#kl drabbles

[jisungsdaydreamer]

district nine — l.mh

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME»

SYNOPSIS For the very first time in his life, eighteen year-old Minho is left to fight his demons alone, far from home and everything dear to him. New places, new people, new things to fear— it's an endless tightrope strung by the unknown. But what Minho does not know is that he will never walk it alone.

Pairing: Lee Know-centric story featuring the rest of skz. No pairings apply. Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, college au Warnings: themes of loss and grief, minor character death, fear of water/aquaphobia, post-traumatic stress disorder, mentions of underage drinking/alcohol Word Count: 4k

*Written for @k-labels debut event. My submission is for District 9 by Stray Kids.

“You’ll be okay, Minho.”

Minho tries to swallow the anxiety rising in his throat, fighting the urge to look up at his father one more time. The waves are calm today, rising and falling like the movement of his chest at night. However, the comfort of Minho’s bedroom is missing from the scene, replaced with the familiar fear that Minho always feels whenever he’s around bodies of water. 

“I’m scared, Dad.” Minho clings to his father’s sailing vest while staring down at the murky depths of the river. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Minho hears his father sigh in affection, more than frustration, before he bends down to match his height. He runs his hand through his son’s hair, tousling it like the balmy summer breeze overhead. 

“As long as I’m here, I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.” Minho’s father kisses his soft head before standing up once more and getting back to work. “See? You’re all safe.”

Minho nods unconvincingly, trying not to squish the soft grilled cheese sandwich in his hands. He really wishes he brought his stress ball with him. “Okay.”

“Cheer up, Minho! Your grandpa used to bring me here all the time, when I was your age,” Minho’s father calls out from where he’s busy reeling in a long line of thick rope and cramming it into a little metal box for safe-keeping.

“Hmph.”

It’s the perfect weather to be outside on the river, which is frequented by many others in their small town on idyllic days like these. Minho, however, would rather be back home, either assisting his mother in the kitchen or playing with his cats. But his father insisted on taking him on a boating trip, and he couldn’t refuse, not when he barely saw his father these days. He knows his father is facing an immense amount of pressure at work, and that this would help him relax. Still, he can’t help the feeling of foreboding twisting and turning in his stomach.

Minho decides to abandon the sandwich after all, nauseated by both fear and the way the boat consistently rocks against the current. He looks out at the water once more, glaring down at the river like he can subdue it with a withering gaze. As if his expression has summoned something, a little fish pops up into his vision, its brightly-colored scales flashing right beneath the surface.

Intrigued, Minho breaks off a small part of sandwich crust and throws it out into the water. The fish cautiously approaches the particle of bread, before eating it. Now momentarily distracted by the way the fish looks up at him, as if pleading for more, Minho tosses out a couple more crumbs, but this time, closer. The fish swims towards him like Minho wants it to, its little fins wagging happily as it eats.

Minho laughs for the first time today, prompting his father to look over his shoulder. “Having fun, Minho?”

“Maybe.”

“Good. But be careful— don’t go to close to the edge. The river is unpredictable.”

Minho sighs. Grown-ups. “I know that, Dad.”

By now, multiple fish have surfaced, eager for scraps like their lucky friend, and Minho indulges them, sharing his midday snack with all hungry for it. After a few minutes, his sandwich is finally gone, and the fish just gaze up at him. He shakes his head at them sadly. “I don’t have anymore left, guys.” 

Not wanting to see them go, however, Minho very tentatively stretches out his hand to the water, wondering if the fish would come to him. They don’t dare to come near, but Minho takes it as a sign to try even harder; the fish were just so pretty. Maybe if he caught one, he could put it in a jar and beg his parents to let him keep it as a pet. He’d name it Lino, so they both have rhyming names. Obviously, he can’t introduce Lino to his cats, but still, Lino would be his friend, a better one to replace the mean people who made fun of him at school. Lino would be Minho’s, and he’d be Lino’s.

Minho leans over the edge, all of his previous apprehension forgotten as his fingertips skim the cool water. The fish splash in the water, trying to escape Minho’s grasp, flicking little droplets of water onto the bare skin of his arms. Maybe this really isn’t that bad, Minho thinks, smiling to himself.

One of the fish darts in the water near Minho’s hand, making him giggle in amusement. His entire upper body is hanging off the edge now, only his feet anchoring him to the belly of the boat. “Just a little closer…” 

Just as Minho’s little hand is about to close around the fish, the boat suddenly lurches, and he ends up clasping a handful of river water instead of his target. Minho tries to pull himself back to stand so he can complain about his loss properly, before he loses his balance. The next thing he knows, he’s being catapulted over the side of the boat and falling headfirst into the river with a frightened shout. 

The first thing he feels after his body painfully careens through the water is how shockingly cold the water is, enveloping him like a frigid, suffocating blanket. The currents that lie below the surface finally manifest, showing their true colors as they swirl his body around like a rag doll. Minho remembers reading about such a phenomenon in some nature article, that sometimes, even though a small body of water may look peaceful, the sinister truth is hidden right under.

Minho gasps for air in the frothing rapids, fighting to keep his face from lolling to the side and trying to make his waterlogged body move, but to no avail. He was always too scared of the water to learn how to swim, even at their neighborhood swimming pool. Amongst other irrelevant reasons, it’s why he always gets bullied at school, why the other kids always make a big show of flashing their invitations to pool parties to him. He was never invited, and he never cared either, beyond that twinge of sadness in his chest. But now, all he can hear is the raucous roaring of the river around him, and for a moment, perhaps someone yelling his name from up above. But that sensation is soon lost, as Minho begins to submit to the strength of the water.

Before he finally succumbs, however, he feels a different kind of pressure on his body, strong arms circling his legs and propelling him upwards. Minho thrusts his own flailing limbs forward, trying to drag himself to the surface. The struggle barely works, as Minho’s hands finally locate the side of the boat, grabbing at the material and trying to find the side railing. Minho’s savior clutches at his ankles from down below, giving him a final push up and into safety.

As soon as Minho’s hips hit the bottom of the little boat, he ignores the pain in his side from the hard impact, scrambling to the edge of the boat once more. This time, he holds the railing like it’s his lifeline— which it very well may be. 

“Dad!” His eyes frantically search the water for any signs of his father, for the man who saved his life, but the action is to no avail. “DAD?!”

His efforts are fruitless, because the water doesn’t stir, calm once more and faithfully concealing the monstrosity hiding in it. The swallows chirp from nearby riverbanks, and the sun shines down on the river. Everything seems as it was before, except this time, the piercing, guttural cry of both Minho’s realization and grief cuts through the air. No, nothing is the same, and it never will be.

10 years later.

Minho wipes the sweat off of his brow as he stacks the storage containers on top of each other; the lack of air conditioning in the room is truly a menace to his efforts. Fortunately, the work is almost over, his bed already neatly made and clothes pressed and folded in the little wardrobe assigned to him. 

“You should really take some rest, Minho.” Minho’s mother looks over at him, placing the back of her hand on Minho’s heated forehead. “You’ll tire yourself out.”

“It’s okay, Mom.” Minho turns away from her, trying to mask his trepidations with indifference. He takes some of the extra hangers strewn about and hangs up them, before shutting the closet door and glancing around the room, satisfied. Everything is in order, just how he always needs it to be.

“Sweetheart, you can talk to me,” she sighs, wrapping her arms around his stiff shoulders, leading him to his bed and sitting him down. Minho stares straight ahead, avoiding her gaze. If she looked into his eyes, she’d see straight through his facade, more than she already has. “I know it’s hard.”

“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

But she does, she always does worry for him, and Minho knows that. He hasn’t ever been away for home for more than a few hours at a time; this is the first time he’ll be far from home, and permanently, too. 

“I love you so much. You know that, right?” She whispers, hugging him tightly.

He’s long overdue for a haircut, but he didn’t bother getting one. With the shaggy locks falling into his deep brown eyes, along with how his features have finely sharpened over the years, he looks more and more like his father. His mother always says how his father would have been so proud of him.

Minho sighs, patting his Mother’s back gently. “I know, Mom. I know.”

The sound of the dormitory room door opening with a bang makes them both jerk in shock, and they both look over at the entrance. A boy enters, a tangled string of headphones looped around his neck as he drags in a suitcase behind himself. His slender frame is tucked into a plain, baggy t-shirt and ripped skinny jeans, and wears a baseball cap backwards, loose tufts of inky hair peaking out from under.

He pays Minho and his mother no mind as they silently watch him from Minho’s side of the room. The boy doesn’t bother with unpacking his suitcase, just wordlessly dumping its contents into a pile on the mattress before flopping onto his stomach, next to it. He scrolls through his phone for a few moments, before seemingly noticing the other occupants for the very first time. He gives them a small glance over his shoulder, before flicking his eyes back to his phone screen.

“Jisung,” he mutters, barely making an effort to be heard.

Minho blinks, before his mother gives him an encouraging nod to introduce himself as well. “I’m Minho. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Cool.”

Jisung doesn't say anything else, opting to fall silent once more in favor of whatever is so much more entertaining on his phone. Minho looks back at his mother, perplexed, who mirrors the emotion. Obviously, this Jisung isn’t interested in conversation, or much of a relationship with his roommate. Minho’s mother shakes her head, smoothing out a wrinkle in Minho’s jacket. 

