything else that Reynauld’s back to kiss him with a softness that it almost hurts; it used to hurt once, when Dismas was still young and angry at the whole world, but not anymore.

Still, there’s something else Dismas wants, and he wants it now, during this moment.

“Rey, c’mon… I’ve given you what you wanted. Now it’s my turn,” he urges him, eagerly baring his neck to him. This is something that goes against every lesson he’s been imparted in his youth, but the tiny scars that Reynauld’s fangs have left time and time again demonstrate that there isn’t really a risk behind it, not with Rey at least.

However, Reynauld still hesitates. “Are you sure? You won’t be able to go back to how things once where if you do it.”

“I know.” Dismas rolls his eyes. “Just do it already.”

Reynauld kisses him, just a soft peck on his lips, then he bares his fangs. This isn’t the first time this happens, but never with such intent. It sends a shiver down Dismas’ spine.

He leans closer, always closer.

Dismas’ breath begins to itch.

He wonders if he’s making the right choice. What if he regrets it?

Ah, to hell with that. He wants to be happy, and he knows that Reynauld makes him happy. Besides, who would keep him company if he died?

Then Reynauld bites him.

The sharp pain is familiar - it always happens during the biting - but soon Dismas is overwhelmed by a new sensation, something he’s never felt.

He wants to scream his pain out, but his throat burns, just as the rest of his body, and not a sound manages to get out.

It feels like he’s being burned alive. Did someone accidentally start a fire?

He can barely see Reynauld with how clouded his vision is, and he can barely hear him call his name.

It burns and burns and burns and burs…

Until Dismas dies.

It’s like being in a dream.

Dismas feels suspended into a sort of limbo.

He can’t see anything but he feels.

His body is changing, and he can’t stop it.

It’s getting colder and colder, almost soothing after the sensation of being burned alive he felt a mere moments ago, or is it more than just seconds? He has no way to precisely tell how much time has passed. For all he knows, it might’ve been centuries.

Then, a pull, towards something that Dismas doesn’t know.

Maybe it’s…

He opens his eyes.

The first thing he sees is the church’s stained glass, or at least what’s left of it.

How long…

Mmh, he’s on the ground; he can feel the cold stone pavement freezing his butt off. When he tries to move, however, he finds himself unable to. At first he fears he’s been tied up, but he soon realizes that the reason is far different from that: he’s being kept in Reynauld’s arms, which are squeezing him so hard that he feels like he’s going to break him.

As soon as he notices that Dismas is awake, Reynauld softens his hold on him. When he turns towards him, he’s smiling, though Dismas can see the faint red marks on his cheeks that indicate that he has cried while he was asleep. Did he think that he had killed him as he cradled his body? Did he think he made a mistake?

“You’re awake…” is all he’s able to say, and Dismas nods. He reaches out for him and rests his hand against his cheek. For once, he doesn’t feel cold.

Actually, now that he pays attention to it, his hands, and therefore his skin, are visibly paler than how they used to be. Does that mean that…

“We made it?” he asks, half-incredulous. Did it really work then? He can’t lie, he’s had his doubts right at the end, but not about the thing as a whole: it’s just that it hurt so much that Dismas thought it hadn’t worked, but apparently it’s part of the experience. “You could’ve warned me about the excruciating pain,” he points out then, without any real bite in his words.

Reynauld’s smile becomes more sheepish as he replies. “To my defends, I don’t remember much of how it felt when I turned…” He rests his head over Dismas’ shoulder and he’s back again to squeeze the life out of him, but hell, he doesn’t mind at all.

A new beginning. New chances. Reynauld.

He can’t wait to get started.

#reymas #darkest dungeon #dd #highwayman #crusader #dismas #reynauld #dd highwayman #dd crusader #my fics #mine

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dopescotlandwarrior · 5 years

Text

Bluegrass-Chapter Four

A special thank you to @statell for your help and wisdom

Previous chapters at AO3

Chapter Four

Claire and Molly were hopping from one farm to another in Lexington when Claire announced she had to make one extra stop. They were done for the day and she filled Molly in on her date for the weekend.

“Chad Remington called out of the blue and asked me to dinner. High profile date, lots of press I’m sure. Chad gave me a one hundred dollar minimum to buy a dress. Will you help me, please?”

Molly looked confused and finally found her voice, “what about Dusty?”

“What about Dusty?”

“He would …”

“Dustin and I are best friends Molly, nothing more.”

Molly watched Claire’s eyes and saw compassion, maturity, and truth. “Okay, I didn’t know how you were together. So it’s like brother and sister then.”

“I don’t know about that, I never had either, or a Mother and Father. I don’t have anything to compare it to. I just know that Dusty put me first and for the first time in my life, someone knew I was in the world and cared about me. And I cared for him the same way. You watch, when we spy on him in the coming year, I will bet money he’s in love before his GPA is 4.0, the little brat. Let’s go”

Molly was young but she had a great eye for fashion from looking at hundreds of magazines. It was her guilty pleasure fueled by sitting in waiting rooms of salons, waiting for no one, consuming every page that the magazines offered. Claire tried so many dresses on but Molly scrunched up her nose. The saleswoman began shooting darts at the young woman, so she took over and looked through the evening wear pulling dresses as she went. She handed five dresses to Claire.

Claire’s eyes went wide as dress after dress fit perfectly, hugged her curves in the right places, and was fashionably short.

“Well young lady, now I have the opposite problem of having too many choices. What do you think?”

Molly pulled the best fitting dress and walked to the shoes, pulling a gorgeous heal with straps that exposed almost her entire foot. She grabbed a pair of silk stockings on the way to the register.

“Straighten your hair and put this in it.” She handed Claire a beautiful cubic zirconia hair clip that would sparkle against her dark hair.”

“Straighten my hair? Like how?”

“I’ll help if you want.”

“Yes, I think that would be really nice if you don’t mind.”

Once back in the truck, Molly got very quiet and seemed preoccupied with something troubling. She said goodbye to Claire and got into her car, but Claire stopped her. She leaned against her truck and looked down at Molly as she prepared to leave.

“Something is troubling you, Molly. I don’t want to impose but is there anything I can help you with?”

Molly locked her hands on the steering wheel and looked at her lap shaking her head. Claire waited, giving her the time to decide if she wanted to speak her trouble or not.

“Last night I was harassed by the police. They said I would be arrested if they caught me again. I don’t want to go to jail but I probably will because I have nowhere else to go.”

Claire watched the tears streak down Molly’s sad face, and she was ready to offer this sweet girl whatever she needed.

“Whatever it is Molly, I will help you, I promise.”

“I lost my job a month ago and I have no more savings, so I had to leave my apartment.” She blushed crimson talking about her poverty. “Can I park here tonight and sleep, so the police will leave me alone? I can tell them you allowed me to stay here. I won’t be back until after dark, I promise.”

Claire pulled the young girl out of her car and helped her up the stairs. “Molly, are you an orphan too?”

Molly looked at Claire through her bleary eyes, “no I have an aunt and older brother but neither of them can take me.”

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen. I’m too old to collect the welfare that kept me going my last year of high school, my church helped as well.”

“Did your parents die sweetheart?”

“I don’t know. They just left and never came back.”

Molly cried in earnest, apologizing to Claire as she was led into the house.

“I won’t hear another word about it, young lady. You need to bring your things in. You can wash what you want and take the extra room. See? No one has ever used this room, so it has been wasted. If you sleep in here it will not be an empty room anymore. I hate empty rooms, don’t you?”

Molly looked around and Claire could see her mind working on being a burden.

“So, what I need you to do is get your things from your car while I make dinner. I have needed a roommate, but I don’t know anyone in Kentucky. I would like a roommate so will you stay with me?”

Claire had talked so fast Molly hardly had time to formulate an answer and her bulldozing boss was suddenly her benefactor, offering her safety from the cold dark night.

Claire was pushing a warm plate of food at Molly and bringing in blankets and pillows. She sat across from Molly and ate from her plate in silence, watching the poor young woman inhale her dinner.

“Molly, I won’t accept any money from you, but I need your assurance you will be honest with me about what you need.”

Molly grabbed her hand and struggled with her tears, shaking her head yes.

“That is good enough for me dearest. Get some sleep, and there is more on the stove if you are still hungry. Good night love.”

Claire was intimately familiar with orphan’s pride. Many households took her in and fed her, gave her a room, and reminded her of their generosity every day after that. Uncle Lamb died and left her alone at sixteen with no one to care for her. It was the loneliest time of her life, more so than the eleven years she spent traveling the world with Uncle Lamb because then, she always had him.

Claire retired to her room and prayed that Molly would have the fortitude to give this a chance. This was a match that needed to happen, and she was the best advocate for this young girl, because she understood what she was going through.

The food was left on the stove to encourage Molly to eat. Claire heard noises in the kitchen and relaxed knowing she was fed and warm. Before she made it to her patio for Yoga the next morning, she noticed her sparkling kitchen and all dishes put neatly away. This was going to be easy she thought as she pressed into her first pose.

As the week progressed, Molly made fewer mistakes and pulled a small notebook out of her pocket each time Claire asked about the treatments. Molly would look at her notes and Claire would write furiously as she worked through the files. Claire let several monumental wins go by without noticing them because she was locked in her head.

She was so excited about seeing Chad at the end of the week she hardly noticed anything. The ripping of paper brought her mind back and she watched Molly deftly pull a syringe out of the sterile sleeve and twist a needle on before plunging it into a bottle of Penicillin. Claire walked over and looked at the medicines, bandages, fecal collection cups, and gloves she would use for treatments this morning.

“Wow Molly, you are certainly getting the hang of things. I am very impressed. Claire leaned back on a stall as she talked bringing the horse forward to nibble her hair. She reached up and ran her hand down his cheek hearing him complaining of pain. Claire opened the stall door and looked at a trough full of food from earlier in the day. He wasn’t eating, his head was hot, and his mouth hurt, according to him. Claire asked to look in his mouth and he finally obliged. There was a large abscess on the roof of his mouth. Most likely from a bur in his hay.

“Oooh, that looks nasty my friend. Molly, I must find the barn manager and see if they want me to lance it today. Be right back.”

Claire came back with several men who all crowded into the stall to help hold the suffering horse. Claire took the halter from one of them because she would be far gentler getting it on. She asked Molly to watch the men, and how they held the horse still.

The horse was not happy with the searing pain in his mouth, but Claire had it lanced quickly and flushed with peroxide. She could tell the pain was improving when she put her hands on his cheeks. A stiff shot of antibiotics and they were on to the next horse.

Molly wanted to know how Claire understood to look in his mouth but decided not to ask. She was still fresh to Claire’s treatments and would know her ways soon enough.

They quit early on Friday so Claire would have plenty of time to freak out before Chad picked her up. On the patio, a small cat cowered in the corner and they almost missed it. Claire picked it up and stroked it while it sat in her lap. Molly was bringing groceries into the house when Claire got up and asked her to drive the cat home.

Molly followed where Claire directed, and they watched the cat run toward a house. Claire followed, rang the doorbell, and when the door opened the cat ran inside.

“Sorry to bother you, your cat was lost and crying so we brought it home. Have a nice day.”

Since the homeowner did not know how far they had come, she figured Claire had seen the cat in her yard at some point. Molly, on the other hand, could not understand how Claire could know, so she asked her and got her mind blown.

“You, you hear them tell you things? Is that what you said? Cat’s don’t talk so how do you hear them?”

Claire did her best to explain the images she sees and using the cat as an example, she pointed to the clumps of Black Oak trees and told her she saw the cat climbing one of them.

“I have only seen these trees here, so I thought it was a good start. We got lucky.”

Molly was quiet. Another doubter, she thought. This was something she was used to, and silence was always Dustin’s response to her truth. She dropped it and turned her thoughts to Chad, not a hard thing to do because she found him very attractive. The only man who could top his looks was Jamie Fraser, she thought. Now he was off the charts. She thought about Jamie for the rest of the trip home and wondered why he hooked up with such an awful woman.

Later, Claire and Molly sat on the porch watching the sky turn its Kentucky colors. The sunset was distracting enough to let Chad slip up the stairs and watch the women for several minutes. Actually, Molly got a passing glance, but Claire was studied from her feet to the top of her head.

“I’m a bit speechless. I’ve never seen you out of your scrubs.”

Claire stood up quickly, shocked to hear his voice right behind them. She introduced Chad to Molly, smiling the whole time, so excited to be going somewhere fun. Molly waived and sighed at the charming Chad Remington. When he smiled at her she almost swooned. He was a beautiful and elegant man. She forced herself to go inside because staring after them was just plain weird.

Chad admired Claire’s shiny straight hair and the little black dress, long legs and killer shoes as they walked through the restaurant to their table. The conversation seemed to have no end as they got lost in the others back story. Chad’s brother came to their table and sat with them for a while. When the food reporter for the local news wanted to interview him, he suggested an open place right next to their table. While that was going on, Claire turned her attention back to her handsome date.

After dinner, they walked the downtown area because there was so much more to talk about.

“You have a hopeful for the road to the Kentucky Derby? What exactly does that mean?”

“Claire, I’m surprised you don’t know the term since you doctor these horses every day.” He was teasing her.

“No one’s ever had the time to tell me. Now might be a good time.”

“All the breeding farms you visit in this area are working toward one thing, to drop a foal that will be the next Secretariat. When I decide on my breeding matches for the year, it’s a bit like a mad scientist mixing genetic material to produce a super runner. At least that’s what it feels like to me. Once in a great while, someone produces a foal that was born to run faster than all the others and it’s like magic watching him win race after race.

“So the road to the Kentucky Derby?”

“The road is a group of races decided on by Churchill Downs. They are stakes-grade, minimum one mile, and the top four finishers win points. The second phase of the road to the derby is called the super six. Stakes-grade, tough races, with fierce competition because so many horses drop out during the first phase. Owners can nominate their horse for the Triple Crown as early as January. Right before the race, the top twenty point winners are chosen to run for the roses. Just getting to that point is a star in your breeder crown that will never dim, it’s a permanent elevation to elite breeder. It’s all I’ve ever aspired to, producing one of those twenty horses.”

“My preference for racehorses was a carryover from my Uncle who raised me. He loved the sport and talked about it constantly. He spoke of the Triple Crown winner Secretariat with such reverence I would giggle sometimes. He was quite a horse according to my uncle.”

Chad stopped walking and pressed Claire to the wall of a large retail building. His hands were on either side of her head and she was thrilled to the bone because he might kiss her any minute now.

“Claire, I really like you, really like you. Would you mind if I kissed you?”

“I do not mind, that would nice.”

She barely had time to finish her sentence when his lips pressed rather hard on hers, flatly, and unmoving, then released her.

“Well, that was something awful I think. I just rushed it, and I am very rusty. Can I try again?”

“Of course.”

This time, he looked into her eyes and took his time getting to her lips which Claire found very exciting. They kissed three more times and each time was better.

“My God Claire, did you feel the earth move a bit when we kissed?”

“Umm, no actually.”

“Me neither. I think that is okay because it will happen next time. Claire, it’s one o’clock in the morning already. Let me get you home.”

They kissed once more at Claire’s door and she waved goodbye. She was confused because the last time she kissed like that was at a campus party with someone she didn’t know. In fact, she ended up taking that great kisser home for the night, and it was rather good if she remembered correctly. It made no sense that Chad, a handsome breeder who was easy to talk to, initiated kisses that did nothing for her.

The next day, Jamie was running through the kitchen grabbing some fruit before leaving to watch Nick with the yearlings.

“Come here Jamie, there’s your strumpet, in the paper, laughing with her nose in the air. Come here!”

Jamie looked over Isobel’s shoulder and sure enough, Claire, looking fabulous with…Chad Remington! What the hell was this all about he wondered. Most people assumed Chad was gay so how did she end up at dinner with him? He bit into the apple and left Isobel muttering under her breath.

“Jamie! Glad you could make it. I refuse to say I told you so by the way. Let’s have a look at your magic colt.”

Jamie could see three colts being lunged by a handler who was clicking up their speed, while Midnight Runner was stationary looking at the weird man in the middle without a clue what to do. When his handler used the big whip to get the horse moving, the colt looked at his backside where he heard the whip and then back at the handler.

“Tell the handler to make contact with the whip. Give the lad some incentive to run away at least.”

Nick called out and the handler flicked the whip on the colt’s ass making him jump and glare at the man.

“He still doesna get it. I know someone who might help. I’ll get her here today, but chances are he won’t run. Just like ye told me, Nick.”

Claire clicked off from Jamie’s call feeling weird butterflies in her stomach. She had a vague recollection of his handsome face and a solid memory of what she saw on the inside of the man. It took her back to that day. She didn’t hate Jamie Fraser, and it sounded like he really needed her help. She made two calls to reschedule and told Molly they were going to Highland Brothers for the rest of the day.

Molly had ceased to be impressed by the large breeding complexes, but her eyes were darting all over the compound as she took it all in. Jamie waved them on to the premises.

So he is waiting for me this time. What on earth could be so wrong, she wondered.

Jamie pulled her aside right away so Molly would not hear him. He looked like he was chewing glass when he spoke to her.

“This colt is special, Doctor Beauchamp, I need for him to at least make a showing at the two-year-old races. It could finish me in Kentucky if he refuses to try. Understand? Ye said ye could understand them so I’m askin ye lass, please can ye find out what’s wrong wi’him?”

Claire looked out at the training arenas where three other horses were running on the lunge line and the colt was chewing on the handler’s hair.

“Oh dear, that is a problem. Can you leave him in the ring alone and let me take a look? I need Molly to observe him for me. From what I’m getting from him already, you, Mister Fraser must stay out of his sight. Okay?”

Claire walked into the arena and smiled at this enormous, but childlike colt who trotted to her, so happy to smell and taste someone new. She felt the presence of an innocent who didn’t understand what he was supposed to do. When Claire put her hands on his cheeks, she showed him he was supposed to run, as fast as he could.

He asked why. Why do I run? Is there a treat when I get there? Are you going to run too?

Claire laughed at the similarities between the colt’s thought process and a small child. She told him to get ready to run and called for Molly to get the sugar cubes from the truck. Molly came back to the rail and watched her crazy boss line up to race the horse. She constantly touched his face and they finally lined up together. Claire took off running as fast as she could. The colt stood and watched her but then jolted into a gallop, ears back, butt muscles exploding and passed her like a lightning bolt. He looked around for her, confused again, but saw her big smile and arms held out wide so he ran to her.

Molly saw the beast running right for Claire and she jumped the rail to help her. The colt came to a dead stop a foot from Claire, and Molly could swear he looked happy like this was a game. Claire’s arms were around his neck and she laughed. The colt backed up and reared on his hind legs like a kid saying, “watch this!”

Molly sat on the rail for the next two hours as Claire led the colt through a series of gates and games that seemed to heighten his interest and fun. Jamie pulled Nick to his hiding place to watch the transformation in the colt and the crazy vet that was making it happen.

“Why are we hiding Jamie?”

“The lad thinks I’m his mother and just wants hugs when I’m around.”

“What the hell? I swear it looks like she is speaking to him and he is listening!”

“Somethin like that Nick, she has a way to communicate wi’em. You should see him run, like the wind he is!”

The men watched the duo in fascination as they both lined up to race again. Molly was laughing as she watched Claire seem to taunt him into racing.

“Molly, if you would do the honors of saying bang please.”

“Bang!”

Claire took off as fast as she could run, and the colt watched her until he again seemed to get hit with electricity making him bolt into his own race. Claire knew he could sense her emotion, so she concentrated on winning, at whatever cost, she wanted to beat him.

The colt passed her going so fast she could hardly see him and she smiled triumphantly as he ran his heart out, right up to Molly to get his treat. Then he ran right at Claire again to bask in the glory of being the winner. He trotted around her as she told him ‘I want to win!” and he taunted back ‘never! I am the winner!’

Claire was still panting and holding her hip but kept up the teasing wanting to implant the love of winning.

“Okay big guy, race you to Molly for the rest of the sugar cubes!”

