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larrydempsey · 9 months

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“But I’m Feeling Much Better Now, Part One”

Foreword: The following is an autobiographical story about my life, describing events primarily from my early years up through high school (although some later periods are touched upon near the end). Also, my father comes up a lot in this story. But since I’ve always hated him and loathe referring to him as my father, I decided to refer to him by his first name (“Tom”) throughout my story. Lastly, while most of the events described are in chronological order, some of them will occasionally wander into nonlinear/stream-of-consciousness territory. Roll with it.

My problems began on Day One. I was born with stomach issues that made me throw up three times a day, every day, for the first three years of my life. I was a bottle-fed baby. I loved my bottle. So much so, in fact, that my mom had a really hard time getting me to give it up. She was finally able to get me to part with it when I was three years old. I would have been on it even longer if she hadn’t cut me off when we went on a trip to Canada. I think my resistance to giving up the bottle was due to a combination of not being breastfed and because, as my mom put it, I “loved the nipple.” I’m convinced this also explains my lifelong obsession with breasts. I started drawing at the age of three. My earliest known drawings were of a train, Big Bird from Sesame Street, and a full-frontal, anatomically correct adult male. I’ve always wondered how I knew how to draw a grown man at such an early age, but none of the conclusions I’ve come to are comforting. I never liked having to go to bed. I always wanted to stay up longer so I could play or draw. Mom did her best to try and get me to sleep, though. She would do everything she could to make the house as quiet as possible. But then Tom, my father, would go downstairs and start playing the accordion (or guitar) – anything to intentionally make noise, just to spite her. I was named after my grandfather (Tom’s father). Tom didn’t get along well with his father growing up. So he named me, his firstborn son, after his father to try and suck up to him (“Do you love me now, daddy?”). But Tom's father didn't like anyone to call him by his first name for some reason (he just went by “Dempsey”), so it probably didn’t work.

As early as I can remember, I didn't like meat, and I never wanted to eat it. I didn’t like the smell of it or the sight of it. One night at dinner, I didn’t want to eat some hamburger on my plate. Tom made me sit at the dinner table until I finished eating it. I sat there, trying to choke down cold hamburger, for three hours. I didn’t finish it. I tried to make myself eat a hamburger at fast food restaurants a couple times with my friends to try and fit in. But no matter how hard I tried, I could never finish them. Nothing could convert me to being a meat eater. My eating habits were a giant point of contention in my formative years. Tom constantly tried to get me to eat things I didn’t want to eat. It never worked. The number of things I would eat was extremely small; it was less than the number of things on the kids' menu at Denny’s. Tom didn’t like my limited menu. He didn’t like me being different. He didn’t like having to go out of his way to do anything special just for me. And heaven help me if I got sick. He didn’t like being around sick people, either. He didn’t have any patience or sympathy for them.

Whenever Tom tried to teach me something, it never went well. His teaching style involved threats, intimidation, and him quickly getting angry and yelling a lot. Tom tried to teach me to tell time. I ended up crying. He tried to teach me how to tie my shoes. I ended up crying. He tried to teach me our phone number. I ended up crying. One night, when he came home from work, he told me I wasn’t allowed to eat dinner until I told him the time. More crying.

Tom played in a band – named after himself, of course. He was the singer and guitarist. One weekend, as he was painting a big sign for their logo, I noticed there was only one “m” in his name. Instead of “Tommy’s Trio,” it read “Tomy’s Trio.” Since there was only one “m,” I told him it would be pronounced TOH-mee’s, not TAH-mee’s. Needless to say, he was furious – not at himself for making the mistake, but at me because I was the one who pointed it out. Tom played with his band most every weekend, always out of town, not only as an excuse, any excuse, to get away from his wife and his two children, but also so he could pick up girls after the show who he could have sex with.

Tom was an adulterer. He cheated on my mom, who knows how many times. I allegedly have one or more half-brothers and/or half-sisters out there somewhere. The way we found out that Tom was having an affair was when his mistress called our house one night and told my mom, “Ask your husband who he’s having an affair with.” After hanging up, Mom went downstairs to tell Tom about the call. Tom denied having an affair, instead downplaying the call and brushing the woman off as an infatuated fan. He replied, “You know how women are. They like to start trouble.” The next few days were extremely tense, as Mom was suspicious of Tom despite his claims of innocence. But unable to cope with the silence and the tension, Tom finally broke down and admitted that it was true. Tom's mistress took every opportunity to make her presence and her intentions known. One time, she sent my younger sister and me a humongous box of toys, including a gigantic brown teddy bear, to try and win us over. Mom took them out into the field behind our house and set them on fire. Tom's mistress had one of her cronies come to our house early one morning to try and take my sister and me away so we could be with her. The guy kept pounding on the front door and yelling at us, trying to get us to come out. We hid and stayed quiet until he finally left. There was constant tension in our home due to Tom’s cheating. After making a derogatory comment at my mom’s expense during dinner one night, Mom threw a tall amber glass at Tom in the kitchen, shattering it against a cabinet. Tom was so mad at my mom another time that, during a heated argument, he walked through a closed screen door out onto our back balcony, ripping the mesh in the process.

I got spanked a lot. I remember being put over Tom’s knee and having my butt beat all the time. I can’t remember for what specific reasons, except for one time when one of my friends and I were teasing some other kids in the neighborhood who were younger than us (by throwing rocks at them, I think?). I remember the kids’ mother bringing them over to tell my mom what we had done and me apologizing. I can’t explain my actions other than that I must have been acting out my frustrations from being in a dysfunctional family.

Tom never hugged me, never congratulated me for anything, never told me he was proud of me, and never told me he loved me. As I mentioned earlier, he never got along well with his own father growing up, so I guess he was just continuing the tradition. Emotions and any kind of physical affection were foreign in our household. I don’t know if it was simply discouraged or outright forbidden. All I do know is that they were never expressed. No one hugged each other or touched each other. No one cried, or if they did, they did their best to try and hide it so no one else would see that they did. The closest thing that resembled expressing emotion toward one another was when my mom kissed my sister and me goodnight and tucked us in for bed when we were younger, but that was only until we got too old for that sort of thing. What prompted that environment of emotional discouragement where we couldn’t feel safe to express ourselves? Just because Tom’s parents treated him badly, did that mean he had to treat his children the same way? Regardless, it was a chilly, emotionally repressed house in which to grow up.

Tom never wished my mom a “happy birthday” or “happy mother's day” because those were the only two days of the year that weren’t about him. He would eventually and reluctantly give Mom a present and then pout around the house the rest of the day. Tom gave Mom a set of steak knives as a Christmas present one year. Mom later found out that he had given another set of the same knives to his mistress as well. Tom took Mom out to dinner one night with one of his business clients from the refrigeration equipment company he worked for. Tom accidentally introduced Mom by his mistress’s name. Although he quickly repeated his introduction, changing it to the correct name, the man was confused about which name was actually hers. Later in the evening, the man asked my mom, “What is your name?”

Things finally got to the point where mom had put up with enough and was considering kicking Tom out. But my grandfather (my mom's father) talked to her and tried to convince her not to. My grandfather also talked to Tom and told him he should quit his cheating ways, get rid of his mistress(es), and stay with his wife and two young children. Soon after, I was sitting on the couch next to Mom one night in the living room, watching TV. Tom was on his knees in front of us, begging mom to forgive him. Begging. With his hands clasped in front of his face and tears streaming down his cheeks, he kept repeating, “I’ll change! I’ll change!” Mom gave in and decided to give him another chance. I don’t know why Tom wanted us back. He couldn’t stand us. We weren't the family he wanted. Our guess was that he wanted to maintain the appearance of a happy, normal family for his friends and co-workers and that he wanted a housekeeper he didn’t have to pay. After the reconciliation, Tom and Mom held hands everywhere we went, even when we were driving somewhere in the car. It was so fake and transparent. It didn’t last very long, of course. Nothing that forced and insincere ever does. We moved out of our first house and changed our phone number in an effort to make it difficult for Tom’s mistress (and her minions) to find us. We simply moved to the other side of town, buying five of my grandfather's ten acres and building a house on them. I always wondered why we didn’t move farther away.

It was easy to see that Tom wasn’t happy in our new house. He always seemed angry and irritable. And over the years that followed, it would continue to slowly get worse. Cutting an adulterer off from their side chicks must make them grumpy. He's the one who begged to get us back. But now that he had us, what was he going to do with us?

Tom took us to a company picnic once, put on by his employer. My sister and I were shy and quiet and didn’t want to play any games (like volleyball, for instance). Tom screamed at us in the car all the way home for not joining in and wondering why we couldn't be “normal” like the other parents' kids. We only went on vacation if Tom could deduct it as a business expense, except if we went to visit his parents in Oregon or if we went on vacation with his parents. That was okay. My parents, both sets of grandparents, and my sister and I drove to the 1986 World’s Fair in Vancouver, BC. Tom, my mom, my sister, and I made the trip in a brand new white Ford Taurus. On the drive there, we came across a section of highway that was being repaved. There was fresh oil and gravel on it. Mom told Tom to slow down so he wouldn’t scratch the new car. He got mad and drove across it faster – again, just to spite her. Another teaching moment: Tom drove into a gas station and pulled up to one of the pumps. He told me to get out and fill up the car. I said I didn’t know how. He gruffly responded, “Figure it out.” We went to lunch out of town one year on Mother’s Day. On the drive home, Tom wanted to drive up to a ski lodge to see the view. I said I had homework to do (using any excuse I could think of to get out of having to spend more time with him). He yelled at me, saying, “Can’t you spend time with your family?” He wanted me to spend time with him? Why? He never wanted to spend time with me. Ever so often, Mom had to work on the weekend. On those rare occasions, I had to make my own lunch. Not knowing how to cook much of anything as a teen, I usually made microwave popcorn. I’d make it and then go into my bedroom to eat it while I watched TV or did my homework. More than once, Tom came in and took it away from me. One time he came in and saw me eating the popcorn, yanked the bag out of my hand, and started eating it. I said, “That’s my lunch!” He replied, “No, it’s not. Find something else.” Another weekend, Mom was out shopping, and she accidentally locked herself out of her car at K-Mart. She called home and asked me to ask Tom if he could come down and unlock her car for her. Tom was outside, way on the other side of the field, digging post holes for a fence. I ran out to him and told him that Mom needed help. Tom, obviously annoyed by my news, bluntly said, “You go help her.” I was in my mid-teens at the time, and I told him I couldn’t go because I didn’t drive yet (or have a driver’s license). He told me to “figure something out.” So I ran back to the house, grabbed Tom's car keys, got on my bicycle, and rode the five miles down to the store. Being five miles away was bad enough, but the ride seemed unusually difficult for some reason. Not until I finally reached the store did the problem reveal itself: Mom looked at my tires and told me they were almost flat. I was so concerned about getting the keys to her as fast as I could that I didn’t even notice the nearly flat tires. I found a bunch of cash that Tom had been hiding. I wasn’t looking for it; I unintentionally came across it one day while playing in the basement with one of my friends. Tom was outraged that I had found it. He claimed he was saving up to buy Mom a grandfather clock she’d always wanted. We knew that was B.S. We assumed he was hoarding it to spend on a future potential mistress(es) and/or to save8up to make a quick getaway someday (FORESHADOWING!).

To be continued...

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pianostarinwonderland · 2 years

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How do you feel about the Harveston event so far? I always enjoyed seeing the boys being proud of where they came from.

This ask was sent when the event was still running. I saved this for when the event was concluded so that I could give my thoughts, but then two months passed and... well, better late than never, right? xD

Anyway, EN fans, be careful when scrolling through this. This is tagged as ‘twst jp’ for easy blocking.

Anyway, here are my late more coherent thoughts on the event!

Epel is not a favorite character of mine, so I expected myself to be bored of the event, but actually, it was really endearing. 🥺 Even without knowing the JP, the event felt cozy and homey. It reminded me of Yurucamp. It made me want to curl up in a blanket and get cozy.

You really do appreciate the event so much more after watching Snow White! One of my private servers watched Snow White before the event because Yana recommended watching the movie for the event, and catching all the references was so fun! From the interior architecture of Epel’s home to the sunrise at the end of the event, there were so many Snow White references littered around.

Speaking of Snow White references, a TL-er on Twitter pointed out that the part where Sebek saves Epel from an avalanche is the opposite of the time where the Evil Queen got struck by lightning that led to her death. And I find that so beautiful because Sebek represents lightning. In the movie, lightning killed the villain, but in the event, lightning saved the villain. I really love it. It gives me the idea of second chances.

Please protect Marja. ❤️ She is so cute. We really see where Epel gets his spirit.

Something I appreciate about Epel is when he mentioned about walking to school for three hours. I personally never had to do that, but I heard stories from a close relative who used to live in the province. She would narrate about how she and her siblings would walk to school and pass by a village to make this Filipino dessert. I felt nostalgic hearing about it.

About the dwarves, while it sucks to see that they won, I actually liked that they won. I felt that our four students need to be knocked off a bit off their high horses. XD More than winning, I want to see the characters grow and mature. There were a lot of obstacles, but through them, we get to see that they are more than just “villains”. Sebek saving Epel, everyone willing to help rescue Sebek instead of continuing on with the race... they are people at the end of the day who may have selfish intentions but wouldn’t stoop so low to be so cruel.

I really love the part where Jade and Idia were thinking of ways on how to get the dwarves out of the game while Epel and Sebek were determined to win fair and square. It was hilarious, and I found it even more amusing that without the translation, I could already understand what is happening. 😂 But I’m most enamored about the scene because it’s such an interesting juxtaposition between the younger students and the older ones. It’s like a loss of innocence as one gets older... but that doesn’t mean the older people don’t have to listen to the younger ones. No if anything, they can learn a thing or two. The younger students are bright-eyed teenagers with dreams of making a difference in the world by doing their best or what’s good. The older students seem just a tiny bit more jaded with life that they don’t mind playing dirty if it meant they could get something that they want in life. I’m not sure if I’m even expressing this correctly. 😅

My favorite part of this event has got to be the part where they all played music. Aside from the Snow White references, I really was hooked on the fact that we learned of the instruments the boys know how to play! Like, Epel knows how to play the accordion, and I find that so adorable. 😭 It surprisingly fits him. Then there’s Idia who faked the violin 😔 my inner Ling Ling is not pleased, but it was funny also. Sebek trying and failing to play the violin was so cute. 🥺 It’s such a mood, violin is hard to play, after all. xD But I think the part I’m super enamored with the most is that Jade knows how to play the flute! And here’s where my Octa bias shines through~ because Jade now canonically knows how to play two instruments: the bass and the flute. A string and a woodwind. It made me think how the music curriculum of the Coral Sea is like. 👁 Just how many instruments are they all exposed to? How are they taught? I’m so interested, I really need a Coral Sea event now. 😭

Overall, I really like the event! It’s cozy and homey while still providing all that juicy lore and brain juice that keeps me interested in the story and the worldbuilding.

#ask #twisted wonderland #twst #twst jp #epel felmier #jade leech #sebek zigvolt #idia shroud

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novelconcepts · 3 years

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Jamie & Dani short prompt- Online Dating au meeting online and being from bad past relationship. Thank u

This is probably a bad idea. It is, isn’t it? Almost certainly.

Why is she here?

Dani Clayton has been playing this particular set of thoughts--bad idea, terrible idea, why would you do this?--on repeat for three days. Ever since setting up that dating profile. Ever since realizing there isn’t much use in setting up a dating profile if you’re not going to use it.

Oh, it’s all fun and games, building the thing. Find a photo that accentuates all the best parts of your face--Dani, after an hour of careful consideration, wound up going with one that accentuated her hair, more than anything, but she suspects the same idea counts. Then, the profile. What do you like? Teaching, long walks, new experiences, bad coffee. What don’t you like?

Men, she’d thought, and snorted aloud into her wine before settling on: Deep water, accordion music, expectations, being called Danielle.

A little more flourish, tipsy keystrokes, a casually-framed short-version of her life. Perfect. And then...well, then you hit the publish button, don’t you? You decide, for better or worse, to jump off this diving board and see just how far you can stand to swim before the energy gives out on you.

The faces appearing before her hadn’t been bad, certainly. Pretty, most of them. Interesting, a few. Still, she hadn’t swiped right on any--once or twice, because she’d forgotten which way meant yes please, but mostly because no one seemed quite...right. Which, she’d thought, was silly. The whole point of an app like this is to cast as many nets as possible and see what comes up. The whole point is to have fun.

But every time she’d hovered over a promising image, a woman who likes dogs, or plays the violin, or goes rock-climbing in her spare time, she’d thought of him. Eddie. Who had taken one yes to a single date, and tried to make a whole life with her out of it.

Eddie, who had taken her two decades to pull away from.

What if the women here were the same? Not Eddie, exactly, but--presumptive. What if they believed a swipe-right was as good as a marriage proposal? What if she got bound up in conversation, and then a date, and then a relationship with someone else who just didn’t fit right?

Left. Left. Left.

And then: the mistake.

She hadn’t meant to swipe right. Exactly. She hadn’t planned, maybe is the better way of putting it, on swiping right. She’d only wanted to look at the woman’s profile a little longer. Only wanted to inspect the facets this woman had put out on display with almost resigned simplicity.

Some people, Dani had by now realized, wrote poetry and paragraphs to describe themselves.

Jamie Taylor had bullet points.

“Gardener. English. Likes: Plants. Stories. Tea. Dislikes: Bullshit.”