“Are you sure you’ll be alright? I can stay a little longer if you want me to.”

“You should go now, Mom. The welcome orientation is starting soon.” Minho tilts his cheek, accepting the kiss his mother places there. She’ll be gone eventually, and it’s better sooner than later, so he can prepare himself.

He walks his mother out of the building, where their second hand minivan is parked. And as soon as they both arrived, his mother is gone, and so is the comfort of her love, her presence. Minho just stands there, rooted to the spot on the sidewalk, watching his mother drive away until the vehicle turns a corner and disappears from his vision.

Adopting his customary blank expression, he makes his way back to the room, passing giddy students and their teary yet proud families. He steps inside and finds Jisung already passed out on his bare mattress, phone lying haphazardly on his chest.

Minho’s turns to sit back down at his desk and read a book for a little, maybe, when he feels something crunch under his shoe. He looks down to see an empty potato chips packet; obviously Jisung’s, and it must have been blown over from the other side because of the gusts of air coming in through the window. Minho glances at Jisung’s slumbering form for a moment, as if waiting for the boy to wake and clean up his mess. But he doesn’t, so with an exhausted grunt, Minho picks up the packet and disposes of it in his trash can, along with his hopes of making any friends here.

Minho weaves through the throngs of partygoers, trying not to pass out. The deafening beat of the bass reverberates throughout the vast room, prolonging the aching headache he’s had since yesterday afternoon. The first week of classes just finished; the workload was heavy, but Minho enjoyed his books more than people, anyway, so that didn’t prove much of a hardship. 

As for friends, he hadn’t made any. He’d intentionally put up a cold aura so that no one would come near him; he didn’t have the patience to brush anyone off. It’s why he can’t complain too much about Jisung— the guy just left him alone and let him do whatever he needed. Minho’s one grievance about him, however, would be how messy he is. Minho’s side of the room is always kept tidy, while at any time in the day, it looks like a tornado ripped through Jisung’s. 

It’s why Minho used the party as an opportunity to escape the dorm, to get away from the filth that he would have to share with Jisung. Even though he knew it would be a bad idea to come out to the back-to-school bash for freshmen that one of the fraternities was throwing, he came anyway. But he should have known better than to try and fit in with all of the other perfectly normal eighteen year-olds here. He’s never been a party person anyway, so here he is now, floating around like a loser while trying to find the nearest exit from the frat house’s outdoor patio.

But his progress is cut off when a heavily drunk frat boy crashes into Minho’s side, shoving him towards the pool that Minho unfortunately failed to notice the dizzying proximity of. Head whipped to the side, Minho stumbles, getting an eyeful of the turquoise, lighted waters of the pool, and moments later, he’s shoved in, an awful case of deja vu written just for him.

It feels like the whole world comes to a standstill when his body smashes into the water. Someone turns off the music, and people gather around to watch everything unfold like a movie. No one makes a move to help him, just letting out intoxicated chuckles at the scene like it’s something truly comical, nothing serious. And it shouldn’t be, barely a few feet of water deep. But Minho still doesn’t know how to swim, and so he thrashes mindlessly in the water, mind frozen over with panic.

Minho tries to scream for help, but it comes out garbled, with all of the chlorine forcing its way into his mouth and keeping him from forming coherent words. The memories of that terrible day come rushing back to Minho. Him, splayed out, afraid and all alone. Him staring out at the water, praying for his father to come back. The rescue boat coming to take him back, wrapping his small, shivering form in a thick towel. His father’s lifeless body being extracted from the river by the patrols, Minho’s mother crying in his ear. 

He’d been saved that day, but nobody was coming for him now. Good, Minho thinks. It was his fault, that day. It should have been Minho and not his father. Minho stops trying to make an effort, and this time, it’s by his own choice. He lets the terror paralyze him, and finally, he’s getting what he deserves. He’s so resigned to his fate that he barely registers someone’s arms around him, steadying him in the water. 

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Jisung’s voice fills Minho’s ears, hurtling him back into reality. Minho feels Jisung’s arms tighten around his waist, and their legs knock against each other in the water. But the agitation doesn’t leave Minho’s body, as he keeps lashing his limbs out in the water.

“I— I can’t swim.” He croaks, trying to inhale and exhale to calm himself down, a technique his therapist taught him long ago. It doesn’t work.

For a moment, Minho thinks that he’s somehow imagined the help, that he’s already died and this is his soul’s strange way of coping. But then Jisung speaks up again, quietly. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

For such a small person, Jisung really is strong, dragging both himself and Minho to the edge of the pool, where he grabs the railing and hoists himself up, before helping Minho out as well. Their audience steps away from the spectacle, going back to their own business, leaving Minho to sputter and cough, while Jisung just watches.

When he’s finished spitting out the mouthfuls of water that he swallowed, Minho looks over at Jisung. He doesn’t know if he really means it, but he says it anyway, because the last time, he never got the chance to. “Thank you.”

“Be careful.” Jisung stands up, stretching out his hand to Minho, who gingerly accepts it. “You never know when some hammered idiot is going to bump into you.”

In an unsaid agreement, the two boys leave the party instantly, having experienced enough of the party culture to last them for the rest of the year. They head towards the bus stop a few minutes walk away, instead of navigating the still-unfamiliar campus in the darkness. Minho walks with his arms wrapped around himself, stealing glances at the other boy, who stares straight ahead, whistling some random tune to himself.

“What song is that?” Minho hesitantly breaks the silence, his hatred for it outweighing the one he carries for conversation, for once. 

“Something I made up,” Jisung states, with a careless shrug.

Minho takes Jisung’s willingness to answer as a sign for him to keep going, to ask the questions that tug at him. “Why didn’t your parents come with you to help you move-in?”

Jisung doesn’t look at him, kicking at a pebble in his way. “Don’t have any.”

“As in—”

“They’re dead,” Jisung says shortly. “Car crash.”

Minho’s insides fill with something akin to sorrow. “I didn’t mean to—”

Jisung cuts Minho off for a second time, but now finally meets his eyes. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Minho shakes his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “How are you able to be so… normal? How can you just move on like that? You seem perfectly fine.”

Jisung doesn’t say anything for a moment, before listlessly gazing up at the sky above him. “Everyone has their own demons. Just depends on who’s better at hiding them.”

Minho keeps quiet and hangs his head down, trying not to let Jisung see the tears stinging his eyes.If Jisung notices, he doesn’t say anything, even when Minho’s voice comes out choked. “Does it ever go away, Jisung? The pain?”

“I don’t know, Minho. I can’t say yes for you, because sometimes it does go away, and sometimes it doesn’t.” Jisung sighs. “But we’ve all lost someone. The best we can do is keep moving forward.”

Minho doesn’t see the point in covering up his tears anymore; his roommate saw a lot more of him tonight than he’d have expected from anyone. The dampness streams down his cheeks freely, but Jisung still doesn’t comment on it, and for that, Minho is grateful. “I don’t feel ready— for any of this. I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“No one does, trust me.” Jisung bumps Minho’s shoulder lightly, and usually, Minho would flinch away from touch like that. But he doesn’t, not this time. “But I guess that suffering with a friend is a little better than doing it alone.”

“I guess.” Minho cracks a rare smile at the other boy, as their ride pulls up in front of them.

They both get onto steps of the shuttle, met with the blindingly fluorescent lighting of the inside. The driver scans the newcomers, looking at them with an eyebrow raised. “Both of you headed to Levanter Dormitory?”

“Yes,” Jisung answers.

“What a coincidence.” The man laughs, and Minho stares at him in confusion. “Everyone else on here is also headed to Levanter. Makes my job a whole lot easier.”

Jisung makes his way to the very back of the bus, Minho following suit. There are only six other people on the bus. All of them are dozing off— a common sight at this hour— except for two of the boys— one dressed all in black and the other wearing a navy sweatshirt with the shape of a puppy embroidered on it. Minho passes by them, recognizing their faces from the past few days— in either quick glimpses or snippets of their conversations echoing in the dorm hallways—before taking his seat next to Jisung.

The drive is long, due to road construction happening even this late at night, but no one says anything. And the quiet doesn’t feel uneasy— it’s comfortable, being able to sit and revel in the absence of the pressure to seem interesting. They revel in the mundane aspects of life; Minho fiddles with his hands in his lap, planning out the next day in his head, while Jisung just looks out the window at the city lights whizzing by. 

A loud noise outside cuts through the sanctity, making everyone jump in their plastic seats, and the ones who were previous asleep blink their eyes slowly in waking up. They all gaze out the windows, their young, pensive hearts expecting the worst. Instead, they’re met with the dazzling sight of fireworks, golden sparks exploding above the view of the towering skyscrapers.

The boys exclaim out loud, not bothering to conceal the youthful idealism in their voices of awe. Jisung presses himself up against the window, his breath fogging up the glass. Minho grins, strangely pleased by this new, playful color to his roommate, one that’s just as interesting as his contemplative one. The fireworks keep erupting, casting a hazy glow on everyone’s skin.

“I wish I had my phone to take a picture,” one of the other passengers says out loud, to no one in particular. “I forgot it in my room.”

Minho glances at the speaker, a heartbreakingly handsome boy who looks more like an AI than an eighteen-year old kid. “You can borrow mine.”