Claire ran with all her worn-out might as the colt blasted past her filling her head with Ha-ha, Ha-ha.

“Cheeky little bastard.”

Molly looked up as the colt appeared to be a beast of a horse running dead for her. She was so scared she fell backward, right into the arms of Jamie Fraser. She looked up at him and thought she had died and gone to heaven. She smiled up at him and saw their wedding, and children, and a glorious future together.

“Ye alright lass? Ye bumped ye head on the rail.”

Claire was running for Molly, ready to pass out but she opened her arms to hug her across the rail.

“Jesus Christ, Molly. Are you alright?”

Molly shook her head and blushed with embarrassment as Jamie set her on her feet. Nick had joined Claire in the arena and gave the colt some love while he praised her for making him run. Jamie looked at Claire and could see the gears working in her mind. He decided then and there that his prized colt, his road to the Kentucky Derby, and his business, were now the domain of one Claire Beauchamp because if there was a way, only she knew it.

Molly was packing up to leave and Nick had taken the colt back to his stall. Jamie noticed Claire was relaxed around him with none of the flirting jitters most women get from his presence. He found it energizing and delightful like he could be charming without stoking an unwanted forest fire.

“He won’t get the idea from this in one-day Mister Fraser. I had to goad him into running. Without the correct motivation, he won’t run or at least not his hardest. Do you want me to come back?”

“Aye. I know ye have a practice to run so whatever time you give me will be much appreciated and I will pay ye well lass.”

Claire smiled at this incredibly handsome man. “Three times a week for as long as I can.” She started walking to her truck and Molly.

“How ye gettin along wi’out Dusty?”

“It’s hard but Molly is doing great.” Another brilliant smile for the Scott and she climbed into the passenger seat.

“How do you do it Claire? Dusty would have walked off the earth for you, Chad wants to date you, and Jamie looked like he would do a backflip if you asked him to.”

“Claire laughed tiredly. Dustin is very special, Chad-isn’t, and Jamie needs me more than he needs air right now. It isn’t about me, it’s the circumstance we all find ourselves in.”

“Jamie is so good looking, is he married?”

“Almost. I thought you liked Chad!”

“Not anymore.”

Claire looked at her dreamy-eyed assistant as they drove off, and laughed before diving into files to update her notes for the day.

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iwillgiveyoumyhappiness · 5 years

Text

전웅, Jeon Woong

anonymous asked:

Ooo could I request a Woong scenario where you’re a successful solo artist and you’re Woong’s crush, and he ends up meeting you at an award show and you guys become friends? And maybe after a while he confesses on how much he likes you and it’s just fluff? Thank you so much! I also enjoy your other scenarios and I cant wait for future works!

Group: AB6IX

Member: Woong

(A/N) Listen to this with Winter Bear by V

Woong watched you perform with admiration-filled eyes.

When Donghyun had first posed the idea of going to watch a concert of a newly debuted artist, he wasn’t all too sold on the idea. On his day off, he would’ve rather stayed in bed and relaxed, but he was beyond relieved that Donghyun had convinced him.

“Since she just debuted,” Donghyun had said, “the tickets are super cheap. If she blows up, they’re never gonna be like this again.”

Woong furrowed his brows contemplatively. “I don’t know...” he trailed off. “I kinda just wanted to pass out today.”

He crossed his arms and pouted. “Please?” he asked, puppy-eyes prominent. “It’s late, so you can still laze around all day.”

Finally, Woong had relented. “Fine!” he groaned. “I’ll go with you.”

And God, was he glad that he did.

There was something about the way your voice melded with the instrumentals, the way you were able to easily ad-lib when you felt like it, the stability in your tone as you danced, your ability to entrance the whole crowd with a single pointed glance into the camera.

Donghyun took a break from cheering to playfully nudge the boy beside him. “This is awesome, right?” he laughed. “Aren’t you glad you came? She’s so cool!” He stared at Woong who sat unmoving, his eyes fixed on your performance.

“Dude, are you okay?” he chuckled. “You look smitten.”

Woong nodded slowly, just barely registering what he’d said. “I am,” he said, quieter than the music.

Donghyun leaned in closer, cupping a hand around his ear. “What?”

He finally tore his eyes away from the stage. “I am!” he shouted. “I think she’s my ideal type.”

Woong groggily woke from his dream, blinking at the afternoon sun that seeped in through the curtains of the living room. He sat up on the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

He looked around drowsily before sighing. He often dreamed of that memory, trying to recall the retails of that night. He had such a flutter in his chest from the concert and his adrenaline and excitement was so high, it was as if it had never happened at all when his high wore off.

As time went on, it was harder and harder to recall the exact details, everything feeling like a fuzzy blur. “I feel like I’m suffering from early-onset dementia,” he huffed to himself, falling back on the couch. He just wanted to remember a fun concert.

Was that too much to ask?

He was certain that he understood ABNEWs better now. This was the legendary ‘post-concert-depression’ that he’d heard so much about on Twitter.

It was absolutely terrible.

All he could think about was the flashing lights and the screams. It was so hard to remember the words that you had spoken or the expressions that you had made.

He wanted to remember that experience he had at your concert all those months ago, and he wanted to remember it well, but he was having the hardest time doing it. He’d gotten a headache over it once or twice.

He kept mulling over the fact that he’d been so close to the stage. He’d probably never get a chance to be that close to your stages ever again, ever since your popularity skyrocketed.

What started out as your simple debut a few months ago had shot you into a flash of cameras, overseas trips, a sizable fan-base and the fitting title of: ‘Newest Global Monster Rookie’.

As a fan, he was proud of you. But as someone who wanted to see you again, he was sulky, because he felt as if he’d never relive that moment of being so close to your passion for the stage.

Daehwi sprinted into the room, jumping onto the couch next to him. It almost gave poor Woong a heart-attack, but the youngest member decided to ignore that small fact. “You excited?” he asked, an eager enthusiasm glimmering in his eyes.

“For?” Woong asked, taking a deep breath after his scare, via Lee Daehwi.

The youngest nudged him a little. “For tomorrow,” he clarified. “Award Show appearance? Ringing any bells?” he teased.

A soft smile grew on his face. “Yeah,” he said while nodding. “I’m really excited for it.” He leaned his head back, closing his eyes and trying to envision what it would be like for AB6IX to receive an award... Would it be beautiful? “I hope we do well,” he said honestly.

Daehwi chuckled. “You know, I would’ve thought you would’ve been a lot more excited about this,” he said, settling into the cushions and pulling out his phone to mess around on.

Woong crack open an eye. “I am excited,” he assured him. “What’re you talking about?”

“I mean, you’re crush is gonna be there, so I just thought—”

Woong shot up, making the youngest jump. “She’s gonna be there?” he asked, suddenly short of breath. Daehwi nodded. Suddenly, Woong felt very self-conscious about his appearance. He messed with his bangs, trying to pull them down further. “Should I get a haircut?” he asked.

Daehwi raised an amused brow. “Why?”

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to judge the layers through touch. “I just mean, I don’t want it to look ratty,” he said. “Should I cut it?” He ran his fingers through it again. He nodded to himself. “Yeah, I should cut it.”

Daehwi laughed. “Oh my gosh—your hair looks fine!” he cackled. “You care an awful lot about this,” he noted, raising a brow.

The older member sighed. “Yeah, I guess I do,” he huffed. He rubbed his eyes, as if hoping that would wake him up further. “It’s dumb, right?”

“Just a little bit.”

Woong nodded slowly, staring up at the ceiling. “Yeah... Yeah, it’s dumb,” he said, mostly trying to convince himself. He chuckled. “It’s a big event. Chances of me even actually seeing her anywhere other than on stage is really unlikely.”

Daehwi tilted his head, staring at him curiously. “You know, I’ve never seen you like this before,” he mentioned. “Why do you like her so much?”

He shrugged, honestly trying to figure it out himself. “I don’t know, really,” he said. “With the heart of a fan, I can simply say that she makes me happy and I want to support her, but I don’t know what else to say other than that. I guess I’m just so interested in what she’s like on-stage, I’ve gotten really curious about the off-stage aspects of her, too.”

“You know,” Daehwi started, “she’s probably not exactly the same off-stage, right?”

Woong scoffed under his breath. “Are any of us, really?” he asked. “We all change little aspects about ourselves that we think people will find unlikable. It’s just how our minds work.” Without realizing it, a small smile formed on his lips.

“That’s why I think it’d be cool to know her personally,” he continued. “I’d like to know about the flaws that she tries to cover up, and maybe one day, she’d be able to see that flaws aren’t so bad. They’re just unique.”

Daehwi started laughing. “You’re so whipped,” he said in English.

His brows furrowed. “Wait—what’d you say?” he asked. The youngest only laughed harder, doubling over and nearly flying off the couch. “Lee Daehwi, what did you say?!”

The group stepped out of the car with excited butterflies in their stomachs. They’d enviously looked at those able to walk across the red carpet before, and now they’d be the ones doing it.

It was a memory they’d keep with them for a long time.

Woong touched Woojin’s shoulder. “You gonna be okay?” he asked, referring to his ankle.

Woojin nodded. “I’ll be fine,” he promised. He frowned. “I wish I could perform, though.”

He gave him a small smile. “You’re doing enough,” he assured him. “You’re cool just by sitting there.” He scanned the crowd of reporters and paparazzi. It was overwhelming, but in the best way possible.

It was like the thrill he got on stage; making him gain energy rather than fear.

The inside was even more intimidating. There were so many people in the audience, all eagerly awaiting the upcoming performances. It was finally settling in for Woong that he would be performing on that stage soon.

Him and his group.

Those bright lights, cameras and expectant eyes would all be on them in less than an hour. It was a sensation that made shivers creep down his spine, but it was in an exhilarating way.

He took a deep shaky breath and gave his pale cheek a light smack. “Let’s do well, okay?” he told himself under his breath while he looked up at the massive stage from his seat in between Youngmin and Woojin.

He felt a light tap on his shoulder. It was so feather-light, he didn’t even jump.

“I think you’ll do well,” he heard.

He turned around; he felt his heart lurch when he saw the face of the person talking to him. It was the same face he’d seen months ago, though a new color had been dyed into the hair.

It was your face. Your face that he’d looked up at as you performed on stage with such an addictive fire in your gaze.

He stood up hurriedly, clumsily pushing his chair back with his knees. Luckily, you caught it and shoved it back upright before it could fall to the floor. He bowed a full 90 degree angle, his cheeks flushed red. “Thank you for saying that,” he choked out. “I’ll try my best!”

His words felt like vomit slipping uncontrollably out of his mouth and he was completely embarrassed (it especially didn’t help that his members were quietly laughing at him and silently judging him), but he was still grateful, down at the core of everything.

He managed to say something at least.

He had originally thought that if he finally got to speak to you, he’d be utterly tongue-tied, unable to say anything of true substance, but at least something came out. It was better than an awkward nod or a series of ‘um’s and ‘er’s.

You laughed at him. “Why’re you being so formal?” you asked, tilting your head. “I debuted after you.”

He stood up straight, his cheeks burning. He couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes, so he just stared at the floor. “That’s true,” he stuttered, “but...”

Daehwi turned back in his chair, looking at you. He beckoned you closer, making sure that Woong was still busy searching his brain for decent words. Once you’d leaned close enough, he whispered (not so subtly), “He’s a fan.”

Woong’s eyes widened. “Lee Daehwi!” he snapped, feeling the sudden need to smack the youngest in the face.

He saw you cover your mouth, holding in a screech. “I’m a fan, too!” you blurted out. His jaw dropped. “That’s one of the reasons I was so surprised when I saw that I got to sit behind you!”

He watched you stomp your feet with cute excitement. “I’ve been an AB6IX fan since pre-debut!” You looked to Woojin. “How’s your condition, by the way? I saw in an article that you weren’t doing so well.”

Woong supposed that was how his friendship with you began. After that small interaction, Daehwi and Donghyun kept forcing small-talk with you throughout the night.

A simple ‘how are you enjoying the show so far?’ turned into a congratulations when you won an award, and then one for them when they won, and then exchanged phone-numbers. Fans of both you and AB6IX had gone crazy over the interactions, thinking it was the most endearing thing ever caught on camera.

Woong didn’t really know why, but he was incredibly grateful that his fans liked you as much as he did. There was a certain comfort in it. A feeling like, “Oh. I can openly be friends with you without upsetting the fans that I love”.

It felt like having a never-ending army of support, and it made him feel warm.

He had always thought that if he kept his heart warm, a person with a warm heart would appear. He’d found himself wondering often nowadays if that warmhearted person was you.

True enough, his first thoughts about you had been only platonic. He had a school-boy crush on you and he accepted that. He knew you’d be the person that made his heart flutter childishly, but he also expected it to fade quickly once he got to know you.

He figured he would realize that you were both good friends, but nothing more.

Unfortunately for his busy heart and mind, that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t the case at all.

In recent weeks, he’d started to find everything you did unbelievably endearing. Even the things he hated—like when you came up behind him and tickled under his arms—he found himself not being able to get enough of it.

He wanted to be annoyed by you more. He wanted to be teased by you more. He wanted to marvel at you more. He wanted to laugh at your dumb jokes. He wanted to make fun of you for your ugly expressions (which he thought were cute, not ugly).

He wanted to sing with you more. He wanted to learn more choreography together and complain about things with you. He wanted you to stay his friend for a long time. He wanted for you to grow into his best friend. He wanted the both of you to continue to grow from there.

He wanted your permission to love you fully.

He’d steeled himself in his mind. If he didn’t have your permission, he would give up. It would be slow and painful, but he would do it for your sake. If he couldn’t have you as lover, he refused to lose you as a friend.

You’d grown too precious to him.

That’s the reason why he was so hesitant to look at you as you both looked out the window, watching the sunset.

You glanced at him, a chuckle creeping up the back of your throat. “Why aren’t you looking at me?” you asked quietly, not wanting to disturb the nice atmosphere that was floating around.

He shrugged. “You look ugly,” he said simply.

You faked a gasp. “I think you mean: gorgeous!” you said, flipping your hair sassily over your shoulder.

He started laughing. You had a way of putting him at ease. “Fine,” he sighed, finally looking at you. “Gorgeous.” It might’ve just been the color of the sky seeping through the glass, but it looked like your cheeks had flushed red.

He scanned your features.

Everyone on the earth has two eyes, a nose, and pair of lips. Overall, nobody is that different from the other... So, why did you look so ethereal to him in this moment? Why did you make his heart hurt so much he felt like crying?

Why did his eyes actually well up?

You looked at him with such concern, it made him grateful for you all over again. “Woongie?” you asked, shuffling closer to him. “Are you okay?” You put a hand on his shoulder. A small show of affection, but greatly appreciated.

He gave a watery smile, shaking his head. “I don’t know,” he said, wiping his eyes. “I honestly don’t know.” He threw his head back and breathed deeply, trying to keep his tears from spilling out. “I guess I just fully realized that you’re actually beautiful,” he sighed out, his voice raspy. He felt your hand tense on his shoulder. “Like, in that indescribable way you hear about in stories.”

You tittered nervously. “What’re you talking about?” you asked. “You’re acting weird.”

Once he was sure that his tears would stay in (at least for the time being), he looked to you, trying to gauge your expression. You didn’t look like you would pull away from him. He could trust that much. “Can I ask you something?” he wondered out loud.

You nodded slowly. “Of course you can,” you said. “Anything.”

“Do you think I deserve to be happy?” he asked with an underlying hesitation in his tone. He didn’t want it to sound like he was guilt-tripping you.

You looked shocked at the question, your eyes widening. You nodded without hesitation. “Of course I do!” you said. “There’s no one in this world I know that deserves more blessings than you.” Your hand fell from his shoulder, resting unwittingly on his thigh. “All I wish for you is a hopeful life,” you admitted.

He nibbled his bottom lip thoughtfully, contemplating whether or not he should actually say what he was thinking. With a shaky breath, he made the decision to do so. He didn’t want to live with the regret of never saying this to you.

“You know...” he started nervously, his palms becoming sweaty and the tips of his ears turning red. He shifted in his seat, not meeting your eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’d be really happy... with you,” he finally said.

He could sense your silence. Your lack of response. It scared him.

“I’m not saying this to make you feel like you have to return my feelings,” he blurted out, forcing himself to meet your shaking eyes. “I’m saying this because I just wanted you to know how I felt, but I’m putting no pressure on you whatsoever.”

He stood up, taking a deep breath. “So,” he started, “we can make a decision right now, and you can change your mind whenever you want; no strings attached.” He stood straight and closed his eyes tightly. “If you want things to stay the way they are now, stay seated. If you want... something more,” he said, the scarlet of his ears darkening, “then you can take a step closer to me.”

He waited with bated breath to hear anything from you.

A word. A breath. A slight ruffling of clothes, but he heard nothing.

After what felt like an hour of deafening silence, he finally heard you say something. “On the count of three?” you said in a small voice. Dare he say, shyly.

He nodded vigorously—reminiscent of a child—his eyes still shut tight. “One,” he started.

“Two,” you continued.

His heart was beating out of his chest. He would guiltily admit to looking forward to hearing you step toward him. He knew it was wrong, but he was left hoping and wanting. He was hoping so much.

“Three,” he said, barely above a whisper.

He waiting, his hands shaking.

Nothing. Not even a noise.

He chuckled at himself, trying to mask his disappointment. He started opening his eyes. “So, I guess you don’t feel the—?” He was cut off by your arms wrapping around his middle.

“I’m sorry,” you said, muffled by his chest. “I was zoned out, so I didn’t hear the ‘three’.” You nuzzled farther into him. “I like you, too...”

He blinked in surprise, not even able to hug you back. Instead, his arms just hung awkwardly in the air, stiff and unmoving. “You... do?” he stuttered. He shook his head, as if trying to wake himself from this unrealistic dream. “For real? No jokes? No feeling obligated to like me back?”

You laughed at him, pulling away just slightly to meet his eyes. You grabbed his wrists and pulled his arms down farther so that they could snake around your waist. “I’m not kidding,” you said, your eyes turning damp. “I like you,” you whispered. “I really like you.”

Woong felt a smile spread across his face, growing uncontrollably larger as the second ticked by. “I really like you, too,” he said, a light, fluttery feeling in his chest. “Like... A lot!”

What did people call that feeling?

Affection? Fondness?

Ah, right!

Love.

Hmm.... Mayhaps I am a little fond of this boy. J u s t maybe.

Thanks for the request, Anon! I had a lot of fun writing it. I hope you enjoyed it a lot and I hope it met expectations. Have a good day/afternoon/evening!

Feel free to stop by again. ^-^

#ab6ix woong #ab6ix imagines #ab6 #jeon woong #woong #for anon #he's so precious #request #reaction #requested #this is really cute #kpop #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop fluff #kpop angst

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quatschmachen · 5 years

Text

Icicles

.A small fic set in the 80′s; probably like 1984 ish.

Edward visits Étienne.

Étienne was wearing too many layers.

Sure it was winter and probably cold but no one should be wearing a fully zipped up jacket, toque and scarf ensemble inside the airport, Edward thought.

“Why are you dressed for an arctic expedition?” Edward asked his friend.

Étienne’s voice was muffled by the scarf, “Because I have a slight cold.”

“This is overkill.” Edward teased, “Do you need my jacket as well?”

“Non.” Étienne sneezed then added, “not yet.”

They were heading away from the airport in a taxi, Étienne apparently not patient enough to wait for a bus.

Edward had packed light, he had managed to establish a Drawer for his Montreal clothes at Étienne’s, an accomplishment he tried not to think about too hard (but which, if he could admit to himself, he was delighted over). He had noticed in the brief interim that they had been outside that it was not that cold, and he figured it was probably just an Étienne thing that the man was dressed in so many layers.

It was only when Edward won the fight of paying the entire cab fare that he felt something was off with the other man.

This was confirmed as they entered Étienne’s place, and the man was refusing to de-layer his clothes.

“Étienne, it’s hot as Hades here, and you’re trying to put on another sweater – alright what’s going on – did you get a shitty tattoo? Do you have scarlet fever?” Edward huffed feeling very annoyed at his friend, his hands reaching out to bat the sweater away.