The end. That had been quite literally the sum of it. Gardener. English. No bullshit.

But the picture, somehow, Dani hadn’t been able to look away from. Not because of carefully-arranged lighting, not because of a curated model-clean image--but because the woman appeared to have posted the photo almost under duress. It came in profile, as though someone else had done the job, her head turned toward the camera as if interrupted. Her hands were buried in a flower pot. Her clothes were simple--a tank top, a silver chain resting against the jut of collarbones, a pair of worn-looking jeans with holes in the knees. Her eyes--some fascinating color Dani couldn’t quite place--looked somewhere between amused and irritated.

She looked real.

Stupid, Dani thinks now--because that was probably the idea, wasn’t it? This woman, Jamie, had planned to look exactly this way. Real. Vexed at the idea of putting herself out there. Reluctantly available.

It was a ploy, certainly--but one that seems to be working, because not only did Dani accidentally-not-accidentally swipe right, she found herself texting the woman. For hours. She’d expected much less, had figured this Jamie person would be as brief in text as she had been in bio, but...

Jamie had talked to her. Willingly. Teasingly, with more humor than truth, maybe, but with no sign at all that she was sick of Dani’s questions, bad jokes, nervous assessment that I really don’t do this, I honestly don’t get it.

I don’t, either, Jamie had replied, and that had felt like enough of a reason to keep testing the waters. Enough of a reason to keep the conversation going back and forth, back and forth, until nearly two in the morning.

Shit, she’d said. I need to be at work in four hours.

Shame, Jamie had replied, her tone already searingly familiar over text. Own your own business, make your own hours. Far wiser approach.

I’ll make a note of it for when I found an elementary school, Dani had replied, laughing. She hadn’t said she’d already been in bed for an hour, the phone resting on the pillow beside her head so she wouldn’t miss the buzz of a new message. It had seemed perfectly reasonable at the time, with wine-warmed blood and the happy haze of good conversation. Jamie made her laugh. Jamie put her at ease. Jamie might not have been real, but she felt real, and that was good.

Better than anything she’d felt in years, if she was honest with herself.

Still, when the next day had come and gone with no message, she’d thought, Fair enough. Jamie had been good virtual company for one night. It was more than she’d expected to get out of this app.

Far more than she’d expected, particularly when Thursday night rolled around and her phone buzzed.

Teacher, yeah? No school on Saturday?

Correct, Dani had replied, as amused by the out-of-left-field text as she was irritated with how her stomach had flipped over upon receiving it. You have figured out the complexity of the American school system.

I am a genius, Jamie sent back, followed quickly by: Drinks tomorrow night?

Drinks. A thing that people do. A thing that adult people do for date reasons.

She isn’t real, she’d thought, even as her thumb was punching back: How’s 8? Miller’s?

A mistake. Definitely a mistake. Because the app had been a lark, and the conversation had been too easy, and the fact that she can’t quite pick out the colors in Jamie’s eyes from a single photo is making her crazier than she’d like to admit.

A mistake, saying yes. A mistake, suggesting the local pub-like establishment around the corner, whose beer-and-burger specials had kept her fed on too many evenings spent working late. A mistake, because once this goes south--as it’s absolutely bound to, as everything Eddie-shaped always has--she’s going to lose her favorite hangout in the deal, too.

And yet: here she is. Standing at the door, wondering if the outfit chosen for the evening festivities--tight jeans, pink blouse, hoop earrings--is too much or not nearly enough.

What am I doing here?

Maybe, she thinks with mingled alarm and hope, she won’t even have showed up. Maybe it’s all part of the ruse: look approachable, look human and normal, look a little too beautiful in the most grounded way possible--then, cheerfully, invite a woman to drinks and just don’t show. A fun story for whoever comes next. Can you believe she thought I’d want to meet her after one night of texting?

“Dani?”

English, Dani thinks with a sudden rush of heat. Right. Somehow, she hadn’t quite been prepared for the accent, which--coming out of this woman, draped with languid ease at a table--is truly a little more than Dani thinks she can handle just now. The accent, combined with the mess of curls dragged back from her face, and a dress sense that manages to be both casual and deeply attractive at the same time, is...

“Jamie,” she says, her voice a little lower, a little more hoarse, than is truly necessary. The woman pushes up from her seat, a small-framed figure in a black button-down, suspenders, ripped jeans. She’s pressing a hand toward Dani, offering a firm shake as though they are business partners, not an off-the-cuff bad idea of a date. “You look--”

“Never been here before,” Jamie says, almost apologetically. She gestures for Dani to sit before dropping back down in a sprawl that implies exactly the opposite of what her mouth is insisting. “Wasn’t sure about the, ah, dress code.”

“You--you did fine,” Dani tells her, wishing suddenly she’d gone for a dress. Or a different human body altogether. She feels too tightly-strung, too anxious for the easy smile on Jamie’s lips. “Um. You’re very. In person.”

“Very,” Jamie repeats, a hint of uncertainty in her voice. “Is very American for wish I’d gone left, after all?”

“No. No. Absolutely not. That.” Bit too forceful, she suspects, judging by the smile spreading into a grin. “No, it’s just--your picture didn’t--tell me you’d be so...”

“Clean?” Jamie suggests innocently. She raises her hands, wiggling her fingers in a small wave. “Scrub up fine, when I need to. Seemed to call for it.”

“And you...sure did answer,” Dani says stupidly. “The. Call, I mean. I’m sorry, I really don’t do this often.”

Something seems to soften in Jamie, her smile less teasing as she leans across the table. “Hey, no worries here. Same person you were talking to the other night.”

Dani nods, embarrassed, and flags down a server. Drinks ordered, she draws in a deep breath.

“I mean, I haven’t done this in years. Or. Ever, I guess.”

“A first date?” Jamie asks. When Dani doesn’t answer, she adds in a knowing tone, “A date with a woman?”

“Both,” Dani says honestly. “My last relationship was--well, I mean, we were engaged--”

Jamie whistles under her breath, reaching up to scratch her head. “Blimey. What happened?”

“He’s...him.” It’s too much to go into on a first date, too much to explain, even though talking to Jamie over text had been so dangerously easy. “My best friend growing up, but that was...growing up.”

Jamie nods thoughtfully, tilting her chin in thanks when the server deposits two full pint glasses and a basket of fries on the table. “Rough time, sounds like. I can relate. My last relationship also did not go well.”

“Was he also a man who thought you’d be all too happy to quit your job and take care of a bunch of babies?” Dani asks, perhaps a little too bitterly for the occasion. Jamie flashes another grin, sipping her drink.

“She was a woman who thought I’d be all too happy to take the fall when she got busted for possession.”

Dani gapes. “Oh. Oh--I didn’t know--I’m so--”

Jamie shrugs. “She wasn’t wrong. I was nineteen, and deeply stupid. Live and learn, as the poets say.”

“Which poets?” Dani asks, smiling a little. Jamie’s brow furrows.

“John...Lennon, possibly? Hard to say. Anyway, relationships are a chore and a half, but the greatest people in the world tell me thirty is too old to play musical bedframes, so. Here we are.”

No bullshit, thinks Dani approvingly. For what little she’d put into her profile, Jamie evidently hadn’t been lying about that.

“You haven’t been in a relationship since you were nineteen?”

“In my mind, I was still in the relationship at twenty-four, when they let me out. She didn’t agree. Found out she’d been married two years, by then.” Something darkens in Jamie’s eyes for a moment. She sighs. “Like I said. Not my finest. But I am, as they say, a shining beacon of reform these days.”

“Now, when you say they,” Dani teases, grinning. Jamie nods decisively.

“John Lennon. Definitively.”

There it is, thinks Dani, watching Jamie pop a fry into her mouth. There, the easy roll of conversation from the other night. As though they’ve known each other forever. As though two people who have thus far failed irrevocably at relationships make a perfect match.

Easy, she thinks. Don’t go wild, now.

“So,” she says, when the comfortable silence between them has grown a bit too comfortable for the setting, “who are the greatest people in the world? The ones who tell you thirty is too old for...did you say musical bedframes?”

Jamie laughs. The ring of it curls gently around Dani’s head like a soft hand, a sound she’ll find herself replaying later with a skipping heart.

“Not many willing to put up with a grump of my caliber, but Hannah and Owen fight the good fight. So long as I at least pretend to try.”

“Let me guess. They set up the account for you?”

Jamie makes a sort of gesture in the air with the hand not holding her glass. “Threatened to bury me in puns and children, respectively, if I kept putting it off. Owen’s still grumpy about the photo choice.”

“I liked it,” Dani says without thinking. Jamie raises an eyebrow.

“Well, you did swipe as much. Mind if I ask why?”

Walked into this one. Still, she doesn’t mind as much as she probably should, not with the genuine curiosity in Jamie’s eyes. “You looked--don’t laugh.”

“No promises,” Jamie says, but with the gentle tone of one who knows exactly how much to tease before it’ll hurt. The idea warms Dani in a way she’s not quite ready to look at yet.

“You looked real,” Dani says. “Like you weren’t going to play games, or waste anyone’s time. Like you just wanted to be happy in peace.”

“That is,” Jamie says, holding out a fry for Dani to take, “sort of the idea, yeah.”

There’s an almost puzzled cast to her smile, like she didn’t entirely expect this answer, and is pleased by it at the same time. That same sense from the photo sweeps over Dani now--that this woman is authentic, even if she’s not always shiny, that she’s kind even if not entirely clean. That she doesn’t have any interest in muddled expectation or living a comfortable lie.

“And me?” Dani asks. She doesn’t entirely mean to--but she’s sure, in asking, that Jamie will answer. Jamie is unlike anyone else she’s ever met, the first person she’s ever known to meet each question head-on.

“Honestly?”

Dani nods. Jamie seems to consider it, turning it over in her head as she twists a fry between her fingers like a cigarette.

“All of it.”

“That’s,” Dani begins to laugh, “that’s not--”

“No,” Jamie says, and she isn’t smiling, exactly. Her eyes have a sort of shine Dani likes very much, but there is no hint of teasing in them now. “Really. All of it. You’re...very pretty, and that’s--but the way you described yourself. Like you didn’t care to be anyone in particular. You like new experiences, and bad coffee. You hate being called Danielle. I...I wanted to know why.”

“It’s not my name,” Dani says simply. Jamie gives a brief laugh, her hand moving across the table to lightly brush Dani’s fingertips.

“I wanted to know why all of it. Why do you like bad coffee--”

“It’s the only kind I know how to make,” Dani says automatically. “Just sort of leaned into it.”

“--and teaching--”

“I want to make a difference,” Dani says.

“--and where you most like to go on those long walks--”

“Anywhere I can breathe,” Dani says. Her fingers are hesitant, tracing the tips of Jamie’s. There’s something electric about this, about barely touching, about barely knowing someone and still wanting to give them neatly-packaged secrets shaped like the mundane.

Jamie is smiling. “See, that. I like that. All of it.”

It’s nothing, Dani thinks reflexively. A collection of details. A sparse approximation of a life. Eddie knows all of this, and then some, and never matched up to knowing her.

But this woman, leaning across the table with one hand outstretched, looks so different. Watches her with steady interest. Is listening to every word Dani says, though the bar is growing crowded around them, and soon, conversation will become a task instead of a gift.

“Would you,” Dani says, feeling certain that some mistakes are not as bad as they seem, “like to take one of those walks?”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah. Tonight.” Emboldened by the smile, by the curl falling into Jamie’s eyes, by the knowledge that she still can’t quite make out what color those eyes are, Dani takes her hand. It’s so easy, she thinks she could do it even without looking. “Right now.”

No bullshit, she thinks. No expectations. Just Jamie looking at her like she can’t quite believe what she’s seeing. Dani can’t blame her. This isn’t at all what she’d thought she was getting, walking in tonight.

But there’s something about it--something about the feeling that she’s been here before, or should be here forever, or will always find her way back to a woman who looks at her just like this--that almost makes her feel brave. Almost makes her feel wonderful. She rises from the table, laying cash beneath her half-empty glass, and feels a pleasant jolt in her chest when Jamie follows without another word.

If this a mistake, she thinks as they step out into the brisk evening air, it’s one she’s hungry to make.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #okay I liked this one way more than planned #it's sort of nice doing a modern AU under a million words long

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chesscabrera · 3 years

Text

A Wedding!

Word Count: 884

Synopsis: Roman and Virgil get married - hot damn!

(I’m posting on mobile so I may need to edit the post a bit in the morning)

“So I will follow you wherever you go, if your offered hand is still open to me. If we’re bound to be something, why not together?”

There was not a dry eye in the church as Roman read his vows, the hand not holding Virgil’s reading off his notecard, and squeezed Virgil’s hand three times before he spoke his finale.

“I love you.”

It was then Virgil’s turn to say his own, to which he let go of Roman’s hand to reach for the cards in his back pocket.

Roman practically vibrated in excitement when he saw the stack his almost-husband had in his hands.

He was expecting something short and sweet since Virgil never bring one for grand gestures or even intense PDA. But his soon-husband, going out of his way, to write enough that it was more than one notecard was a symbol for the ends of earth Virgil would go to for Roman.

It was a small, but impactful gesture.

Virgil raised his hand, breathing in slowly, before releasing his fingers to hold only the back card.

The notecards were all taped together, and had been folded accordion style, and...each note card held a single letter.

Roman and the entire church went silent before bursting in laughter, including fond groans from Virgil’s father, Janus.

Remus, who was standing behind Roman, was laughing so hard that his knees buckled.

Of course, Roman thought, I should’ve known better. Virgil giving a long speech was so out of character for him, this fit their dynamic perfectly.

Without much ado, they were finally pronounced a couple under both law and God, and Virgil dipped Roman in the kiss — nearly losing his grip, but holding on strong to Roman’s hips.

Roman had expected to be brought up so they could walk out together, but Virgil had suddenly tossed Roman over his left shoulder and ran down the aisle with his right fist raised, as if to signify he had won a trophy.

Roman shrieked in glee as they ran down the chapel, noting the absurd amount of photographers his father, Remy, had insisted on for his big day were catching every angle possible.

This moment was definitely going above the fireplace once we get to order pictures.

***

“I hope I didn’t push it too far with the vows, my love,” Virgil murmured into Roman’s ear as they had their first dance.

“Never,” Roman insisted, “It felt perfect. Almost as perfect as my husband.”

Husband.

It felt so right to hear and to say, but neither could believe it.

Virgil pulled Roman closer by the hand on his back, and rested his head in the crook of Roman’s neck — completely forgetting about the mics they were wearing for the videographer’s editing sake.

“Husband,” Virgil breathed out slowly, “I can’t believe I married my dream.”

“Don’t you mean dream guy, silly?”

”That too.”

That made Roman freeze. It wasn’t like Virgil had never said he’d loved him (clearly, they wouldn’t be getting married if he hadn’t) or given his ego a stroke, but this moment was out of a fairytale; out of a dream.

Roman wasn’t just the guy of his dreams, he was the dream.

Virgil brought his face out of Roman’s neck, eyebrows furrowed in concern, when he saw the awestruck face of his husband.

Virgil spun them around quickly, snapping Roman out of his trance to keep up, when he dipped his husband for the third time that night (the second was after they signed the papers and Virgil couldn’t hold back any longer.)

Roman released the hand holding Virgil’s and wrapped it around his neck. “I’ll worship you to the end of time.”

Virgil brought them up slowly as they kissed, the song ending and taking a complete 180 in aura as it went straight to blaring pop.

Virgil definitely copped a few feels of Roman’s ass throughout the night, getting a playful but reprimanding shove from his dad, Patton, and Roman’s dad, Remy.

Virgil quietly thanked the gods that Roman’s father Emile hadn’t seen him do it, and made a mental note to thank Dr. Picani for paying for such an expensive venue (and everything else besides the engagement ring Virgil had saved up for since he was 15 and hadn’t even asked Roman out yet.)

***

“How do you want it once we land?” Virgil asked Roman as they ate.

“Hm?” Roman responded, almost choking on mashed potato at the sudden question.

“When we get to that hut in Bali, do you want it slow and sweet for our first time as a married couple,” Virgil snaked a hand to the inside of Roman’s thigh, “Or do you want the whole island to wake up knowing your husband’s name?”

“I was thinking mile-high club, honestly,” Roman responded nonchalantly before leaning closer to where he knew Virgil’s mic was, “And we definitely just traumatized our videographer.”

Virgil’s eyes bulged out of his head at the realization, but as Roman pulled back, he made a harsh grab at Virgil’s cock and winked before returning to his food like nothing.

Virgil bit his lip, and toasted himself and god for what he knew was going to be a long, happy marriage and the best decision of his life.

#prinxiety #ts virgil #ts roman #tss fic #tss #sanders sides fic #sanders sides #fluff #marriage #wedding #wedding fic #sanders sides fanfiction #ts prinxiety #virgil sanders #roman sanders #hot damn #humor #romance

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whyispickingausernamesohard · 3 years

Text

Remember when we were having friends vibe check the mechs? Yeah this was with @astronautjaws

Note that I do talk to this friend about the mechs a Lot so they did know some stuff (a Jonny ramble had happened literally the night before for example). (Also the Sasha mentioned in Ivy's is Sasha Sienna bc I also ramble about them)

Images descriptions under read more, if there’s a better way to format them please let me know!

[Image ID:

Ten images, each with 1 to 5 pictures of a given Mechanism and comments edited over.