The boy smiles at him in thanks, accepting Minho’s phone and using it to zoom in on the lit-up sky. Minho tears his eyes away from the window to look at the others on the bus. Everyone here has their own pain, their own secrets, their own story. Minho would like to know them, and maybe one day very soon, he just might. 

Because Minho knows that every day won’t be easy. There will be days in which time feels like it’s just barely ticking by, and others when it’s moving too fast, leaving stressed students with only seconds to finish their exams. There will be festival days and sleepless nights, good days and bad. But the negative thoughts will always outdo the positive ones if he gives them the strength to do so. 

He’s pushed others away for long enough, unwilling to forgive them, the world, and most of all, himself. But he’s now realized that life really does go on, that the beauty of it manifests in different ways every single day, whether it’s getting pulled out of a frat house pool or bearing witness to a brilliant aerial display. He understands that he just has to keep looking for it, that small light. And maybe these people— the very ones sitting with him on this simple shuttle back to his new home, the ones who could change his life in an instant— could help him find it one day.

«GENERAL M.LIST» · «NAVIGATION» · «TALK TO ME» 

AUTHOR'S NOTE

Thank you to my impending college first-year worries for permeating my mind & forcing me to write this. Also, quick shout out to the lovely @simpforyongbokk for being my wonderful beta-reader. Honestly... I don't expect this story to get much attention, but either way, I'm dedicating it to all of the others like me, the people who will also be far from home soon enough, those with big fears and even bigger dreams— here's to growing up. Here's to 18.

-Dreamy

P.S. ♡ If you like my work, please consider giving me feedback in the form of reblogs, comments, and asks! ♡

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[captain-kaeya-alberich]

I feel like writing KL/LK drabbles. Hmmm. What to write.

[unohanabbygirl]

Back at it again with a giant ask about a FMN and HIPS crossover. Thank you so much for giving me the time of day. Onwards! I’m obsessed with idea of artwork and the way it exists in your reincarnated universe. Is it a slap in the blacks/Osferth’s face that Aemond surrounds himself with depictions of Luke’s assault? It’s so fucked up for Aemond to try to convince Rhaenyra and everyone that he is changing, wants to be better and is good enough to meet Osferth, but then spends hours upon hours surrounded by expressions of the horrific crime that happened? Would you say that the blacks can see right through him and know that while he’s not proud of the assault, he takes narcissistic pleasure in being remembered by history? “Please let Osferth know I called” Aemond says while staring at a romanticized depiction of the assault he committed. Can you imagine Heleana taking the children to visit Aemond at work and they walk down a hallway to his office with all those paintings leading the way? Or if Maelor and the twins learned about him in school and THEN remembered and felt sick knowing he was their uncle but Alicent/Helaena encourages them to give him a chance? Imagine r*pe apologist Alicent trying to keep the truth from them but like the internet exists?? It would be interesting in that scenario that the more Alicent pushes the narrative that Aemond was the victim or Luke was a liar as a way to rally the targtowers, she just ends up isolating herself and Aemond even more? It would be INSANE for Alicent to drag all of them to church including Helaena’s kids only to have the priests start on about how evil Aemond was and the sin he committed against the Mother. So much of FMN is these two groups coming together so it’s fascinated to see the same people again so polarized. Also it would be SO dope to have Daeron and Luke meet first because Daeron wouldn’t recognize him? He remembers Like as children vaguely but had no idea he was this amazing as a teen.

You mentioned that Daella was an omega…since it’s modern times and medicine is so much better can we please have great granny Daella alive and well and she’s one of Luke’s mentors? They don’t even know their connection!

I also have to ask that since it’s an abo verse in the FMN universe, does Luke still go through the trauma you’ve written as his back story? The repeated abuse, Owen’s presence, and his case? I would imagine that with scents—to put it crudely—teachers and government officials in charge of his foster care would be able to smell if he was being abused? Since he’s an omega does he actually end up in a much better situation when placed in foster care bc I would think that special treatment is given to omegas? Honestly I feel like the trauma he’s gone through in FMN plus HIPS is a little TOO angsty. Especially with this last chapter of FMN showing the way repeated assaults have just utterly destroyed his sense of self worth and remembering would just prove to himself that HE’S the problem. To know that this didn’t just happen to him in modern times but also in a previous life seems too much to bear.

In a different line of thought, I know some of us may tend to skip over this when reading because we want the drama, but wealth and class are a huge presence in FMN. Could you expand on what it’s like for the targtowers not to have access to that? I can’t remember if they are using Viserys’ money or if Alicent is also well off. It’s easy to share the wealth when all is forgiven, but in this scenario I don’t see Vizzy giving any money over to them solely because of what Aemond did to Luke. Also…what’s Rhaenys like in this? I remember from the original post of the HIPS drabble that she brings Luke back to KL thinking he is one of Corlys side pieces which kicks off the whole reunion. What’s it like for her to be in the presence of a Luke who doesn’t remember who in the past she unwittingly forced from his sanctuary? I feel like the whole family would be terrified of spending too much time with him because they DON’T want him to remember. Of course some of these questions may be difficult to answer since both stories are unfinished. We don’t yet know a lot of the behavior of the blacks bc unlike in canon, Luke returns to them with Osferth.

Of course! I love this crossover so much and I’d be more than happy if you kept the questions coming so long as you have them ☺️

As for your first question; Aemond knows his obsession with such artwork is more than a bad look for him in this journey to prove he’s a changed man and earn Rhaenyra’s trust in order to actually be allowed contact with Osferth. Because of this he’d more than likely keep his interest a secret for as long as possible despite filling his life with horrid depictions of his worst crime. However, I imagine it would all come out in the open after Egg takes a school trip to the museum Aemond works at and spots him in a trance with a very explicit piece of Luke’s assault. It’s enough to make Egg’s stomach churn as his classmates also express their discomfort with the piece.

Of course the first thing Egg does is text his mom before snapping a picture as evidence since he’s no different from the rest of the blacks in completely being against Aemond having contact with Osferth. And this little infatuation is more than a enough evidence to prove that he doesn’t deserve it. After all, how would Osferth fell knowing his father tries to constantly relive the worst act committed against his muna?

This ends with a “family” meeting consisting of both fractions in order to discuss this new development leading Aemond to have no choice but to reveal his new place of work (though he keeps his true reasons for taking up the curator job rather than his original plan to become an archivist to himself)

The meeting is an absolute mess because both sides have their arguments. With the blacks its “why should we believe he’s a different man when he clearly gets some sort of sick satisfaction from surrounding himself with glorified art of what he did to my son/brother. Do you think Osferth would be happy to know this?” and for the greens its “But you all know Aemond has always expressed interest in uncovering and learning as much as he can in regards to history. Is he supposed to find a new passion just because those artworks happen to he there? There isn’t a single museum in the country that don’t have similar paintings available for viewing.”

The meeting ends without coming to a valid middle ground and on continues the internal fighting among them all. And though both Alicent and Helaena know their argument was bs seeing as Aemond could easily find a position that doesn’t involve surrounding himself with such violent art, they can’t help but be on his side. For Alicent it’s because she truly sees no wrong in her sons actions because “it was Luke’s sinful nature that seduced my son.” While for Hel it’s simply because she feels its her duty to remain at her mother and brothers side. This in turn leads down the path of Maelor and the twins learning what their uncle is remembered for.

This is one thing the greens (except Daeron) have never actually taken into consideration. Hel’s kids aren’t going to remain naïve children forever. They’re growing by the day and the kiddy lenses they view the world through are slipping off with time. I feel that its when the twins reach their 6th grade year that they learn the total extent of Aemond’s actions during a history lesson. They want to learn more which leads them to researching more at a friends house after school. Long story short it leaves them feeling sick with a sense of betrayal towards their family. Their eldest uncle may be less than kind to others but he’s always been good to them. It causes them to look back at their immediate families actions and it makes a lot of sense. Daeron’s constant malice towards Aemond and Alicent, their grandmother’s outdated faith to the old ways of the seven (which I feel would be similar to the old Testament) as well as her constant attempts to shield them from learning about history, I.e. keeping them from viewing any history channels and putting child block on certain sites. Their mother has always seemed uncomfortable with Alicent’s approach at making sure they’re blind to the truth and now they know why.

I don’t think either of the twins would be the type to approach Alicent head on but the shift in energy towards both her and Aemond would make their new knowledge obvious. This in turn leads to an immediate trip to Sunday service the next day to quote “wash away the lies” but it all gets thrown back in her face when the septon begins preaching of “respecting the holy omega” and “all who’ve done wrongs towards embodiment of the mother in any way shall burn”

Its safe to say the trip back home is VERY silent.

Daeron meeting Luke first would be a good choice because he practically has no idea what a young Luke looks like since all memories of his nephew are from when Luke was grown. He’d likely have no idea that Luke Rivers is actually Lucerys and thus form a genuine friendship with this rebellious and carefree omega who’s so different from his high society Peers Alicent encourages him to befriend. I’d even say Luke treats him like a little brother despite being a year younger. For the first time in his life Daeron feels like he’s in good hands, which makes sense once the truth comes out.