It was like unwrapping a wriggling child, dodging, and weaving away from him, as Edward firmly grabbed one end of the scarf and unwound it from his friend’s face.

Étienne’s eyes were red, his nose was red and dripping, his cheeks flushed, and he looked as if he had just crawled out of the frosty pits of Niflheim.

“Jesus Christ you look like shit.”

“Thank you Eddy I appreciate the commentary.” Edward realized Étienne sounded weird because his nose was plugged. Étienne grabbed the scarf and rewrapped it around his face. He did however concede in removing his jacket.

“So uh can I assume we’re not going to the club tonight?”

“Excuse me? Obviously we still are, you flew out to have a good time and I’m-” Étienne had to pause to hack a lung out, “am going to show you a good time!” he did a dramatic arm flourish, over tilted, banged into the wall, cried out in pain, and then nobly righted himself, attempting a more subdued ‘we are totally going out and getting dick’ pose.

“No we’re not.” Edward said firmly as he finished taking off his boots, “We are going to stay in.”

“Eddy!! Even if I don’t go out you should go out, you didn’t come all this way to just sit on my couch and watch TV.” Étienne protested as the other man gently guided him to the couch.

Giving his friend a Look, Edward said darkly, “Do you think I fly my ass all the way out to your beautiful city to see some guy’s cock?”

“Well, you always complain that you can’t really do the same stuff in Edmonton so, yeah. I guess. You come here to get tail and I don’t blame you. Nor do I want to hold you back. And I don’t want you to get sick!”

Edward was busy firmly tucking a blanket around Étienne, ensuring that max cozy was achieved.

Étienne was still fussing, and unthinkingly, Edward leant forward and gave the other man a small kiss on the forehead to calm him down. It immediately worked.

“I’m not worried about that. Anyways. Just so you know. I happen to haul myself these many miles to see you. Since you are, you know… my friend. Now I am going to make you a hot drink, and then get take-out, ok? Wong’s is still open, yeah?”

Étienne nodded.

“And if you move from the couch for any reason other than going to bed or peeing, I will look not happily upon that.”

“Ok maudit mardeux.”

XXX

When Edward returned with take-out (he had gotten a lot, with the plan that the leftovers would tide them over for a couple days), he was happy to see that Étienne was still on the couch, the mug of hot tea in his hands, still slowly sipping.

“Eddy,” Étienne turned a plaintive look to the man, looking at the giant bags of take-out, “I’m suffering… can you get me some tissues?”

“Sure, sorry for not getting you them before I left.” Setting the take-out on the coffee table, Edward went in search of the tissues. He also figured the other man would want a personal garbage, and while he was at it, he also grabbed two bowls and cutlery.

Returning, Edward immediately worried as the other man was crying.

Étienne had moved out of his blanket fortress, one of the take-out bags were open, and before him was a round Styrofoam container, lid off, gently steaming.

“How did you know?” he asked quietly. Soft teary eyes looked at Edward; a look that could almost be classified as tender.

Edward looked at Étienne in confusion. “Know what?”

“That I love hot and spicy soup when sick.”

“Because you once wrote me five pages of a letter dedicated to Wong’s hot and spicy soup and how it cured you of the bubonic plague, Étienne.”

“I… I don’t remember that.”

“Judging from your spelling I think you were still high off soup or something,” Edward paused as he watched his friend happily slurp the soup, “However I greatly enjoyed reading it… even if it didn’t quite make sense, especially that weird part where you tried to rhyme in iambic pentameter.”

“I have no fucking memory of this. You’re bullshitting me right? Iambic pentameter? You’re gonna have to show me this letter.”

“Only if you promise not to destroy it,” Edward teased. “Plus, hold on let me see if I can remember.” Edward sat down beside the other man, setting down the items, and then moving to help himself to the food. “Shall I travel the world for a potion? Nay, for the cure exists in Montreal. Dew of the gods in comparison pales. For yea the cure is at Wong’s; Hot and Spicy.”

“Oh my god that’s not even good,” Étienne choked slightly, and then coughed, “That last part isn’t even proper iambic pentameter.”

Edward shrugged, “Hey, you at least tried. I nearly hurt myself laughing, and I mmmmmmaaaaybe hung that up on my fridge to look at for a solid week.”

Étienne narrowed his eyes, “You better watch out Murphy, I’m sure we both have an arsenal of blackmail material in our decades of letters.”

“When did one’s life and feelings become blackmail material, Maisonneuve?” Edward quietly teased, his gaze focused to the news report on the television. The low murmur of the day’s events filling up the strange gap between them.

Étienne blew on the soup and then took a slurp. Slyly he asked, “So that letter where you drew images of your favourite buffalo can be shown to anyone?”

Edward quickly looked at Étienne, “That image was only for you ok – not for the world!”

“But it’s so cute, if I had had a refrigerator at the time it would have gone on that. Though I guess I have one now I can put it up.” Étienne paused, frowned, “Actually, Eddy, you haven’t really drawn anything for me in a while. Why did you stop?”

“Because…” Edward was surprised to find he did not have a ready answer. Life got busy? He got more self conscious? It was something that had simply fallen to the wayside without him noticing? He had grown up and decided drawing was a childish thing? “Huh. I guess I just stopped.”

His friend was wiggling, that wiggle he did when he had one of his brilliant ideas.

“’Tienne, what is it?”

“Since I am so sick, and dying, you should entertain me by drawing me a story!”

“A story?”

“Yeah! One about… buffalo.”

“Draw on what?”

“Oh uhm, let me get you-“

“Just tell me. You stay put… but can we eat first?”

“…Fine… but you are going to draw me a story. Even if it’s in crayon, ok?”

“Yes sir,” Edward laughed, “So do I get any hot and spicy soup?”

XXXXX

“Once upon a time there was beautiful prairie, where the sound of the drums was the heartbeat of the land. Upon the prairie roamed the buffalo, strong majestic animals in whose footsteps sprung new life.”

As he drew the story, Edward narrated. The art items he found were pencil crayons and a pad of paper. The buffalo on the green grass was probably akin to a five year old’s drawing, but as he glanced over to his friend, who looked absolutely thrilled and despite suffering from a sort of plague, who was sparkling in happiness that this was even taking place, it was worth it.

“There was a very tiny calf, whose legs still wobbled.” Edward added little shaky lines to his badly drawn tiny calf, “who got separated from the herd.”

“Edward if this is going to be a sad story I want you to stop now.” Étienne interrupted.

“Shhh.” Edward settled in more, as he paused in his story telling to draw the next page. “This calf, whose name was Stardreamer, had gotten separated from the herd when following a butterfly to a small river. When Stardreamer realized he was no longer with his mother, he called and called, but got no reply.”

“Eddy…”

“Instead a wily old Magpie appeared, letting out a cheeky laugh. Stardreamer attempted to hide, and stayed very still as the Magpie flew down and sat upon him.

<Fear not little one,> the Magpie said, as it began to pick ticks off the calf, <I am a friend.>”

As the story progressed, Edward found himself adding more twists and turns, and what was originally supposed to be only ten pages it became thirty. Étienne’s full rapt attention was addictive, and the man’s slightly wet eyes when Stardreamer reunited with the herd he found endearing.

The story of Stardreamer continued throughout the week as the two of them, instead of simply vegging out and watching movies, found themselves cooped up as the snow piled up outside. The only times Edward left was to get more food and to shovel the sidewalk (which apparently dumbfounded Étienne, who informed Edward that clearing the sidewalk was the city’s job, to which Edward rolled his eyes and asked if the people of Montreal were suddenly missing arms and shovels, which then lead to a heated debate of the role of the city when it came to snow, a debate which kept popping up).

As the week progressed, Étienne got better, his nose less plugged, his body less feverish.

As the week progressed however, Edward began to display the same symptoms of illness that Étienne had had. Something he attempted to hide from the other man… rather unsuccessfully.

He had taken himself to the washroom to blow his nose, only to bang his elbow on the wall when Étienne’s voice spoke up from the other side of the door separating them.

<Eddy, I’m so sorry, I never meant to invite you over and then give you the plague.>

Cursing and rubbing his elbow, Edward was silent a moment, then said, <I do not have the plague, it’s allergies.> This lie was quickly laid to rest as he started having a severe coughing attack. One severe enough that Étienne forced open the bathroom door to stride in and sit Edward down on the edge of the bath, gently rubbing the other man’s back as the coughing fit eventually passed.

As Edward struggled to breath, his nose and throat plugged up, his eyes red rimmed, Étienne shook his head. <Looks like it’s my turn to take care of you.>

Blowing his nose, Edward sniffled. Rubbing his forehead he managed to croak out, <I’m supposed to fly out.>

<Hmmmm, are you well enough to travel? Are you able to rebook?>

Edward was too busy coughing to respond.

Edward shrugged, “I dunno.”

“If you insist on returning…” Étienne paused <I will simply have to travel with you. Make sure you don’t faint on the way.>

Looking over to his friend, his expression a mixture of surprised misery, Edward croaked, “You’d really do that?”

Raising one eyebrow, Étienne quietly responded <You are sick and my responsibility. I would be unable to rest at the thought of you travelling alone in such a condition.>

It was unclear whether it was the fever or something else that caused Edward’s cheeks to flush, as he looked away, his slumped shoulders relaxing, as he leant into the other man.

The only sound was his struggle to breathe, until finally he murmured, “I’ll rebook.”

#quatschfic #pc: edmonton #pc: montreal #icicles

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beingallelite · 5 years

Link

Not only is she one of the leading figures in All Elite Wrestling's developing women's division just four years after first stepping foot in the ring, but she's also done it while completing dental school and starting a full-time practice.

Bleacher Report's Jonathan Snowden had the chance to sit down with Dr. Baker to discuss life, the impact of the Wednesday Night Wars on her relationship and the glorious art of professional wrestling.

He also reviewed the best match and promo of the week, took a look at the latest offering from DK Books, tracked the latest battle in the war between AEW and NXT and consolidated a week's worth of wrestling events to catch you up on anything you might have missed.

Join us every week for Off the Top Rope and Bleacher Report's exclusive access to the biggest stars in the sport.

Dr. Britt Baker, DMD, on AEW's Women's Division and Her Crazy Double Life

The trip to Pittsburgh was about two-and-a-half hours each way—and Britt Baker drove it once a week in the summer of 2014, her conscience heavy with guilt. In the fall, she would start dental school at the University of Pittsburgh. Her life seemed settled.

But professional wrestling had a hold on her heart and wouldn't let go. So she got into the car anyway, driving to class at the International Wrestling Cartel to begin her tutelage in the esoteric art of wrestling, a secret hidden from family and friends in her gossipy home town.

"I was so terrified that my parents were going to hate this that I didn't tell them for five months," she tells Bleacher Report. "I was correct. They were less than thrilled. It's not that they were especially discouraging. It's just what every parent would say. 'Britt, you have a guaranteed successful career ahead of you. You've been accepted into one of the best dental schools in the world. You could get hurt in the wrestling ring and your dental career could be done. Do you understand what you're doing?'"

Stubborn as only a highly capable person in their early 20s can be, Baker was convinced she could learn both crafts simultaneously. She took on what might be a truly unique double major: learning to fix teeth by day and pretending to knock them out by night.

"Wrestling kept me sane during dental school," Baker says. "That was the hardest time of my life, and I don't know how I would have made it without the distractions of wrestling to keep me afloat.

"I would be sitting in the back of my dental implants class, secretly watching Raw from the night before while trying to pay attention in class. And when I was on the road doing wrestling shows, the guys that I would train with would help me. Andrew Palace and Darren Genaro would be flashing me notecards to help me study for an exam.

"I'm setting up the ring and we take a break to study. There aren't many friends like that in the world, people who would use their breaktime to help you study instead of going to get a cheeseburger up the road or just taking a minute to themselves. I was so fortunate early on with the people I surrounded myself with in wrestling."

When she's introduced now as "Dr. Britt Baker, DMD," there is a sense of pride. Unlike most wrestling gimmicks built around a trade, Baker comes by hers honestly. And while most wrestling dentists are bad guys, she hopes fans might make an exception in her case.

"It's my favorite part of every match, the moment I hear that," she says. "It's an affirmation. Yes, that is who I am. I am Dr. Britt Baker, DMD, and I'm a professional wrestler. I don't mean to brag or boast, but I love the recognition for it.

"It was hard. I went to school for eight years to be a dentist. Sorry if the person in the fifth row doesn't like it and thinks I should be a bag guy because people hate the dentist. People might not like the dentist, but they do like people who chase their dreams."

Baker was brave enough to chase two. And now, living in Orlando, Florida, with her boyfriend, NXT champion Adam Cole, she maintains what would be a back-breaking schedule for most, somehow maintaining her career in the ring and a burgeoning dental practice without seemingly missing a beat.

"Both of my worlds are very understanding of the other," she says. "I have an agreement with the dental office I work for that we'll be closed on Wednesdays. Because I'll be in whatever city AEW Dynamite is in. And AEW is OK with me flying in super-late Tuesday night after work or even early Wednesday morning. They are also really good at getting me on the first flight back to Orlando Thursday morning. I get right off the plane and go to work. I am still able to work four days a week as a dentist."

Right now, she is careful to keep her two worlds apart. While she'll talk to patients about wrestling if they bring it up, she's aware that many people might find her dual roles off putting. Sometimes, however, what happens in the wrestling ring isn't easily contained in the ring. Take, for example, a black eye suffered recently at the hands of her burgeoning rival, Bea Priestley.

"The black eye was very interesting," Baker says. "I was getting pretty creative just hiding it. I had my mask on most of the day and we use dental loupes, which are magnifying and have a little light on them. I made sure I had those on all day. Because, it's a whole thing. 'Oh my gosh, what happened to your eye?' and 'What do you mean you're a professional wrestler? I didn't know this!' So, I tried to make it an easier day."

While a black eye can be manageable, more serious injuries pose potential problems in both fields. Earlier this year, her parents' worst fears came true when Baker suffered a major head injury at an AEW pay-per-view in Jacksonville, Florida.

"For five days, I could not see out of the outer corner of my eye," she says. "I had no peripheral vision. It was just black. That terrified me. Doc Sampson, our head doctor for AEW, would call me every day. He's an excellent physician. And, every day, I was so frustrated.

"I was starting to wonder if I was going to be OK, but he was very reassuring, explaining that this is a concussion symptom and I would eventually get my vision back. He told me, 'You got hit really bad, really hard, but it's going to be OK.' But people can tell you that all they want—until it actually comes back, it's scary.

"You can't see and you need your eyes for everything. Especially being a dentist, working in someone's mouth and even drilling on their teeth. I was terrified. Obviously, I couldn't work in the dental office when I couldn't see. That's a lawsuit waiting to happen and not safe. So, it was tough.

"But that's the nature of the game in professional wrestling. People get hurt. It's not ideal, but it happens. Accidents happen. It was a reality check reminding me, 'Hey, be careful.' But, at the same time, I love it. And, when you love what you do, you can accept the risk."

On Wednesday, Baker fought Riho for the AEW Women's Championship, an enormous accomplishment for a woman just four years into her professional career with a mere three weeks on television.

"It's very stressful and exciting," Baker says. "It's baptism by fire. You're wrestling in front of 100 people one week and suddenly you're in front of 10,000. I have so much to learn, but I'm in good hands. I feel like I have the best coaches, the best production crew, the EVPs, Tony, everyone who has a hand in this is one of the best people to be working with in wrestling.

"(AEW owner) Tony Khan is super-hands on. He is everywhere and will be texting creative ideas all the time. He's absolutely fantastic. I can't say enough good things about Tony Khan. He makes every person on the roster feel appreciated. He is happy you are part of his company."

There is a lot of experience to lean on backstage at an AEW event, including agents Dean Malenko, Jerry Lynn and Dustin Rhodes. Perhaps the most integral figures for women looking to live up to bold promises about equality and opportunity are Kenny Omega and Michael Nakazawa, dual-lingual wrestlers who help the contingent of Japanese competitors like Riho communicate with their American counterparts.

"Kenny Omega has a huge role in the women's division," Baker says. "He agents a lot of the matches and he's brought his passion for the Japanese joshi wrestling to our world and it's amazing. I don't have a ton of experience with joshi wrestling, but I love it.

"I'm learning from Kenny by watching how he puts matches together. How lucky can I be? That was one of the selling points for AEW to me when Brandi and Cody (Rhodes) told me he'd have a major role with the women's division. I was a huge fan.

"I was the girl staying up all night to watch Wrestle Kingdom even though I had class the next day. Now I work with Kenny Omega, one of the best wrestlers in the world and a creative genius. Some of his ideas just amaze me. There seems to be no end to his creative insanity."

Baker's rise in the sport comes as Cole reaches new heights of his own in NXT. The two are equally wrestling-obsessed and watch the rival company's competing shows together the day after the events. But Baker admits the dueling Wednesday night broadcasts aren't ideal.

"We are texting and calling each other for encouragement right up until the moment we go out the curtain," she says. "It can be a little heartbreaking when it's the biggest night of his career or the biggest night of my career and we can't be there. Because we're each other's biggest fans and, as a fan, you want to be there and feel the energy. You want to experience it. So, it's a little discouraging.

"But we sit at home and watch each other's matches. We actually watch each other's whole show. We support each other's company. My boyfriend is basically best friends with The Young Bucks, so he's very supportive of All Elite Wrestling."

Baker, like most in AEW, keeps a watchful eye on fan reactions. She's noticed some grumbling among hardcore fans, upset that the promotion hasn't featured women as frequently as they have men. But she urges patience.

"You have to take it with a grain of salt when people, for lack of a better term, bitch and moan about what is and isn't on the show," she says. "Fans are always going to find a reason to grumble. They want one thing week one, you give it to them week two, and then they don't want that anymore. Some fans are very hard to please.

"AEW, we're still so new, so I encourage people to sit back, relax and kind of breathe with us. We're going to give everybody what they want. Sure, there's only one women's match on the show. But maybe there is only one tag team match, too. Enjoy it, let us establish what our brand is, then form your opinion.

"Right now, it's fresh and new. Try to enjoy the ride."

Britt Baker returns home next week on AEW Dynamite as Pittsburgh temporarily transforms into Brittsburgh.

Match of the Week: Kenny Omega vs. Joey Janela (AEW Dark)

In AEW storylines, Kenny Omega is struggling to find his way. After losing to Chris Jericho in a grueling bout at Double or Nothing in May, he was unceremoniously destroyed by a debuting Jon Moxley.

It was enough to send Omega into a tailspin, breaking the former IWGP champion mentally and spiritually.

In the ring, though, he is finding his way. Against an opponent with plenty to prove in Joey Janela, Omega raised his game to heights only he can reach. The result was one of the most remarkable matches of the entire year.

It was an unsanctioned bout that didn't count on their AEW records, but the two men wrestled it like it was a pay-per-view main event and not a match on AEW Dark, a YouTube show available for free to anyone.

The bout was a modern twist on ECW, a match filled with high spots, plunder and plenty of both guts and glory. Imagine the very best technical wrestler in the world wrestling Tommy Dreamer in a match where basically anything goes. That was this match in a nutshell—a must-see for anyone who loves wrestling.

Runner Up: Kota Ibushi vs. Evil (New Japan: King of Pro-Wrestling)

Hard Times Promo of the Week: Darby Allin

The first time I saw Darby Allin wrestle, I knew he was a star. Admittedly, I was late to the party. He'd already spent years wowing crowds at super-indies like Evolve, waiting for the opportunity to take his unique energy to a bigger stage.

My first visit to Planet Darby was on a stage so small there wasn't even room for a ring. He and his wife, the wrestler Priscilla Kelly, were taking on another couple in an intergender bar fight. There were maybe 100 people there, and none of them could take their eyes off of Allin and Kelly.

When they closed the match with Priscilla spitting directly into Darby's open mouth, I knew I had to meet him.