Three pictures of Raphaella la Cognizi, featuring both of her wing styles. Comments read “She looks like a Juliet but she’s wearing all red so imma guess Red Rose? Clone or otherwise. Nice wings tho” “Okay but she does look like a Juliet” “Holy fuck Juliet” “wings and just straight up gay vibes, uh idk much about ships positions so imma go sword girl, now thinking about it her mechanism can be sword wlw”

One picture of Gunpowder Tim. Comments read “Jonny, human disaster and feral bastard, cannibal, tax fraud committee, captain?, gay dads that he killed both of” and a conversation between the person sending, “What’s his mechanism” and the person commenting, “Oh fuck. Uh compass?”

Two pictures of Jonny D’Ville. Comments read “he gives me a Nils vibe so let’s go with that, uh I go with him being a navigator but a badass one cause I feel like he would be looking at a map then turn around and shoot whoever was behind him without flinching, I feel like he’s 5′2″ tho which tbh the shorter you are the closer to satan you are so, that gun be his mech.” Comments from the sender read “You have no idea how much discourse there is over how tall he is” and “He has such short ppl energy but Insists he isn’t short (I think I remember seeing his height somewhere but I don’t remember it)”

Three pictures of Ashes O’Reilly. Comments read “they are the one who paved the way to enbies using random nouns as their names and i love it, tbh I was gonna go with like June as their name but I really think August/Auggie is more their vibe, Fucking shit is that a 5 string bass I love them, Their mech better be that bass, Lieutenant? Like is that a position used on this ship?, In regards to my first point their middle name is definitely Quill”

Two pictures of Nastya Rasputina. Comments read “those blue streaks of hair in the first pic bonus points there, she looks innocent but she’s definitely the kind of person who has a first name that’s minimum 3-4 syllables and she has 5 different middle names, Genevieve or Rebekah for sure (yes I did look at a name generator for this cause I can’t think of words let alone names with more than 3 syllables), I feel like her mech is a ring some jewelry, rank??? Seriously I know nothing of rank”

Five pictures of the Toy Soldier. Comments read “Toy Soldier babey, the child, it will either destroy baby yoda or team up with baby yoda for world domination, its mech I feel like is like the metal lumberjack from wizard of oz where it’s a metal heart that ticks, it has no rank cause nothing can contain The Feral Babey/Child - only chaos, timetraveling babey but wherever it lands everybody just goes ‘aw’ and TS commits crimes.” A conversation between the sender, “Yea basically fuck I talk too much about TS,” and the person commenting, “Oh for sure.” Another comment from the sender is placed over two pictures of the Toy Soldier with its hair down. It reads “These two pics in particular unlock secret emotions in me”

Two pictures of Drumbot Brian. In both pictures he is wearing the bronze face paint. Comments read “gold boi, shiny 10/10, I feel like Leo/Leonardo fits him, it might be the beart/long hair but I feel like he’s friends with the lesbians- like Hozier, mech is that drumstick? Cause you can’t play the accordion and drums at the same time?, cook probs, he’s just smiley all the time - he’s definitely the capybara of the group”

Five pictures of Marius von Raum. In two pictures an ace of hearts card is clearly visible in his hat. Comments read “Zack or Max, he’s the one who has been pulling stupid pranks everywhere like whoopie cushions under every seat, I spy with my little eye an ace in his hat so he’s confirmed canon asexual (would have preferred the ace of spades but I’ll take it), his mech is that card, no one wants to give him a rank cause he came on the ship stealing snacks and never left but he’s good at fighting in battle so he can stay” “K he’s aroace”

Three pictures of Ivy Alexandria. Comments read “[many question marks] Hello??, I may have just found a reason to start listening to the mechs, hey wait is this Sasha or nah, eh might as well go with Sasha cause why not, last pic got a knife so the knife is definitely the mech cause knife, That vest! That style! WTF! I love it!, feels like she’s off reading books while the rest of the crew is out fighting and only joins as a last resort. Plus if/when she joins the fight it’s over in 5 minutes cause gotta go back to reading that book before you’re out of the zone and you lose motivation for reading the book and it sits unfinished on a table (adhd mood but still) also if she occasionally fights while reading the book, just a book in one hand and a sword in another fighting off whoever is in front of her never breaking eye contact with the book”

One black and white picture of Dr. Carmilla. Comments read “her mech is the Spencer’s or hot topic gift card cause piercings, and if you don’t like that answer then I’d say it’s a dried/pressed flower or clover that’s been made into a bookmark cause that vibes, feel like her name is Rain or Millie, I feel like she doesn’t have a position but more of a location and that is the crow’s nest cause if you have a ukulele people are going to ask you to play the TOP cover of Falling in Love With You song over and over again or House Of Gold, and there’s no escaping it when you have your ukulele in hand”

End ID]

#the mechanisms #the mechs #raphaella la cognizi #gunpowder tim #jonny d'ville #ashes o'reilly #nastya rasputina #the toy soldier #drumbot brian #marius von raum #ivy alexandria #dr carmilla #doctor carmilla #taz talks #yea i'm maintagging this bc why not #also yes they fundamentally misunderstood what i meant by 'their mechanism is a mechanical thing that makes them immortal'#in my defense i KNOW ive said its a body part #long post cw #long post

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haltandcatchfiretothemax · 3 years

Text

FEMSLASH FEBRUARY 2021 #19: In which Cameron finally talks to Donna

PREVIOUSLY

When Donna got home from work, she found Cameron sitting on the single step outside of her front door, long legs stretched out straight in front of her down the concrete walk. She was wearing a beat up leather jacket that Donna had never seen, and a ragged pair of light denim jeans that Donna could swear Cameron had owned since at least 1985.

Her bag over her shoulder and a thick accordion file of documents to be read under her arm, Donna walked toward her. “Needed a change of pace from waiting for me in the kitchen?”

Cameron quickly folded her knees up, and put her hands on her shins, as if she was trying to contain herself. “I guess? But also I don’t think Haley is home, actually.”

Donna stopped in front of her. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

Cameron wasn’t sure what time it was, or what time she’d gotten there; it wasn’t important. Without preamble, she said, “I talked to J0e last night.”

“Oh, really?” Donna asked brightly. Then, face falling, she said, “Oh my G-d, is he okay?”

Cameron rolled her eyes, more at J0e than at Donna, and said, “He’s the same. You know how he is. He said that Simon called him though.”

Donna’s face lit up again. Shifting her accordion file to her other arm, she said, “Oh, that sounds nice! I hope it’s nice for them.”

Cameron anxiously tapped at the toe of her sneaker for a few seconds. And then finally, she said, “I asked him how he knew that he, you know. Liked Simon.” Donna looked curiously at her, and then Cameron said, “Or, not just Simon. Simon wasn’t the first guy he had a thing with.” Taking a deep breath, Cameron admitted, “I asked him how you know you like someone. Who you’re not supposed to like. Specifically because they are the same sex. Or, gender, or whatever. Because you are a person who, you know, likes people who are the same sex or gender as you.”

Donna adjusted the strap of her bag, and then in the same voice that she used to use when politely arguing with one of the male partners at AGGEK, said, “Oh. You know what, I would also be interested in the answer to that question. What did he say?”

Cameron looked at Donna, slightly flabbergasted by her response, or seeming lack of response to ‘a person who likes people who are the same sex or gender as you.’ “Uh, he said, ‘it’s different for everyone’? And that you sort of ‘just know’ and then you spend, like, years of your life parsing out what it means?’ Irritably, she said, “Which actually wasn’t all that helpful.”

Donna nodded. “That sounds like him.”

Cameron played idly with one of her shoelaces. “I also told him about Tori Lowman. I’ve never told you about her, have I?”

Quietly, Donna said, “I don’t think so.”

“She was my best friend when I was little,” Cameron said. “Her family had an airstream, and we used to play in it. I always thought of as playing ‘airstream,’ but, uh, it’s been brought to my attention that we were basically playing house? I don’t really know. I just know that I wanted to see her every day. I wanted to spend all day in the trailer with her, and I wanted to have sleepovers with her every night. Like, for the rest of time? And I used to think, ‘well yeah sure after your dad died you were traumatized so you wanted to be with your one friend at all times.” Cameron shrugged. “But it wasn’t just that. I felt like that before my dad died. I remember telling my dad that I loved her.”

Warmly, Donna said, “She was a very lucky little girl then.”

Cameron’s face flushed bright pink. “You think?” She sighed nervously, and then said, “I felt like that about Mutiny, back in Dallas. But it wasn’t just Mutiny. It was you. I wanted you to come over so that we could work and argue with each other every day for the rest of time.”

“Cam,” Donna whispered.

“I wanted to feel that way with J0e, you know?” Cameron frowned. “I sort of did, sometimes, but, we just had too much baggage. He was controlling, even when he didn’t mean to be. I used to wonder how Gordon put up with it. Like, literally, seriously, how did he work with him? Like, how did he keep J0e from steamrolling him?”

Thoughtfully, Donna said, “I wonder if maybe J0e was different with him because he was a man.”

Cameron grinned up at Donna. “Maybe? I always figured Gordon was better at dealing with him because had you. And your kids.”

Donna smiled warmly at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“That’s how I meant it,” Cameron grinned up at her. Then she looked down at her shoes, and she said, “I was jealous of Gordon. And it used to annoy me that he wasn’t a better husband to you. I remember thinking that I could do better, and not just because he had phases where he set the bar pretty low.” She paused briefly, and then continued, “And now you’re single, and I’ve been worried that your gonna meet someone, but it’s not because I’m weird and clingy, and it’s not because I’m traumatized and have abandonment issues, it’s not because I’m insecure about being undateable and unloveable or worried about dying alone, though I have worried about those things. I’m worried that you’re going to meet someone because, I wanna be your someone. I wanna be your boyfriend.”

Donna grinned at her. “It is really a good thing that I like surprises, because you’re full of them, aren’t you?”

Apologetically, Cameron said, “It’s part of my charm?”

“Yes, yes it is,” Donna agreed. “And I actually mean that, I’m not saying it in the jokey, self-deprecating way that you are.”

Cameron stood up, and looked down into Donna’s eyes. “I don’t know…a lot of things, actually. I don’t know how you feel or if I should be your boyfriend, or, what have you. I just know that no one has ever made me feel the way you make me feel, Donna.”

Shifting the accordion folder again, Donna lightly said, “Well, the feeling is pretty mutual.” She looked at Cameron, with her wide, anxious eyes, and then said, “You wanna come in?”

“Sure,” Cameron nodded. She took the folder from her.

Donna was about to turn to the door so that she could unlock it, “Oh, or, you know what - do you maybe wanna go somewhere?”

“We never do that,” Cameron mused. “Where did you have in mind?”

Turning the lock, Donna glanced back over her shoulder and said, “You remember that bar went to the night we bought the fake XTs?”

“Back in Dallas?”

Donna opened the door. “There’s gotta be some place like that here where we can go, right?” She stepped inside. “I’m gonna go change, I’ll be right back,” she said. “Then we can figure out where we’re going.”

She went up to her bedroom, and Cameron lingered in the doorway, as if she hadn’t been there before, many, many times. It sort of felt like she’d never been there before. She felt different, but not in a bad way.

A few minutes later, Donna returned, in her best-fitting and most flattering pair of jeans, an oversized dark red sweater, and black boots that had a small heel. It looked as though she’d smoothed her hair down, and refreshed the light coral, peachy-nude lipstick that she usually wore. Cameron realized, for the millionth time, how beautiful and vibrant she really was.

Happily, Donna said, “Okay, ready?”

Cameron smiled at her. “Yes, actually. You have no idea.”

#just pickin' up where i left off in 2019 NBD!#whatever it's fine i'm just gonna think about cameron in her leather jacket for the rest of lockdown #happy friday bbys!#femslash february #femslash february 2021 #fan fiction #cameron howe #donna clark #donna emerson

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bisexualcrowley · 3 years

Text

Fairytale of New York

Pairing: Jack Kline x Reader (Gender non-specified)

Summary: Jack gives you something you’ve always dreamt of while walking through a park on Christmas eve

Content/warnings: Fluff, songfic, little bit of angst, censored use of the F slur in song lyrics, can be read as romantic or platonic

Word count: 2, 581

A/N: I absolutely recommend you listen to the song while reading, I know it’s not really everyone’s taste but I feel that it adds to the mental image, plus there's a bunch of instrumental bits that I think are worth being included :) // Originally wrote this as a Jack fic, but felt that Jack fit better

The snow fell in a light drifting throughout the city, glistening in the glow of the streetlights and setting the scene for what in most movies would be seen as the perfect Christmas eve. It was quiet, peaceful, the soft noises of traffic heard behind the sound of slow Christmas music playing soothingly from a shop across the street.

Since becoming a hunter, you hadn’t really been much for the holidays, especially religious ones, but tonight as you walked side by side with Jack through the little park, boots crunching in the fallen powder with snowflakes dusting your hair as you made your way to a nearby pizza joint to meet Sam Dean and Cas, it felt different, the way Christmas should feel.

Tonight it didn’t matter that the apocalypse was approaching, the thought was shoved to the back of your head along with everything else that had gone wrong. Tonight was just snow, food, gifts, and family, and you found yourself smiling as you made your way along the path.

You were so caught up in your thoughts, or lack of them, that it took you a moment to realize you had been walking by yourself for a few seconds, and quickly doubled back to where the nephilim was standing.

You were concerned at first, his still figure bringing all sorts of unpleasant thoughts to mind, but your worries quickly evaporated when you drew closer to your friend. A peaceful smile graced his features, eyes closed and face tilted upwards, snowflakes hitting his skin and melting, the fair few settling softly on his eyelashes.

“...Jack?” You called quietly, hesitating at the idea of disturbing him but knowing he wouldn’t want to be late to dinner with the Winchesters.

Luckily, the nephilim’s peaceful expression cracked into a toothy grin as he turned his head to face you, a light dusting of snow falling from his hair onto his nose and making you giggle.

“It’s so beautiful, isn’t it Y/n. I never took the time to experience a snowfall properly before now, and it’s just... Well it’s just incredible. God did a good job with this one” He murmured happily, his gaze returning to the sky, this time followed by your own.

It had been years since you sat back and allowed yourself to enjoy a moment like this, year after year of hunting taking priority over and over again, and you were glad that there was time for it tonight. Jack was right, the sight truly was beautiful, the crystals of ice glistening as they blew through the sky and settled on every surface in sight.

You had just opened your mouth to respond when a familiar melody filled the air, and you paused in your thoughts. Fairytale of New York, The Pogues. You hadn’t heard this one in years, though you never forgot it, your teenage daydreams always somewhere in the back of your mind.

Apparently Jack had found your silence alarming and turned his attention back to you, finding you lost in thought, a troubled expression having replaced your smile from before.

“You look upset, Y/n, are you alright?” Your friend questioned, a concerned expression gracing his usually happy features, and his worry drawing a dry chuckle from your lips.

“It’s nothing Jack, lets just keep going, Sam and Dean are probably already at the pizza place” You replied in a dreary voice, sighing as the song progressed from purely instrumental to include vocals, the piano echoing sweetly in the darkened street and Shane Macgowan’s somewhat rough voice flooding your ears.

It was Christmas Eve babe

In the drunk tank

An old man said to me, won't see another one

Turning away from Jack, you moved to cross away from the park, but found yourself held back by the angel’s hand landing firmly on your shoulder, forcing your gaze back in his direction.

“Honestly, it’s stupid, lets just keep going please” Your voice came out tight and clipped and the sound made you wince, hoping Jack didn’t think of it as rude. Luckily, in that sense, your friend didn’t seem to be offended, but unluckily it made him push the subject further.

And then he sang a song

The Rare Old Mountain Dew

“You've never been good at lying to me, Y/n, it’s clear that this isn’t stupid. Please, talk to me.”

You shot him a defeated smile, the ache in your heart showing clearly in your eyes as you shoved your hands in your pockets, shifting your weight from one leg to the other.

I turned my face away

And dreamed about you

“I dunno, Jack, It’s just this song.” You mumbled, gaze falling to the ground in hopes of avoiding the nephilim’s concerned stare.

“Ah, I understand. Cas explained this to me, how humans can connect bad memories to songs,” He nodded, his hand returning to your shoulder in a comforting gesture.

Got on a lucky one

Came in eighteen to one

“No, it’s not that. It’s just... Ever since I was a kid I’ve always dreamt of dancing with someone to Fairytale of New York. I haven’t heard it in years, hunting kind of took over my life, but hearing it again makes me realize, as small as it is, I want it, so so badly. Being pulled close and spun around as the snow falls around me on Christmas eve, it’s so stupid but knowing the world is gonna end and I’ve never had the chance to experience it hurts like hell, Jack, and I know as a hunter I should have higher priorities, but honestly it’s all I fucking want, the only thing I wanted to do before I die and now I’m not gonna get the chance.”

I've got a feeling

This year's for me and you

You didn’t plan to ramble on, spill such a close desire to your friend but as soon as you started speaking the dam broke, all your feelings slipping out at once. You were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t notice the tears running down your cheeks, not until a gentle hand tilted your chin up, your eyes locking on Jack’s caring ones as he brushed them away.

“That’s not stupid, Y/n... Actually, I think it’s quite beautiful. There’s so much hate and greed in this world, but all you ask for is one moment in time...”

Jack’s voice was quiet but sincere as he spoke, and though you couldn’t work up the strength to thank him, you appreciated what he had said.

So happy Christmas

I love you baby

“It doesn’t matter, we can’t all get what we want, right?” You smiled tightly, quickly clearing your throat and turning to head towards the road again, and once more you were stopped by a strong hand pulling you back.