I love the idea of great-granny Daella! Maybe she works at a foster center and feels a strong connection with this amazing young man before taking him under her wing. Telling him stories of her youth and giving advice on how to navigate the world while still being true to himself. I feel she’d 100% think of adopting Luke herself after some years go by without this sweet boy finding a forever family but her higher ups tell her it wouldn’t be permitted. I can imagine her going on about Luke to her daughter and granddaughter all the time and it makes Nyra cry because all she can imagine is her own lost son. Maybe it would come to the point where she brings them to meet Luke during one of the centers field day for the younger kids where the older teens help out and bam! Family reunion. Though I think such a revelation would give granny a bit of an anxiety attack 😭

Since Luke has already been through sexual trauma in his past I would completely change his current storyline. As you said, its all way too angsty and feels like putting Luke through abuse for the sake of it which i’m not a fan of. To know he’s been assaulted in both lives would likely send Luke down a path of contemplating hurting himself in a surge of hopelessness. It’s way too cruel for comfort. While this Luke has been in crappy foster homes and even been groped without his permission once or twice, he’s certainly never experienced r*pe or a forced sex act of any kind. Nor has he shot up the heavier drugs such as milk of the poppy.

However the question of if public officials could smell if a child was being hurt in that way is an interesting one because there are so many possibilities that along come with it. People can in fact smell the scent of abusers on children in the system along with their fear which make the chances of creeps trying anything incredibly low but sometimes a r*pist throw caution out of the window during extended holiday breaks in the school year since there’s enough time for the “smell” to wash off naturally along with long forced shower. Scent blockers have the ability to conceal this quite easily but there are many limits such as age and reason. If a child hasn’t presented yet for example.

Getting your hands on these isn’t an easy task; you have to have an actual reason for why you need the blockers, multiple doctor’s visits and received many sign offs as proof to whatever pharmacist that your prescription is valid. Think of it like getting a Percocet prescription. There are so many current barriers in place that even when prescribed by your doctor for a valid reason pharmacist will still turn you away.

Even with these measures put in place there’s always someone things illegally so the possibility of predators abusing this drugs to cover their crimes remains.

If Owen does exist in this au i’d rather have him be the way older boyfriend who sometimes snorts coke and is a bit of a weirdo but overall is harmless loser who works at the local 7/11

What makes this s Luke different is that he’s experienced a much better life due to his status since there are a multitude of precautions in place to make sure such a vulnerable percentage of the population remains safe. All omega homes and government programs keep them together with older omegas to act as a guiding hand. I can also imagine something akin to an omega protection act. Luke’s omega status has saved him from so much trauma in this life, a complete 180 from the past and will overall serve to help give him faith for both his and Osferth’s safety once his memories return.

The question of class and wealth is one I always love answering because there’s so many way’s which their money and connections affect their lives. In the original story Alicent’s money is her own BUT it was Nyra, Daemon and Viserys that got her out of the mud so she could build herself up. Since their relationship is so strained in this AU Alicent would find herself marrying into high class through lies of her true connections to the Lannister’s (not to mention she’s a Tully despite technically being a bastard. But unsurprisingly she doesn’t allow herself to acknowledge it.) Alicent would definitely go about the path of seducing a way older man whose the head of a great house (maybe Baratheon?) and slipping her way into his will before its light’s out. It hurts her mentally in way since she’s basically repeating the past step for step. Yet she’s so used to her past life of absolute luxury that remaining a working class citizen is beneath her in her mind. Because of this Aegon/Hel and Aemond/Daeron would have different fathers which is it’s own can of worms.

Now that I think about it, giving her last two children brown hair and eye’s is a fun idea to play around with. While Aegon and Helaena have traditional Lannister looks from their father it would be a huge hit to Aemond’s self esteem to have “basic” coloring. Not to mention that it would basically make the resemblance between him and Osferth that much more striking…gonna think about this some more. But back to my point—

Alicent still finding a way to slither her way into wealth is a hit to the Rhaenyra big time. It just goes to show that she’ll never truly escape Alicent’s nasty ways. The upperclass are in such a tight-nit circles therefore they’re all forced to interact and play nice to keep up a good image for both their peers and the public. I can imagine that once some years pass and everyone comes together that gala’s, banquet’s, and all that jazz are so tense. Especially when its the kids who are forced to interact at nice events that are full of pressure to lay on the nice-nice act thick.

As for Rhaenys, her hope to make up her mistakes to Luke is even stronger in this crossover because if it hadn’t been for her, Luke and Osferth would’ve remained happy and carefree in their peaceful lives. Luke wouldn’t have been forced to deal with the judgment of the entire realm on his back and Osferth would never be exposed to such nastiness that comes with royalty and nobility. All the boy has ever known is pure love so the switch to being looked at as dirt beneath people’s shoes is so much to handle. And though Rhaenys never intended for her actions to destroy their little slice of heaven its still an action that changed their lives drastically. Rhaenys would definitely find herself trapped in a constant battle between wanting Luke to remember so she can express her regret and attempt to make it up, and wanting him to remain oblivious so he doesn’t have to deal with trauma from his past.

But in all of this it’s truly Osferth who lost the most from Luke being separated from the rest. While he has a solid incredibly loving family, who he truly needs is his mother. For so long they were all one another had. True soulmates in every way. It’s heartbreaking because he’s the one who has to deal with the history lessons in school, the disgusting art and public opinions when it comes to his mom who never wanted more than to live in peace.

[thespacenico]

klance 5 :)

“you’re safe now.”

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

War means sacrifice.

But it doesn’t always specify what kind.

Because even if the paladins of Voltron had been more or less dragged into an intergalactic space war against their will with no choice other than to fight, they still understood the risks.

That doesn’t mean they ever envisioned having to deal with the consequences.

Everything that had even the slightest chance of going wrong has done exactly that.

Gone wrong.

Including, but not limited to: the team has been separated, Keith’s comms aren’t working, his Lion is out of commission, he doesn’t know where he is other than smack dab in the middle of hostile territory surrounded by sentries, and Lance—

“C’mon,” Keith pants, hands clasped against Lance’s chest, the growing panic and desperation in his chest threatening to claw his throat apart with every compression, each one harder than the next. “C’mon, c’mon—”

He counts to thirty. Moves back to Lance’s mouth, where his unusually pale cheeks are already wet and clammy from Keith’s tears. Pulls away after two breaths and returns to his chest even though he knows there’s no use, Lance’s eyes are still closed, Lance still isn’t breathing, it’s been too long—

Lance is gone.

“No,” Keith whispers, face sticky with tears, and sweat, and blood he’s not sure is even his. Distantly he hears the sound of shoulders slamming and weapons firing against what’s left of the barricade. “No, no—Lance, stay with me.”

He tries two more breaths, and sits back on his feet and searches frantically for any sign of life, feeling for Lance’s pulse, listening for his heartbeat, checking his face.

The barricade shakes violently from behind him.

He’s running out of time.

“Lance, wake up,” Keith mumbles, far past the point of tears—now he’s just cold, and numb, and maybe it’s from shock or the wound throbbing in his own side but it doesn’t matter now. “Don’t make me leave you. I’m not leaving you.”

Lance lies unresponsive before him, the chest plate of his armor tossed aside, under suit soaked with blood where he’d taken a hit. A hit that should’ve hit Keith, had he not shoved him out of the way at the last second.

A particularly loud blast, and the barricade shudders again, hardly seconds away from collapsing entirely.

Keith leans forward and takes Lance’s face in his hands. Even without direct contact, he can still feel the last of Lance’s warmth seeping through the thin material covering his fingers.

“Lance,” he breathes out. The heat building behind his eyes returns, and he doesn’t fight it. “You can’t leave now. You can’t—please, Lance.” He squeezes his eyes shut and leans down, pressing their foreheads together, letting out a single, choked sob.

“You can’t leave me.”

“Keith.”

The barricade finally bursts and the room floods with sentries, weapons raised to fire. Keith doesn’t move.

“Keith? Hey, wake up.”

A tear rolls down Keith’s cheek and drops onto Lance’s as Keith gathers Lance’s lifeless body into his arms, and then the sentries are on them.

“Keith, wake up—”

Keith lurches awake with half a gasp that catches in his throat. His shirt is soaked with sweat, his face is streaked with tears, his skin is clammy and his knuckles are white from clutching the bedsheets, and for a brief moment he panics because it’s dark and it’s hot and it’s too hard to breathe—

A quiet click, and the bedside lamp is being switched on to illuminate the same bedroom that he’d fallen asleep in—not the control room of a hostile base swarming with sentries. And yet the familiarity of it does nothing to soothe Keith’s nerves.

Because there, sitting up beside him, eyes wide and brow pinched with concern, and one hand firm and steadying on Keith’s shoulder, is Lance.

Lance. Alive. Not lying blood-soaked and motionless on a cold metal floor.

He can’t even bring himself to be relieved. Everything is still too fresh in his mind.

Lance seems to sense that, because he shifts in place to face him better, hand never leaving his shoulder. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says softly, and the sound of his voice alone is almost enough to bring Keith back to the verge of tears. “You were just having a bad dream.”

Keith is only half-listening, mind reeling and hands shaking as he slowly reaches up to rest them on either side of Lance’s face, still trying to catch his breath as he stares at him.

Warm. Breathing. Alive.

Lance’s brows pull together as he stares back, confused, and he gently places his free hand over Keith’s wrist. “Keith?”