His personal magnetism was evident, his weird energy was of the time. He wasn't cosplaying a skateboard kid with a barely disguised death wish. He was that kid on stage and off. Sans makeup and in a sharp black suit the next day, he was every bit as interesting as I'd anticipated.

His energy was even more powerful in conversation, his passion for performing so strong that he couldn't even hope to hide it in a post-modern haze of ennui or irony. Why, he asked, did wrestlers limit their influences to previous wrestling matches and angles? He intended to look all around him to inform his art with the present and not the past.

Although not immediately identifiable, it's this perspective that makes him feel different. Fans are getting a taste of it right now on AEW television.

AEW provided the platform, and Darby used it to make himself the first breakout performer in the promotion's short history. He may not have beaten Chris Jericho for the championship but check back here in six months and we'll count coup then.

Because Darby Allin is a star.

Wednesday Night Wars: Week 3 Showdown Between AEW and NXT

It's Week 3 in the Wednesday Night Wars, as AEW went head-to-head with NXT on national television once more.

The wrestling world has turned its attention to this midweek battle for supremacy and both brands have brought their best.

The result has been a spectacular win for fans. Among the promotions, though, there can be only one winner.

Let's run down each show in the two major categories that combine to create great wrestling television.

Wrestling

As Arn Anderson once said, "it's on the marque." Everything else is built around the action in the ring, and both brands specialize in modern, exciting action.

As is becoming the norm, AEW promised an incredible card and somehow delivered excellence even beyond our expectations.

The best technical match was the barnburner between Kenny Omega/Adam Page and Pac/Moxley. One day after announcing he was still the top performer in the world at AEW Dark, birthday boy Omega teamed with Page to again steal the show.

The Elite beat Pac and Moxley in a slobberknocker that saw all four at the top of their games, a combination of high-flying action and enough storytelling elements to build future matches between the quartet.

But the match we'll all remember was the main event, a star-making performance from Darby Allin, the 22-year-old prodigy who literally wrestled much of the event with his hands behind his back. He gave champion Chris Jericho all that he could handle, even without the use of his hands, forcing The Inner Circle's Jake Hager to interfere and preserve Jericho's reign.

Allin is a star.

NXT has a different approach. Most of the matches don't feel like a big deal, bordering on being simple, competitive squash bouts with obvious winners. They are well-executed, with the winners looking like stars, but it's hard to compare positively with AEW using this approach.

Two bouts stood out: the rubber match between Keith Lee and Dominic Dijakovic and the main event battle of attrition featuring Damian Priest's upset win over Pete Dunne. Lee and Dijakovic have good chemistry, but their clash was marred by a sports-entertainment finish setting up a three-way dance with Roderick Strong next week.

The main event had some mild shenanigans at the end, but it was an excellent back-and-forth contest worth seeking out.

Advantage: AEW

Presentation and Storytelling

This was the best night yet for AEW's commentary team of Jim Ross, Tony Schiavone and Excalibur. The three men are starting to figure out where they fit in and when it's time to hit their spots.

Ross seemed engaged throughout and Schiavone, in particular, always seems to chime in just when he's needed.

There was an excellent vignette that told much of the story I shared in my Cody Rhodes feature piece earlier in the month and set up his title challenge against Chris Jericho nicely. AEW shines here with these videos. Their shoulder programming generally is top notch.

The co-main event set up a match next week between Pac and Jon Moxley and generally made everyone involved look amazing. The main event further cemented Allin as a star of the future while establishing Jericho and The Inner Circle as bad actors willing to cheat to win. Solid, basic storytelling.

NXT did a much better job of building its characters this week and further defining who the key players are and what they're about. Johnny Gargano felt like a big deal for the first time and Shayna Baszler cut one of the best promos I've seen from her, telling a returning Tegan Nox, "Let's be honest, you're running out of limbs to rehab."

When Mauro Ranallo is on, he's one of the best announcers in the sport. An enthusiastic Mauro is a lot of fun to listen to. A Mauro who is trying to namedrop the Brazilian stink bug makes me think about reaching for the mute button. He walks a continuous fine line between excellence and utter disaster.

This show did an excellent job building for next week and teased future bouts such as Io Shirai and Rhea Ripley that have fans salivating. NXT's best effort yet as an overall show.

Advantage: Even

Overall

As good as NXT was, AEW is going to be hard to beat when they are loaded for bear the way they were Wednesday night. No one on NXT can match Jericho, Omega or Cody Rhodes as overall performers, and the undercard wrestlers on TNT are given the time and freedom to make something special of their segments.

Given the opportunity to shine, great talent is always going to deliver something worth watching. So far, AEW has done this every single week.

Winner: AEW

Three-Count: A Look Ahead

AEW Dynamite (October 23, TNT)

Pac vs. Jon Moxley: These two couldn't get along during their tag team match Wednesday against Kenny Omega and Adam Page, and they will settle their differences next week in Pittsburgh. Wins and losses matter in AEW, making this match of particular importance to Pac, who is seemingly close to earning a title shot. Prediction: Moxley emerges victorious after outside interference by a member of the Elite.

Private Party vs. Lucha Bros: Wondering if the Lucha Bros were babyface or heels? Wonder no more. They announced their presence on the villainous side of the ledger with a brutal attack on SCU. They will likely do something equally dastardly to the up-and-coming tag team that upset The Young Bucks in the first round. Prediction: Private Party comes to an end and the Lucha Bros advance to the AEW Tag Team Tournament finals.

SCU vs. Dark Order: We don't know a lot about Dark Order, the one notable failure on the part of AEW's creative team. They've had such a golden touch that the one bust really stands out. Prediction: SCU gets the upset and earns the opportunity at revenge against the Lucha Bros.

#britt baker #kenny omega #joey janela #darby allin #all elite wrestling #aew #posted on: 10.17.19 #article #bleacher report

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sasuhinasno1fan · 6 years

Text

Catwalked into my life

I was trying to figure out what to do a crossover with but I've been reading FFXV fics and decided, well I've made them roommates, why not make them related. I hope you like it. Crossover

Noctis sat in the car Ignis had driven him in, waiting for the familiar blonde head to appear in the stream of people walking into school. Finally, he spotted someone dodging people, his green wristband a beacon.

“Prom’s here. I’ll see you later Iggy.”

“Do remember to share the desserts with Prompto and also remember no running off to the arcade this evening. Your cousin will be here this evening and your having dinner with him.”

“Iggy, you know as well as I do Keith will be completely fine with burgers.”

“Be that as it may, he is a visiting royal so we have rules we must follow. So no running off.”

“Fine.” Noctis exited the car and met up with Prompto. “You’re pretty late.”

“Sorry. My mom called me right when I was leaving.”

“Everything ok?”

Prompto’s parents worked as journalists but their office was based out in Altissia so they lived there while Prompto lived in Insomnia. They paid his bills and sent him a small allowance, since he worked part time. Usually if they called, they’d be on the phone for hours catching up.

“Yeah. My mom was mostly calling to ask if my cousin could stay with me for the weekend.”

“Your cousin?”

“Well, his mom is friends with my mom and they’re really close so he’s kinda like my cousin. Anyway, he’s a part time model and there’s this event happening.”

“The Moonlight Fashion Show?” Noctis interrupted.

“How do you, never mind. He was asked to join the models kinda late so they couldn’t get him a hotel so my mom was asking if he could stay with me.”

“Funny. My cousin is also coming for a visit.”

“What cousin?”

“His mom was my mom’s sister. They were a bit estranged from each other because of some really bad argument but my dad knew my mom still cared so he kept her in the lop. After my mom passed, my aunt didn’t want to lose her connection with me so she talks with us way more. Anyway, she’s coming to visit before going to Lestallum for some sort of union talk, so I’m having dinner with her and my cousin tonight so no arcade.”

“Is he cool or?”

Noctis shrugged. “He’s pretty cool. He’s kinda like me. Knows he’s related to royalty but doesn’t make it a habit of letting people know that. He likes to keep to himself.”

“Sounds exactly like you. I’d like to meet him if I got the chance. Oh by the way. Would Iggy be free to maybe drive me to the airport so I can pick him up? He’s coming in tomorrow afternoon.”

“I guess. I can get you a taxi if you need it.”

“No, that’s fine. You know I don’t like taking your money.”

“Not like I’m using it for much else, but if you really need a ride, I can beg Specs to take you. What’s your cousin’s name anyway?”

“Lance. His name’s Lance.”

Noctis happily sat out of training as he watched Galdio spar with Keith. Even with wooden swords, it was easy to see how well Keith could keep up. Keith technically wasn’t part of the royal line, his mother’s family was added to the royal family tree as dukes and duchess, so he was never expected to learn how to fight. When he first visited though, he had watched Noctis practise with Gladiolus and wanted to try. They had to send a member of the Glaive to help train Keith because he liked it so much. Noctis would still preen at how he would still manage to keep Keith on the ropes.

The young fighter was thrown to his back by Gladio, the wooden sword flying from his grip.

“Good, you’ve gotten better. Still not good as me though.” Gladio joked as he pulled Keith up, ruffling his hair when he was on his feet.

People would think Keith and Noctis were brothers and he could kinda see it. Their hair was on the long side but Keith’s was more of a mullet while Noctis’ looked like he just rolled out of bed. Their eye colour was also different but they other than looks, they both like keeping to themselves and didn’t make friends easily. Noctis was lucky with Prompto but as far as he knew, Keith hadn’t exactly made friends in his school. But Keith’s personality was a bit prickly for those who didn’t know him well.

“I can see that smug smile of yours.” Keith said, tugging his hair tie out of his hair, ruffling it to air it out.

“Just happy to see someone else at the mercy of Gladio.” Noctis joked, dodging the same hair tie.

“Asshole.” Keith collapsed next to his cousin, looking tired now that training was over. “My trainer has to be going easy on me.”

“Well they’re not Gladio so probably. If you’re that tired, maybe we could skip dinner and just get Iggy to grab us burgers.” Noctis suggested, really not in the mood to get dresses up for a dinner with his cousin.

“Tempting, but my mom said at least one or two of the council members would join us so they could talk to her. Speaking of things my mom’s making me do, you know the Moonlight Fashion show?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“My mom is insisting we go.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, so guess who I asked to come with us?”

Guess who he asked? Wait…

“Tell me you didn’t.” Noctis begged.

Keith gave him a deadpan look, “If I have to suffer, so do you. Besides, your dad wasn’t going and you guys had tickets.”

“Why am I the one suffering though?”

“Because I can’t get out of it. Noctis,” Keith went from deadpan to pleading, “I don’t want to go to this by myself. Please come with me?”

It was like Keith knew if he pouted, he’d get his way. The asshole was good at looking like he was a poor boy who only wanted a simple thing and it’s be a crime to say no.

“Uggg, fine. You so owe me for this.” Noctis grumbled. “Oh, wait a second. You remember me telling you about Prompto?”

“Your best friend right?”

“Yeah, I forgot he mentioned that his cousin was supposed to be walking in that show.”

“Does this mean I get to meet the famous Prompto?”

“I’m going with him and Specs to pick up his cousin at the airport tomorrow after school, how about you meet him then.”

“Anything to get me away from having to spend the afternoon drinking tea with high society ladies my mom has to entertain now that’s she’s here.”

Keith wasn’t one to make friends easily but Prompto was pretty good at making him talk. Since they picked him and Noctis up from school, Prompto had asked him tons of questions, all of which Keith answered. He never felt that he was being integrated and he watched just how comfortable his cousin was with the blond. They just easily melded together.

Ignis insisted that he get Prompto’s cousin – friend? – through security like he was a member of the royal family so they didn’t spend all afternoon waiting in arrivals. Prompto tried, hard, to get Ignis to not do that but his pleas were unheard. Keith could tell Prompto was really Noctis’ friend because of actually wanting to be his friend, not the prince factor.

“So this cousin of yours? How’d he manage to walk in one of the biggest fashion shows if he works part time?” Keith asked.

“Oh, check it out.” Prompto pulled his phone out and after a bit of searching, showed Keith the picture on his phone. Lance had been modelling a sweater, the largeness of it sliding off his shoulder, his blue eyes smouldering. It took everything in Keith not to start blushing. Part time or not, Lance was really good looking. “Part time or not, you look like this, you get called. Just, he was part time so he wasn’t first pick but after another model got really sick, first person they called was him. And it’s not photoshop. Check this out.” Prompto swiped to a picture of him and Lance posing on a couch. “That was when I visited my parents earlier this year.”

“He’s really good.” Keith pointed out.

“Right?” Prompto preened. “Just wait till you see him walk the runway.”

“You sound like a proud mother.” Noctis teased.

Prompto stuck his tongue out at Noctis. “Most people tend to look at him and think he can’t do the job.”

“Sounds like someone I know.” Noctis’ own phone buzzed and he pulled it out. “Iggy’s got your cousin. Said he kinda scared him?”

“Lance never believed me when I said I was friends with the prince so he thought he must be in trouble.” Prompto said, not sounding at all sorry.

Soon enough, Ignis came through arrivals, followed by a tan skinned teen, his brown hair mostly hidden by a backwards snapback. Keith noticed he also had blue eyes, but not like Prompto’s. His reminded him more of the sea. He also looked slightly scared, looking relieved when he finally spotted Prompto.

“What the hell you asshole?”

Prompto laughed. “Not my fault you didn’t believe me.”

“I thought I was about to get sent back home.” Lance complained, hitting Prompto on the shoulder, “I can’t believe you didn’t even warn me!”

“You wouldn’t believe me.” Prompto pointed out. “Noctis, this my cousin Lance. Lance, this is his royal highness-”

“Prom.” Noctis complained.

“Ok fine, this nerd is Noctis and this is his cousin Keith. And you’ve met Ignis already.”

Lance bowed his head slightly as he shook Noctis and Keith’s hands. “Nice to meet you. You didn’t have to come all this way to pick me up.”

“No point of Prompto paying for a taxi and having to wait very long for you to come through security. It was no problem.” Ignis said, leading the group to where they left the car. A few Glaives were there for extra security and quickly helped Lance getting his suitcase in the car.

Keith opened the door for Lance. he looked at him and gave him a smile. Wow, and what a smile.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” Keith said, watching Lance climb into the car.

“You’re drooling.” Noctis teased as he climbed in after Lance.

“So you didn’t get me a hotel, did you?” Lance asked.

“Please, you’re not that important. You’re roughing it with me.” Prompto said. “Noctis is coming with us because we do need to work on a class assignment together.”

“Hang on, you can’t abandon me now. Tea with society ladies remember.” Keith begged, turning to face his cousin.

“Well, I just need to settle in but if you want, I can hang out with you.” Lance offered.

“Good enough for me. God knows this assignment might just kill us.” Noctis said, answering for Keith.

“Should I be worried?” Ignis asked.

“No need Iggy, I promise he’ll still be alive by the time we’re done.” Prompto promised. “You sure you don’t mind sticking around?” He asked Keith.

“It’s fine.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure I can entertain royalty for a few hours.” Lance said.

Ignis dropped them off at Prompto’s house and Keith took it upon himself to take Lance’s bag inside.

“You’ll be in my parents’ room, it’s all clean.” Prompto directed.

“Try not to need us for a few hours so I can finally die.” Noctis said as he walked to Prompto’s bedroom.

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. Come on, I’ll show you the room.”

According to Prompto, his parents lived in Altissia so the fact that the room didn’t look lived in wasn’t surprising. Lance dropped his book bag on the bed and pulled his hat off.

“You can laydown the bag at the end of the bed, I have to unpack everything.”

“Sure.” Keith did just that, unzipping it so Lance could start unpacking and sat at the end of the bed.

“So, I don’t think I’ve actually heard of you in terms of the royal family.” Lance said as he pulled clothes out of his bag.

“Technically speaking, I’m not part of the royal family. We have a title but that’s only because my aunt was Noctis’ mother.”

“That’s right. Normal commoner caught the eye of the king, love at first sight and all that.”

“Basically. Uncle Regis wanted us to be part of the family even though my mom and her sister were arguing at the time. Uncle’s always made sure we’re taken care of.”

“He sounds pretty amazing.” Lance said.

“He is. So, how did you get into modelling?”

Lance looked slightly embarrassed about the attention on him. “Oh, well. Prom loves taking pictures and whenever he was in town, I’d kinda stick to him like glue because I could never make friends easily. He’d take pictures of me and I didn’t want to make his pictures look bad, so I’d try modelling in the mirror. It was actually thanks to Prompto that I got scouted. We were taking pictures on the beach and a scouting agent thought we were actual professionals. Prom wasn’t going to move to Altissia just to work as a photographer but I was offered a contract. My mom agreed as long as it was part time so I could finish school.”

“You a Junior like them?”

Lance nodded. “I like modelling but I don’t know if it’s what I’ll do forever. I like a lot of things. I like going to the aquarium and part of me wants to try to go into marine biology.”

“That’s a big step up from modelling.”

“Not only that, the best program for it was way out of my price range. Maybe I should just stick to modelling. It’d be easier”

“I think you can do it. Just because something is easy doesn’t mean you should just give in. a lot of people think I should go into politics to help my uncle but I want to work as an officer. Because of who my uncle is, politics would be easy but I don’t want easy.”

Lance took Keith in before giving him a thankful smile. “You’ve got a point. And besides, Galding Quay is also a bit of a fashion district as well as where the program is. Modelling does come with a big pay check.”

“Well there you go.”

“You know, I was so sure that there was no way Prom was best friends with a prince because as far as I knew, all members of the royal family had to be stuck up.”

Keith let out a scoff, “Noct and I are the last people to be stuck up. We’re too busy avoiding unwanted talk and boring conversations.”

“So I can tell. Looks like I was wrong about you Keith. I wonder what else I was wrong about.” For some reason, that made Keith feel like blushing.

The day of the Moonlight Fashion show was here. The day after Lance got in, he was busy with rehearsal so Keith only saw him when he came with Noctis to Prompto’s house. They talked, almost falling into it as easily as Noctis and Prompto did with each other. Well except, Keith was pretty sure he gained a crush on Prompto’s cousin. He was good looking and really nice and his laugh was something he could listen to for hours. Wow, Keith was a bit obsessed but he was fine. he never felt that way about anyone, ever, so if that’s how his first crush was going to happen, then so be it.

He tugged at his tie, noticing his cousin wasn’t looking comfortable either. He was also wearing his crown, because it was required for events such as this, and he could tell Noctis wanted to throw it across the room. Prompto was doing a good job of distracting him though, talking up a storm, and showing him the pictures he got. They were able to sit in the front rows next to the catwalk so Prompto was gushing about the perfect picture opportunities.

“Smile.” Prompto said, holding up a much smaller camera to face the small row of them. Keith naturally smiled, feeling Gladio sticking his head into the frame at the last minute. “Dude come on, that motion blur is so not good.”

“Well excuse me.” Gladio said, sinking back into his seat. There was a row of Glaive members sitting next to him in the second row and Keith knew there were more around. Ignis himself was seated next to Prompto, his eyes trained on his tablet, noise cancelling headphones on his ears.

The lights finally dimmed and the noise died down as the main designer for the fashion line came out onto the catwalk.

“Welcome everyone to the Moonlight Fashion show. As you know, I have collaborated with many designers, both amateur and professionals so we can create the designs you see today. I do hope you enjoy our show and I’d also like to extend a kind welcome to the prince of our glorious kingdom, Prince Noctis Lucis Caelum.”

With the painted Prince smile, Noctis stood up and waved at the applauding crowd.

“Now please enjoy our show as we walk through the moonlight.”

With another round of applause, the main designer stepped off the catwalk as the first model walked down the catwalk. A lot of the clothes were black, navy or a deep purple, most having a sparkling effect within its seams. Then Lance came onto the catwalk. His pants were dark blue with crescent moons tastefully sprinkled throughout, his black top having cut outs for his shoulders. Keith definitely noticed the glitter around Lance’s eyes. As he turned to walk back down, he caught Keith’s eyes and winked at him.

“You’re blushing.” Noctis whispered, laughing as Keith threw his elbow into his side.