"Jack please, lets go, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore, ok? It’s upsetting and it’s getting cold, let’s just go meet the guys” You huffed, now slightly annoyed at the nephilim’s stubbornness, but the feeling melting almost immediately into confusion as your friend pulled your shorter frame against his own, leading one of your hands to his waist and capturing your other in his.

I can see a better time

When all our dreams come true

“Dance with me, Y/n.” He whispered, smiling shyly at the expression on your face.

“..what?” You managed to ask, somewhat in shock at the quick movements Jack had made to settle you in such a position.

“Look, I know this probably isn’t exactly what you were hoping for, It’s barely snowing, we’re probably going to get yelled at by Dean and well, it’s me, but if the world really does end, I don’t want you to go out having not experienced the thing you’ve dreamt of all your life. I understand if you don’t want to waste the moment with me, but if you do I’d be more than happy to share it with you”

Jack chuckled at the end of his sentence, but didn’t go on, waiting for an answer as the music picked up, moving from piano to accordion.

You had to fight back tears as your friend spoke. It was hard to believe, but it was finally happening, you were finally going to get your dance, and you just beamed up at the angel, emotions overflowing with each second that passed, and as the third verse began, you nodded, Jack responding by matching your smile and settling his free hand on your waist.

They've got cars big as bars

They've got rivers of gold

But the wind goes right through you

It's no place for the old

You hadn’t danced to the song since you were a kid, twirling around in an oversized dressing gown with a broom in Bobby’s basement, and you were almost certain Jack had never even heard of it before now, but somehow the both of you knew exactly what to do, how to move. Two steps and a spin, swinging away from the angel only to be pulled back in, each switch of your hands, it was all exactly how you had always pictured it.

When you first took my hand

On a cold Christmas Eve

You promised me

Broadway was waiting for me

1 2 3 4 5 6, 1 2 3 4 5 6. You counted silently along with the patterns played, a squeal turning into a joyous laugh as a particularly passionate spin from Jack led the both of you sliding along a patch of ice, boots leaving trails in the freshly fallen snow.

You were handsome

You were pretty

Queen of New York City

When the band finished playing

They howled out for more

You hadn’t expected Jack to enjoy himself as much as he appeared to be. You figured, hey, he’s a nephilim, I’ve helped him out, he probably feels obligated to do this, right? To see that you were wrong, the elation on his face made the already indescribable moment all the better

Sinatra was swinging

All the drunks they were singing

We kissed on a corner

Then danced through the night

The rare passerby walking through the park would smile, pause for a moment to watch the two of you spin happily across the frozen ground before continuing on their way, each one chuckling to themselves over whatever joke they came up with about once upon a time being young enough to move like that

The boys of the NYPD choir

Were singing Galway Bay

And the bells were ringing out

For Christmas day

As the two of you danced, you couldn’t help but think how beautiful this scene would be in a movie, all done up in fancy clothes, cameras following each sweeping movement you made

You're a bum

You're a punk

You're an old slut on junk

Lying there almost dead on a drip in that bed

Another step. Another swing.

You scumbag, you maggot

You cheap lousy f*ggot

Happy Christmas your arse

I pray God it's our last

Jack’s hands flew to your hips, picking you up as if weighed nothing as the chorus peaked once again, spinning you in the air and making you feel like you were flying.

The boys of the NYPD choir

Still singing Galway Bay

The moment your shoes touched the ground Jack bent you down in a dip, flashing you a goofy smile at the noise you let out

And the bells are ringing out

For Christmas day

Jack smiled, and you beamed up at him

I could have been someone

Well so could anyone

You took my dreams from me

When I first found you

The music slowed slightly, and Jack traded your previous quick footsteps for a simple back and forth box step, the softening of your movements giving him a proper look at you, with your hair mussed and face rosy from the cold. Your smile stood out the most to the angel though, the unfiltered joy crinkling your eyes and releasing whatever tension you were holding before

I kept them with me babe

I put them with my own

Can't make it all alone

I've built my dreams around you

The boys of the NYPD choir

Still singing Galway Bay

And the bells are ringing out

For Christmas day

As the instrumental section came to an end, the wall inside you that you hadn’t even realized was there finally broke down, and you followed in suit. Your arms flew around the nephilim’s neck and you clung to him as if letting go would kill you, and you sobbed. The sudden burst frightened Jack, who quickly pulled away enough to meet your eyes, but was surprised to find that you weren’t upset, but were crying tears of happiness.

“Y/n are you alright?” He whispered, tightening his hold around you as you pulled him along, your complicated waltz now replaced by the simple motions of a slow dance, weight shifting from one side to another as the song neared it’s end

You didn’t reply at first, choosing instead to smile up at Jack with teary eyes and nod rapidly before managing to choke out the words “Thank you, Jack”.

As the final few notes finally faltered off, you pulled away from the tight embrace, looking earnestly up at your friend, who wore a warm smile as well

“Really, Jack, Thank you. So, so much, that was incredible, I can’t even-” Your voice cracked, cut off, and unable to vocalize anything more you reached out and took his hand between your own, squeezing tightly.

Luckily Jack understood what you were trying to say. He knew he couldn’t ever truly understand the level of happiness the action had brought you, but he knew he was gonna cherish the moment for the rest of his life. It was the most fun he had had in as long as he could remember, but that wasn’t why he knew it would stick with with. There was something special about sharing such a moment with someone he loved so dearly, being able to give you that happiness that made life worth living, gave the strength to keep fighting whatever the hell would be thrown at them next.

You and Jack would have been happy to stay there forever, hands clasped together and snow dusting your hair, but as always, the reminder that all good things must come to an end was brought to you by whichever shop was playing music turning their volume way up, the blasting of trumpets from rockin’ around the Christmas tree hitting you like a truck and thoroughly ruining the peaceful setting.

Your reactions were like a scene out of a movie, the simultaneous jump, staring at each other in shock and finally breaking down in peals of laughter seconds later.

“I think that means it’s time to go” you snickered, the nephilim chuckling in response, and at that the two of you took off again, making your way towards the pizza place.

Thank you, you repeated silently. Thank you

Tags, let me know if you want to be added <3 @cursedbobs @frog-tiddies @imagine-whatever

#jack kline x reader #jack kline #supernatural imagines #songfic #fairytale of new york #self-projecting babey

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cartoonfangirl1218 · 3 years

Text

Remember When?

So slightly off in which Carter comes back alive somewhere in the middle of S1. Sorry for any spelling errors. My beta reader is all whacked up.

Kendra was really really annoyed. With one man, and no his name was not Rip.

Carter.

Kendra shook her head. Ever since he had been reincarnated in the 2020s and Kendra helped him regain his memories he had been annoying her like a mosquito about Ray. Trying to make her move on to him.

So not happening.

He wasn't doing anything so pointedly obvious like sabotaging their dates, oh no he was much to sophisticated for that. He just stood there with snarky comments on all things they had done together and Ray's ability with technology. Ray was trying to take the high road and not let it bother him, but Kendra noticed the way his eyebrows bristled every time Carter mentioned something about "that little place with went together in Rome" or "how you smiled at my marriage gift to you in Istanbul".

Plus every time he mentioned something a rush of feelings would come to Kendra, feelings of safety, love and passion, and she would find herself staring longingly to his lips, wishing to feel their softness against her own.

Until she came to her senses that is. Just because 208 versions of herself fell in love with Carter didn't mean 209 had to too. She was not going to do anything because of some star crossed destiny. Ray was her future, Carter was her past.

The group was getting ready to set off to Japan, and she and Ray were set to pretend to be married couple once again.

Carter had complained about it, how he had more experienced being married than any of them.

Rip refused as he needed a wing guy to watch from the air, and two males together in Japan would not be well accepted.

"Too bad, I was hoping to see you spar with a samurai again," He smirked at her.

Kendra felt the world shift to feudal Japan at a small meditation garden where she and Carter were fighting against a honored samurai, a duel that began after the samurai tried to get her to "behave like a lady".

Carter had punched the guy in the throat and she got him in where it hurts. A warm feeling spread through her, it was wonderful to be with a guy who not only defended her but fought right beside her. It made her feel safe, like someone cared to be with her.

"We make a great team." She smiled at him.

"Ready to go" Ray linked his arm between hers, reminding her where she actually was and felt a red flush creep up her neck, praying that Ray had not heard the samurai comment. He was a really sweet guy and it wasn't fair to compare them. "Yes, WE make a great team" Kendra smiled at the scientist and looked back at Carter. His smirk disappeared ———-

Paris, France 1974 They went to Paris to track down Vandel Savage's attempt to infiltrate the Parisian UN meeting.

The group was situated at the sidewalk cafe, waiting for Sara and Snart's signal to go to the embassy.

A man with an accordion began playing and Kendra could faintly remember the tune. Beauty and the Beast.

She didn't understand why it seemed so familiar. She hardly watched Disney when she was younger, she preferred action to Disney's cheesy endings plus her feminist mother despised those princesses. Most of the Disney movies she did watch involved animals like the Rescuers, or Lady and the Tramp or Aristocats.

"Barely even friends then somebody bends unexpectedly," Kendra sang under her breath

"Just a little change. Small to say the least. Both a little scared neither one prepared Beaty and the Beast. Remember our dance to this song. It was like after the movie came out" Carter smiled at her Kendra mind went back to her. Her hair in a small bun, and was wearing a gorgeous dark real evening gown and matching heels. He in a tux, smelling like pine and aftershave. The view of the Eiffel Tower in the dark, glowed as they danced by the river.

"Ever just the same. Ever a surprise. Ever as before. Ever just as sure. As the sun will rise" His deep, musical baritone surprised her every time he sang. She had insisted to dancing to the song because it reminded her that no matter how many times they were reincarnated, they needed up together.

Just as it should be. Just as certain as the sun. It was a fact of life.

"Tale as old as time, Tune as old as song. Bitter sweet and strange Finding you can change Learning you were wrong. Certain as the sun Rising in the east" He twirled her and Kendra smiled giddily, she didn't know how he had even managed to play the song in Paris and in English but he did. For her.

"Tale as old as time. Song as old as rhyme. Beauty and the beast" Kendra took her head off his broad chest looked up at him. His eyes gazing at her like there was no one else in the world.

"So who's Beauty and who's the beast?" A gruff voice asked. Kendra slowly turned her head to see Mick. She looked around. She was in street clothes, they were at a sidewalk cafe, holding on to Carter's arms in perfect waltz position, faces inches from each other and Carter was staring at her expectantly. Ray frowning. Jax, Stein, and Rip staring quizzically.

Did she just?

Kendra pushed Carter away and grabbed Ray's hands, "Come on Ray, dance with me. Jax you're next!" -

The ultimatum came one Saturday. For once the group was relaxing and talking.

Then Ray came in excitedly, he sat at the table, "Hey Kendra, I found this nice sushi place at the Upper East side we could go to. Then I rented a hotel suite we can stay for the weekend. You know if nothing happens during the time."

"Hotel suite, niiice rich boy," Sara smiled.

"Just the two of you?” Carter asked, looking up from his magazine on the love seat.

"Well yes." Ray grinded his teeth "In case you're sick head is wondering. She hasn't mistaken my name with yours. Seems like your little dance in Paris was one sided." Kendra patted Ray's shoulder soothingly. She had spend the weekend talking to him, convincing him that they were in the past.

"Oh woah man I don't want anything to intrude your relationship,” Carter held up his hands mockingly "But I was just wondering...you know just for advice. Is it the Carlton because last time we went there Kendra couldn't "get in the mood" because they didn't turn off their coolers. But that was 1930 so I'm not sure if it's quite the same.” Kendra froze. He was not, he could not... "Oh and make sure to wear red. Red makes her go crazy. Not a red suit, but you know red briefs would be good."

Mick didn't even hide his snickering. Ray looked surprised and slightly perturbed by Carter's sudden helpfulness. Sara, Leonard and Stein were muffling their laughter, Jax was too busy with headphones to care and Rip rolled his eyes, ignoring them.

"And make sure to know pressure points...Remember when I used to massage your wings and back beforehand." Carter cocked his head toward her.

Kendra felt the memories coming back, his strong, warm hands easing her back with oil and stroking her feathers, feeling his abs pressed against her. Kendra started violently coughing in an effort not to moan out loud "Kendra are you okay?" Ray asked.

"Oh, interesting fact. She gets turned on if you rip her clothes off with only your teeth. Ray," Carter clicked his tongue, "Take notes" Kendra grabbed a couch pillow and coughed into, biting it and gasping.

"I will not moan, I will not moan." she told herself.

"Turned on by ripping off clothes like a dog. That's a new one." Leonard dead panned.

"I want to try!" Mick cried, excitedly

"Carter get in the hall now!" Kendra growled after her coughing fit and grabbed him by the collar, slamming the door.

"Since you like this memory lane thing so much remember when I was an independent woman that's makes her own choices, and doesn't not take about YOUR turn ons in public!" Kendra cried, slamming the door.

"IT'S OKAY BIRDIE! I THINK IT'S PRETTY HOT TOO!" Mick called from the other side of the door. "FEEL FREE TO TALK ABOUT CARTER'S.” Sara added.

"Great, now I have something in common with Mick." Kendra grumbled. "Chay-era,” Carter started.

"No, no Chay-era, no Leyla or René or whatever name I was. That's done. That was years ago. Move on. I have told you time and time again that I'm with Ray now. I'm going to see things through with Ray, and I'm sorry but you are not apart of that. There's no love triangle or competition, I'm dating Ray and none of our adventures or anniversaries matter. I'm living in the present Carter. Time youstart." -

After that discussion, Carter stopped his remarks. He remained civil to them, he didn't bother Ray anymore or talked to them besides in the context of a mission. He seemed to prefer hanging out with Stein now, talking about artifacts and the evolution of science or with Sara and Mick, sparring.

Not that Kendra minded. She was free to spend time with Ray, and not worry about any memories come flooding back thanks to his stupid little remarks.

Though some came without him.

One night she woke up to a chilly dawn and she padded toward the kitchen to have some tea. It had been something she'd done in her past lives, she felt. It was all automatic and she didn't even have to think.

She turned on the light and was surprised to see Carter in the living room, watching tv. Kendra chose to ignore him and move on with her tea.

But she felt something off. She usually put a secret ingredient to make it better but she couldn't remember what.

"Um Carter?" she called out hesitantly. Carter's head jolted up. "What?” he muttered groggily.

"I..I can't remover what I use to put in my tea. Like I don't know when I well we were in a small apartment I think in Russia."

"Moscow, 1918. It was cayenne pepper. It made it "pop"" Carter air quoted and settled back to sleep, without looking at her.

Kendra found the cayenne pepper, sliced it and sat at the table. She looked back at Carter and felt herself pulled to sit next to him. No matter that she was with Ray, she still deeply cared for him. In a total platonic way she reasoned.

"Hey," she whispered, nudging him. "What?” he rubbed his eyes. "Thanks for respecting my space." She mumbled.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for getting in it in the first place. I..I don't let go of things to easily" Carter rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly "I can tell,” Kendra replied.

"But I'll but out if that's what you want. I mean I should have followed what I said before. You are worth the wait...Just let me say one thing.” Kendra tensed up, waiting for some big romantic kiss, or a reminder of those memorable hot nights spent together.

"I miss you. I miss talking with you like this at night. You always listened to me."

"I'll still listen," Kendra said.

"Yes, but but it won't be..." He seemed to try to grasp the words with his hands "Like all those other times, loving each other unconditionally, not judging. As my wife. I've taken you for granted, but I don't like the thought of not spending a century without you.” Kendra sighed, she wanted so much to comfort him in some waym "Carter, I love you. But not now. Who knows maybe I will in a few moths from now. But I might not. Carter we've spent so many years together even if we don't get together in this one. At least we met."

"Thank the Lord," Carter smiled.

"And I'll probably be yours next lifetime. I don't think that many Ray's populate the Earth," Kendra laughed.

"That...would be interesting" Carter said slowly.

"But I'll listen if you want me to. How about this, every morning just like this we talk." Carter's face lit up "From a distance of 10 feet. No getting your hopes up." Kendra warned.

"Deal." He leaned in, and Kendra braced for the kiss. The kiss that always came after these talks, that slowed at first but they ended up melting into each other's arms.

Kendra waited for it but it never came, she opened her eyes to feel his arms hugging her. Then he left for his room, patting her back It's not like she wanted that kiss, she was just nostalgic. She just remembered how it felt when they were married. When she loved him. -

Remember when we kissed? Well I want to do that again.

#kendra saunders #carter hall #hawkman #hawkgirl #ray palmer #atom #mick rory #heatwave #sara lance #white canary #captain cold #leonard snart #jefferson jackson #firestorm #dc’s legends of tomorrow #my fanfic #my fanfiction #remember when

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hystericalcherries · 3 years

Text

aeon (6/6)

Pairing: Keith/Lance Words: 10.5k Rating: M Warnings: mild violence Tags: Post-Season/Series 07, quantum abyss, Flashbacks, Flashforwards, Prophetic Visions, Visions in dreams, Mind Control, Dimension Travel, Boys Being Boys, Falling In Love, Mutual Pining, Gay Keith (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron) when the going gets tough... the tough write fix-it fics, Allura (Voltron) Lives, because fuck you jds and lm

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Summary:

Keith does not leave the quantum abyss untouched.

“Home can be anything, you know,” Lance says in lieu of a conversation starter.