His skin is warm, his heart is beating, his pulse is strong and he’s alive and he’s here.

Keith’s breath catches again, tears prickling the corners of his eyes. “Lance.”

And then Lance is pulling him close, arms winding carefully but securely around his shoulders as Keith clings to him.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay,” Lance says softly, soothingly, brushing his fingers through Keith’s hair and up and down the length of his back. “You’re okay.”

“You’re okay,” Keith echoes in a whisper, squeezing his eyes shut and clutching at the fabric of Lance’s shirt.

And it’s like Lance can hear Keith’s thoughts, despite having no clue what he was dreaming about in the first place. “You’re safe now,” he murmurs. “Just breathe.”

Keith shivers, and buries his face in the crook of Lance’s neck, and breathes.

Lance is safe.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, although he’s not even sure what he’s apologizing for. “I’m sorry, Lance—”

“Hush, sweetheart, none of that.” Lance disentangles himself from Keith’s grasp and pulls back but stays close, one hand still on his shoulder, the other raised to wipe Keith’s tears away with his thumb. He brushes the hair out of Keith’s face and offers a small, reassuring smile. “Why don’t you take a shower,” he says quietly. “Okay? And I’ll make us some tea.”

Keith manages to swallow down the lump in his throat and nod, not quite trusting himself to speak anymore. So they climb out of bed, and Lance stays long enough to help Keith out of his sweat-soaked shirt and press a kiss to his forehead before slipping out of the room to give him some privacy.

The hot spray of the shower only does so much to relieve the tension in Keith’s muscles. He can’t seem to shake the remaining images of the nightmare from his mind, flashing relentlessly behind his eyelids every time he closes his eyes. Needless to say, he doesn’t stay long, toweling his hair off and stumbling back into the bedroom to slip into the fresh clothes Lance must have left out for him (including a pair of shorts, and the oversized sweater of Lance’s that he knows Keith likes to steal because no matter how many times it goes through the washer, it still smells like Lance).

Lance is in the kitchen when Keith comes out, humming softly while he waits for the water to boil. Keith stands silently in the doorway for a moment, watching as he moves about the kitchen, pulling two mugs out of the cabinets and rummaging through their small selection of tea flavors for their favorites.

Appreciating.

He still hasn’t moved by the time Lance finally spots him. A pang of guilt shoots through his chest at the look of relief that flickers across Lance’s face, but it quickly melts into an easy smile as he comes to meet him, taking Keith’s hand and giving it a careful squeeze before wordlessly leading him into the living room and sitting him down on the couch.

Another kiss, on the cheek this time, and Lance slips back into the kitchen to finish making their tea.

Keith watches him the entire time.

And he knows he’s making Lance worry, from the way he keeps shooting quick glances over the counter as if to make sure Keith is still there on the couch and attempting reassuring smiles that only go halfway, but Keith—can’t help it. He can’t stop staring. He just wants to look, and look and look until the images of Lance’s bedhead and sloping freckled shoulders and and rise and fall of his chest are permanently implanted into his brain.

A moment later, Lance returns to the living room with a mug of hot tea in each hand and a small smile that Keith would look at forever if he had the time. He’s faintly aware of Lance placing one of the mugs into his hands, and sitting down beside him with his legs tucked underneath himself as he gets settled, chuckling to himself.

“Babe, I know you think I’m pretty, but is there some other reason you can’t seem to stop looking at me?”

It’s light, and teasing, but Keith can see the quiet concern etched into his features. Because he’s still smiling, but his gaze is searching, looking for answers in that way it does that’s just short of prying, but urgent all the same.

Keith blinks, and finally manages to tear his eyes away to look down at the steaming cup of tea in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles.

Lance reaches out and tugs one of Keith’s hands into his own, resting them on his knee. “You don’t have to be,” he murmurs. He pauses, tracing a circle across the back of Keith’s hand. “You know I’m here for you, right?”

Keith bites his lip and blinks back the heat building again behind his eyes. I’m here. He nods slowly.

It’s quiet for a few beats, and then: “Do you need to talk about it?” Lance asks softly.

Does he want to? No, not especially. But does he need to?

Keith closes his eyes, takes a deep, shaky breath, and squeezes Lance’s hand.

“Yeah. I do.”

[kandyklancing]

nsfw/ klance

an exhausted keith coming home to his boyfriend after a long, particularly tiring day of work.

he just wants to let off some steam after being frustrated by his asshole of a boss, and lance, god. perfect, pliant lance is the sweetest catharsis.

he greets keith at the door, eager and earnest (as always) only to be engulfed by keith's strong arms. he's fresh out of patience, briefcase dropped callously to the floor, careless and forgotten.

lance's long legs immediately wrap themselves around keith unprompted, and purch on his hips where they belong as he gasps in surprise. keith smiles, first in relief at the first and only satisfyingly heartwarming moment of his day, and secondly because it won't be the last if he has anything to say about it.

he jogs over to their room, lance held snuggly around him, the jolts of the steps he takes making him giggle cutely against keith's broad chest.

"gonna do somethin' to me, baby?" he whispers coquettishly, nosing his way up keith's gulping throat.

"you know what," keith rumbles darkly, reaching around to grasp lance's perky butt in his large hands.

"yeah? gonna do...my fav..ourite?" lance asks him, words stilted as keith pushes into their room and dumps him unceremoniously on the bed. he laughs loud and tinkly at that and keith loves the sound.

he dives in to lave at his lips hungrily and suddenly, then pulls back. "gonna do our favourite," he tells lance meaningfully.

he pulls the loose tank top he's wearing aside and latches onto a dark nipple, lance subsequently crying out.

keith smirks devilishly against his chest, leaning up to pull the top off, and smooth his way down his torso with cool palms.

lance looks up at him so sweetly, gaze reverant and blue. "please, keith, oh please," drips from his lips unbidden, driven by keith's hungry countenance, a feeling of desire so filling spreading within him and making him flush red.

keith smiles softly back, charmed to his core at lance's unabashed display of need. he never holds back. so he'll give him exactly what he needs.

keith's hands reach to begin pulling the sweatpants gracing lance's hips very slowly down as he eyes a squirming lance all the while, gaze piercing. the tension is palpable and he knows how bad lance wants it. him, even more, evident by his lively salivating mouth. it's a good thing he's kept it shut.

lance is smooth, smooth as can be and devoid of undergarments, as the sweatpants slip down his ankles and keith quirks a questioning brow.

"knew you were gonna get this, huh? cocky, little thing" he reprimands, eyes shining.

lance's only do the same, challengingly. "you called at midday, tired and grumpy. by now i know what that entails," he says up to keith, legs kicking out happily, and endearingly and keith just adores it, adores him.

he grasps them in midair, spreading them wide for him, leaning in pointedly. "is that so?" he keeps up.

"very much so," lance replies, nodding quickly as his patience wears thin. "but god help me keith, please-" he starts, never to continue as keith leans in to lick him at his most vulnerable point.

"fuh- yes pleaseohmygod," he squeaks out, head falling back into their mess of pillows, because keith never holds back.

he laves at lance's hole with devotion, kissing him there like he would his mouth, licking into him like it's the last time and until his pink furl makes way for his wet tongue, and it's so fucking intense and as embarrassingly intimate as the first time, never losing its spell binding pleasure for even a moment.

keith pulls back occasionally, to breathe out heavily and whisper things like "love your hole, baby," and "love doing this for you," face wet with his own tongue tracks as lance falls apart beneath him, his rapidly leaking dick pulsing as hard as keith's own that's still tucked away in his pants.

"aah-ah! mhmmph holy shit, keithhh," lance mewls, singing his pleasure out into the room, body coiled as tight as a bow string.

keith can feel it in his tensed thighs and spurs him on, by sinking an interested pinkie into his spit-slicked opening.

"look at that sloppy hole, you suck me in so good. my baby ready to cum, isn't he?" he asks, pulling back to lock eyes with a debauched lance.

"ye-ah, yes baby you know i am!" lance gasps out, not even bothering to grasp his cock because he's that close.

"go on sweetheart, know you don't need my hands for that, so ill just keep my fingers inside you," keith smirks, sexily, pumping inside of lance slowly and sensually with two fingers now.

and he's more than right, lance immediately cumming at that, white exploding all over his tight stomach, a few stray drops landing on keith's face where he's nestled it back between lance's cheeks.

but lance knew that was merely the beginning, as keith licked at his hole once more.

happy new year everyone! 💗 just wanted to give u something new! thinking about extending this for ao3 soon 💙 lmk what u think by interacting!

[comradefleur]

keithtober & klancetober 2020 - DAY 5: IMPULSIVE

"Lance!" Keith yelled, hopping out of the black lion and running over to red. Lance could hear his voice bouncing around in the interior of his own lion.

"Lance, what the hell! Open up!" Keith spit out, now banging on red's door. She growled lowly in mild irritation in Lance's mind. He snorted. This lion was just like Keith, short tempered.

Lance sent soothing sensations to her as she opened up automatically and without him asking for her former pilot. Keith took the opportunity to come barging in, eyes ablaze.

"What the hell would you do that for?? I gave the command to fall back, Lance!" Keith shouted.

He was referring to when moments before they landed, amidts their impromptu battle with the galra, Lance had taken a hit that he could've avoided.