Lance came back down near the end with a girl on his arm, her one shoulder galactic inspire dress taking most of the attention, even as Lance spun her so she took up the room at the end of the catwalk. But Keith’s eyes were trained on Lance, his blazer looking like the night sky and his suit fit him perfectly. Lance sent him another smile as he took the hand of his partner and walked back up the catwalk. It was a bit hard to pick Lance out when all the models came out so the designers could get their recognition, but he was able to pick him out near the end of the line.

Once the catwalk was once again empty and the lights had risen, Ignis stood up. “We’ve also been invited to the afterparty. It would do good to make an appearance.”

“Lance is supposed to be working that too. Come on, I want to eat overpriced free food.” Prompto said, making sure he had his camera before dragging Noctis to the exit.

The after party was in the room next door and was a bit dark so the motion sensored floor could light up well as people walked around. There were different podiums and soon models from the show came in and stood on them, allowing the audience members could take a closer look at the clothes.

Ignis stopped Noctis from following Prompto to the food table. “We need to go greet the designers.”

“What for?”

“One of them is the niece of the royal seamstress. Besides, it’s the polite thing to do.”

Noctis groaned and Prompto promised to save him a plate as they disappeared into the crowd. Most of the Glaive members disappeared to, no doubt to check out the place and keep an eye on Noctis. He knew a few still had their eye on him, so Keith went around to go look for a particular model. He found Lance surrounded by a few women who seemed more interested in Lance’s body than his clothes. He’d changed back into his first outfit, his face shining from the glitter still on it.

“Excuse me ladies.” Keith interrupted, holding out his hand for Lance, which he took and stepped off the podium. “I’m afraid I need to steal him.”

Keith pushed Lance away from the pouting ladies and lead Lance to a less populated area.

“Thank you. I felt a bit like a slab of meat. Is this how Prince Noctis feels? Is this how you feel?”

“It can be much worse.” Keith admitted. “You looked amazing up there.”

“Oh thank you.” Lance said, a blush easily seen even in the dark light.

“Are you going to be doing the modelling all night? I think Prompto said he wanted to get burgers after.”

“I thought I saw him darting to the food table?”

Keith shrugged. “I mean, free food but I know I could still go for a burger.”

“I’d love to but I’ll be working until the party is over.” Lance said, looking upset. “I would love to spend some more time with you.”

“Well, if you’re free tomorrow, would you like to have breakfast with me? Not at the Citadel or anything, but there is the secret dinner Noct and I like going to.”

With a slightly shy smile on his face, Lance nodded. “I think that’ll perfect. I’d love to. I have maybe 4 minutes before I need to get back on the podium. Want to split a cupcake with me?” Lance asked, pointing to where the food table was.

“It would my honour.”

#klance au month #ffxv crossover #duke keith #model lance #keith is related to noctis #lance is kinda but not really related to prompto

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kim-seungmine · 7 years

Text

here’s to our future

summary: On your graduation day, you and Seongwoo realized that breaking up may not be the best choice for you two.

genre: angst, slice-of-life, fluff

characters: (fem) reader x ong seongwoo of wanna one (ft. kang daniel)

word count: 1621

a/n: hope you guys like it!

You stared at the tall building in front of you, feeling relieved that you managed to get out of this hell called university just in time. But you somehow felt sad too; everything that happened inside that building had been nothing but amazing for you. Well, most of your days as a university student consisted of you looking half-dead after pulling an all-nighter and you cursing out heartless professors who seemed to forget that they were once students too. However, you were happy. You were hopeful; that everything would be worth it, that your future would be bright enough for you to live well.

Now, you were terrified. Terrified of your future job, terrified of your future co-workers, terrified of days without Ong Seongwoo.

Ong Seongwoo, you tested his name in your head. You almost never thought of him as you didn’t want to make yourself with memories of the two of you together, but you never moved on. You tried to make yourself believe that you did, but a voice inside your head always told you to avoid thinking about him.

“You’re so dumb how did you lose your cap when we’re not inside the hall yet!” Kang Daniel, your best friend slash partner-in-crime, appeared out of nowhere. He dumped one of the graduation caps he had on your head, ruining your hair that you spent two hours styling. Curse words were already on the tip of your tongue, but you decided to hold back. Today is a happy day, you chanted.

“Can you be just a little bit more considerate I woke up at 5 to do my hair,” you retorted, fixing the cap while trying to save your hair. “But thanks,” you added. Daniel only chuckled, eyeing you from head to toe. “Wow, you actually put some effort to look decent today,” he teased, pulling you inside the building as other graduates started to enter the hall.

“Seongwoo found it, though. Not me,” Daniel continued, causing you to stop on your tracks. “I see,” you answered sheepishly, your eyes caught Seongwoo’s as the latter entered the hall with his friends Hwang Minhyun and Yoon Jisung. He gave you a small smile, and you could almost hear him say, “How are you going to live without me, Y/N?” in a playful tone that you loved so much.

Yeah, how am I going to live without you?

The graduation ceremony ended faster than your expectation. You and Daniel snapped as many selfies as you could since you two wouldn’t be able to see each other often after this. Daniel decided to go back to Busan to teach at a dance academy, a decision that caused his parents to flip out since he spent 4.5 years to study marketing but didn’t even bother trying to look for a job in that field. You, meanwhile, were recently hired as a member of the creative team for one of the biggest entertainment companies.

“You really should talk to Seongwoo,” Daniel suggested, looking dead serious all of sudden. You groaned, not wanting to have this useless discussion again with him. You and Seongwoo were over. He was the one who wanted to end things with you, he was the one who left you. Why would you talk to him again?

“Don’t you think that he probably, you know, regret his decision?” Daniel asked again, but you only shrugged. Only a few steps away from you, Seongwoo was busy striking silly poses with Kim Jaehwan, and you started laughing before you could stop yourself. Seongwoo was funny, not because what he did was funny, but because he was Seongwoo. He was always being himself.

That was why you never tried to ask for explanation from him after he broke up with you. If he did it, then he meant it.

You just stood there with Daniel for a while, watching Seongwoo took a few more photos with Jaehwan, Jisung and Minhyun. At one point, you felt Jisung’s eyes on you. You panicked when he suddenly stopped posing to whisper something to Seongwoo’s ear. You immediately started dragging Daniel away when suddenly you felt a hand on your shoulder.

There he was, standing so close to you, staring into your eyes. You felt weak; Seongwoo always did that to you. One stare was enough to melt you. To mess up with your whole system. Everytime he looked at you like that, something big always happened. The last time he did, you two broke up.

You wondered what would happen this time.

“Yeah, sure,” you mumbled after he asked you to talk to him. He led you to the audio visual room on the sixth floor, where you first met him. Seongwoo closed the door after you entered the room before sitting down at one of the seats. You sat beside him, trying to figure out what made him do this months after your breakup.

Seongwoo pulled out a little blue box from his pocket and put it on your lap. You looked up and met his eyes. This time, his eyes told you that he felt nervous. You slowly opened the box, a silver bracelet that you had always wanted was inside. You turned to Seongwoo, feeling your eyes brimmed with tears. You remembered seeing that bracelet during your last date with Seongwoo, just an hour before he destroyed your heart and everything inside.

“I’m sorry,” he broke the silence. “I didn’t break up with you because I stopped loving you. I never did.”

“What the fuck, Ong Seongwoo,” you snapped. “Don’t play with me. You clearly said that you couldn’t imagine yourself being with me anymore. You said that you felt nothing when you were with me, now you’re saying that you’re still in love with me?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, I said those things. Yes, I wanted us to be over. But I lied. I was afraid.” You frowned at his last sentence. Afraid? You were never a romantic, but you always believed that as long as you two were together, things would eventually be okay. There would be bad days, there would be disastrous days, but you would be able to go through them. Because you were you, because Seongwoo was Seongwoo. Because you had each other.

“You got a job before I did, and at that time, I didn’t know whether I would get one before we graduated. You know I took a semester off after my father passed away. I took part-time jobs instead of doing internships. No company wanted to hire me because of that,” he confessed. “I really, really wanted to make you happy. I want you to be proud of me, and I just couldn’t tell you how little I felt compared to other people.”

“But then I realized I was just ashamed of myself. It was me, my stupid pride, that made you suffer. And I’m sorry. I know you’re disappointed in me, but give me a chance to try again. Only if you want to,” Seongwoo concluded while reaching out to envelope your hand with his. He tightened his grip on your hand when you didn’t resist, his eyes piercing straight through your heart.

“You really know how to mess up with my heart, Seongwoo,” you said as you lifted the bracelet he gave you. It had the word “hope” carved on its inner side, and that was why you fell in love with it at the first place. Seongwoo glanced at you as he slowly took the bracelet from you. You watched him fasten the clasp on your wrist, and you honestly didn’t know whether you wanted to thank him for being honest with you or yell at him for hurting you.

You were still trying to sort out your feelings when your phone rang. It was Daniel, probably wanting to tell you that your parents were looking for you. “Come on,” Seongwoo stood up, his hand was still holding yours. “We’ll talk again later. I’m sure you still need time.” You nodded and followed him, staring at your intertwined hands.

“Seongwoo,” you called him. He turned back, and you couldn’t help but feel breathless. You knew how much he suffered, how much he wanted to be strong for both of you. He failed once, but you knew how much he wanted to try again.

You circled your hands around his waist, burying your head in his chest. “Y/N, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he muttered into your hair, his hands hugging you so tight. You nodded, letting his warmth that you had missed conquer your senses. You loved him, and maybe he loved you too.

“I love you,” he whispered as if hearing your doubts. He repeated those three words again and again and again until his voice cracked. “I won’t give up on you. I’ll work hard. I’m sorry if you think I did. I love you,” he said while letting you go. He grabbed your face with his strong hands, brushing your bangs in the way that always made you weak on the knees. “I really want to kiss you right now, but if I do I don’t know when I’ll stop,” Seongwoo murmured, his fingers tracing your lips softly.

You only chuckled, pulling him closer to close the gap between you. As you felt his soft lips against yours, you promised yourself that you wouldn’t run away from any kind of challenge that the two of you could possibly face in the future. Seongwoo gave you his brightest smile when he pulled away. “Anyways, I’ve bought that bracelet even before you saw it. I planned to give it to you as your graduation present,” he said, before adding, “You’re my hope.”

You cringed at his words, but he knew you loved it anyways.

Hey guys! I hope you like my first attempt of writing scenarios! Feel free to request, and I’ll try to finish it as well as I can. Thank you!

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inevitably-johnlocked · 7 years

Note

Please bombard me with Pining Sherlock fics. I need some.

You asked for it, you got it Nonny! This is literally my favourite trope in the entirety of existence. I have a tonne of fics, and I’m still sorting all of my bookmarks, so I probably still have more to add. I had SO MANY TO PUT ON THIS LIST, that I had to remove links to the authors, because Tumblr kept deleting all my links. So yes, over 150 fics here below, all from mostly Sherlock’s POV (@holmesthesociopath, this should help with your ask as well until I finish the list of Sherlock POV fics for you)!

Because I’ve been working on this list for over 6 months, please advise me of any broken links and I will do my best to find them again for you!

Get ready to have your face ripped off 🙃

I-J’S PINING SHERLOCK FIC RECS

SOFT AND FLUFFY PINING

Tap by doctorcaseyholmes (G, 896w || Fluff, Morse Code) – Sherlock finds an unobtrusive way to let out his feelings for John.

Dismantle the Sun by Mount_Seleya (T, 965 w. || John Whump, 3G, Angst, Grief) – After a gunshot leaves John in critical condition, Sherlock holds vigil beside his hospital bed, slowly unravelling as the night progresses.

Upon Reflection, Tenable Frippery by emmagrant01 (T, 1,299 w. || John’s Beard, First Kiss, Fluff) – John was, inexplicably, growing a beard.

But Love Is A Voice On The Wind by Snow (M, 1,832 w. || First Time, Meddling Mycroft, Texting) – Sherlock keeps getting texts from Mycroft with tips on wooing John.

Through A Glass by Mildredandbobbin (M, 2,012 w. || Voyeurism, Masturbation, First Kiss) – There is an adjoining door in the bathroom at 221B that leads into Sherlock’s bedroom. The door, from the bathroom to Sherlock’s bedroom, is made of three glass, semi-opaque panels. It has suddenly come to Sherlock’s attention that if he stands in exactly the right spot in his bedroom he can see through said panels, and more to the point, can see John.

The Marriage Proposal Negotiation by Goddess_of_the_Night (G, 2,161 w. || Dev. Rel., Possessive Sherlock, Insecure Sherlock, Fluff, First Kiss, Post Mary) – Sherlock hasn’t ever really done anything the traditional way, so of course it wouldn’t bother him to propose to John even though they’re not even dating. And the fact that John is already on a date with someone else when he decides to do it? Tedious.

A Symphony of Chemical Reactions by what_alchemy (T, 2,351 w. || Experiments, Est. Rel., Fluff) – Cooking’s just chemistry and time management. (Sherlock loves John so much it’s gross)

Assurance by belovedmuerto (T, 2,382 w. || Bed-Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Idiots in Love) – It’s not so much the ‘you’re half-dead, you wanker,’ or even the broken ribs, the hairline fracture of the pelvis, the dislocated shoulder and knee, and the wrenched ankle.

Turbulence in the Sky by esplanade (T, 2,837 w. || Fluff, Pining, Anxious Sherlock, Love Confessions) – “But some things needed to stay secret. Or at least, that was what he told himself every time he lost his nerve.”

BBCSH ‘How To Save A Life’ by tigersilver (T, 2,784 w. || First Kiss, Angsty Schmoop, Requited Love) – Pining, requited, and unabated spates of ‘first kiss’ fluff. Post Mary, AU, mildly cracky. John lays a smooch on Sherlock’s nape in passing. The world does that thing it does when it wobbles and Sherlock practically falls off his own pins. Part 1 of ‘How To…’

On a Sunday Morning by SD_Ryan (G, 3,136w. || Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock) – Sherlock has a little problem. He can’t stop obsessing about John Watson. {{Note to Self: ‘Cheese Tease’}}

Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb (E, 4,578 w. || Fluff, Cuddles, Kissing, First Kiss, Requited Love, Pining Sherlock) – John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he’s pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.

Confessions by crimsonwinter (T, 4,711 w. || Love Confessions, Fluff) – John and Sherlock finally confess their love for each other.

How Will I Know? by eragon19 (E, 4,895 w. || Pining, Love Confessions, POV Sherlock, Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Papa Lestrade) – Here was the problem: Sherlock Holmes was completely and irrevocably in love with John Watson, and he had absolutely no idea how to tell him.

Telling the Bees by siennna (G, 5,174 w. || Fluff, Beekeeping, POV Sherlock, Love Confessions) – It took a beat of silence for the words to settle in, before both of them realized what John said. “You—” Sherlock started. “I—” John said at the same time. “Love me? You love me?” Sherlock asked faintly. Part 3 of sienna’s favorites

A Study in Intimacy by doodle (T, 5,183 w. || First Kiss, Virginity, Romance, Touching) – People don’t touch Sherlock Holmes, not like they touch other people. Then he meets John Watson.

the lingering taste of orange juice by darcylindbergh (G, 5,824 w. || Pining Sherlock, Fluff, Miscommunications, Humour) – Sherlock felt the familiar heat surge in his abdomen again at the touch: hope strung taut between head and heart as in all the quiet moments between them, when Sherlock sometimes got the clues all mixed up and thought maybe John felt something too. For once, Sherlock is the idiot.

Tease You Till You Come by phoenix089 (E, 6,090 w. || First Time, Clueless Sherlock, Texting) – Initially, Sherlock was rather put out by John’s lack of presence on the case. But then he starts to recieve pictures, several of them, of an unexpected nature. The case is forgotten rather quickly after that.

Onomatopoeia by aquabelacqua (M, 6,904 w. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Dirty Talk, Domestics, Word Kink) – Something is the matter with John. Sherlock is determined to figure out what it is. Mark his words.

I’m Pretty Sure This Changes Shit by cwb (E, 7,672 w. || Fluff, Cudding, Doctor/Patient, Accidents) – Sherlock finds increasingly ridiculous ways to get John to patch him up after hurting himself.

Matters of National Security by mistyzeo (E, 8,465 w. || Jealous Sherlock, First Time, RST, Idiots in Love, Frottage) – John starts dating a male client of Sherlock’s, and Sherlock can’t figure out why he’s so incensed about it.

A Terrific Soporific by antietamfalls (T, 11,269 w. || Bed Sharing, Sleepy Cuddles, Fluff, Insomnia, Experiments) – Sherlock, a long-time sufferer of insomnia, is forced to share a bed with John at a hotel while on a case. To his astonishment, he finds that spending the night next to John helps him sleep and becomes determined to maneuver himself back into John’s bed.

SLOW BURN WITH HAPPY ENDING

100 ways to say ‘I love you’ by Teatrolley (NR, 2,143 w. || Slow Build, Pining Sherlock, Fluff, Domestics) – In which there are a hundred phrases and none of them are “I love you.” Until they are.

The Sum of His Parts by CommonNonsense (T, 4,311 w. || Body Worship, First Kiss / Time) – There are eleven major organ systems in the human body. Sherlock knows about all of them to some degree, but none fascinate him as much as the ones that make up John Watson.

One Day Like This by nondeducible (E, 4,872 w. || First Time, Bed-Sharing, Romance, Fluff, Virgin Sherlock) – When Sherlock emerged from the bathroom, the sight before him nearly took his breath away. The only light in the room was the small lamp on the bedside table. John’s skin shone like gold, his hair like the purest silver. He was on his side, facing the empty part of the bed, his outstretched hands ready to embrace whoever climbed in next to him. Sherlock could imagine, just for a second, that this was their shared bed and he was coming back to settle into John’s arms.

Bread and Wine and Curry Once a Week by cwb (E, 8,737 w. || Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Stroppy Sherlock, Love Letters, POV John) – Sherlock asks John for relationship advice. Little does he know that it’s him that Sherlock is in love with.

Tomorrow’s Song by agirlsname (M, 24,645 w. || Post-TRF, POV Sherlock, Angst with a Happy Ending, Virgin / Repressed Sherlock, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Pining) – How can he think a relationship with me would be a good idea? I am the sort of person to take a break from my life and when I come back after two years, I expect to find it exactly as I left it. In reality I find it shattered to pieces. (I actually equate you with my life. When did I start doing that?)

Triage by scullyseviltwin (E, 51,612 w. || Character Injury, Introspection) – Sherlock’s mind goes exceedingly, devastatingly quiet and gray-blank. When he speaks it’s through a thick haze, it’s through molasses, he’s so disconnected from the words that it may as well be the unconscious shooter speaking.

In the Dark Hours by hubblegleeflower (E, 51,639 w. || Friends to Lovers, Unreliable Narrator, Closeted Bi John, Angst, Miscommunications, Slow Burn, First Time, John’s Blog / Epistolary) – John, wounded and silent, drifts back to Baker Street for healing…and then goes home again. He visits, gets more upbeat, chattier, smiles, jokes… and still goes home again. Sherlock wants him to move back in - it just makes sense - but John shows no signs of doing so. This is the story of how John and Sherlock learn to say what needs to be said when they’re both so very, very rubbish at talking.

Bridging the Ravine by SilentAuror (E, 58,883 w. || Post S4, Couple For a Case, Bed-Sharing, First Times, Confessions, Awkwardness, Sex Trafficking) – Sherlock and John go undercover at Ravine Valley, a therapy centre for same-sex male couples in an investigation into a possible human trafficking ring. As they pose as a couple and fake their way through the therapy sessions for the sake of the case, it quickly becomes difficult to avoid discussing their very real issues. Set roughly six nine months after series 4.

Definitions by siennna (T, 101,528 w+ WiP || Fluff and Humour, Love Confessions, Romance, Snuggling) – Sherlock’s journey in defining his flat mate and stumbling through the muddled world of emotion. {{This feels complete; the chapter count is listed as ? but I feel like it is done}}

JOHN’S GETTING MARRIED

Fitting by thegingerbatch (G, 380w. || Angst, Hard Pining) – John and his best man get fitted for their tuxedos.