Slivers of moonlight filter through the blinds above their heads, casting lines of truth across the sheets. Lance tilts his head forward and a band slides over his eyes, catching the ocean in them and drawing Keith into their rolling tides. And as distracted as he is, he doesn't put up a fight when a hand clasps his own, reeling them heartward.

“Home is just something you can come back to.” His knuckles brush against the soft fabric of a nightshirt, the v-neckline falling loose to reveal a sharp collarbone, and Keith feels his breath hitching. “Something that keeps you grounded.”

READ IT ON AO3

The day of the Alliance Feast comes and Keith finds himself sulking in a corner as he watches an alien chat Lance up.

Allura had stuffed them all in Altean formal wear, color-coded and high-collared, capes draped tastefully across their shoulders. The material of the suits are surprisingly breathable despite all its excess, stretching and bunching up in just the right places to cut them all into impressive figures. The princess had been very particular in how she wanted them all to look and had forced herself into more than one fitting room back at the Garrison; Shiro’s hair is slicked back, Hunk’s headband folded into the pocket of his jacket, Keith’s loose ponytail tied with a red ribbon, Lance’s waist adorned by a silver chain and Pidge’s glasses exchanged for a sleeker pair. If the star-eyed looks they’ve been receiving ever since they landed on New Altea is anything to go by then she must have succeeded.

Lance, Keith must admit, looks particularly dashing. His suit makes his shoulders look broader and it’s a problem. More so because it’s obvious that the red paladin isn’t the only one to take notice, more than one individual coming forward to introduce themselves to the friendliest member of Voltron.

Keith glares.

The alien doesn't take the hint and keeps talking, going so far as to place one of their four hands on the blue paladin’s upper arm when they laugh. Lance looks pleased.

“You should go talk to him.”

A crick forms in his neck when he jerks to attention at Allura’s voice. She fills up the once empty space next to him, having somehow snuck up on him, wearing low heels and a pale pink dress; she looks the epitome of aristocratic, with jewels dripping across her collarbone and dangling from her ears. His heart jumps at her words when they finally register, unable to help the quick glance he sends to the tables. “No,” he says immediately, turning away when he catches the unilu delegate peering at him from over the blue paladin’s shoulder. “He looks fine where he is. I don’t want to butt in.”

The princess frowns, obviously displeased at his reluctance. She crosses her arms and juts out a hip in a move that’s far too Keith-ish in nature for his liking. “You know, Lance loves to dance and—”

“Awesome,” Keith grouses.

Allura glares. “—and I’m sure he would say yes to one if someone asked.”

There’s no denying that the blue paladin has had no shortage of dance partners; ever since the band had started playing the boy had been on and off the dancefloor, spinning past him with someone new every few minutes. Some bitterness sneaks into his tone when he says, “I’ve noticed.”

“Now that’s not fair. You’ve had all evening to make your move. Don’t be upset that others are doing what you can’t.”

The words sting and Keith isn’t quick enough to hide it.

Allura’s expressions soften and he bristles a bit, less at the thought of being the recipient of someone’s pity and more knowing that he’s actively doing everything to deserve it. “Keith,” she says, and it’s soft and encouraging. “You are one of the most courageous people I know and you’ve faced things far more imposing than this.” She ducks her head to look him in the face. “It’s just Lance.”

“I know,” he says eventually, making a visible effort to relax. He sighs. “I know. It’s just… I don’t want to mess it up.”

“There’s nothing to mess up,” she assures, touching his arm. “Lance is a fellow paladin and, more importantly, your friend. You’ve been through much together and nothing could break the bond you have because of it.” She pauses, carefully manicured hands digging into his sleeve. “And if he’s the one from those visions of yours then talking to him would be the first step towards the rest of your life.”

He really regrets telling her about the flashes.

“It’s him, isn’t it.” It’s more of a fact than a question and Keith can’t even conjure up the energy to deny it.

Lance laughs again.

At his silence, Allura gasps. “I knew it! Oh! How romantic! It’s just like those books Hunk recommended to me, but better because—well, this is real, isn’t it?” Her hands clap together excitedly. “To think, the history you share is just a precursor of what is to come. It must be destiny!”

“Allura,” he warns.

“If he is from the visions, then you mustn’t just talk to him. You have to dance with Lance too! Keith, you absolutely must!”

“I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

“And why not?”

“Because, well, we’re not… it’s complicated. Plus, I don’t really dance.”

Allura tuts at him, booping him on the nose as she takes on a tone of one talking to an ignorant toddler. “Not with that attitude, you don’t. Come on. It will be fun.”

“And what if I don’t wanna have fun?”

The princess purses her lips and she tugs at his sleeve impatiently. He resists when she makes a move to drag him away from his corner, twisting away from her with a scowl. Knowing of her strength and how it outmatches his by miles, he karate chops her other hand when it reaches out for him. She gasps, offended at his defiance, and then redoubles her efforts.

“Why must you be so difficult?” she growls, circlet slipping over one pointed ear as she shoves herself in his space. Her elbow digs uncomfortably in his gut as her other hand fumbles for the wrist of his hand. “I’m only trying to help.”

“Allura, I swear—”

“Well, don’t you two look cozy.”

The two freeze and it’s almost comical, getting caught like this—the red paladin and the altean princess, important figures in their own right, mid-scuffle and cursing at each other—yet Keith doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t laugh because while they had been arguing, a figure had snuck up on them. A figure with very broad shoulders.

Allura recovers first. “Lance!”

The boy belonging to the name smiles. “Mind if I cut in?”

“Of course!” Allura gushes, letting go of Keith and all but pushing him at the blue paladin regardless of the fact that he hadn’t specified who he wanted to dance with. She takes a moment to fix her appearance, smoothing down hair and adjusting her dress, looking haughty. “I’ve gotta find Coran and make sure he’s not overdoing it on the nunvill, so you boys enjoy yourselves.”

And with that, she leaves. Leaves Keith in the middle of a party with his bonafide first and only crush.

He looks up and meets Lance’s eyes. It’s been months since he came back from the abyss and the half inch he had over the other boy is gone now, making them eye level. He knows neither of them are done growing and their heights will continue to change but Keith finds that he likes it this way for now.

“So,” Lance starts, biting his lip. “Dance?”

A quick look across the hall and his stomach flutters nervously. “I’ve never really…”

But Lance is already moving right along, grabbing his hand and tugging him in the direction of the dancefloor. Dazed, Keith lets it happen, focus torn between their clasped hands and the back of the other’s head. The crowd parts easily for them, curious looks and whispers following at their heels only to be hastily hidden when he glances away from the pinking ears of his partner. Lance must be determined to ignore their audience, expertly spinning Keith around to face him and guiding their bodies in a starting position.

The music is already in full swing and Lance takes a step to match that of the other dancers, gently tugging Keith along in a strange mix of a waltz and shuffle, confident where he is stiff.

After maybe a half a minute where they steadily avoided each other’s eye, Keith speaks up. “Is this something we do now? Dance.”

Blue eyes flicker past his face and he doesn't have to imagine the silent conversation that's happening over his shoulder. Lightning quick he looks behind him, but, much to his chagrin, Hunk has already schooled his expression from where he sits at one of the many tables and is staring back at him with all too innocent eyes.

Lance clears his throat and Keith turns back to a nervous smile. “Yeah, I thought we could try it out… See how you—er, we feel about it.”

There must have been something in the drink he had earlier of his because Keith can feel himself melting.

“It’s nice,” he says, watching as the other boy’s smile turns into something more lighthearted. “I’m not very good but, yeah, it’s… it’s nice.”

Eyes twinkle in the warm light. “I think it’s nice too.”

There’s a bit of a hitch in the music and Keith spies a few of the musicians being switched out, exchanging string instruments for ones that look like a cross between trumpets and accordions. It must be getting later in the evening because some of the dancers leave, replaced by a much younger crowd. He spots a few familiar faces, both humans—Atlas technicians, old classmates, Garrison faculty—and aliens—bounty hunters, altean colonists, royal dignitaries—all unabashedly shedding their professional appearance in exchange for a good time. The energy pulses upwards, pushing them closer together and causing the weird rumbling in Keith’s chest to give way to butterflies, transparent wings brushing along the inside of his ribs in a way that has his heart thumping madly.

When the song increases in tempo Keith accidentally steps on Lance’s foot. He cringes. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Lance assures. ”Just lighten your steps and pretend it’s a training session. Move with me, not against me.”

Keith tries the step again and nearly trips over his own feet when he miscalculates how many times his partner would step back, causing a table of girls nearby to twitter with amusement at the sight of him. Lance doesn’t mock him for his clumsiness, just adjusts his hand so it presses a bit lower on his back; Keith feels the touch like a brand, barely catching onto the way his palm shifts in accordance to the next step.

It gives Keith something to focus on and, eventually, he falls in line with the steps.

“See? You’re a natural.”

Keith snorts and Lance grins, proud. “Not really—not like you anyway. How did you get to be so good?”

“I'm Cuban,” he says as a means of explanation, swinging his hips leisurely with the beat a drummer starts playing, obviously enjoying himself. It’s… distracting. Especially when the song changes to something with more bass and he lines their bodies together, starting up a heavy sway that Keith falls into after the initial jerk of surprise. Then there’s a thigh fitting between his legs and Lance is letting go of one hip to guide his gloved hand to the small of his back, casual as can be as the boy rolls back into the touch.

“This is, um.” Keith takes in a shaky breath. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Yeah, I don’t think there are many opportunities for this out in the desert. You really missed out—the Garrison dances always ended up this way. Didn’t matter how many chaperones they assigned.” Lance’s voice is level with his ear, their cheeks brushing as they move to the music, causing goosebumps when he feels the contradictory smooth-roughness of the other’s freshly shaved skin. “But we’ll count this as making up for all the ones you missed. Better late than never, right?”

Breathing is difficult but Keith manages it, if only just. “Right.”

Lance makes a noncommittal hum, pressing closer to let a couple trip pass them. Keith watches them go from his view over Lance’s shoulder, only slightly scandalized when the shorter alien unabashedly slips a hand over their date’s backside. It causes his hand to twitch, the pad of his thumb finding the indent of his partner’s lower back through his suit. With a startling clarity, Keith realizes how far his hand has fallen and tenses, waiting for Lance to notice and take offense.

But nothing happens. No one comments on how close the two paladins have gotten, probably because they aren’t the only ones to do so. The dancefloor is a mesh of bodies, all moving to whatever dance they know and hiding them from the view of the spectators sitting at the tables. He’s not pushed away in disgust, nor is he laughed at. Instead, Lance drapes his free arm over Keith’s shoulder, smoothing down the baby hairs at the back of his neck.

It gives Keith the courage to glance over; he spies half-lidded eyes and a warm flush under golden skin. Enticed by the fluttery feeling low in his gut, he settles his remaining arm over the other’s bicep, just above the edge of his elbow-length gloves. A slow inhale, followed by an even slower exhale, and the pulse under his fingers jumps.

He’s never been held like this before, as if he was the beginning of an addictive end.

The song—the fifth they had danced to and Keith deliriously wonders where the time had gone—starts to come to a climax, and Lance stirs. He looks at the band, then the other dancers and then Keith. There’s something in his eyes and it’s like taking a deep breath before diving under, adrenaline-inducing, willing to be pulled wherever the current takes him. The moment builds like a cresting wave—higher and higher, curling with seafoam and impending desire—until Keith is sure that they're going to crash together, that he’s going to lean in closer and kiss him. Involuntarily, he slips his eyes closed.

“And now, the big finish!”

His eyes fly back open. "What—"

But Lance is already twisting them around and throwing himself backwards. And Keith has no choice but to hastily lean with him, biceps flexing as he tightens his grip around Lance’s waist and hastily puts pressure between his shoulder blades. The top of his head barely misses cracking against the floor. Still, Lance cackles like it’s great fun.

“I can’t believe that worked,” Lance says too loudly when they’re back to standing normally, clapping with the rest of the crowd as the band announces their fifteen minute break. The moment officially over. “I usually drop my partners when I try to dip them.”

“That was embarrassing.”

“Eh, you liked it.”

A little called out, Keith hunches his shoulders and scowls. “I did not.”

But Lance goes on like he didn’t say anything, giving him a million-watt smile. “We did pretty well, all things considered. Probably cause we make such a good team.”

And how is Keith supposed to keep things together when he goes and says things like that? All sincere and butterfly-inducing. “Yeah,” he tells the boy, feeling brave and scared and more than himself, making it so that the back of their hands brush. “We really are.”

After that the party winds down.

The crowds thin and people start saying their goodbyes, respectful salutes paving way for hearty handshakes and more than one inebriated embrace. There seems to be a line forming in front of Allura, everyone wanting a final word with the princess before the night is officially over; Keith merely gives a wave as he and Lance pass her by towards where Hunk and Pidge dally around the buffet table, thinking nothing of the quick smile she gives in return before looking at the diplomat talking to her, knowing that he’ll see her tomorrow at their usual movie night.

Hunk is polishing off his plate of what looks to be pigs in a blanket while Pidge shoves leftover hors d'oeuvres into her shoulder pack. “I’ve got to get this recipe,” the former is saying when the pair come within hearing distance, looking up at the sound of their footsteps and doing a triple take before not-so-subtlety nudging his smaller companion with his elbow. With both gazes trained on them, Hunk gives a too-innocent smile. “Looks like you guys had fun. How was the dancefloor?”

“Crowded,” Keith replies at the same time Lance says, “Cozy.”

The yellow paladin’s eyes flicker between them. “Okay, yeah. Well, we were gonna head out soon… Are, um, you guys gonna…”

“It is getting pretty late,” Lance agrees, leaning forward to steal the last bit of the food from Hunk’s plate before slipping around Keith and draping an arm across his shoulders. He pops the finger food into his mouth and makes a show of chewing loudly when Keith frowns. “You’re going back to the Atlas, right?” he asks him, oblivious or uncaring of the two pairs of eyes that dissect the entire interaction. “Do you think I could hitch a ride with you? I’m staying with Veronica tonight and I think she already left.”

“Sure.”

“Cool.” Lance leans away far enough that he nearly topples the two of them over and Keith has to lightly brace his hand on the other’s waist to better balance them. “See you later, paladudes.”

They four exchange fist bumps and then the red and blue paladin are angling themselves towards the exit, Keith trying not to combust when their arms stay wrapped around each other. More than one eye sticks to them and even more bodies put themselves in front of them to give a deferential goodbye; Lance takes it in stride, giving a sincere wave here and an over-the-top wink there, and it more than makes up for Keith’s own stilted replies. He only blunders once and that’s when Shiro catches his eye over the brim of a champagne glass, smile smug and unbearable.

Finally, they make it to the building’s transport dock where the Black Lion sits docilely.

The forcefield dissipates before Keith even asks and there’s a low rumble in greeting when the pair walk up the ramp, which Lance reciprocates with a light pat to one of the wall panels before following Keith to the cockpit. Then it’s just a means of setting a course to the Atlas and watching the stars pass them by as the mechanical lion does the rest.

The Atlas is empty save for the night shift, all of whom pause in their work up in the control room to watch the Black Lion land and the two paladins that exit it make their way across the room. It is almost eerie how their footsteps sound like a military march in comparison to absolute quiet that reigns once the cabin pressurizer comes online but Keith doesn’t give himself any time to consider it, not when he has a preferable distraction walking alongside him. Lance fills in the silence easily, looking princely as he charms Keith with anecdotes of parties past, laughing alongside him as he recalls the time he had won the Winter Formal crown and the resulting awkward dance that had followed, set to an early century song that he attempts (and fails) to beatbox. It makes the trip up to the floor with their quarters all the more enjoyable and when it’s over, Keith wishes it wasn’t.

Lance flashes a smile at him. “Night, Samurai.”

He sighs in return. “Night, Sharpshooter.”

Then the boy is turning around, disappearing down the hallway with only one look over his shoulder. And Keith, not wanting to look more foolish than he already has by getting caught staring at the spot his crush had occupied, quickly unlocks his door and slips inside.

His mother is in the kitchen, slicing up something that looks like a blue tomato, and looks up when he lingers in the doorway. “You’re back,” she says neutrally, transferring the food to a serving platter and pointedly ignoring the cosmic wolf that watches her every move, drool starting to collect at the base of his largest molar. “How was the party?”

He shrugs. “It was alright.”

“Just alright?”

He shuffles away and into the living room, collapsing onto the couch. His neck cranes back, giving him a perfect view of the ceiling tiles. There’s a scorch mark in the top-right corner from when Kosmo had mistaken one of Krolia’s blasters for a chew toy. He squints at it, thinking, and his mind instantly snags onto the phantom brush of thighs and the strum of an alien guitar. Mouth dry and more than a little embarrassed, he squeezes his eyes shut.

The couch dips slightly and then a clawed hand is stroking his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face and behind his ear. The gesture quells the loud noise in his chest and he lets his head dip to the side, heated cheek squished against the cool felt of the couch.

“It was maybe more than alright,” he finally answers. For some reason, it’s this admission that had him blushing and curling his toes in secondhand gratification. “I had fun, more fun than I thought I would have anyway.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

She doesn’t ask, but he knows she wants to know. Better yet, he wants to tell her.

“Everyone was there.”

She hums and continues to comb through his hair.

“Shiro, Pidge and Hunk and Allura. Lance too.” A pause where he clears his throat, far from casual. “We danced.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, it was—nice.”

They sit in silence for a bit and his mind lingers on the dance he had shared that evening. He plays it on loop, going over every detail until he could sketch it out on paper, framed and made all the more real. Eventually Krolia stops her grooming in favor of offering him a slice of the strange fruit; he takes it and plops it into his mouth without question, surprised at the sweet taste.