"I don't understand why you would even do that! You weren't even in the way, man!" Keith continued in a rage.

Lance sighed. "Keith man, can you let me get a word in? Sheesh. It's almost like you're me, I thought blabbering was my thing," Lance joked good naturedly. Keith didn't appreciate it this time.

"Don't try to joke right now or change the subject!" Keith stalked over to where Lance sat in the pilot's chair, poking an accusing finger at his broad chest.

"This isn't funny. Why did you do it?" He asked, voiced pained and breaking.

Lance smiled softly, averting his eyes. "Keith..." He started. "It was heading right for you. How could I not?"

He was at peace with his spur of the moment decision to protect Keith. It was like he didn't even think about it, doing it instinctually. He didn't regret it and knew he would do it again if he had to.

Keith's eyes widened and a flush bloomed on his face. But then he shook his head slightly and his thick, dark brow furrowed again, and Lance knew he wasn't over getting chewed out.

"You deliberately disobeyed my orders! And by doing that, you put all of Voltron in danger," he spoke gravely. "Especially yourself."

"Keith," Lance began, voice soft but was cut off by Keith. "I don't understand, Lance. Why would you jeopardize your own safety? Help me understand," he went on, reminding Lance of Shiro with his authoritative tone and disappointed folded arms.

"Keith. I had to protect you. I-" Lance spoke earnestly, breathlessly, eyes gleaming with clarity. "I will always choose to protect you. I couldn't just let it hit you, how don't you get that?" He rasped out.

Keith's eyes were red rimmed. He was silent, the low thrumming of red loud in between them, her attempt to placate the wild emotion emanating from both boys.

And then, "I could never ask you to put yourself in danger for me, Lance," His voice was soft and strained, hoarse and tired. He spoke sadly.

At that, Lance stood. "Don't you see?" He asked, shoulders finding purchase on Keith's shoulders and eyes searching his.

He had to make him understand.

"You don't have to ask. You never have to ask, Keith," Lance was cupping his cheeks now, completely abandoning all inhibitions.

It didn't seem necessary to repress any of the feelings he had been harbouring for his leader now. Why pretend like he wasn't his whole world when he had already done something so large, so vast and blatant in his affections for him?

There was no point anymore. No reason to hide.

When Keith objected with a half hearted and blubbering "You b-bastard," a stray tear trailing its way down his flushed cheeks, Lance laughed, hopelessly endeared and then leaned in and kissed him.

And when Keith immediately sighed into his mouth, arms quickly curling around Lance's waist, he knew that being impulsive had never felt so good.

After pulling away, Lance wiping the tear off Keith's face, Lance smirked at him. "Don't act like you wouldn't do the same for me, sweetheart" he sassed, cheekily.

Keith laughed, cheeks bright with a blush at the pet name and the sound and sight were all Lance wanted to hear for as long as humanly possible.

[adecila]

Wheee for the one sentence fic ask!! *stars, explosions, confetti* - "Tell me--give me a task, anything, and I'll do it."

"Tell me—give me a task, anything, and I'll do it."

As he was kneeling in front of her, Jon knew that he'd beg if he must; he'd ride to the Wall and climb what was left of it, revive all her enemies so he could crush them again, then crawl back to her—anything—if it meant that she'd at least look at him.

He wasn't foolish enough to believe that she'd ever regard him as before, when she'd put her heart in his hands with the trust he did not deserve, and called him hers.

"There's nothing you could do to prove yourself to me—you chose to be a Stark," her tone sounded almost indifferent, was it not for the way her breath hitched around his mother's family name.

This time, he looked up at her, "And I was wrong —I should have chosen you, I should have remained by your side and done my duty."

"If duty is what's brought you before me, then surely you must enjoy repeating the same mistakes..." she closed her eyes, and with a flick of her wrist, the Queensguard threw him out of the throne room.

Thank you! I hope you don't mind it's jonerys 🙈 this one turned immediately angsty ha!

Send me an ask with the first sentence of a fanfic and I’ll write the next five.

[kandykl]

i don't know what this is, but have some klance :)

[stilesssolo]

for random prompts “welcome back, now fucking help me” whichever verse! ❤️

Lol I have accepted defeat and am writing all of these in the WTWTA ‘verse. Also I changed the sentence a lil bit to make it make more sense I’M SORRY. 

(this got SUPER long so the rest is under the cut)

33. “Welcome back. Now fucking help me.”

Gods, Jon still hasn’t gotten used to how bloody hot it is in King’s Landing yet. 

He squints against the sunlight as he climbs out of his car, slamming the door behind him. Six months, he’s been in this city now. It’s so different from Winterfell that he feels like he’s on a different planet most of the time. 

Maybe that’s a good thing, though. The warmth helps him forget, he’s found. Forget about the past. Everything that happened that led him to here. 

Jon twirls his keys around his fingers as he pulls the building door open, the cool air conditioning washing over him providing instant relief from the heat. It’s nice, being in a new city, and closer to Robb, Sansa, and even Arya now that she’s back from her semester abroad, but the weather-- that he doesn’t think he’ll ever become accustomed to. 

He takes the stairs slowly up to the floor his apartment is on, remembering the words of his doctor during the appointment he’d just come from. He’s healing, and his heart is getting stronger, but still not as strong as it once was. It’s been almost a year now-- he thought he’d be better by now, but everything is still an exercise in pacing himself. Soon, the doctor had said. Soon you’ll be back to normal. 

Jon’s not even sure he knows what normal is anymore. 

He tries to block out the thoughts, not let his mind get dragged back down into that dark place it’d only recently climbed out of as he opens his apartment door. 

“I’m back--” Jon calls out to his roommates, but the words die in his mouth. 

What awaits him is pure and utter chaos. 

Someone’s screaming-- Pyp, probably, judging by the sound, and he catches a quick flash of white race by at the end of the hallway, closely followed by Sam. Oh, gods, he thinks, taking a step into the hallway, realizing that their flooring has somehow become... black? 

“Get back here, you beast!” Pyp hollers, and then Jon sees him run across the living room as well. Upon closer inspection, he sees paw prints in the black mess tracked up and down the hallway, and his stomach drops. 

“Oh, fuck,” Jon whispers. 

Grenn appears at the end of the hallway then, covered in snowy white dog hair and black... whatever it is. Paint? Ink? Jon’s not sure, but it’s not good. “Welcome back,” Grenn says, chest heaving. “Now fucking help us.” 

“What... what happened?” Jon says, heart pounding as he sidesteps the tracks of black up and down the hallway, entering the living room. Ghost is racing circles, barking with glee, as Sam and Pyp try to corner him. 

“Ghost got into my new fuckin’ printer,” Grenn says, gesturing at the shredded cardboard box and mess of plastic parts on the coffee table. “And somehow managed to empty the ink cartridge onto everything.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Jon repeats, eyes wide with horror. “Ah... Ghost, stop it! C’mere, boy!” 

His dog doesn’t come, but he hesitates long enough that Pyp is able to tackle him, Sam grabbing his collar just in case. Ghost, sweet, wonderful idiot that he is, thinks it’s a game, because he rolls over in Pyp’s arms, licking at his face. His paws are painted black with ink as well, his entire underbelly coated in it. 

“Oh, gods,” Sam says, pushing Ghost’s inky foot away from him. “What do we do, Jon? We have to clean him up!” 

“Don’t forget the fuckin’ apartment!” Pyp grumbles, face half full of fur. 

“Er...” Jon says, mind blank. His heart is racing, taking in the destruction his dog has caused. “Uh, Grenn, get his crate, in my room. Take the bed out of it; drag it out here.” He carefully walks across the living room as Grenn disappears down the hall towards his room, sidestepping ink spills and pawprints on the floor. Thank fuck they don’t have real hardwood. 

“Hey, boy,” Jon says, gently easing Ghost’s collar from Sam’s grip. “What’d you do, boy, huh? Why’d you go make such a mess?” 

He knows the answer is because he’s a wolfdog, and Jon can’t exactly exercise him as much as he should be right now, because of his heart. He needs to talk to Robb about that-- maybe he can run him with Grey Wind, just until Jon’s able to once again. Or maybe he should listen to Arya, and start looking for easy hiking trails through the Kingswood. 

Ghost has been the sole reason he’s gotten out of bed most of these past few months, his best friend through all of it. And he’s still a puppy, really, even though he’s far from the size of one now. It’s not fair to him to not have the absolute best life he could have, regardless of Jon’s recovery. 

“Here,” Grenn says, depositing the crate by the sofa. Carefully, Jon leads his dog to it, Ghost’s tail wagging all the way as he herds him in and closes the door. 

“Alright,” Sam says, standing up, his expression wildly overwhelmed. “I’ll, uh, get a mop?” 

It takes them hours, but finally they get all the ink off the floor, the printer pieces in the trash, and any clothing that was stained in the wash. Jon takes Ghost into the bathroom, scrubs him down vigorously in the tub until the water runs clean. His paws are still tinged a little black, but he figures they’ll have to wait for the rest of it to wear off. He’s not tracking it anywhere anymore, at least. 

Jon feeds Ghost dinner, the excitement wearing him out enough where he curls up on his end of the couch, paws tucked under his head, deep red eyes sliding closed. He looks so angelic, Jon thinks. Nothing like a dog who just tried to completely destroy his owner’s apartment. 