This Kiss by suitesamba (T, 731 w. || Humour, Drunkenness, Angst, Stag Night) – Stag Night - back at 221B - in a world where Mrs. Hudson doesn’t interrupt the guessing game with the client. Part 1 of The “This” Series

The Other Shoe by thewaitwasworthitlove - (NR, 1,053w || Angst, Unrequited Love, Post-Wedding) - Sherlock realizes how deep in love he has fallen for John. Only Sherlock Holmes would manage to be more shattered than crystal dropped on concrete.

The Signs of Loss by LitLocked (NR, 1,103 w. || Angst, Hard Pining, Hurts Like Hell) – Sherlock’s internal monologue after he comes back from the wedding.

Ode to a Well-Worn Chair by hogwartswitch (G, 1,274 w. || Post-TSo3, John’s Chair, Angst, Love Confessions, Mind Palace) – Takes place the night Sherlock left John’s wedding early. Why did he move John’s chair and where did he move it?

Bolt Holes by PostcardsfromTheoryland (T, 4,177 w. || H/C, Angst, Drug Mentions) – John asked, one evening, if Sherlock liked her. To which he grudgingly had to say yes, and John said he was glad. Because John was going to propose to her.

But Tonight You Belong to Me by esplanade (T, 4,296 w. || Fluff & Angst, Pining, Stag Night) – “You. It’s always you. John Watson, you keep me right.”

Velvet by headlessjess (G, 1,155 w. || Pining, Angst, Jealous Sherlock, Loneliness, Sad Fic) – It’s the day, the wedding day - John and Mary, getting married. And then there’s Sherlock, in pain and in love, without knowing how to deal with it.

The Light of Day by allonsys_girl (M, 7,297 w. || First Kiss, Angst, TSo3-Fix-It, Possessive Sherlock, ) – Rewrite of the end of Sign of Three. John actually notices Sherlock leaving the reception early, and chases after him. Angsty Johnlock. Happy ending, for sure. Part 1 of The Light of Day

TRF / HIATUS / POST-HIATUS

Goodnight (My John) by consultingcenturion (T, 1,073 w. || Angst, H/C, Pre-Slash, Goodbyes, Unrequited) – Sherlock says a silent goodbye to the one whom he loves most—who he knows he must hurt. Part 1 of Goodnight (My John)

In My Life (and dreams, you take my breath away) by Nina36 (NR, 2,847 w. || Post-TRF/TEH, Angst, Pining Sherlock) – The first time he had dreamt about John he had been in Peru. He had been “dead” a little over a month, squatting in a tiny rented room, the heat and the stains on the walls making him slightly claustrophobic. It had been a nice dream: John and he eating take away Chinese in their kitchen, a song coming from Mrs. Hudson’s radio downstairs, something about friends and lovers and how no one compared with him, his mind supplied in his dream.

The Death of Doubt by Gingerhermit (E, 6,584 w. || Alternate Canon, BAMF John, POV Sherlock, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Hurt/Comfort, Angst/Drama, Meddling Mycroft) – Mycroft asks for John’s help in rescuing Sherlock from his Serbian captors.

White Blank Page by SarahCat1717 (M, 11,936 w. || Post-TRF, Clever John, Reunion Fic, Pining Sherlock, Letters, Fantasies) – Post-fall, Sherlock is off eliminating Moriarty’s crime web. He finds he misses John. He can’t divulge that he still lives, but he placates his need to communicate with John and still feel a connection with him by sending him blank letters. But over time, this writing exercise lends itself to Sherlock exploring his feelings for his friend. What will happen when Sherlock returns to London and the man he has been “writing” to regularly for the past two years? NOT S3 compliant. Mary who?

TARMAC / POST-HLV

Clarity by socomessnow (NR, 1,283 w. || Unresolved Romantic Tension, First Person POV) – During-and-post-HLV piece tracking Sherlock’s thought process from his phone call with Mycroft to his return to the airfield. “John. John Hamish Watson. The sight of him right now, in this moment, is the most beautiful, the most surreal thing I have ever experienced: John—my eyes land on his, he’s looking back at me, and it’s beautiful.” Part 1 of Rifts {{ALSO PAINFUL. VERY VERY PAINFUL}}

BBCSH ‘Lament’ by tigersilver (T, 2,951 w.|| Implied Infidelity, Angst, Post-HLV, Canon Divergence) – When Sherlock is alone in the flat he still speaks to John Watson.

In the cherry blossom’s shade by Eliane (M, 3,934 w. || Post S3, First Time / Kiss, Sleeping Together, Pining / Obsessive Sherlock, Minor Char. Death) – This isn’t new. Sherlock has already done this – has gone through cities, and dingy hotels, and sleepless nights but it was different before. John wasn’t there before.They’re in this together.

The Engine by stitchy (T, 8,294 w. || Time Travel, Post-HLV, Sci-Fi, First Kiss) – Shortly after the events of His Last Vow, Sherlock has an opportunity to revisit the night of A Study in Pink and get some perspective on the destiny of he and John’s relationship.

Back to the Start by slashscribe (M, 14,088 w. || Sherlock’s Violin, Pining Idiots, Fluff, Domestics) – Sherlock hasn’t played the violin since John’s wedding (which is long since over), and when John returns to 221B, Sherlock relearns the violin as he and John relearn each other. Post S3 fic with an obscene amount of pining, idiocy, and attempts to pawn off tea duties.

At the Edge of Desire by philalethia (E, 16,375 w. || Post S3, Pining, Arse Worship, Humour, First Kiss / TIme, Sexual Fantasy, Awkwardness) – While helping John move back in to the flat, Sherlock discovers a strap-on among John’s things. He finds the discovery considerably difficult to move past.

State of Flux by Atiki (E, 24,655 w. || Sherlock POV, Slow Burn, First Kiss/Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, Cuddles and Snuggles, Awkwardness, Insecure/Virgin Sherlock, Romance) – John’s marriage is over and he is finally back home (i.e. at Baker Street, where he belongs). Sherlock is awfully insecure and John is awfully hesitant, and they’re both awkward idiots, of course, but they figure it out. Many First Times happen.

Shallow Grave by SilentAuror (E, 32,672 w. || Romance, Angst, HLV Fix It, Infidelity, Pining Sherlock) – Starts as Sherlock’s plane is taking off at the end of His Last Vow. When he finds out that Moriarty is alive and that he’s being recalled from his mission, Sherlock decides that he should have told John how he felt before he left. So he walks off the plane and kisses him.

A Study In Auto-Signatures, Sniper Dolphins, and Sex Holidays by cwb (E, 32,690 w. || Case Fic, Post S3, Evil Mary, Dev. Rel., Honeymoon, Epistolary, Bottomlock, First Kiss / Time, Fluff, Secret Agents, BAMF!John) – John and Mary go on their sex holiday, and Sherlock is grumpy and pining about it. Part 1 of HOT DOLPHIN SEX

Pater Noster by SilentAuror (E, 34,256 w. || Case Fic, HLV+, Family Trauma, Sherlock POV, Villain Mary) – During the autumn that John is staying at Baker Street again after Sherlock was shot, he ruminates over the similarity between Sherlock’s shot and the one that killed his father when he was fifteen. Cold case meets series 3 fix-it. Part I takes place entirely within His Last Vow, Part II takes place starting at the end of HLV and continues after.

UNREQUITED PINING / UST / URT

I don’t mind by beltainefaerie (G, 221 w. || Angst, Stag Night, Heavy Pining) – Sherlock is more vulnerable than he pretends. Part 4 of Bel’s Tumblr Ficlets

Human Error by YakuzaDog (G, 571 w. || HLV Missing Scene, Angst) – Sherlock goes on a brief shopping trip.

The Hollow Man by HHarris (G, 639 w. || John’s Chair, Introspection, Sherlock’s Big Feelings™, Post TRF) – Still reeling from the apparent loss of his one and only friend, Sherlock returns to 221B for the first time after the events of The Reichenbach Fall.

Sherlock’s soldier!John Kink is Getting Out of Hand by wendymarlowe (E, 1,247 w. || Secret Crush, Military Kink, Masturbation) – Sherlock’s got a secret kink. And a secret box where he hides his pictures of John in uniform. And a very, very secret crush on his flatmate.

Loving John Watson by Spark_Writer (T, 2,036 w. || Canon Compliant, Angst, Falling in Love, First Person POV) – You discover early on that you want him. Maybe even the very day you meet.

Perfect Solo by Itsallfine (E, 2,384 w. || Frottage, Fantasy, Sex Toys, Dirty Talk, Solo) – Sherlock couldn’t decide how he wanted to have John that night. (The one where Sherlock uses his box of sex toys to take himself apart in every way John might have him.)

Rescue by missilemuse (T, 2,574 w. || Fake Relationship, Sherlock Whump, Irene Helps Sherlock) - If this was the way Sherlock Holmes loved, it was no wonder why he had avoided the damned emotion for over half of his life. Part 6 of Reichenbach To Return [[this isn’t really Johnlock, but it is… it’s non-ad10ck ad10ck. You have to read it to understand. It’s SO good and painful, trust me. Sherlock!Whump and pining]].

Museums and Laboratories by RhododendronPonticum (T, 3K+ w. || Separation Anxiety, Worried Sherlock, Low-Key Pining) – If Sherlock’s kitchen was his laboratory, then his bedroom was his museum.

Atrium by kali_asleep (T, 3,460 w. || 5+1, Valentines Day, Fluff & Schmoop, First Kiss) – Five times Sherlock gave John his heart, and the one time Sherlock got a heart in return (literally)

In the Bleak Midwinter (A Canticle for Advent) by CaitlinFairchild (M, 3,476 w. || Angst, Injury, Missing Scenes, HLV Timeline) – In the autumn of 2014, Mary Watson shot Sherlock Holmes. This is what happened after.

Spoils of War by sweetcupncakes (E, 3,563 w. || Bottomlock, Military Kink, Comeplay, Anal) – John brushes his thumb over the gun’s slide, over the rear sight. Sherlock’s mouth feels too wet. He could lick John’s fingers, suck on them, bite down softly on that callus that is a direct result of John’s frequent need to handle the gun at all. Sherlock could do that, John might like it, really. Sherlock has been told his mouth is absolutely lovely.

Nineteen Seconds of Falling by EmmyAngua (T, 3,739 w. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Falling in Love) – Sherlock spends exactly nineteen seconds zoned out after John asks him to be best man. He retreats to his mind palace in the desperate hope of figuring out what he wants, unfortunately for him his mind palace is full of people who keep trying to give him advice.

Private Rituals by justacookieofacumberbatch (buffyholic) (E, 4,377 w. || Mastrubation, Anal, Light BDSM, Military Kink) – Sherlock has a very specific masturbation ritual, but what would John think of it?

The Dance Lesson by bittergreens (G, 4,596w. || TSo3 Missing Scene, Dance Lesson, Angst, Romance) – Sherlock teaches John to dip. Part 1 of Goodnight, Vienna

The Prize We Sought Is Won by deathfrisbees (E, 4,610 w. || First Time, Mild D/S, Oral, Military Kink, Bottomlock) – Sherlock’s in love, or in lust, or both–unfortunately, the object of his affections is not only his completely oblivious flatmate, but said flatmate would probably run screaming into the hills should he find out. John’s been invited to a wedding–unfortunately, the groom used to serve under him back in Afghanistan, and requests that John wear a uniform he’s honestly not sure he fits into. Unfortunately for both flatmates, Sherlock’s got a military kink the size of Kandahar and John wants to know if he actually can fit into this uniform or if his eyes are deceiving him. It goes from there.

Facade by distantstarlight (M, 4,715 w. || Fluff, John’s Beard, No-Shave November, Grumpy Sherlock, Clueless Sherlock) – Sherlock is highly irritated with a challenge John has agreed to undertake. Why does he need to grow a beard anyway?

Better Than Fiction by Irrevocably_Sherlocked (E, 6,813 w. || Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Imagination, Masturbation, BJ’s, First Time / Kiss) – …he opens his eyes, but instead of seeing John he is staring at his bedroom ceiling, the pale plaster a startling contrast from the scene in his head. It had felt so real. He can only imagine what the feel of John’s lips would be like, his taste. But luckily for him, he thinks with a smirk, he’s always had a brilliant imagination.

All the Times Something ALMOST Happened by allonsys_girl (T, 9,049 w. || Angst, Canon-Compliant, Friendship/Love) – John and Sherlock dancing around what they dance around in canon.

The Painted Man by jinglebell (E, 9,894 w. || Tattoos, Scent / Tattoo Kink, Rough & Tender Sex, Fluff and Smut, Obsessive / Jealous Sherlock, Touch Starvation) – Here stood John Watson – middle name, Hamish, ex-RAMC captain and field medic, favourite brand of jam: Duerr’s, preferred toothpaste: Mentadent. Loyal, steadfast, interesting John had just done the most unpredictable thing merely by being. John’s body was covered, neck-to-waistband, shoulder-to-elbow, in tattoos.

Someone I Love by hudders-and-hiddles (M, 10,002 w. || Canon Compliant, HLV-Filler Fic, Pre-Slash, Jealous John, PIning Sherlock, Angst & Fluff, UST/URT, Dog Tags) – John gets married and Sherlock finds comfort in wearing John’s identity tags around his wrist.

Pattern Behaviour by SilentAuror (E, 14,835 w || Present Tense, POV Sherlock Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock doesn’t even know why he resents John’s dates so much. Until the day he does know. Slight angst, unrequited feelings (but don’t let that scare you off!)

Anytime by SilentAuror (E, 17,995 w. || UST, Porn With Feels, POV Sherlock, Romance, UST/URT, Happy Ending, Drunken Endeavors) – Sherlock blinks and attempts to focus. There is a little too much vodka in his veins at the moment and it’s having an unfortunate effect on his brain and retinas both. There are two Johns sitting across from him, and both of them are frowning at him.“You’re drunk,” the Johns tell him. Sherlock blinks some more. “Says the man with Mrs Hudson’s doily on his head.”

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

Love Is by SilentAuror (E, 21,508 w. || Angst, UST / URT, Post HLV, Romance) – At Mrs Hudson’s urging, Sherlock finally decides to tell John how he feels about him. Part 1 of Love Is

Brief Conversations with the Woman by May_Shepard (E, 21,906 w. || Pining, Love Fairy Irene, Filler Fic, UST/URT, Drug Use, Clueless Sherlock, Relationship Advice, Angst w/ Happy Ending) – Sherlock has a puzzle to solve, and his name is John Watson.

There’s Someone On Your Shoulder by halloa_what_is_this (NR, 41,215 w. || Pining Sherlock, Introspection, Daydreams, Sherlock Loves John So Much it Hurts) – Sherlock trips and falls head over heels in love, makes a lot of lists and stares, stares, stares.

HEART-DESTROYING PINING THAT TEARS YOU A NEW ONE

Prayers by Jberry (M, 665 w. || H/C, Injury, John Whump, Fear of Death, First Person Sherlock) – Sherlock has never been a man who prayed.

Illuminating Worlds and Wastes Alike by Poedhamerons (G, 775w. || Post-TRF, Watching Over John) – There is a space of time between Sherlock dying and having to pluck apart the spider’s web. Sherlock spends it the only way he knows how. Part 1 of Stars

Untouchable by greengrapegaze (T, 1,368 w. || Pre-S3, UST/URT, Oblivious John, Lonely Sherlock, Angst) – “He never would. Petty, childish, immature-bitter. Jealous. She had all that he wanted. All he could never have.” Part 1 of Steps to a Bittersweet Symphony

The Talons of Sentiment by dearcst (G, 1,463 w. || First Person POV, Angst, Unrequited Love) – I promised myself long ago I wouldn’t succumb to something so degrading, something so vicious. I promised I wouldn’t let myself fall. But that was before him. That was before I met John. In sleep there is such bliss and peace, and as John slept on my shoulder, it killed me inside to know I was so close yet I could never touch him.

Love and Bombs by Spark_Writer (T, 1,696 w. || Angst, POV Sherlock) – Love and bombs aren’t all that different, John. In the end, they’re almost indistinguishable. Part 3 of Human Error

Not Straight by IamJohnLocked4life (NR, 1,728 w. || POV Sherlock, Fluffy Angst, Happy Ending) – John moves back into 221B. Feelings come up. Happy ending.

Want by siennna (T, 1,806 w. || Fluff, Pining, First Kiss, POV Sherlock, Requited, Second Person POV) – When John speaks, you hear more than words. You hear the rise and fall of his tone, the comfortable quake of his laughter, the warm pauses of silence in between. When John laughs, there are stars glittering on his tongue and galaxies resting just behind his teeth, and you wish you could press your lips there and burrow into the warm sound. Part 6 of sienna’s favorites

The Battersea Bridge by pininglock (M, 2,585 w. || MCD, Angst, Grief, Unhappy Ending, Death Fic) – A life without John Watson isn’t a life worth living.

Green Carnation by glenien (T, 2,616 w. || Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Meta-Fic, Angst and Fluff, Communication, Post-TAB) – John takes Sherlock home. Part 1 of It’s No Longer Eighteen Ninety-Five

Turn the key, and come home by TooManyChoices (M, 2,718 w. || Angst/Humour, First Time/Kiss, Happy Ending) – Sherlock and John have been dancing around what’s between them for years. Will John return to Baker Street, and if so, will things ever be the same?

Let the Sun Fade Out by nothingislittle (E, 2,711 w. || Fluff & Smut, Praise Kink, PWP, Obsessed Sherlock, Bottomlock) – “He could warm the sun itself, Sherlock thinks, could heat their flat with just his presence, could brighten the room with one dazzling smile or just the sparkling in his eyes. John is everything, he’s beautiful and he shines, he’s everything.” {{Not really pining, but Sherlock is constantly missing and loving John, and it’s heartwrenching}}

All That I Have by the_arc5 (M, 3,721 w. || Post-TGG Canon Divergence, Pining Sherlock, John Whump, Anxious / Worried Sherlock, Light Angst) – In the aftermath of the Great Game, Sherlock finds himself with a new weakness. John is both the cause and the cure.

Last Christmas by Mazarin221b (T, 3,911 w. || Fluff, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss) – That Earth-shaking revelation, then, leads to a problem, and one that Sherlock realizes should be solved quickly, before John’s dates turn into girlfriends or boyfriends, because sometimes girlfriends or boyfriends can turn into wives or husbands while your back is turned. Every time John hums happily at the mirror as he shaves, splashes on a little gift cologne Mrs. Hudson bought him for Christmas, Sherlock is drawn back to that night by the fire, and the way John’s touch had made the world stand still.

Someone Else’s Heart by thisprettywren (E, 4,188 w. || First Time, H/C, POV Sherlock, Caretaking John, Pining Idiots) – A crime scene, a rainstorm, and something they both should have known all along.

Practical Johnkeeping by what_alchemy (M, 4,330 w. || Beekeeping, Aging, Gladstone, Tooth Rotting Fluff) – Sherlock predicts nectar flow the same way he deduces a murder, but he harvests the honey like John coddles the dog. (They are together but Sherlock loves John SO SO MUCH that it rips out your heart).

The Strait of Juan de Fuca by mightypog (T, 6,400w. || Angst with Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Vacations, Internal Monologue) – Sherlock is back and all seems forgiven, but something is missing between him and John. Their friendship initially appears intact, but Sherlock doesn’t understand why John seems to be slipping away. Finally, in terror, he tries to reconnect with John by taking him to the one place that seems to inspire any emotional interest in John any more: the Canadian wilderness. While there, Sherlock faces his greatest fear.

once upon a time by darcylindbergh (M, 6,501 w. || Fluff and Angst, First Kiss / Time, Love Declarations, Christmas) – It starts with a wish. In the beginning, John comes home. Part 1 of things fairy tales are made of [[they get together early, but Sherlock is SO in love with John he’s just constantly wanting him near]]

Laid Bare by esplanade (T, 6,529 w. || Romance, Fluff, Pining, Angst) – “I suppose it comes as no surprise that I always rather detested grand romantic gestures. They struck me as unnecessary and contrived, feeble attempts at desperately holding together relationships, most of which should have been allowed to fall apart.”