“It’s weird, feeling this way,” he says absently, grounded but with his head in the clouds. “Weird that this is where I am. That life’s like this now.”

“The universe works in mysterious ways,” she tells him with a hum and he would scoff at such a cliche saying if it weren’t for the way his mother says it so genuinely. “Sometimes, it takes a lifetime and a half to find your place in it. I’m glad you’ve found yours.”

The flashes start coming faster and—

—Lance’s warm hand in his as they walk through a line of stalls selling alien wares. Merchants offering gossamer scarfs the same shade as the rising sun and jewelry that shines like they’ve been plucked straight from the night sky. Gaggles of children running through the streets, laughing as they dodge through the crowds. An ornate dagger purchased and gifted—

—fingers gently rubbing a sticky substance over the stretch of his cheek while a voice drones on about the benefits of skincare—

—his shoulder leaned against a doorway as he watches Lance address a class full of recruits, eyes twinkling when they catch sight of him hidden in the shadows. The loud trill of a bell and the shuffle of children eager for lunch, tempered by the arms wrapped around his neck and the kiss bestowed on his cheek—

—the shudder that goes through him as they rock into each other, skin sweaty and breathes loud. Hands gripping his thighs and his teeth nipping at an exposed neck, leaving marks so the world would know who they belonged to, now and to the end. Words whispered in the dark just as stars burst across his vision—

—eyes connecting over a crowd, secretive and happy—

—Keith fumbling with the black box in his pocket as he paces their room, repeating the words he wants to say to the man that he loves, nervous and excited and everything that comes after—

—he never wants them to stop.

They are hanging out in Keith’s room three days after the ball, sitting on the floor and leaning against his bed as they enjoy each other’s presence. Between them, Kosmo rolls onto his back, expecting belly rubs now that they’re no longer distracted by the show they had been watching, ending credits rolling after twenty-three minutes of terrible storytelling and bad animation. Lance is talking with the assumption that Keith will listen, going on loudly about how his character in the show is the main protagonist while delivering pats to the space wolf.

And Keith is… distracted.

Distracted in a sense that he can’t focus—or rather, he can’t stop focusing. On the energetic hand gestures and the expressive emotions that flit across Lance’s face as he speaks, pausing intermittently in order to coo at Kosmo and ask his opinion on things, always answered with a happy pant and an excited tail wag that has the blue paladin nodding sagely before continuing. He focuses on the way he feels now, in this moment, content like he’s never felt before.

A wet tongue licks a stripe up Lance’s cheek and he rears back, half disgusted, half charmed, and Keith can’t keep quiet any longer. Just blurts out, “We should do something this weekend.”

His friend blinks owlishly. “What?”

There’s fire coursing through his veins, invigorating him. It gives him courage to continue, to make so that the flashes are no longer flashes but memories. “I said we should do something this weekend. Do something together.”

“Yeah, okay.”

The casualness of the answers makes him think that the boy doesn’t quite understand the request. Assumes what he’s asking is for something they’ve always done. They hang out all the time, yes, but this is different. He wants this to be different.

“No, I mean we should go out this weekend.” Keith sends him a certain look, waiting for Lance to catch on.

He doesn’t catch on. “Huh?”

Dark eyes roll toward the ceiling and Keith shakes his head, and there’s that something again and oh, it’s fondness—it’s a look of fondness quirking his lips.

“What I’m saying is…” He takes a quick moment to shift on his hip so that their knees are almost touching and, after a moment of consideration, Keith slides his hand down and over until the tips of their pinkies bump into each other. “We should go out this weekend, like go on a ride out to town. Whatever you want, really.”

Lance’s blinks once, twice, three times, and—there. Comprehension floods and it takes only half a second before a high pitched noise scratches out of the boy’s throat. His eyes are wide, comically so, and he stares at Keith, mouth parting in an eclipse of a red moon. Then, just as Keith is committing the image to memory, he snaps his mouth shut and visibly shakes himself. “O-okay, I see. You mean like a scouting mission, right? For any lingering drones out in the desert. Well, yeah, um, as long as it’s okay with Shiro—”

“No,” he quickly cuts off, partially frustrated at the gap in communication and partially embarrassed that they would need clearance for what he has in mind. “I meant—a ride together—as in, you and me. No mission. Just us… together.”

The boy swallows loudly and Keith tracks the moment involuntarily.

"Oh.”

A lapse follows, not uncomfortable, but full. Keith buzzes in the aftertaste of his impromptu proposition and holy hell, he just asked Lance out. They’ve still yet to talk about the ball and how they had danced all night, and, despite the looks they receive from their teammates, neither of them have been brave enough to breach the silent agreement of keeping whatever feelings they had to themselves. However, now everything threatens to burst. His heart finally catches up to his words, beating in overdrive as he waits for an answer. But Lance seems not to care for the nervousness pulsing in his veins or the butterflies fluttering in the base of his stomach because he keeps up the uncharacteristic silence. It remains that way for a solid thirty seconds, until, finally, Keith can't take it anymore.

He clears his throat. “So, is that a yes?”

Lance jerks to attention, looking caught. “I, uh, what?”

“Do you want to go?”

Something incredible happens then. It’s wild and previously unthinkable, but Lance blushes.

He blinks and his vision doubles, half of it going auburn in a wash of caribbean light. He is by the waterfront, the sound of crashing waves dissolving into background noise when compared to the breathy laugh that washes over his face. Darkened cheeks lift in a smile that crinkles eyes and Keith goes a bit red himself at the image. The flash indulges him in a scene of utter bliss; velvety sand and supple lips, parting against his own.

Without thought he leans in, chasing the moment not yet passed. It causes present Lance’s eyes to go wide and it’s nothing like the cool burn of his half lidded gaze on the beach, salt drying on his lashes and sun-born freckles prickling his cheeks.

“I—ah, um. I—I’ll go.”

“Yeah?”

Lance looks away and then back. His voice is the quietest he’s ever heard. Almost shy. “Yeah.”

And it really is that easy.

The days go by slow after that, drawling in an agonizing pace. Second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour. Nearly stagnant, Keith hangs under time’s dispassionate influence, watching the clock and willing it to move. It’s a blessing when it finally hits five o’clock on the following Saturday. He stops the pacing he had been doing for the past hour and checks his reflection for the sixth time in as many minutes, tucking and untucking his shirt and running a hand in his hair in an futile attempt to tame it. When the results only further his agitation he gives up, collecting his nerves to the best of his ability making his way out the door with the intention of a quiet getaway.

Which makes him startle when he runs into Romelle outside his door, hand raised and poised to knock. “Keith! I've been sent to retrieve you!” He sees her gaze flicker down to take in his outfit—his cleanest pair of jeans, a corded necklace with a hanging Marmora pendant, and a leather jacket so new that its tag is stuffed in his back pocket—and he stops himself from turning back around and locking himself in his closet till the end of time. “Dinner is almost ready and Coran has made the most spectacular—”

“Actually,” he interrupts, unable to maintain eye contact, “I’ve got other plans.”

Romelle opens her mouth, but Keith, knowing the girl’s knack for rambling, is already speeding through the hallway.

Unfortunately for him, the living room is not as empty as he had previously thought. The yellow and green paladin are sitting on the couch, surrounded by a hurricane of blankets and pillows, the leftovers of a raid on Shiro’s candy stache sprawled across the coffee table.

“Aw, Keith, you look nice. What’s the occasion?”

Pidge looks up and over her screen, lips curling in a sly grin that instantly puts Keith on edge. “Yeah, Keith, where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” he says immediately. Then, “Out.”

“Out with Lance I bet. Isn’t your date today?”

Hunk gasps. “You guys are going on a date?”

“How did you…?” He spots his phone on the couch next to her and huffs angrily, stomping over and snatching it back. He quickly unlocks it, frowning when his last conversation with Lance immediately pops up, the other boy having sent a barrage of emojis in affirmation that their outing was still on. “Stop looking through my stuff and for the last time, we aren’t—it’s not a date. We’re just going for a ride, maybe check out the town market. It’s whatever.”

“I don’t know, that sounds a lot like a date to me. Hunk, any thoughts?”

Hunk has just one. “It’s totally a date.”

Heat flushes his cheeks. “Don’t you have your own quarters? Why are you even here?”

Pidge leans back, priggish smirk still in tact. “Matt and N-1 are having their rebel friends over and I didn’t want to third-wheel it, so Shiro said I could crash here for the night.”

Keith internally curses Shiro and his mother hen tendencies. Outwardly, he searches for the key card he’s pretty sure he left on the table the night before. His hair falls into his face as he ducks to check under the furniture and he brushes it back behind his ear, thinking maybe it would be more manageable in a ponytail.

“Look at him.” Pidge snickers. “What a schmuck.”

Hunk shushes her with a light pat of the arm. “I think it’s sweet. It means he cares. And don’t you worry Keith, I’m sure Lance will appreciate the effort you put into today. It’s also perfectly normal to be nervous for your first date— ”

“I’m not nervous and it’s not a date.”

Their response is lost when he goes to the office in the next room and searches there. But it’s all for naught because Shiro is a veritable mess when it comes to anything other than flying because there are papers scattered everywhere and it would take hours to file through even half of it.

When he comes back out, Allura has joined them. She perks up at the sight of him, but he ignores her in favor of checking in between the cushions of the armchair. However, Allura is not deterred. “Keith, Pidge and Hunk have just informed me of your date with Lance. If I may, I have some suggestions—”

“I don’t need any suggestions. I just need to leave or I’ll be late.” Pidge squawks indignantly when Keith shoves her to check her side of the couch.

“Yes, you’re right! Punctuality is very important for these types of things. Early duflax gets the wyvin, as Coran always says.” It seems pointless to mention that not once has he ever heard Coran say that. “But if I could impart some advice before you go. Now, I don’t know much about Earthen mating rituals, but Pidge tells me that courting is a common practice here— ”

“I’m not listening.”

“—gifts are imperative for a successful—”

“Can’t hear you.”

“—when you present, do so when tensions are high—”

“Allura, please, stop.”

“—and then, finally, you must lay claim—”

“I’m leaving,” Keith announces loudly, trying and failing to drown out the giggles that come from Hunk and Pidge’s side of the couch. Forget the keycard. It’s not worth this pain. “Bye. I hope you all have a terrible day.”

They are unfazed by his words, grinning like madmen as they wave. He stalks out of the room, shoulders hunched all the way to his ears as he desperately tries to block out the kissy noises Pidge is making. He can’t believe there was a time he was worried that they would be out of his life; he must have been having an existential crisis or something because this is a new level of embarrassing.

He’s so consumed in his thoughts that he nearly barrels into Shiro on his way out. It’s only the steady grip of his automated arms that Keith doesn’t crack his head against the doorframe and give himself a concussion.

“Whoa there. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m just…”

“Looking for this?”

There, dangling from Shiro’s prosthetic fingers, is a familiar key card.

Keith lets out a deep breath, a whisper of relief cooling down the anxious fire within him by a few degrees. He sends his oldest friend a strained smile and takes them. “Yeah, thanks. Where did you find them?”

“Under the couch with one of my shoes, the holoscreen remote, Hunk’s headband, and Allura’s earrings. It seems like Kosmo’s starting a life of crime.”

He lets out a chuckle, unraveling just a little less. “I should probably put a stop to that.”

Shiro nods, patting his back in that sorta awkward, manly sort of way. It’s encouraging and he steps past the other man with a deep breath. Feeling more like himself, he secures the key card to his belt loop and turns to head down the corridor, promising himself that he’ll only start running when there’s no one to catch him doing it.

“Oh, Keith?”

Keith whips around, nerves already reinflating. “Yeah?”

Shiro fails to keep his smile in check. “Have fun on your date.”

And before he can even begin to retaliate, the door is sliding shut and he’s left there, standing in an empty hallway, red to his tips.

Lance looks nice. Really nice. Really, really, really nice. It’s actually a little distracting how nice he looks.

They had met up at the east end of the loading docks and Keith had fought to keep his cool when he had spotted the tall form of his fellow paladin casually leaning against a security rail. His white v-neck and ripped jeans contrasted with the industrial setting, his denim jacket faded and adorned with a couple of pins, sleeves rolled up to showcase the collection of beaded bracelets wrapped around his left wrist. But what had truly pulled it all together was the smile he had sent Keith upon noticing him.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hi,” Lance returns. “You clean up good, Mullet.”

The compliment flusters him a little and he nearly walks straight into a support beam, only just managing to avoid it with a side-step that brings him close enough to brush shoulders with Lance. “Thanks. You, uh, you too.”

Unsure of what to say next, he ducks his head and leads them to the area the coordinator had assigned him when he had called in the favor. Section A-26 is large and the usual aircraft that docks there is nowhere to be seen; instead, there his hoverbike sits, scavenged from the Blue Lion’s cave and restored to its previous glory. He hoists himself up into the seat with practiced ease and looks down at Lance expectantly.

Pink tints the other boy’s cheeks, but there’s this mischievous smile on his face as he asks, “Why do you get to drive?”

“Because I’m the one that knows where we’re going.”

“Wow, you actually have a plan. Um, okay, then where are we going? Or is that top secret?” He bounces where he stands, looking for all the word: giddish.

“It wasn’t until you asked.”

Lance looks pleased at the response and climbs up behind Keith.

The hoverbike dips a little at the uneven dispersion of weight and he offers his hand as a brace, blushing faintly when it’s taken. But thankfully, Lance doesn’t see, focused as he is on swinging a leg over the seat and scooting close enough to Keith that his chest brushes sparingly at his back. Then hands are wrapping around his middle, loose, and it’s embarrassing how responsive Keith’s body is to the touch, rolling in one long shiver that’s unmistakable. If Lance notices he doesn’t comment on it.

“Ready to roll,” he says, breath ghosting over the shell of his ear.

Keith puts on the goggles hidden in the front compartment and passes the extra pair he brought to his back seat passenger. Then it’s a matter of twisting the throttle and feeling the engine come to life beneath them, four hundred pounds of metal under his control. And it’s like it was just yesterday he was speeding across the desert with Shiro, tasting freedom for the first time, his hands gripping the handles like they were always meant to; the circumstance has changed but the feeling hasn’t and Keith, with the luxury knowing that he’s got time on his side, grins and drives.

“Woah!” Lance exclaims when Keith tears out of the loading docks, erupting into laughter when they take a sharp turn at the gates of the Garrison compound and startle the men stationed there.

Then it’s just the open desert road, flat and red-tinged. The torrid heat follows at their backs, rolling alongside tumbleweeds and whistling in the wind that buffets the nose of the hoverbike. Dust swirls under the speeder's anti-gravity fenders, curling over the shadowy silhouettes of cacti that they fly past. It brings the beds of the distance buttes into startling focus, massive against the clear sky and infinite horizon.

It takes twenty minutes to get to their destination.

Keith parks at the outskirts of the town nearest to the Galaxy Garrison, waiting for Lance to dismount before following. Their shoulders brush a bit as they stand side by side, Keith eyeing Lance as he eyes their surroundings curiously. The town market is already in full swing, tents set up and people bustling about, buying and selling wares; already, more than one individual behind a stand is calling out to them, offering a discount if they buy in bulk.

“I thought we could walk around a bit?” he says, hoping that the idea isn't too lame. “And after—well, there’s an arcade in the plaza a few streets down and they’ve got pizza.”

His fears are unfounded because Lance just grins. "Pizza not made out of green goo? Count me in."

Things go smoothly after that. The anxiety bubbling in Keith’s chest eases and it allows him the strength to grab Lance’s sleeve and tug him in the direction of a tent hosting a repository of wind chimes. From tent to tent, they go; browsing at board games from planets even they haven’t been to, giggling over misspelled words on shirts, daring each other to try gross-looking foods and petting every dog they see.

And it’s… fun. Keith is having fun.

Lance is great. He’s nice and funny and smart and actually seems to enjoy hanging out with Keith. He nods along when Keith speaks, insanely attentive, and offers his own input with great enthusiasm. They bicker too, playful jabs volleyed back and forth, easy and natural like it never was in the beginning but is now. And although Keith has never thought himself to be an overly funny guy, he finds that pulling a laugh out of his fellow paladin isn’t all that hard and even sort of a reward on all on its own.

It’s like they fit, slotting together like puzzle pieces—or flashes.

“Hey, Keith?” Lance’s hand finds Keith’s elbow. He had discarded his jacket just before they started eating, which is doing nothing to help the hot flush rushing to the apple of his cheeks. The corded muscles of forearms on display is near impossible to ignore and Keith’s eyes follow the dips and curves of his arm, the hard muscle leading up to his shoulder, the soft line of his neck, the defined jawline. “Your fries are getting cold.”

It’s the touch that has him pulling out of the confines of his thoughts, physically shaking his head and straightening his shoulders, not wanting to appear anything less than invested.

Naturally, the world seems to think Keith can’t have a single nice thing without a price because it’s just a few minutes into their meal that his phone starts to blow up with messages. A quick glance shows that most are from his mother, with a few from Shiro sprinkled in intermittently. All of the messages are ones of encouragement, some having been sent while they were driving and others steadily ignored when the two had browsed the stalls of the market.

Eventually all the small pings get to be enough that Keith has to silence his phone.

“You’re really popular today,” Lance notes, slathering an alarming amount of ranch onto his pizza. It’s only when he drowns the unsuspecting slice that he catches Keith’s surprised and guilty look that he elaborates, “Dude, your phone has been lighting up all day. I’d be blind not to notice.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s cool.”