His flatmates are all on the sofa, blankly watching the match that’s on TV. Hesitantly, Jon takes a seat between Grenn and Sam. They don’t look at him, and suddenly, fear seizes his heart. 

They’re going to kick him out, he realizes. They’re going to tell him to pack his bags and get his destructive dog and get the hell out of their apartment. His stomach flops, blood in his veins suddenly like ice at the realization that more of his brothers are about to turn on him. 

“I’m so sorry,” Jon finally says, unable to stand the silence. “Truly, I am. I never thought he would...” he trails off, nerves twisting in knots. 

“Eat a fuckin’ printer?” Grenn says, and on the other side of the couch, Pyp laughs. “I never did either, really.” 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” Jon offers, but Grenn shakes his head. There’s a bit of a smile on his face now, and the knots in his stomach ease for a moment. 

“It’s fine,” he says, shrugging. “You told us he’s more destructive than other dogs. It’s my fault, for leavin’ it out here and leavin’ him with it.” 

“I’m goin’ to work on his training,” Jon promises, and Ghost lifts his head, regarding all of them. “And I’ll have Robb run him, so he gets more exercise, until I can start runnin’ again, and I’ll...” he exhales. “I won’t let it happen again. But I still understand if you want me gone.” 

All his flatmates look at him, expressions confused. “Are you serious?” Pyp asks, and Jon’s sharp, ragged breath out makes his eyes widen. “Fuck, Jon, d’you really think we’d kick you out because of this?” 

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you,” he says, but Sam’s laughing now, and so is Grenn, and all of a sudden he feels so much lighter. 

“Don’t be daft,” Sam says. “You’re our brother, Jon. You’re not going anywhere.” 

“And neither is this guy,” Pyp says, leaning over to reach Ghost, ruffling his ears. Ghost yips, standing up on the couch and rolling into Pyp’s lap, presenting his belly for rubs. “Who else would practically pee himself with excitement every time I came home?” 

“Well, certainly not me,” Grenn huffs, and Jon laughs, watching his flatmates fawn over his dog, laughing with him. The knots untangle, the leaden ball in his stomach disappears.

Jon looks over at Ghost, and for the first time in a while, he feels like he really belongs somewhere. 

[strxnged]

OMF ELEK IM SORRY IF IM LATE BUT CONGRATS ON 600 THATS SO AWESOME OMG YOU DESERVE IT ALL IM SO FRICKIN HAPPY FOR YOU OMGNDNDJSN DARLINGG🥺🥺🤲

YOU’RE NOT LATE THANK YOU JHJWJHWWJ  ily ndsfh <33

[blue-ninja-sharpshooter]

Complicated

"How do I look?" Lance asks, twisting himself around in front of the mirror to view his outfit from every possible angle.

"Fine," Keith replies, struggling to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Lance huffs a breath of relief before returning his attention to the mirror.

Keith couldn't get over how beautiful Lance looked, clad in black skinny jeans and a baby blue button-up, topped off with a light dusting of gold against his freckled cheeks. Nor could he get over the jealousy that bubbled in his blood every time Keith was forced to remind himself that that date wasn't with him.

Technically, it wasn't even a date, just a one-on-one hang out between Lance and Allura over dinner.

Hell, as far as Allura was concerned, he and Lance were already together, so the idea of a date wouldn't even come to her mind. But to Lance, it obviously had.

He'd been talking about it all day. Blabbering about how excited he was and how much fun it was going to be.

Keith was filled with mixed emotions. On one hand, he was envious to the point of anger, well aware of how his face had frozen into a permanent scowl. Still, butterflies fluttered inside of his tummy and heat danced across his cheeks each and every time Lance smiled.

Lance was thrilled about tonight, Keith felt like he should be too.

After all, his best friend had finally scored a 'date' with the girl he'd had a  crush on since fourth grade. Sadly, his best friend was also his fake-boyfriend and, of fucking course, the love of his damn life.

"Ugh, I'm so nervous, but I can't wait." Lance flashes Keith another blinding smile and his little gay heart nearly combusts.

"You'll be fine." I won't. "Have fun."

"Thanks, babe." With that, Lance presses a teasing kiss to his cheek and runs out the door.

Damn you, Keith thinks to himself. "Damn you for making me feel this way."

[stargulch-archive]

my internet is being a stupid head so i’m going to focus on writing and drawing today

[esther-dot]

Hi dot! I just wanted to ask if you have anything in the works? I miss your writing so much. If you are taking any requests: may I ask for a pregnancy drabble?🙏🥰

Sansa always knew she would be a mother.

Since before she even understood what it even meant to marry, she knew that she would, that she would marry a lord, oversee his household, bear his children. It wasn’t until she thought her family was lost to her that she wanted to be a mother. It wasn’t until she dreamt of a son named Robb and a daughter that looked like Arya that she knew not only would, must.

But somehow, she did not expect this.

She’d seen it, the way a woman transformed, but to feel it, her body making way for a new life, for her stomach to grow, her skin to stretch, for her dream to turn, to kick, to grow within her. No girlish desire had prepared her. Resting her hands wherever she felt the flutter of life within, it made her understand why her mother had so many children, despite the rest of it. And the rest of it was horrid. She was sick more often than not, uncontrollably emotional which was aggravating when she’d learn to be so measured and calm. Her beloved lemon cakes made her ill, all sweets did. Instead she craved potatoes, of all things, day after day. Her hips ached, her flawless skin was suddenly dotted with imperfections, and yet, and yet.

She’d never felt more alive, never been happier. Within her body, she carried the future of her house, the next king in the North. More than that, this child was hers.

Jon stirred, turned towards her, rested his hand on stomach, “Is she keeping you awake?”

Well, hers and Jon’s.

She tugged his hand, placed it over to the babe’s heel pushing against her.

He smiled in a way that he’d only managed since the wars, since them, since this. “Be good little one. Let mama rest.” His voice was low, rough with sleep.

“You said ‘she’ again,” Sansa whispered, eyelids drooping as Jon’s thumb caressed her skin, as he wove their fingers together.

He kissed just above their joined hands, “The North loves their Queen. May she be the first of many.”

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

I miss writing my fics, anon! I had several prompts I wanted to get to before the holidays, but my family got sick, and then we had company, and we’re still trying to get back to normal, so I haven’t looked at my fanfic file for quite a while (and we will not discuss how behind I am on asks *weeps*), but I definitely hope to write more Jonsa this year.

I want to turn this alternate take on the Jonsa reunion into a short multichapter, and I want to complete this one shot in which Sansa is injured during the Long Night, so Jon doesn’t go to KL.

It’s so encouraging to know you’re thinking of my writing even though I haven’t posted any for a while. Thank you for the prompt, and I hope you enjoyed the drabble. <3

[vldkeith]

🛁❤️💙

wrote this a few months ago at like 11pm. just a drabble abt kl in a bathtub =)

brief nsfw ment!

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

keith lifts his fingers out of the water, watching the droplets fall from the tips of them, making tiny splashes amidst the suds and bubbles of the bathtub. the water's still hot—keith’s aching body finds welcome release being succumbed in it, and he can feel his muscles unwinding and relaxing as he just sits there.

the porcelain shimmers in the sunlight reflecting the water. this isn’t keith’s bathtub; it’s shiro and adam’s, keith is just house-sitting for them while they’re away on some trip. he’s already doing it for free, so he figures allowing him access to their appliances and comforts is the least they could do. not that they know he’s in here, but… a noise jerks keith out of his reverie, disturbing only slightly the quiet waves of the bath water. keith looks up just in time to see lance close the door gently behind him, clutching a blue robe to his body as he turns to give keith a sheepish smile.

ah, right. shiro and adam don’t know lance is here, either. details, details.

“hi,” lance says quietly, approaching the bathtub keith is already submerged in with slow footsteps. “how’s the water?”

“it’s good.” keith flaps a hand lightly against the water to punctuate his words. “really warm.”

“not too warm, i hope?” lance jokes, but his hands flutter to the strings of his robe, pulling them apart nervously.

keith swallows as the robe falls and he’s met with all of lance. gorgeous, he thinks with a pang, unable to keep his eyes from raking across his figure, tanned skin and sparse hair and lean muscles. tellingly, keith’s gaze only flicks briefly below lance’s hips before tripping away, staying long enough to register only that, yeah, lance is still gorgeous literally everywhere.

they’ve had sex before. keith shouldn’t be so embarrassed, but this is all still new to him, and he’s not really seen lance’s dick when it’s not flushed and hard and leaking pre-come. the context makes it more intimate, and that’s a much harder thing to face.

“i’m gonna come in, now,” lance murmurs, and upon keith’s quick nod of approval, he lifts a foot and sets it delicately into the bathtub, the water rolling out around him.

keith moves a little to make room as lance situates himself fully, facing keith from the opposite side of the tub. it really is a big tub.

bubbles swirl around them, and they’re silent.

“does it feel nice?” keith asks, suddenly feeling that his voice is about a thousand times louder than it should be. lance’s answering laugh, however, comfortingly matches his volume.

“really nice,” he replies. his cheeks are flushed, either from the heat or something else, which accentuates his freckles. keith wants to kiss him. keith has never been one to deny what he wants.