The T-Shirt Thief by allroadsleadbacktobakerstreet (T, 7,968 w. || Mutual Pining, Post Canon Fix It, Dev. Rel., First Kiss, Domestics) – Sherlock steals John’s t-shirt from the laundry. John catches him wearing it one evening, fluff ensues with an endeared yet teasing John?

On the Losing Side by missselene (E, 8,210 w. || Mild Dub Con., Anal / Oral, First Kiss, Angst, Pining) – After Mary’s death, John moves back into Baker Street, but is still upset at the loss of his wife and child. Eventually, he and Sherlock stumble into a sort of relationship, but it’s more physical than anything and they don’t talk about it. They especially don’t talk during sex. If they are going to have sex, Sherlock notices the signs hours beforehand, and he prepares carefully. The lights are off, they’re under the covers, he prepares himself using lots of lube so he can make it feel as much like a woman as he can, and he doesn’t let himself make any noise so that, if John wishes, he can pretend that he’s still with Mary.

Stay Awake by pandoras_chaos (E, 9,325 w. || BAMF!John, First Time, Angst, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock can feel the tenuous threads of this conversation shuddering under the strain of all the unspoken words. His eyes narrow as he gazes up at John, noting the residual tension in his shoulders, the dark circles under his lower lids, and the way he is avoiding Sherlock’s eyes like a bi-polarized magnet. He knows John Watson inside and out, like the perfectly balanced coils and gears of a beautifully balanced grandfather clock, and yet John keeps surprising him. It’s uncanny, the way he keeps on being so utterly and wonderfully unpredictable.

Never Have I Ever by hudders-and-hiddles (E, 10,655 w. || Pining Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Drinking Games, Love Confessions, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers) – John and Sherlock tag along for the Met’s weekly night out, where the evening’s chosen drinking game is Never Have I Ever. Sherlock is reluctant to join in until he realizes he can learn all kinds of new things about John, but he forgets that John might learn a thing or two about him as well.

The Most Luminous of People by liriodendron (M, 10,979 w. || Synesthesia, Pre-Slash, Developing Romance, First Kiss) – In which Sherlock Holmes finds out what it’s like to truly want something, John Watson isn’t too bad at deductions, and everything gets a bit bright for a minute. Part 1 of Conductivity

Praise Me by testosterone_tea (E, 11,813 w. || Sherlock POV, Bottomlock, Dev. Rel., Virgin Sherlock, First Kiss / TimeBJ’s, Anal, Praise Kink) – In which Sherlock has an interesting physical reaction to compliments and John discovers it.

The Slow Burn by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,097 w. || Romance, Emotional Infidelity, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV) – John smiles, something small and private and for him alone, and Sherlock just…he knows. With a heart-stopping certainty, Sherlock suddenly knows.It feels like falling off the edge of a cliff. It feels like falling off the edge of the world. It feels like flying.

And if you say the word, I could stay with you by CaitlinFairchild (E, 12,842 w. || Domestic Fluff, Dirty Talk, Anal, Fluff and Smut) – What Sherlock thinks is, On the day I die, be it in a dirty alley at forty or in my bed at eighty, the last thing I will remember is tonight, the way you looked at at me on the snowy pavement, cheeks pink with the cold, breath puffing in frosty white clouds, your heart in your eyes and snowflakes in your hair. I will remember that single perfect moment in my life, that moment I knew I had everything I ever wanted, and whatever happens next, I will die content. What he says is simply, “Marry me.” (they’re already together in this, but Sherlock’s love for John is SO MUCH that it feels like he’s always pining for John).

The Meaning of Sacrifice by arts_and_letters (T, 14,101+ w. || WIP, Angst, H/C) – Sherlock has risked life and limb to protect John Watson, sacrificing his freedom and safety to fulfill his last vow. When Sherlock comes back bruised and battered from his second exile, will John’s love be enough to help Sherlock heal? And will John ever know the truth behind Sherlock’s enigmatic farewell?

Barricade by stitchy (M, 14,127 w. || Friends to Lovers, Angst, Happy Ending, UST, Mary’s Not Nice) – Sherlock has been struggling to keep his feelings at bay for everyone’s sake. Part 1 of Barricade

Second Chance by SilentAuror (E, 15,816 w. || Post-Divorce, Friends to Lovers, UST, Romance) – Now that John’s divorce has gone through and the dust is settling, Sherlock thinks that he would very much like to see if there is any possibility of moving their friendship in another direction. The only thing is, he has no idea how to go about doing that…

Let’s Make a Bed Out in the Rain by theimprobable1 (M, 17,664 w. || Pining, Angst & Fluff, First Kiss, Unrequited) – John is devastated after his long-term girlfriend leaves him. Sherlock helps him through it.

A Shipless Ocean by myswordfishmind (M, 22,135 w || Post-TRF, John has a Kid) – Ten years after the fall Sherlock goes back to London to find that John no longer lives there. Instead, he resides in a seaside town, a widower, and the father of a seven year old son. Now, Sherlock must struggle with the fact that there may no longer be a place for him in this new world.

Among the Secret Things by Kate_Lear (E, 26,073 w. || Angst, Drama) – Sherlock would be the last person to describe himself as given to flights of fancy, but at the look on Lestrade’s face he could swear that something inside him curls up and dies. Part 1 of Among the Secret Things

The Kissing Disease by cottonballz_of_death (E, 30,856 || Sickfic, Angst with Happy Ending, Case Fic, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Jealous Sherlock) – ohn brings home a boyfriend, shocking Sherlock, who long ago gave up hope that his straight flatmate would ever take a romantic interest in him. In a bid to reconnect with John, he tries to infect himself with a “harmless” virus. Neither of them is prepared for the emotional fallout that results.

The Yellow Poppies by SilentAuror (E, 34,952 w. || H/C, Nightmares, HLV Fix-It, PTSD, Trauma, POV Sherlock, Doctor John) – Sherlock is threatened and assaulted in the hospital immediately after having been shot in the heart, first by Mary, then by Magnussen. As he recovers at Baker Street with John and plans the attack on Appledore with Mycroft, he fights to work through the trauma caused by these two visits. Set during His Last Vow. (not much pining but Sherlock relies heavily on John and it rips me so hard)

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him. (This one is SORT OF mutual pining, but it’s mostly from Sherlock’s POV with each chapter starting in John’s)

Not Broken, Just Bent by Schmiezi (E, 87,585 w. || Heavy Angst w/ Happy Ending, S3 Fix-It Fic, Love Confessions, Hurt/Comfort, Mary is Not Nice) – “For a second, I allow myself to remember teaching John how to waltz. For a second, I allow myself to love him deeply. For a second, only a second, that love reflects on my face.”

MUTUAL PINING

[[SEE ALSO: Fake / Pretend Relationship Fic Recs || Jealous/Possessive Sherlock || Bed-Sharing || BedSharing Pt. 2 and Insecure Sherlock || John Realizes How Important Sherlock is To Him]]

His (Again) by patternofdefiance (M, 820 w. || Fluff, John Comes Home) – John wonders how he had never seen this before, never noticed before, how happy Sherlock can look, and also how lonely.

And Then I Fall by sherlockholmes_doctorwatson (G, 973w. || Angst, Unrequited Love, POV Sherlock, Reichenfeels) – He was right. Falling is just like flying.

In Dreams by Youarethelightoftheworld (T, 1,339 w. || Fluff, Cuddling & Snuggling, Accidental Cuddles, Domestic Fluff) – Every once and a while, the dark makes it easier to see.

Unspoken by PipMer (T, 2,770 w. || John’s Missing Wed., Fluffy Angst, Mutual PIning, Pre-Slash, Missing Scene) – Sherlock wanted to test a hypothesis. About John. He wanted a question answered that he couldn’t just ask, at least not under normal conditions, because John would never tell him the truth about that.

Until the End of the World by SarahCat1717 (G, 3,049w. || Angst, First Kiss, Pining, Drunkenness) – Taking place in Season 3, John listens to an old favourite song and sorts through his memories and feelings about Sherlock and Mary.

First Night Out by verityburns (M, 3,251 w. || Romance, Christmas, Dev. Rel.) – As John recovers from the effects of a brutal kidnapping, he and Sherlock attend the Yarders’ Christmas Party. There are… developments on the dance floor…

Acceptable Behaviour by bbcatemysoul (M, 3,449 w. || Fluff, Dev. Rel., Miscommunication, First Time) – Sherlock isn’t really sure why John wants to shag him, but he’s certain that if he’s careful to behave properly about it, John can be persuaded to keep doing it. In other news, John is a good boyfriend and Sherlock is an idiot.

the things that comfort us by hudders-and-hiddles (T, 3,728 w. || Sherlock’s Return, H/C, John’s Jumpers, Post-TRF) – Sherlock takes one of John’s jumpers with him when he leaves to dismantle Moriarty’s network. One day, John notices it’s missing. Part 2 of Tumbling Hudders

nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands by miss_frankenstein (T, 3,988 w. || Kissing in the Rain, Angst With Happy Ending) – In which John and Sherlock finally confront their feelings for each other - as only they would do - in the pouring rain. {{FAVE!!}}

White Blank Page by Vanetti (T, 4,036 w.+, WiP || Pining) – John has been thinking about his flatmate quite a bit. What he doesn’t realize is that he has been on Sherlock’s mind, as well.

There’s Something Living in These Lines by teahigh (orphan_account) (M, 4,676 w. || Pining, Angst, Love Letters, UST, Dirty Talk) – Two men, complete opposites in almost every way, who speak only in letters and pages torn from books.

No Light, No Light (in your bright blue eyes) by orphan_account (G, 5,915 w. || Angst, Pining, Songfic, Mutual Unrequited Love, Unresolved Tension) – Relates to both Sherlock’s and John’s feelings for each other and highlights select moments of hurt and inner turmoil starting from right before the fall all the way to HLV.

Play for Me by nothingislittle (E, 6,105 w. || Ambiguous Ending, Scars, PWP, Masturbation / Hand Jobs, Angst, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock’s Violin) – John had shown up at Baker Street only one day prior, an army duffle slung over his shoulder, the expression on his face like a cracked and ruptured fault line. Sherlock stood aside, holding open the door, and let John ascend the stairs in silence, asking nothing of Mary, asking nothing at all.

Thirty Three Hours Without JohnWatson by Bookaholic, mybrotherharry (M, 6,232 w. || First Kiss / Time, Pining Idiots, BG Mystrade, Crackish) – Sherlock can SO TOTALLY survive without John Watson. It should be a piece of cake.AKA the time when Sherlock braved grocery store lines for milk, purchased and gave away a box of tampons and figured out what the X-Factor is. Greg and Mycroft didn’t sign up for this shit. Next time, they are going to the Bahamas.

Correspondence by Cleo2010 (T, 8,031 w. || Letters, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Pining) – Sherlock’s been spirited away on a case for Mycroft. Part of the deal was that he and John could communicate via letter until the case was completed. Maybe the cliche is true, absence does make the heart grow fonder. Or perhaps something is growing on the feet in the fridge.Read their letters month by month. Written after series one.

We are all together alone by Mildredandbobbin (M, 10,461 w. || Mutual Pining, Implied Torture, PTSD, Child Loss, Post-S3) – John is back at 221B but his relationship with Sherlock is not what it used to be.

Just a Kiss by emmagrant01 (E, 19,695 w. || 5+1, Case Fic) – Five times John and Sherlock kissed because of a case and one time they kissed for real.

The Sexual Awakening of Sherlock Holmes and Dr. John Watson by suitesamba (M, 24,579 w. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, H/C, First Kiss/Time) – Sherlock owes Mycroft a favor. Mycroft calls in that favor by offering Sherlock’s consulting services in a charity auction. Sherlock and John soon find themselves at the country manor of Mrs. Ives-Patton Smarmington III - not very coincidentally a long-time friend of Sherlock’s mother - where they are reluctant participants in her Murder Mystery Weekend. It’s a play within a play for Sherlock and John, and their roles for the weekend event bleed over into their real lives, waking the sleeping dragons within.

Don’t Leave Anything Out by lookupkate (E, 27,422w. || Epistolary, Falling in Love, Misunderstandings, Alternate First Meeting) – The first letter John writes home from Afghanistan is meant to go to a woman he went on only one date with. How it ends up in Sherlock’s hands is completely innocent. What happens next is not. What do you do when you find out the person you’re in love with has been lying about something as monumental as who they are? What do you do when you’re the one who lied? How on earth do you put the pieces back together?

Hitting the Water at Sixty Miles an Hour by what_alchemy (E, 30,568 w. || Fake Relationship, Road Trips, Sherlock’s Family) – “You love your mother, Sherlock?”John watched the muscles in Sherlock’s jaw jump. He nodded in one sharp jerk.“Then we’re going to her party and making her happy.” John let out a resigned sigh. “As a ruddy couple, you bastard.”

Five Times They Kissed for a Case, and One Time They Kissed for Real by fleetwood_mouse (M, 32,406 w. || 5+1, Slow Burn, Fluff / Angst, Mutual Pining) – A stolen ring! An artful blogger! And many more adventures for your enjoyment.

The Progress of Sherlock Holmes by ivyblossom (E, 62,006 w || Sherlock POV, Pining, Angst, Slow Burn, Infidelity, Sherlock Learns About Himself, Happy Ending) – Sherlock struggles with his feelings for John, makes a mistake, and learns just how important he and John are to each other. Non-BBC Mary / John, but it’s a *complicated* relationship.

Midnight Blue Serenity by BeautifulFiction (E, 151,907 w. || Friends to Lovers, Gay Bar / For a Case, Drugs, Pining, Case Fic, UST) – When Sherlock infiltrates a club in order to track down a serial killer, his altered appearance is enough to make John question his assumption that Sherlock is beyond his reach. However, is he the only one who appreciates his flatmate’s charms, or is Sherlock at risk of becoming the next victim?

ALTERNATE UNIVERSES

To Mend A Heart by dee-light (G, 1,472 w. || Magical Realism, Emotional H/C) – Hearts can be broken, and mended, and broken again. Good thing, then, that hearts are only the seat of all emotion, and not something Sherlock needs in order to live.

It’s After That Hurts by jonnyluvssherlock (T, 2,741 w. || Winglock || Soldier John, War Zone, Friends to Lovers) – Sherlock’s an angel stuck as a guardian to danger addict John Watson. Everything is fine until he gets too involved. Now he has to make the choice, eternity alone or one life time with a man who may or may not love him.

We Bleed into the Grey by QuinnAnderson (T, 4,989 w. || First Kiss, Supernatural Elements, Fluff & Angst) – It was stupid, really. What was the point of having an ability if it wasn’t even a useful one? Sherlock would just as soon be rid of his. Until he meets John Watson, that is.

Winter of Life by You_Light_The_Sky (T, 5,178 w. || Christmas, Fluff & Angst, Magic Realism) – It was an experiment, really. On Christmas, Sherlock wrote to Santa asking for a friend. He got a broken toy soldier instead. This is the story of how he finds him again and again.

The Heart On Your Sleeve by flawedamythyst (T, 5,441 w. || Soulmate AU || Sherlock POV, Heartmarks, Pining, Fluff and Angst, Semi-S1 / S2 Canon Compliant, Reunion) – Sherlock stared at the imperfect circle on his left wrist in horror, then sat down on his bed with a bit of a thump. After over thirty years, his heartmark was finally showing activity. This was not good.

Finding John by orphan_account (T, 5,456 w. || Soul Bond AU, Symbolic Rings, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes has met exactly twenty-four Johns in his life. They have all been the wrong John. He’s getting tired of waiting, staring at the inscription on his finger and wondering when his John will turn up, if ever. Part 1 of Inscriptions

Not The Hands That Kill by You_Light_The_Sky (M, 6,201 w. || Winglock || Whump, Mentions of Drug Use) – Having wings does not make Sherlock Holmes a guardian angel, not in the way that John Watson is his.

I Used to Live Alone Before I Knew You by etothepii (T, 11,052 w. || Winglock) – Where Mycroft is an angel, Sherlock is a demon, and John is still John.

In A Changing Age by allonsys_girl (E, 15,590 w. || Victorian AU, Virgin / Demi Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, Mild H/C) – Sherlock wakes up in the 19th century, with no idea how he got there.

With All My Heart by QuinnAnderson (E, 19,257 w. || Red Marks / Soulmates || Magical Realism, Growing Up, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love) – AU in which every time a person falls in love, a red line like a tally mark appears on their wrist. Sherlock is determined to keep himself from ever gaining one of these marks for fear that love will corrode his mental faculties. Then he meets John Watson.

The Midas Touch by flawedamythyst (E, 32,231 w. || Magical Realism, John has a Magical Cock, Dub Con, Healer John) – John Watson has a medical condition that means everyone he sleeps with is instantly healed of all illness and injury. This causes complications when Sherlock breaks his arm, and even more complications when Sherlock falls in love with him. Yes, this is a story where John has a literal magic healing cock. It’s a lot less cracky than you’re probably imagining. Warning: Contains complex issues of sexual consent, although not between Sherlock and John.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #pining sherlock #my fic recs #Anonymous #long post

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the-dreamer-traveller · 4 years

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Dream Fragment: Trio

Silently opening my eyes, I found myself standing on my booted feet. This gives me some sort of a weird vibe or feeling, as I am not sure of whether the place I am is the right one for me or not.

I found myself standing in the edge of a desert town, where it is also a port town where boats will land near wooden docks, heat-tolerant plants and trees are growing on the sandy soil that are exposed and people dress in figure-concealing robes and attires, to protect their skin from the blazing heat and devastating sun rays. I found myself wearing some rugged and light clothing such as a shirt, baggy pants and leather boots, while a light sandy brown cloak warps around my figure.

Tugging my cloak near to my face to cover the lower portions of my face, I quickly move my legs to start moving across the town. With sand particles flying lowly from the ground with every step, I focus my eyes into the grand desert that is in front of me, where the unforgiving sun, scorching hot sand and ever present wind will be a challenge for me to take a journey with.

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Walking through the desert for several hours aimlessly is slowly draining and exhausting. The featureless sandy dunes and plains provide nothing for me to get excited with, and the scorching heat from the sun is slowly sapping my energy to continue of this supposedly ceaseless wandering, while sweat drips down from my skin and face. If I can’t find any shelter or shadow, I might die from dehydration or heat stroke.

In spite of the heat and troubles, I manage to find what I have longed for, where I saw large and tall rock formations from afar. I was curious, since there also appears to be a wide and open road ahead of me. With a sigh of relief and happiness, I pick up the pace and start running towards in.

Once I have reached the road, the looming shadows of these tall, cliff-like land formations causes my body to cool down to my comfort. Soon, the sand on my feet turns into hard, dusty ground and later into some faded tiled floor. When I turn my gaze around, I found that I am in what appears to be a courtyard of a once existing civilization, now leaving behind only five different pedestals decorating in this place. Behind the pedestals are rows of pillars of what could have been either a building, temple or tomb from the past civilization, while the left side of the courtyard is bare, where it only gives a view of the desert, the blue sky and the hot sun with its rays flowing down, casting a shadow on the pedestals. Each of the pedestals possess an anatomically detailed and correct statue of a man in varying pose flexing their muscles, but all of them lack any human genitals.

In the center of the pedestals is a different statue. Like of the rest, it is a man flexing his muscles. However, his chest and muscles are bigger and buffer than the rest of the statues, and there is a long, tail-like projection coming from the back of his rear. This is far more fascinating yet pondering, why would there be a statue that is far different from the rest of the statues? It doesn’t seem to make any sense and entices me to investigate the statue by myself.

Suddenly, the statue itself glows a bright white light and I shift my eyes away from it, trying to shield it with my hands. Once the light dies down, I slowly lower them to see on the statue… or rather what would have been a statue.

Taking a step down with his bare feet, his bluish violet short fur covering his body while his tail sways slightly and his light bluish violet eyes are focusing towards me. Equipped with a beaming and shiny smile, he raises his right arm and opened hand, giving a short wave.