Still, Keith feels the need to explain. “It’s Shiro and my mom. They’re… checking up on me.”

That gets a light laugh out of Lance. He brings out his own phone, showing Keith the mass of notifications on his lock screen. “I get that. I’ve gotten at least five texts asking if you’re secretly an axe murderer. I hope three years in space is enough time to confidently say that I wasn’t lying when I told them you weren’t. Would really put a damper on the day.”

“I don’t even own an axe.”

Lance’s grin grows and when he puts away his phone to continue eating, he doesn’t reclaim the few inches of space he had given away in order for Keith to see the screen. Their elbows knock a few times, but Keith doesn’t mind.

They leave the plaza in a good mood, making their way back to the hoverbike while they talk about nothing and everything. They only stop when they mount the vehicle and when Lance doesn’t ask Keith where they’re going he decides that he doesn’t want the day to be over quite yet, so he revs the throttle and heads toward the direction he knows his shack is. He eventually leads them to a hill that he and his father used to frequent when he was younger, an escape from the world long before the stars were something to shoot for.

It’s an easy hike up the hill and when they settle by the edge, their pinkies are touching.

“You can’t do that,” he says on their fourth game of tic-tac-toe when Lance brushes the dirt and erases his wobbly X, shifting it over a spot so that it blocks Keith’s next move. “That’s cheating.”

“No, Keithy boy, that’s what I call winning.”

“This isn’t a competition.”

“Isn’t it?” Que pursed lips and a sly side-eye. “If it’s not, then why did you dress up for today, huh? Trying to one up me in style too?”

“This is what I usually wear.”

“Pah-lease. Like I don’t know Shiro’s handiwork when I see it. Dude’s got an eye for colors and he did you a solid keeping with the red. Bet he put up such a fuss when you kept the fingerless gloves—they scream embarrassing scene phase that never really went away.” Lance laughs when he doesn’t immediately counter the accusation and it must fuel him because he continues. “I bet you were upset when you couldn’t find any eyeliner for our date—”

As if struck by lightning, Keith straightens.

“—probably used it all up making yourself look like an edgy, space raccoon going to some street race—”

Our date, Lance had said. He had called this a date. They were on a date right now. Officially. The two of them, together.

“—being emo. But, I mean, whatever works, you know? Sometimes you just gotta paint your nails black and—mmph!”

Keith’s kiss lands on his upper lip, hard and dry.

It’s quick, over and done within a matter of seconds. Lips tingling and heart hammering, Keith pulls back, soul leaving his suddenly flushed body when he realizes he can still feel the other’s breath on his face. He must remain in his catatonic state for longer than he realizes because then Lance’s giving him this particular frown and saying, “What was that?”

With nothing else to do, he shrugs helplessly. “It was a kiss.”

“I know what a kiss is.” Eyes search his. “Why did you kiss me? ”

“I wanted to,” he says simply. “Was that not okay?”

“No, that wasn’t… No, it was cool.”

“Cool,” Keith repeats.

Lance scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. I liked it.”

“Me too,” he adds, looking down. A good portion of their game has been accidentally wiped away and he redraws it, purposefully putting all the X’s and O’s in their respective spots before Lance had decided to remake the rules. He nudges the other boy’s foot with his own, biting back a smile when they’re hooked together. “We can, um, stay here? If you want?”

“I’d like that.”

They stay long enough to watch the sun dip under the horizon.

As dates go, it’s the best he’s ever had.

Later, when he’s home and high off the promise of a second date, he walks into the kitchen to find his friends congregated despite the late hour.

“So,” Allura starts as soon as he walks in, boots loud on the linoleum floor, trying to appear casual as she leans against the counter and just failing. It doesn’t help that the space mice are nearly tripping over her hair as they peer at Keith from over her shoulder, adding four tiny pairs of eyes to the many already scrutinizing his every move. “You’re back awfully late.”

Romelle is no better, inspecting her nails even as her ears twitch in his direction. “Yes, how did it go?”

There’s a plate of cookies on the island counter, comically shaped like the lions and dressed in an assortment of colors. He picks up the only red one on top and bites into it, humming at its surprising sweetness. Knowing his audience still expects an answer, he attempts an aloof shrug and nails it. “It was fine.”

There’s a pause and Keith can tell something is coming. He doesn’t know what exactly, but the warning signs are all there, flashing neon when Allura steeples her fingers and gives him a look.

“And the other… thing?”

“What other thing?”

“Why your kiss with Lance, of course.”

He nearly drops the sweet in his hand and immediately goes to look through the kitchen pass-through, spotting the rumpled state of the pillows and blankets by the living room window looking out to the barrack’s hallway. That and the smudge of chocolate on the window sill, coupled with the candy wrappers sticking out of Pidge’s hoodie pouch, can only mean one thing. “Were you watching?”

“No,” Romelle and Hunk immediately deny just as Allura and Pidge say, “Yes.”

Keith fumbles for a plausible reaction. His friends had undoubtedly seen the goodbye kiss that had been exchanged between him and Lance when the latter had insisted on walking him home; it had been a memorable kiss and Keith had maybe lost himself to it for longer than he’s willing to admit, but that’s something else entirely. A little helplessly, he searches the room for a means of end for this absolute embarrassment. He finds none. “That’s—I can’t believe—uncool!”

“Lance texted me almost immediately after,” Hunk offers, as if that makes up for his eavesdropping and then denial of said eavesdropping. “He hasn’t stopped talking about how you sprung one on him. You don’t really beat around the bush, do you?”

Shiro, the traitor, nods. He ignores Keith’s death glare and takes a sip of his tea, eyes crinkling with mirth over the rim of his mug. “Keith has always been very straightforward in what he wants. A real go-getter.”

It’s at that time that Coran makes an appearance, dressed in an obnoxiously orange pajama set with a matching hat, but any hope Keith has of the older man causing a distraction and, by default, a new topic change dissipates when he asks, “Oh, are we talking about Keith and Lance’s kiss? Congratulations Keith, I hear it had quite the impact.”

Pidge looks like she’s barely holding back a laugh. “Yeah, way to go in for the kill, Keith.”

“Can we stop talking about this?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “Stop talking. Just stop talking. I don’t want to hear another word.”

Thankfully, they listen and grow quiet. It doesn’t stop the looks that are thrown his direction, especially with Allura nearly vibrating in her slippers in the effort to capture his gaze, but it’s easy to scowl and turn away. He snatches the drink Shiro holds, ignoring the other’s surprised whine, and takes a sip, ready to head to bed and purge this conversation from his mind, never to be brought up again—

“Did you use tongue?”

Keith chokes.

Hunk merely hums. “Yeah, didn’t look like it.”

Keith thought he knew what love was.

It had been an easy thing, once upon a time. It had been his dad’s hugs after a long day, the blade left to him from a mother he didn’t know, a pat on the back following a perfect maneuver from a brother he found. It was as simple as looking up at the sky and letting himself get lost, for space was everything he had ever wanted, vast and exciting and impossible. Constant and safe and easy, a look to the heavens that held every dream.

But this is new.

New in that he is utterly blindsighted and unprepared for when it happens. A change in heart, from wistful ache to hopeful relief, sudden in the wake of new love. Stitched together through time and soft words, it beats again. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump, it goes, drumming loudly against his chest, swelling at touches that burn like supernovas, thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump.

Even more goosebump-inducing than the fire in his chest is the response it gets. Because, startling enough, the feeling is reciprocated.

No words have been said but the thought is there. It comes through in the accidental brushes that turn to lingering caresses. It’s the stretch of an arm thrown over wide shoulders, heads dipped closer as casual words are exchanged. It’s the lack of space as they sit, thighs pressed firmly together and feet idly kicking. It’s the pluck of pink petals out of dark hair, absent-minded, curling in the breeze. It’s the hand pressed against a lower back, feather-light as it guides them closer and onward.

Everything is the same, but different.

Following the date, they are still Lance and Keith, still stubborn and opinionated and more than willing to call each other out, but now—now, they’re more. Keith can talk strategy for restoration while their hands are clasped under the table; can steal a kiss during a spar and, while the other is distracted, sweep his legs right out from underneath him and ensure his victory; can argue the integrity of putting pineapple on pizza for three hours while cuddled under Lance’s arm; and can even sneak the boy into his room when Shiro and his mom are out on call, leaving the door closed and the lights off. He’s allowed to do these things—encouraged, even, if Lance's pleased as punch looks are anything to go by—to look, to touch, to hold. It’s a recently discovered niche in which they fall into, each eager to explore, and once they find their line, Lance makes a point of tiptoeing it. And Keith—well, Keith can't find it in himself to complain.

(“Like this,” the Lance of his flashes murmurs to him one night as he gets ready for bed—only for the words to be spoken again three days later as they curl into each other on the beat-up couch in his shack. “I like it like this.”)

Life shapes into something remarkable in the days of after. It becomes a certainty that the flashes had promised and Keith sometimes can’t believe it, that he gets this. Gets this and more. Because not that long ago, he had nothing—he was nothing—scraping by, sneering at everything he couldn’t have just to hide how it hurt to be denied the love he so desperately craved. But that’s the past and though it shapes him, it is not him. He is here, today, and soon, tomorrow too.

Tomorrow and every day that comes after.

In a menagerie of light, meteor showers and space whales, Keith dreams.

Even so long apart, the abyss is a physical thing inside him. It curls inside in the space behind his heart while he sleeps, coveting each heartbeat like a dragon to a horde; time does not exist in this plane and each heart beat, a remembrance to what he has lived through and what he will live through, is too enticing to pass up. It croons out a soft lullaby, asking for one last look.

Keith gives it.

It’s the sand between his toes and lips meeting his own, sun-warm and pliant to the lazy breeze. It’s the hot puff of breath at his neck while frantic hands explore. It’s the ring on his finger and the sip of champagne, glasses clinking in a toast made. It’s the weight of a child on his chest, calm and innocent, snoring lightly as a small hand fists his shirt. It’s the dip of a mattress every night, for the rest of his nights.

Keith wakes up and knows that’s the last flash he’ll ever have.

On the first day of the rest of his life Lance challenges Keith to a race.

It’s not the first time one of them has issued such a dare and it surely won’t be a last, but Keith still treats it like it’s the most important thing he’s ever done. He squares his shoulder and steps up to the plate, toe to toe, staring Lance in the eye as he accepts. It’s like old times, even with the newness between them, rearing up in the deliberate way Lance tilts his head, chin jutting out in that stubborn fashion of his, the crook of his eyebrow and the curl of his lips dangerous in ways Keith is only just getting used to.

Nevertheless, the day finds them back at the loading docks, convincing the Atlas crew to let them borrow another speeder. When Keith has signed the proper paperwork he turns to find Lance already seated on one of the hoverbikes. The red one.

Keith squints and Lance grins, but lets it go with a soft huff. He walks over to the gray bike and hoists himself with little effort, straddling the sleek seat and making himself familiar with the controls.

“Ready?” he asks once he's done.

“Born ready,” is Lance’s answer.

And, well, Keith can't let a challenge like that stand.

Without further ado, he revs the engine and shoots down the catwalk. He hears the beginning of a surprised squawk before the wind is boxing his ears, tugging at his hair, chasing away everything until it is just him and the road.

Flying is in his blood. It’s been a part of him since as long as he can remember. It was there when he sat atop his father’s shoulders, arms spread wide and leaning back as far as he dared, staring up, up, up. Fondly, he recalls the way big hands had grasped his tiny ankles and the voice, deep and honest, quoting, Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.

He had been too young to understand the words then, but he thinks he understands them now.

Though the most air he gets this time around is a particularly steep ledge over a slim ravine a quarter of a mile east from Galaxy Garrison property, it still feels the same. Like he’s taking a deep breath for the first time, lungs expanding until he is weightless, free. Free to be who he is, even if that is a boy quick to anger and slow to love.

And Keith likes who he is now. Likes who he can be—with Krolia, with Shiro and the team, with Lance.

In the end, Keith wins the race.

It’s a close call and his heart races at the thought of it. Because Lance is grinning that absurd grin, eyes crinkling with the force of it, and his hair is a mess, windblown and highlighted gold by the sun. The white shirt that clings to him is twisted and Lance makes a halfhearted effort to fix it as he quiets his hoverbike’s engine and starts talking in compensation, mouth moving a mile a minute.

“I almost had you at that last bend,” he is saying, leaning back in his seat so that his torso is one sleek slant. “I shouldn't have hesitated on the acceleration—I guess I’m just not an adrenaline junkie like you, but hey, now that I know the angle, it’ll be different. So I say we go around again. Two out of three wins. Loser has to help Coran clean the—Keith? Hello? Are you even listening to me?”

It’s not a flash, but it feels like one.

“Keith?” Shoulders rise as Lance angles his head to catch his gaze, honest concern coloring those beautiful eyes. They aren’t that close, hovebikes parked perpendicular to one another, but he swears he can see the universe reflecting in dark navy. Planets colliding and forming, spinning in orbit around a dilated pupil. “Hey, man, what’s wr— ”

“Date me.”

The words are out of his mouth before he has time to really think about them and what they mean.

Lance splutters. “What?”

But now that the idea has been introduced. Keith can't deny its appeal; to keep what they have, in all its stubborn sincerity and wild attraction, going for as long as they live. Perhaps even further than that. “Date me,” he says again, with more conviction. A pause. “Please. Please date me.”

A moment, then—

“You just have to beat me at everything, don't you?” Lance starts, loud enough to be considered yelling, but having none of the thunderous anger usually associated with the volume. “Can't even give me this one thing, can you? Well, the joke’s on you—cause it was going to be great! I had everything planned out and it was going to be the most romantic thing ever! Would've blown this disaster out of the water, I'm telling you!” He stands and, uncaring of the wobble it gives under his weight, marches purposefully across the wing of his bike until they’re parallel to one another. One of his hands waves madly about, flying across the entire range of their surroundings before gesturing to Keith himself. “Candles and rose petals everywhere! Hunk was gonna cook something nice and we would've danced and—and you were gonna swoon! Straight into my arms! There would've been kissing and everything! The whole shebang!”

Keith furrows his eyebrows, lost. “What?”

But Lance blows past his confusion and slumps to the side in an expulsion of energy, mumbling, “God, you're such a jerk.”

Hands move to grip the front of his shirt, the only warning before the entire weight of his maybe-boyfriend is forced upon him. Keith feels the wisp of eyelashes fluttering against the column of his neck as Lance smooshes his nose into the junction there, mumbling words and noises he can't hope to translate. He returns the clumsy embrace automatically, winding his arms around the other’s waist and resting his cheek on a soft, brown crown of hair.

“So… yes?”

Lance laughs a watery laugh, deliriously happy, and leans back to stare him straight in the eye, a whirlwind of blue caught in a crystal ball of stars. The grip on his shirt loosens, fingers trailing up his chest until they tease the nape of his neck. “Of course it's a yes, you absolute loser.”

Keith frowns even as his heart sings, melody erupting into fireworks so loud he might go deaf. “See, it's stuff like that last part that really mix me up.”

“Oh my gosh, just shut up and kiss me.”

So he does.

Time, like most things in Keith’s life, is something he keeps close.

#klance #voltron #vld #laith #keith x lance #keith kogane #lance mcclain #voltron legendary defender #aeon #fanfiction #writing #chomp chomp goes the raptor

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whump-in-progress · 3 years

Text

klaus & the gang, pt 3

klaus has a rough night.

cw: vomiting, references to past mental whump (food denial, mockery) self-deprecating thoughts

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six bowls of soup later, and klaus felt like a water balloon. the soup sloshed around uncomfortably in his stomach, weighing him down and pressing on his throat. he might have overdone it.

the bard played the last few notes of a song on her accordion, and then waved to the crowd. "that's all from us. goodnight!" xavier walked over to oura and klaus, and plopped down on a stool.

"wooh! now that was fun!" he exclaimed.

"did you have anything to eat?" oura asked.

"no, mom," xavier teased.

"alright, well, what do you want?"

"i don't know. excuse me, waiter?" he beckoned the server forward, and ordered some grilled plantains with spicy oil.

a few minutes later, the plate of starchy food was set down in front of him, and he dug in. the smell of it and the gusto with which he ate made klaus' head spin.

rory jogged to them from the other end of the bar, holding her half-eaten plate of fish and steamed purslane. the aromas of both dishes together were overpowering.

"ok, everyone, listen up. we've got two rooms, one for oura and one for the rest of us."

this was standard procedure. oura's bear half took up the most room, so she got a king bed to herself. everyone else could make do with twin matresses.

"when everyone's done, we should pay and go up together. the more sleep we can all get, the better. got it?"

"yeah," everyone mumbled in agreement.

rory and xavier finished their food, and rory dropped some gold on the counter. they walked up the creaky tavern stairs to their rooms.

with every step, klaus was made aware of how much soup he'd just ate, and he cursed under his breath.

"goodnight, everyone!" oura called, ducking to fit through the small door to her room.

"goodnight!" xavier called back to her. klaus followed the other two in, and they both ran to their beds and dropped on them with a thud.

"ahh! it feels nice to be on a proper matress." xavier exclaimed, running his hands through the soft sheets.

klaus felt a sharp groan tear through his insides, and he guessed that he didn't have much time before the his dinner decided to split. his skin grew clammy.

rory sat back up and looked at klaus. "aren't you going to lay down, kid? you probably need a good night's sleep more than the rest of us."