“hey,” he starts, stealing himself, “d’you mind if i…come over…?”

lance blinks rapidly. “over where? over here?” keith nods. “o-oh. uh, yeah, yeah, sure, get over here.”

consent given, keith slowly moves his body towards lance, realizing almost immediately that he can’t exactly accomplish this by staying in the same position he’s in right now. so, he turns around, facing the same way as lance, and scoots backward, eyes trained on the water lapping against his skin in a futile attempt to ward the feverish blush he knows is creeping on his face away.

there’s a tiny gasp from lance, and then suddenly, keith feels arms encircling him, pulling him backward. he lets them, which is something to treasure in itself, and is guided carefully into lance’s lap. lance’s dick rests underneath keith’s ass, a smooth length there to remind him of what’s going on.

keith settles, though, half-sitting on lance’s thighs as he rearranges himself and, in turn, gets rearranged. when they’re finally in a comfortable enough position, lance buries his face into keith’s neck and exhales softly, breathing warmth to the area. in the bathtub, everything around keith feels pretty much the same—wet—but he can still tell the curve of lance’s body apart from the heat of the water, can still sense the press of their bodies together whenever he moves even slightly. it’s a lot, and keith lowers his head, blushing a deep, attractive crimson, encircled by lance and the smooth warmth of the bathtub.

yeah. yeah.

this is nice.

before, keith would have trouble admitting that to himself, or even feeling it at all. before, he would see this as dangerous, exposing something vulnerable to a potential predator, being stupid to do so. but now, here, with lance, it doesn’t feel like that at all.

it feels relaxing.

it feels comforting.

it feels like trust.

“hey,” keith says suddenly, breaking the flustered, heated silence. he just remembered something. lance lifts his head slightly to show he’s listening. “i came over here because i wanted to kiss you,” keith explains, tone candid. “can i do that? i want to kiss your freckles.”

lance stays still for a moment, just gazing down at keith’s skin, and then his shoulders begin to shake with a chuckle.

“of course, cheeseball,” he says, finally facing keith fully with a grin. “we’re boyfriends, aren’t we?”

keith’s body swells with joy. “yeah, we are. c’mere.”

lance presents keith with his face and winks, which of course makes keith roll his eyes, but he leans forward and kisses across lance’s cheeks and nose nonetheless, tracing the freckles with his lips. when he’s finished, lance looks even more flustered, and keith feels like he’s won something.

“shut up,” lance mutters, tugging keith back into their former position. “thought i was here for bathtub sex, not emo keith.” “you like cheesy shit,” keith hums.

“yeah, well, you gotta warn a guy first!”

keith laughs at that, a sweet, melodic sound, and gets splashed in return. they really should get their own bathtub soon, because this is definitely one of keith’s new favorite pastimes.

[thespacenico]

74 klance :)

“You’ve shown me what love can feel like.”

。·:*:·ﾟ★,。·:*:·ﾟ☆

Keith has always been impulsive.

Sometimes that makes him predictable. Other times, just the opposite.

If someone asked Lance to describe him, ‘impulsive’ would be at the very top of the list. Impetuous, maybe. Spontaneous, in an insufferable yet simultaneously endearing way. He might say all of these things with a laugh and a shake of his head, although not without his eyes softening and voice going quiet in that fond way it always does.

But this? This is an entirely new level of impulsive.

This, being the fact that he’s currently bent down on one knee in the middle of their tiled kitchen floor, silver ring held delicately between his fingers while he stares up at Lance—Lance, who’s staring back down at him, blue eyes wide, cheeks flushed, lips pink and held slightly open, morning sunlight melting into his skin, freckles dancing across the bridge of his nose, messy hair still swept every which way from sleep, and looking every bit as beautiful as Keith has always remembered him to be.

He swallows, heart thudding almost painfully against his ribcage and breath trembling in his throat and blood roaring in his ears until he breathes and brings his focus to Lance and Lance only; until suddenly, the world becomes quiet, save for the sound of their would-have-been breakfast sizzling in a pan somewhere in the back of Keith’s current perception.

A beat of silence passes. Relatively speaking.

“You made me drop our spatula,” Lance blurts, after the relative silence has stretched on for longer than Keith probably should have let it.

Keith opens his mouth. Closes it. “Yeah,” he manages. “Sorry.”

Lance gapes. And then, maybe because he’s just as stunned by Keith’s unmitigated lack of impulse control as Keith is, and doesn’t quite know how to deal with it this time given the context: “What are you doing?”

“Um.” Keith clears his throat. “I think I’m trying to ask you to marry me.”

“Marry you,” Lance echoes.

Another beat of silence. Some more sizzling.

“I—I had a plan,” Keith stammers, fighting through the sudden twinge of panic nipping at his stomach. “I was supposed to take you out for dinner at that Thai place you like so much, and then get ice cream from the shop next door and walk across the bridge and watch for shooting stars and then I was gonna propose but—” He forces himself to inhale, feeling a bit breathless as Lance continues to blink down at him. “I couldn’t wait,” he breathes.

He reaches out to take Lance’s hand hanging frozen at his side, and Lance almost seems to start at the contact, although he allows Keith to hold it there between them. “Maybe it’s selfish, so I’m sorry but—I don’t want to risk you getting away from me somehow.”

Lance’s fingers curl around the back of Keith’s hand, gently yet firmly, warm and soft. “Keith…”

“You know better than anyone that it took me some time to learn how to love again,” Keith continues determinedly. “Especially after everything that happened in my past.” Lance’s lower lip is trembling now, but he bites down on it and Keith swallows down his heart trying to climb up his throat. “It took a long time, and you waited for me through all of it. So I guess—” He swallows one more time and takes a steadying breath. “I don’t want to make you wait for me anymore.”

Lance is beautiful. Even with his brow creased in concentration, expression pinched, and eyes glistening with tears, Lance is beautiful. Keith’s chest aches with certainty.

“Because I love you,” he murmurs, and Lance squeezes his eyes shut and squeezes his hand and he may as well be squeezing Keith’s heart. Keith slowly moves to stand, brushing away one of the tears that’s slipped down Lance’s cheek with his thumb and leaving his palm there, admiring the way the leftover streak shimmers against his skin. “You’ve shown me what love can feel like,” he says softly, as softly as he can around the lump forming in his throat and through the tightness of his chest. “And I can only hope that I’ve done the same.”

Lance exhales shakily, leaning into Keith’s touch and clinging tighter still to his hand. He opens his eyes and immediately meets Keith’s gaze, the blue of his eyes mesmerizing in the summer sunlight and making Keith’s breath catch in his throat as if he’s only seeing it for the first time. Lance manages a watery smile, huffing a small laugh as Keith wipes away another tear.

“So are you gonna ask me now, or are you gonna make me wait some more through a dramatic confession of your undying love for me?”

Keith bites his lip to suppress a smile. “Right now? Should I get back down on one knee, or—”

“Keith,” Lance groans, and Keith can’t help but laugh as he drops his head to his shoulder with a dull thud, effectively muffling his voice. “Oh my god, you’re killing me here.”

“Okay, okay. Lance.” Keith wiggles his shoulder and Lance allows himself to lift his head, fixing Keith once more with his gaze. But Keith is ready for it this time, his own gaze steady and unwavering.

Certain.

He tightens his grip on Lance’s hand, and straightens his stance, and takes a deep breath. “Lance McClain,” he starts, and Lance’s face breaks out into a smile, bright and beautiful and so overwhelmingly contagious that Keith has no other option than to let himself smile back. “Will you marry me?”  

Lance’s response: he tilts forward, closes the remaining space between them, and kisses him. Keith’s arms instinctively wrap around Lance’s waist to pull him closer, Lance’s wind around Keith’s neck, and warmth blooms in Keith’s chest and sets fire to his nerves and spreads through his body head to toe until he’s dizzy with it.

They break apart after a moment, breathless, only they don’t go far. Their noses brush together, Lance’s eyes fluttering butterfly kisses against Keith’s cheek. Keith hums. “Are you gonna make me wait for an answer?”

Lance’s smile grows impossibly wider. “I guess I thought it was obvious,” he murmurs, breath warm on Keith’s lips. “But in case it wasn’t already clear—” He presses another quick, chaste kiss to the corner of Keith’s mouth.

“Yes.”

Keith kisses him again.

Another moment passes, before Lance starts laughing into his mouth and only pulls away long enough to say: “Our breakfast is burning.”

“Let it burn,” Keith mumbles, and then Lance’s giggles are swallowed by yet another kiss.

[kandyklancing]

nsfw//

keith getting railed into next year by lance, sobbing and gasping and whining out "pleasepleaseplease!" and reaching back to spread his cheeks wide so lance can see his hole swallowing up his dick.

lance groans and squeezes his ass possessively, spanking his wailing boyfriend hard on the left cheek. "you like that baby?" lance rasps out, fucking in harder. "mmfuck," keith whimpers, biting his bottom lip. "yes please," he tells him, blinking his teary eyes.

"mmph that's a good boy," lance rumbles, gripping keith's hips harder to yank him back onto his dick. "gonna ruin this sweet little hole, leave it all sloppy," he moans. keith cries out and with that, lance lifts a heavy hand down onto his right cheek to hear the sound again.