“Hey, Lucid!”

Standing in front of me is Eric Yamaguchi, one of the former recurring dream characters that I encounter many times before. I was standing there, in a mix of being awestruck, confused and stunned, while I silently stare at his naked features. To say that he is hot would be an appropriate pun for the moment, as I gaze in his body. His arms and thighs have muscles forming on them, while his furred torso has some abs in his abdomen along with some biceps. He lacks a genital, which is a common feature in his species, and standing there naked makes everything both self-fulfilling and awkward.

“Hey, Eric.” I replied back, trying to wave but can’t help and be distracted by his sexy body. “You’re naked.”

Pointing out the fact may or may not be one of the best choices right now, since I am concerned that him stark naked will be a distraction to many different people. Eric notices this, looks down to himself and looks back at me, with a sheepish smile. “Yeah, I know right?”

I can’t help but giving an awkward nod to his question. He gives another bright and shiny braces-laden smile I quickly ran to him and hug. Hugging Eric is some sort of my quirk in this dream, since he is a big and buff Furry guy who just happens to be very approachable and friendly. I warp my arms around his neck, feeling his short fur in my arms. Leaning to his ear, I whisper words to him “You need to wear your clothes.”

“I can’t.” Eric whispered back. “I was brought here naked.”

After a few seconds of hugging, I let go of the hug while my hands are still in his shoulders. Blue violet eyes meeting with dark brown eyes, and I can’t help but smile in front of him as she smiles back, with a wide grin.

“Well, we can’t be staying here in the heat of the sun.” I said to him, as he slowly stood up. “We need to find a shade this time.”

“Ah, yeah.” Eric said, rubbing the back of his head.

Pointing my finger into one of the stairs that would lead us inside a shade, we both walk our way upwards to it. With both of us walking on the way, I could only hear the echoes of my boots, as Eric’s own bare feet does not make any noise due to his soles come in contact with the sand, which muffles the sound of his footsteps. As we continue to walk, I couldn’t help but put myself in a thoughtful position in here.

The ruins are ancient, as if their age is identical to the ancient pyramids of Egypt in the real world, but also they seem to have spells that lasts up to thousands of years, something that I think would be improbable as I think that spells placed in an area will soon decay after a certain amount of time. It may be something that I haven’t discovered yet, but for what is certain, I believe it should wait now. For the moment, I must find myself and my friend some shelter from the blazing heat of the sun, lest we might suffer from dehydration and die in the desert.

I wouldn’t mind huddling in a shaded corner together with him. Several real-world months and possible years for him has passed since the last time we met. I just wanted to connect with him again, as a friend… or even a boyfriend, just like the good times.

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Tugging my face mask up and adjusting my hoodie, I slowly climb up the stairs. The place is grimy and dirty, as I could find it typical in the backside of the stadium. However, the front rows would be clean for public’s convenience, leaving behind the scenes quite dirty.

Walking around public with my mask on is a pain in the ass, having some strong humidity will make my lower areas of my face sweaty and hard to breath. With my black hood’s on, I would come across as some loner walking down the street, eying at random people as I am cautious of my own personal space.

While I pass by, something caught the attention of my eye and I took a quick peek on it. In a corner of the hallway, I see three teenage girls, wearing T-shirts, shorts and sneakers. They have no face masks, but they are all practicing on a choreography that is challenging and complex, while a boombox next to them plays loud music with synths, instrumentals and a song in a language that is vaguely sounding like Korean.

Watching at the maskless girls give me a sense of nostalgia. I remember those days where some K-Pop groups led a dance video contest of their fans dancing to the choreography, and it is also where they can be featured in them. It also helps me remember the days where there are no masks walking around, just our faces visible and the air blowing in our face. Ah, I just miss the old days.

#dream #dream journal #random

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mylifewithhurley · 4 years

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Joy in Suffering

And the God of all grace, who called you to his eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself perfect you, establish you, strengthen you and settle you. 1 Peter 5:10

When I look back at my old social media posts, all I can see is how happy I used to be. I could see and remember how much joy I took in putting myself together and posing for a picture. I could see how I used to enjoy being in the company of friends and family, just eating out or shopping. It's depressing realizing that I no longer find as much pleasure in these simple things that I used to love.

HS has stolen a lot from me. I'm tearing up now just thinking about it. HS is an 'invisible disease', in which sufferers don't 'look sick' to non-sufferers. Most of the people around us will be shocked to learn we even have a disease. But really, this disease affects us daily, in more ways than we could count on our fingers, and probably in more ways than we even know.

HS has tried to steal my

My Body: This is probably the most obvious way HS attacks us. It changes our skin, making it displeasing to the eye, but even worse, it causes unbearable and excruciating pain.

My Esteem and Confidence: With open wounds and disfigured skin, it's hard to feel confident and beautiful. As a woman, loving our bodies is already a difficult task. HS makes it much harder.

My Style: In order to hide scars and wounds, I am unable to wear articles of clothing I used to love or would love to try. As an example, I do not buy or wear anything sleeveless, and definitely nothing white.

My Happiness: Depression is not an uncommon symptom of HS. It just makes me sad. Really sad. I am always on the verge of tears. One small offence, or sometimes even just a really good hug, and you'll see the water works from me. There's just so much bottled up sadness, that one small shake will cause me to explode. It's hard to explain, but also, do I really have to explain?

My Strength & Energy: Fighting disease is hard. It takes a lot out of you, mentally and physically. There are mornings that I am truly, truly, exhausted after just taking a shower and barely getting dressed - and all I want to do is crawl back into bed and get some rest. Such simple tasks can take the life out of you because your body is doing so much work just to keep you on your feet.

My Comfort: Even if I am somehow granted a few minutes free from pain, I am always uncomfortable. I always feel some sort of pressure, or irritating rubbing, or burning. This disease doesn't really let you forget that it's there.

My Relationships: It's hard to maintain relationships with someone who doesn't fully understand the extent in which your disease affects you. We're often just not in the mood, or physically just can't, and hate to have to pull out the 'I'm in pain/I'm just sad' excuse, every time. In intimate relationships, just the thought of having to show our scars to a love interest is terrifying, and may even cause us to avoid dating at all.

My Fun: It's hard to do anything fun or truly have a good time when you're in pain or extremely uncomfortable.

My Hopes & Dreams: Hopes and dreams that I once had for myself have simply just died somewhere inside of me while I have been busy trying to figure out this disease and how to manage it. Coping with or trying to cure yourself of HS becomes the number one thing in your life and you really don't have much time to dream or hope for anything else.

My Mind: As mentioned above, HS doesn't really give you a chance to forget it's there. It's on my mind all the time. It controls my decisions. It controls my schedule. It controls where I go, and what I do. I have honestly felt like I was losing my mind at times - not being able to think about anything else but the pain and frustrations that's come with such an ugly disease.

My Sleep: Of course, it's difficult to sleep while experiencing pain. Depending on the location of your flare, it could be impossible to get into a comfortable position. I've spent nights just scratching or picking at irritable skin that just won't let me get any rest. Oh, and lets not forget the nights we wake up due to completely soiled pajamas and bed sheets from a large abscess that has finally erupted - half thankful and half annoyed.

Thankfully, God has promised to return everything that was ever taken from us. He will restore. He will recompense. Not only will He return what was lost, He will multiply it. It's a truth that we must believe and put hope in. It's a truth that should give us great joy. We do not have to accept sickness. Restoration is God's will for us. You will recover. He will restore.

But I will restore you to health and heal your wounds,’ declares the Lord, ‘because you are called an outcast, Zion for whom no one cares.’ Jeremiah 30:17

Instead of your shame you will receive a double portion, and instead of disgrace you will rejoice in your inheritance. And so you will inherit a double portion in your land, and everlasting joy will be yours. Isaiah 61:7

When the fig tree will not blossom, there is no fruit on the vine, and the fields yield nothing, I will still rejoice. God is my strength. Habakkuk 3:17-19

Although HS may sometimes rob us of happiness, It's important that we remain joyful. Joy comes from what we know: that we have a God of restoration and that He is for us. Without joy when things are painful, uncomfortable or just plain bad, we become prideful - challenging and questioning God. If you've ever read the book of Job, you know that pride interferes with restoration. We must humble ourselves before God if we want to be restored. Let me explain:

In the book of Job, God allows Satan to test Job by inflicting a large amount of suffering. Fun fact: one infliction Job experienced was boils all over his body. Of course, the disease didn't have a name back then; it may not have even existed back then, but to relate to Job a little better, I'd

like to think he had HS. As a God-fearing man, at first, Job continues to praise God. He explains, should we accept only blessings from God and not adversity? But as his suffering continues, he begins to cry out to God in anger, demanding an explanation for his terrible suffering. He eventually becomes extremely prideful - pleading innocence, listing all the good he has done in his life, and even accusing God of doing wrong by punishing the righteous just as he punishes the sinful, and by allowing evil doers to prosper while good people suffer.

God responds to Job and effectively puts Job in his place. God is God. He is creator of everything. He decides what is wrong and what is right. He has infinite power and infinite knowledge while we are limited by the constraints of human understanding. We are in no position to question or challenge God. He does what He pleases, and it is always right. “It is impossible for God to do wrong, and for the Almighty to act unjustly” (Job 34:10). Returning to this realization, Job humbles himself before God, and repents. It is only after this that God restores Job's life by granting him twice as many possessions as he had before, more children, and long life.

Another important lesson in this book is that while Job's suffering was challenging and emotional, he never lost faith in God. Yes, he was loud and graphic and brutally honest about his frustrations and his depression. He was being real. It's okay for us to groan in pain, and cry in our devastation. God already knows how we feel, and so we don't have to hide it. While we acknowledge and express how we feel, what's important is that we stand on what we know: that our Redeemer lives (Job 19:25) and he will rescue us. Believe and rejoice! The faith that God will heal me has been crucial in preventing me from going down some dangerous and destructive life pathways. The joy of the Lord has been my strength. If you're missing this, ask God to restore this to you, first. Having joy changes everything - and when this is restored, everything else will be restored to you, also.

Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me from your presence or take your Holy Spirit from me. Restore to me the joy of your salvation and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me. Psalm 51:10-12

For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is going to be revealed to us. Romans 8:18

#hidradenitis #hidradenitissuppurativa #hswarrior #hswarriors #mylifewithhurley #godoverhurley #autoimmunedisease #skindisease #autoimmunecondition #autoimmune

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skylarmiller04-blog · 7 years

Text

Cool Through My Eyes

In November 1968, the cigarette company, Virginia Slims, designed an all new advertisement designed to target women. On the ad is a woman, Cynthia Robinson, who is shown smoking a cigarette in the cellar trying to hide her addictive habit from her husband. This image of Robinson is contradictory. At the time the photo was taken, 1915, Robinson contradicted herself. She dressed like a proper housewife, wearing a chic, long dress with her hair in a stylish bun, but in that moment she was acting like anything but a proper housewife. In 1915, women were seen as an accessory to men. They were expected to sit still and look pretty, and when they got married they took on the role of being the ideal housewife. This entailed cooking, cleaning, taking care of the children, and doing pretty much whatever their husbands told them to do. What they were not expected to do was smoke. Smoking was seen as a man’s habit, it was not for women. And when women did smoke, it appeared as if they were rebelling, which they were. Cynthia did not care that smoking was considered a man’s activity, she took part in it anyways. When smoking that cigarette in the cellar, Cynthia Robinson knew that her actions would have consequences, meaning her husband would be upset with her smoking and he was. When he caught her smoking, he immediately sent her up to her room. She was thirty-four years old and yet he treated her like a child, not his wife. But she did not let that get her down. She continued to rebel against him, which is a key element to the idea of cool according to Dick Pountain and David Robins, the authors of Cool Rules: Anatomy of an Attitude (26). This soon became a widespread attitude held by women. They started rebelling against the perfect housewife image. They were done trying to appease their husbands and were doing more of what they wanted to. To me, this is a key characteristic behind the idea of cool. As defined by Dick Pountain and David Robins, cool is an attitude that takes on the characteristics of rebellion, ironic detachment, hedonism, and narcissism (26). I think Cynthia was a cool woman, much cooler than me. She rebelled against her husband and societal norms, did things that brought her pleasure, and did not show her feelings towards people’s disapproval of her smoking. All of these characteristics Cynthia possessed are key to her coolness. But me? I do not think I am that cool anymore. I follow the rules instead of breaking them. I listen to my parents and grandparents instead of rebelling against them. And I do what I know will benefit me in the long run instead of what I want to do in the moment just because I want to do it. And to be honest, I think I have had the wrong idea of cool in my head for a while. Prior to reading Pountain and Robins’ book, I used cool as a synonym for good, which is completely inaccurate. In fact, they go out of their way to state in their novel that cool means the “opposite of ‘good’” (31). If someone asked me last year if I thought I was cool, I would have said yes. I had plenty of friends in high school and we were all getting accepted into prestigious universities. Whether it be Notre Dame, Georgetown, Dartmouth, Harvard, or even the University of Miami, we were all accepted into schools with excellent reputations. Not to brag, but people wanted to be like us. They wanted to be in our friend group, they wanted all of their hard work in high school to take them to where we were going. Other high school seniors wanted to be like us because we had the “perfect work-life balance.” We put in the work to maintain our near perfect GPAs and high standardized test scores while being able to still play sports and hang out with friends. We were not your typical nerds, we were still regular high schoolers, we just put in a lot of effort to everything we did. Somehow all of these things made us popular in a sense. Everyone in school knew who we were and they wanted to be us. They thought we were cool, which made me think I was cool. But I really wasn’t. The idea I had in my head as cool was far from what cool really is. In all actuality, I was far from cool. I was acting like a sheep. I did what was expected of me and what was accepted among my peers. I most definitely did not rebel against anything, unless you count the fact that my uniform shorts were an inch too short. The way I see it is that I didn’t really have a reason to rebel. I was content with how my life was going. But, people like Cynthia Robinson had a reason to rebel and they ended up changing society through their rebellion. On another note, Friedrich Nietzsche once said, “to live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.” Cynthia Robinson most certainly suffered in her time, me? Not so much. Cynthia lived in a society where men and women were not seen as equals, rather women were possessions men owned. She was not able to do things men were able to do simply because of her gender. If that is not oppression, then I do not know what is. But I have not suffered like that at all. I basically have had everything handed to me on a silver platter. If I wanted a new outfit, makeup, jewelry, or even purse, I got it. I have not had to partake in manual labor, in fact I have never even had a job. I have not been seen as inferior to the guys around me either. Basically, I have lived the life every other white girl in America in the 21st century has lived. And something else Nietzsche said, about people transforming their muck to gold, has stuck with me (Hollingdale). I truly do agree with Nietzsche in this aspect, I just cannot relate to it. The closest I have come to suffering is having to put up with a high school teacher who did not teach. That’s all. I have not suffered from an ailment, a death in the family, or even being oppressed in society like other people have and still are. I don’t think I can channel my muck into gold simply because I don’t have any muck. I’m sure I’ll have some in the future, it is part of the human condition to suffer, so muck is inevitable at some point in my life, it just hasn’t happened yet, and that is okay. I’m in no hurry to suffer. Another thing I did not realize until reading Cool Rules: Anatomy of an Attitude is that “cool change[s] from place to place, time to time, and generation to generation” (Pountain and Robins 17). So what I think is cool is different from what my parents think is cool and what my grandparents think is cool. Therefore, what I think is cool is different from what Pountain and Robins thought is cool and that is okay. I am not saying that Pountain and Robins are looking at cool from the wrong perspective, everyone views cool from a different lens and that is what makes it such a unique attitude to possess. To me, what I want to be and what is cool do not seem to overlap. Growing up as an only child, I tended to do what my parents asked of me. I was and still am very close to my parents, so I do not like upsetting or disappointing them. I made sure to partake in various clubs, honors societies, and a varsity sport in high school while also getting into college. In short, I did not get into trouble and was constantly seeking my parents’ approval. In the eyes of Pountain, Robins, and Nietzsche to name a few, I did not live a cool life. I live my life how I want to, but it is not cool. According to these writers, what cool people would do is drop out of school, move away from home, and hang out in an alleyway or abandoned building smoking with other vagabonds. They would not try to plan out the next ten years of their lives. I do not think cool is meant for everyone and that is what makes it so mysterious and desirable. I think there is a weird balance of cool in my life. While I might not want to be cool, I still admire cool people, like James Dean and Cynthia Robinson. I have not been able to figure out why my attraction towards them exists seeing as I do not want to be cool myself. But, if I had to choose, my favorite element of cool is the “ability to be nonchalant at the right moment” (Thompson 41). When I think of James Dean, I do not think of him smiling a cheesy smile because someone said they were going to photograph him. I think of his deep, dreamy eyes, relaxed pose, and his minuscule smirk. In fact, it was a rare occasion when a photographer managed to capture James Dean smiling. I think that is cool. He was always composed and looked as if nothing affected him. Even if he was feeling extreme happiness, sadness, or excitement, he always managed to remain composed. I admire this about him and I think this composure adds to his mystique and coolness. Me on the other hand, when someone tells me they are going to take a picture of me, I smile the cheesiest smile. Another aspect of cool that I find interesting is the balance between life and death. Unlike most people, myself included, cool people acknowledge they are going to die at some point instead of acting like they will live forever. So, they flirt with death. They push the boundaries of living that border with death. Frank Sinatra smoked, Jim Morrison was on drugs, and James Dean drove fast cars and broke speed limits. And sometimes, when they took part in activities that can trigger death, they couldn’t escape it. James Dean was not nicknamed “One-Speed Dean” for no reason. His one speed was fast, and he was going fast enough that he was not able to slow down his car prior to crashing into another vehicle causing him to die. Sometimes when flirting with death, death wins. But at least cool people do not try to outrun death. They accept it with open arms because they acknowledge the fact that one day they will die. It is an inevitable truth humans cannot escape. I think I am still in denial about death, or I haven’t processed the fact that one day I will die no matter how hard I try to avoid it. I act like death doesn’t exist, but when it does occur, it doesn’t affect me. This why I go to the gym, eat kale and quinoa salads, and go to SoulCycle. I am trying to prolong death, as silly as that sounds. This isn’t how cool people act though. I think that I am so focused on trying to outrun death per se, that I am too busy to enjoy life in the current moment. Langston Hughes once wrote, “But for livin’ I was born” in his poem, “Life is Fine” (22). Cool people live their life to the fullest extent. Sometimes they die in the process, but they live their life. I am kind of envious of that. I live life with the thought of death in the back of my mind. I refuse to do certain adventurous things, like bungee jumping, zip-lining, and skydiving because I know it could result in death. After all, you aren’t required to sign a waiver prior to taking part in these activities for nothing. But cool people sign that waiver without blinking an eye. I guess they think of it as a risk worth taking, and I agree with that thought, but saying that and acting upon that thought is two different things. I guess if we don’t take any risks in life we aren’t really living, we are just going through the motions, stuck in a cycle of monotony as T.S. Eliot mentions in his poem, The Waste Land. While I already established I do not want to be cool in its entirety, I would like to be cool in some aspects, like maintaining composure and embracing life because I know I will die. But, I do not wish to rebel, suffer, and be narcissistic. I think I have come to that realization that cool is not meant for me, and that is okay. It is kind of like when W.E.B. Du Bois realized that he “was different from the others” (1). While everyone is different from one another, people are all sheep. Whether I am a black sheep or white sheep, I am still a sheep nonetheless. It is up to each and every person to choose if they blend in with the white sheep or stand out and be the black sheep. Something that stuck with me in Cool Rules: Anatomy of an Attitude was that “cool’s real work is done inside” (22). I do not think cool comes about through the possessions people own. I think that cool is displayed via one’s clothes and attitude. People dress how they want others to perceive them and to cool fashion is art (Pountain and Robins 22). And the way people interact with others, the way they think, and the ideologies they hold are pertinent to cool, in my eyes. And I think to a certain extent, everyone is cool. It is just a matter of if they display their coolness or not.

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