"actually... i think i have to go to the bathroom." klaus said, hurriedly, and dashed. he couldn't hear rory calling after him.

he got to the toilet just in time, and most of his soup spilled into the bowl. his stomach seemed to twist and turn, and his throat ached from the force at which his body was rejecting his meal.

he was right. he did overdo it.

he sat there, breathing heavily, arched over the toilet bowl. maybe the giant was right. maybe he was weak. he couldn't even hold in some soup.

*knock knock*

klaus heard oura's voice, muffled from the next room over. "buddy? are you okay?"

"yeah." he responded.

"it doesn't sound like it,"

"oh, you know. some people can't hold their liquor. apparently i can't even hold in some fucking soup." he chuckled darkly.

"do you want me to come over?"

"no, it's okay. i'm okay,"

oura paused.

*knock knock*

"klaus?"

another voice, rory's this time, made klaus jump. the door behind him opened and she stepped through, folding her wings against her back, trying to appear nonthreatening.

"is that rory?" oura asked.

"yeah, it's me. you can go to sleep, oura. i've got him."

"i don't need to be-"

"okay, man, i trust you." he could hear bear steps walking away from the wall.

rory came over to klaus and started rubbing his back. "oh, poor kid," she murmured.

"i'm not a-" klaus was interrupted by another hot wave of bile. she continued rubbing his back in silence, until all of the contents of his stomach had been purged into the toilet. rory handed him a tea towel, and he wiped his chin.

"do you need anything, kid?"

"i'm fine. and i'm not a kid," he snarled. he was embarrased.

"don't take that tone with me. i'm only trying to help."

he looked at the floor with a glare, and his bottom lip began to tremble.

rory sighed and took him in her arms. the motion was stiff and awkward, but klaus could tell she was trying to comfort him, even though she was a bit rusty. she tarted stroking his hair, and sat down with him, leaning against the rim of the bathtub. he relaxed.

"am i doing this right?" she asked, in a whisper.

it felt nice. "yeah."

they stayed like that for a while.

"rory?"

"yeah?"

"i'm tired." klaus whispered.

"then let's get you to bed."

she stood and offered him a hand, and he leaned on her, still a little bit shaky. she supported him to his bed, and he collapsed in an exhausted heap.

he only just managed to take off his trousers and shirt before drifting off, vaguely aware of rory tucking the soft covers around his shoulders.

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tag list: @whumpzone

#whump #team whump #fantasy whump #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #klaus & the gang #klaus #xavier #rory #oura #velvetspeaks #oc

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years

Text

The Nightingale

Hiya, folks! So, as previously announced, the wlw writing projectcontinues after a break with a miniseries set back in the City of Lights - & Love - at the time of the Belle Epoque, at the turn of the century.

The story finale is served: hope that you enjoyed the journey so far.

Tagging: @scottishqueer

Previous chapters: Paris, Paris ; One Night At The Moulin Rouge , The Handkerchief, The Cage of Fools, La Vie Bohème, Broken Dreams

Hope you enjoy it: if you do, please consider spreading the word!

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It takes some time to persuade Élodie that my idea could actually work. Before sharing it with her, I pay a visit to the Moulin Rouge and discuss it with Laurent, Carmine and the other friends she has there. They listen to me carefully and ponder my words. When they speak, they evaluate possibilities and chances of the new plan. They even ask Valerie, the singer I saw on stage on my first time at the 'First Palace of Women', to hear it out and share her thoughts on that. She takes a long meditative pause before conceding that it's not a bad idea, after all. "And I think Monsieur Zidler won't have much to object, honestly. He likes Lila, he hired her personally" she adds, shrugging and flashing an encouraging smile. We all share a look. Laurent speaks first, rubbing his hands enthusiastically. "Time to break it to Lila!" "Léa's idea, Léa's duty" Carmine winks. "Let us know if you need backup and we'll send the chivalry". And so I do. The following day, when our shift is over, I wave Marie goodbye and head towards Montmarte, cherishing the news in my chest and hoping my idea won't make her too nervous or uncomfortable. Or even worse, offend her.

"A singing act?" Élodie looks at me confused when I share my foolish idea. She almost spits out the coffee she's drinking. "But I'm not a singer!" She keeps looking at me without understanding, furrowing her brows. I wonder if she's thinking I'm speaking nonsense out of the blue. If so, I'm thankful she tries to conceal it. "I know...you sing well though" I notice, smiling. I take a seat beside her and gently wrap an arm around her waist. I ponder what to say next: I know how badly she's suffering despite the brave face she puts on now and hurting her is the last thing I want. On the contrary, I only want to help her, if I can. "I know it's different from what you're used to and what you want...but I genuinely think you could do well. And it doesn't have to be forever, it could be temporary...the doctor said you have to be patient with your recovery. As much as it pains me to remind it, you can't go back dancing now" "I know" she grimaces. "Consider this a...distraction?" I suggest, guiding her face towards me. "When you feel better, you could give it a try and see how it feels. You could sit on a bar stool and play an accordion like that singer at the Cage, remember? Maybe you'll even have fun" I try to be as bubbly as I can given the circumstances and my naive enthusiasm draws a tiny smile on her face. "Maybe" she sighs, half-convinced. "Just think about it: no rush, no pressure" I press a kiss on her forehead. I don't tell her of my conversation with Carmine and Laurent at the Moulin. They go visit her a week or so later, bringing a colourful bouquet of irises on behalf of all her colleagues who "miss her dearly and can't wait to have her back". To my surprise, Élodie mentions them the singing act plan. Of course they pretend to hear it from the first time; it could work, they say. Everything to get her back to the stage she belongs to, they add. I am unbelievably happy to see my love improving as weeks go by. She now leaves her room more often with the help of a crutch and take "little walks" up and down the corridor or simply sits in the main room, chatting, reading. I make her promise not to exert herself but I am glad of this change: keeping her mind busy and quitting her self-imposed isolation seem to do her good. It's in the main room that I find her one evening. The atmosphere is as lively as one would expect from an artist apartment in Montmarte. Luis is discussing of an upcoming exhibition sipping wine in the kitchen with a couple of friends and colleagues or so I wager. He greets me with a nod and hands me a glass of red. I gladly take it and head to the main room where the music comes from. Élodie is sitting on the sofa with a girl I have never seen before. They both greet me with a smile and my love pats the armchair by her side, beckoning me to have a seat with them. The girl stands and offers me her hand to shake: it's Sidonie, the actress roommate. She had a role in a comedy show lately, that's why we didn't get a chance to meet sooner. "El asked me to teach her how to play the accordion" she explains, cheerfully. I am pretty sure my face betrays my surprise. "And it's way trickier than I thought it would be" Élodie protests. "How can a little instrument like this can be so hard to play? I don't get it" Sidonie and I take a seat as she lets out a loud sigh of defeat. Her frown doesn't last long though: a quick smile appears on her face at our proximity. Dropping the instrument in her lap, she reaches for my hand and places a kiss on my knuckles. "Well, Rome wasn't built in a day, right?" I smile back as she steals my glass of wine. "Right, and you still have time before the big day" Sidonie adds. "What's the big day?" I ask, a little confused. "You haven't told her yet?" she shoves Élodie's shoulder, gaping. "C'mon, El, spill the beans!" Élodie sighs and take a big sip of wine as if to steady her nerves for some big announcement. Saying that curiosity is killing me is an understatement but I try not to pressure her. "So..." she starts, turning to face me. "The doctor visited me yesterday and-" "And?" I fail to refrain myself. "And he is happy with how my recovery is going. Very happy, actually. True, I still cannot dance and probably my days as a can-can dancer are over" a shadow crosses her face but I am proud to see her fight it back. "But I am improving and that's what matters, right? If I keep up the good job, I can get rid of that crutch in weeks, he said" "But that's amazing, El! I'm so happy for you" I cover my mouth to prevent the lump forming in my throat to ruin the moment. I don't wanna cry here, now, in front of her. "And there's more to it" Sidonie winks. "Keep going, El" "I...I may have written a letter to Monsieur Zidler, explaining my situation and mentioning the singing act plan. And asking for an audition to see if I can still fit in. Carmine offered to deliver it when she visited, the answer came in earlier today" She takes a dramatic pause. "He may have said yes" I squeal and wrap my arms around her neck, making her giggle. "He said he will receive me whenever I want. I just have to write him a note and he will give me an appointment" she adds, hugging me back. I linger in her arms a bit longer, longer than I meant at first, suddenly unwilling to resist the wave of joyous relief washing over me. I try to make it last in the familiar warmth of Élodie's embrace. "It's...oh El, it's...I don't even have words for it!" I say, eventually parting. "That's why I asked Sid for help. With the accordion and in general: she's a professional, right?" "A great professional" the actress playfully corrects her. "A great professional" Élodie chuckles. "I know how to dance but not how to take the stage solo, how to move, what to say, how to engage with the audience...oddly enough, it's all quite new to me. So I thought that a little training could help me to pass the audition and stay at the Moulin" "And Theo, our music-hall virtuoso, has been recruited too. He will assist with the singing part" Sidonie finishes her sentence then turns towards me. "Trust me, Léa: we'll turn this dancer into the new singing phenomenon the likes of which Paris has ever seen" True to her word, in the weeks that follow, my indomitable love works hard with her roommates and improvised tutors. She keeps me and her friends from the Cage updated over dinner when we visit her; she asks for suggestions on the songs to sing, songs that might make a good impression on Monsieur Zidler. She's keen to impress him, certainly out of pride but also - I have reason to believe - in the hope that he allows her not to leave the Moulin. That place has come to signify so much for her, more than most could probably understand. Maybe she landed there almost by chance as she said but it's clear what it means to her now: it's her life, her passion. I bet that sometimes at night she dreams the extravagant hall filled with dancing couples and careless costumers sipping champagne. I'm sure the furious rhythm of la quadrille still haunts her sleep: I can only hope it doesn't torment her. I know that she's suffering deep down, that every limping step, every accidental look to her injured ankle reminds her of that night who put an end to the career she was born for. I see it in her eyes when she thinks I'm not looking. But I also sense a sparkle, a fire burning brighter than the shadows crossing her face and her heart. A month later, she finally decides "it's now or never" and writes a note to Monsieur Zidler. I cannot go with her to the audition because of work, luckily Theo has a free day. Monsieur Zidler listens carefully, smoking his cigar in a first row seat, and claps his hands when the last note dies out. Green light for the singing act! The night of her debut I make sure to get tickets for all my friends. Eventually, I let them know of my friendship with Élodie and the other dancers of the Moulin. I didn't tell them well, everything and I am thankful they don't dig for more. I am also grateful for their genuine concern for my love's accident and the enthusiasm they showed for her debut. The guys insisted to buy some flowers to throw her on the way here and they all dressed up to meet her after the acts. When I look at them, I think back of my first time here and I cannot help but smile to myself. Before venturing to the backstage area, I wave at Pierrette - well Pierre tonight - Amélie and other girls I saw at the Cage. We smile at each other across the room: I knew they wouldn't have missed such an important night. The night of her debut Élodie is so tense she keeps saying she's going to puke and asking for champagne to find the right amount of liquid courage to walk onto the stage. Laurent, Carmine and I try to discipline said amount and escort her till the velvet curtains when time comes. She inhales sharply and gives us all a tensed look when on the other side Valerie announces a little novelty, a second singing act. Her singing act. She squeezes my hand tight till the moment the curtains open and she steps into the stage light. As I predicted, she had no reason to be so nervous, even if I get where her fears came from. When the lights of the music hall wash over her, the audience erupts in a round of encouraging applauses and cheers. The whole room resounds with her name - Lila! Lila! Lila! - as she proceeds towards a bar stool positioned at the centre of the stage. She's still limping but no one seems to notice or care. Especially when she clears her throat and after a gracious greeting, she starts singing. Then everyone goes quiet, enraptured by the sweet melody of her voice. She may not dance anymore but the paying guests seem to love her all the same. After every performance, they whistle in appreciation and clap their hand loud, asking for more songs. Night after night. Week after week. They don't stop. Journalists and regulars end up giving her a nickname that consecrates her new career. They start calling her 'The Nightingale of Pigalle' or simply 'The Nightingale'. With the unexpected yet unmistakable success, she gains a mention on the playbill and the posters advertising the Moulin all over Paris. As a consequence, her acts evolve and become more complex. Élodie asks for new tips to Sidonie and Theo and practises regularly with a newfound determination. She tries to find and memorise new songs to enrich her repertoire. Sometimes she sings them for me when we are in bed and she plays with my hair or holds me close in a loving embrace. Now she performs in duets with Valerie twice a week, and solo, winning the favour of adoring fans over and over again. Paris falls in love with her and well, I can't blame her. I don't think it's possible to know her and not to love Élodie. There is something inside her, a light so bright that encompasses her figure and is now showing. Better, glowing. As her new career takes off, something changes in my life too. I make what my superior calls "a most foolish decision I will regret dearly when it's too late" and quit my job at the atelier. In the end, I don't end up regretting it because, prevailing over a fierce competition, I join the tailor entourage of Les Folies Bergere. When one night I overheard a dancer at the Moulin saying that they were looking for a new seamstress, I just knew I had to throw my hat in the ring. And so I did. The pay is a bit lower than the one I would have now if I had stayed since my supervisor wasn't joking about that long-awaited promotion but I am happier this way. I got my share of Vie bohème sewing and fixing the most extravagant costumes Paris has ever seen. And I heard that Marie, who has been working thrice as hard over the past few months to make up for the time the girls and I covered for her, got 'my' promotion. She deserves it and some extra money might come in handy if Alain makes his move and gets down on one knee, at last. Who would have told, like....a year ago or even just a few months ago? Marie in tears at the thought of being fired and me, the quiet seamstress from the North with an ordinary life. Now my life is less ordinary and the world seem like turning faster and faster. It's thrilling, maybe a bit scary at times. It's like...being caught in a whirlwind, I notice as I share my thoughts with Élodie one night in bed. "Things change fast in Paris" she ponders, smiling to herself. "It's the magic of the crazy times we live in" "Maybe you're right" I agree but then a thought crosses my mind, an uneasy one. I look at her and my heart aches a little: she is always so beautiful I'm the moonlight but she also looks distant, so ethereal she could vanish any minute just like a dream when morning comes and you open your eyes. But I don't want to wake from this dream. I roll to the side to face her and speak again before cowardice gets the best of me. "But there is a thing I don't want to change" I reach for her hand and she rolls to her side too, listening. "This. You and me, together. I...I don't want to change that or that to change" I feel my cheeks burn as soon as the words leave my mouth but I had to say that. To make it clear. I have already lost her once and it was awful, I don't want to go through that again. The mere thought of it make my stomach turn Élodie's hand is cold on my cheek as she caresses it with the soothing tenderness I have come to love about her. "We don't have to change that, Léa" One night I am almost late for her act. I come straight from Les Folies but I wouldn't have missed it for the world since Élodie asked me to be present. She didn't tell me why, she just kissed me and said "you'll see". So here I am. I join my friends at the table reserved for us just as the first dancing act starts. I sip my champagne and do my best to follow even if my mind is somewhere else, backstage. I take a relieved sigh and clap my hands with the rest of the audience when her name is announced. This time though, she doesn't make her entrance straight away, leaving us wondering what she has in store for us. No one seems bothered though, they just whisper excitedly with the neighbours and keep clapping their hands to call her on stage. Then Élodie steps in, emerging from the velvet curtains in a new costume that elicits gasps and cheers among the audience. My friends and I clap encouragely as she saunters towards her stool in an elegant male suit just like the one Laurent wears on scene and swaying -and helping herself with - a walking stick like a dandy. I am suddenly reminded of our night at the Cage of Fools and my cheeks turn rosy. She greets everyone with affable cheerfulness and a mysterious smile that catches the attention of the paying guests. She takes a seat on her stool, with her usual grace and taking her time. When she speaks, she has the general undivided attention and curiosity. "I wrote a song, a little tune for tonight. Would you like to hear it?" An excited murmur spreads in the hall then everyone goes quiet. That's when she starts singing, a gorgeous smile on her lips. She sings of a Parisian boy who once bumped into a fisherman on his walk by the Seine. The old man told him that he didn't like Paris because you can only get small fishes here and pearls are hard to find away from the seashore: there are none in the City of Lights. The young Parisian listened to the man and resumed his walk, quickly forgetting about fishes and oysters. But he soon discovered that the old seaman was wrong. A few days later, the boy actually found one, the brightest pearl, down the River, on the quays of Paris, where Lady Luck is gentle with hopeful lovers. His pearl has hair of gold and a smile sweeter than cherries: she didn't make him rich but turned his life into paradise. He didn't make a necklace out of her like people do when they find those tiny shiny treasures, but he always bears the image of her face in his heart because his Pearl gave him the only wealth worth calling your own in this world: Love. When she hits the final note, it's clear everybody adored it. Loud appreciative whistles and applauses, a chant "again, sing again!" and flowers, so many flowers landing on the stage like a colourful rain. Another success but...this one is different. Élodie bows to the adoring audience and picks up one rose, rising. Her eyes search the crowd until they find me. With a tender smile, she throws it my way. It lands in my hands as someone starts chanting her name over the clapping of hands and stomping of feet. But I don't register it, I only have eyes for her. My heart is on fire. With one last lingering look before basking in her well deserved triumph, Élodie mouths words meant for me only. Words only I can hear in the crowd. "My little pearl"

#wlw writing #wlw writing project #wlw miniseries #lgbtq #wlw love #original work #paris #belle epoque

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