#mildly southern i think | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 8 months

Text

Comet Donati [Chapter 9: Why Don’t We Go There]

Series Summary: Sex, drugs, boy bands. You are a kinda-therapist recruited (via nepotism) to help Comet Donati through a recent crisis. Things are casual with Aegon, very not-casual with Aemond. Loosely inspired by One Direction.

Chapter Warnings: Language, sexual content (+18), beef cattle, drugs, alcohol, smoking, Walmart, vegan baking, David Archuleta, mental health struggles, pregnancy, pigs, bodily injury, death, miscarriage, Jace acting vaguely human, angst, Southern Baptists, Cookie Monster pajama pants.

Selected Chapter Quote: “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

Word count: 8.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @doingfondue @catalina-howard @randomdragonfires @myspotofcraziness @arcielee @fan-goddess @talesofoldandnew @marvelescvpe @tinykryptonitewerewolf @mariahossain @chainsawsangel @darkenchantress @not-a-glad-gladiator @gemini-mama @trifoliumviridi @herfantasyworldd @babyblue711 @namelesslosers @thelittleswanao3 @daenysx @moonlightfoxx @libroparaiso @burningcoffeetimetravel-fics @mizfortuna @florent1s @heimtathurs @bhanclegane @poohxlove @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @heavenly1927 @mariahossain @echos-muses @padfooteyes @minttea07 @queenofshinigamis @juliavilu1 @amiraisgoingthruit @lauraneedstochill @wintrr13 @r0segard3n @seabasscevans @tsujifreya @helaenaluvr @hiraethrhapsody

Only 1 chapter left! 💜

The last day of summer, the first day in Kansas City: emerald seas of soybeans, cornstalks taller than you are, massive tractors rolling laggardly on the shoulder of the road, red-tailed hawks perched on utility poles, cloudless cerulean skies, sunlight that beats down like soft rain. There is a long, rambling dirt driveway that leads from Route 210 to your parents’ farm. When you climb out of the Escalade, you cannot hear traffic or voices or some playlist of bygone pop hits or ice cubes jangling in misty glasses or the roar of jet engines. You can hear only the sounds of the Midwestern earth: wind in the leaves, cicadas humming, the distant mooing of black angus cattle. For a moment, Comet Donati just stands there breathing in the unhurried, golden air like the atmosphere of a new planet, their lungs acclimating, their eyes wide and peering around. Where have we landed? Any signs of intelligent life?

There are footsteps and then the squealing creak of the screen door as your dad throws it open. Along with your parents pour out five Australian cattle dogs. They bark uproariously, herding the new arrivals like errant calves. Aemond laughs and crouches down in the dust of the driveway to pet them. Rhaena screams and clings to Luke.

“Belmont! Bel, you git down!” your dad scolds, pulling her away from Rhaena by the collar: pink, so everyone knows she’s a girl. “Don’t be scared, sweetheart, she don’t bite none.”

“Unless you’re a cow, of course,” your mom adds, tittering merrily. She starts handing out glasses of sweet tea, already dripping with condensation. Outside it’s 80 degrees even.

Your dad whistles as he studies Aemond’s scar, his sightless left eye like a pool of blue fog. “That must’ve hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“Jeff!” your mom objects mildly; she abhors swearing.

Aemond considers your dad: a man who doesn’t flinch away from him, who doesn’t bury truths under the cover of night. “It did.”

“My uncle came back from ‘Nam with something like that. Was never right again.” He taps his own skull. “You must be tough as nails to be carrying on like you are, son. What happened to you was a damn shame.”

“Jefferson, please!” your mom says.

“The man’s been to New Jersey, Carol! I think he’s heard worse words than bitch and damn!”

“Her name’s Belmont?” Rhaena says, frowning nervously at her canine tormentor: rust-orange, brown-eyed, tail wagging eagerly at the prospect of making new friends.

“You betcha.” Then your dad informs Aemond: “That’s Lone Jack you got there.” He points to the remaining dogs. “And the others are Carthage, Kirksville, and Island Number Ten. We call her Tenny.”

“They’re all named after Civil War battles,” you tell Comet.

“Civil War battles in Missouri,” your dad says. He turns to his guests. “Were you aware that over 100,000 Missourians served in the Union Army? Ulysses S. Grant’s first military assignment was in Missouri. He met his wife Julia here.”

“Daddy, they’re English. They don’t know what the Union Army is.”

“Were they for or against staying colonies?” Aegon asks, and Criston covers his face and groans.

Your dad spots the motorcycle Aemond rode here from the airport, weaving between the Escalades until Criston stuck his head out a window to yell at him. “Lord almighty, is that a Gold Star?! Made by the Birmingham Small Arms Company?”

“Yes sir,” Aemond says, smiling down at a delighted Lone Jack and scratching his long pointy ears.

“An ingenious piece of machinery! ‘55?”

“1960.”

“Remarkable.” Your dad admires it. He’s wearing red flannel, Wrangler jeans, the UChicago hat that you bought for him your freshman year of college.

“We’ve been told you don’t eat meat,” your mom says to Aemond, with a gentle, sympathetic tone like she’s conscious of some bad luck that’s recently befallen him: a grim diagnosis, a storm that carried away his house. “So I’ve got some chicken soaking in buttermilk to fry up for supper.”

Aemond chuckles uncertainly.

“No, she’s serious,” you tell him. And then: “Mama, we went over this on the phone. He’s vegan. That means no animal products at all. No meat, no poultry, no fish, no dairy, no eggs, nothing that came from an animal.”

“Well I’ll be, what the heck does he eat?!” your dad says. “Carrots? Acorns? Sticks and leaves? He can graze out in the pasture if he likes.”

“We’ll find you something,” you promise Aemond.

Your dad surveys Aegon (white cargo shorts, neon pink tank top, sparkly matching Crocs) and then Jace (black skinny jeans and a violet sequined blazer with nothing underneath except a mosaic of tattoos). “I suppose you two will be wanting to share a room. Well, it ain’t my place to pass judgement, I reckon. But I don’t want to overhear nothing that couldn’t be done in church.”

Jace is confused. “Huh…?”

“No, Daddy, they’re not gay.”

“What, me?!” Aegon exclaims. “Gay?! For Jace?!”

Jace says: “Sir, if I ever start looking at Aegon that way, I give you enthusiastic permission to take me out back and shoot me dead like a horse with a bum leg.”

Your dad guffaws, a deep gruff rumble like an earthquake. “I don’t think I could oblige you, buddy.”

Your mom gestures to the front door. “Y’all go on in and make yourselves at home. We got a few extra bedrooms and a nice big den if anyone’s willing to sleep on a couch. But be warned: you’ll probably end up having a dog or two snuggled up with you.”

“We are guests here!” Criston shouts at the band as they begin dragging their luggage inside, suitcase wheels bumping up the creaking wooden steps of the wraparound porch. “You will not humiliate me! You will not break things! You will not cause any problems whatsoever or you can stay at the Hilton with the security guys and I’ll have them handcuff you to a bed!”

“He will,” Aegon warns the others. “I’ve seen him do it before. To…um…somebody.” He disappears into the five-bedroom farmhouse: mint green paint, white accents, two rambling stories plus an attic and a cellar.

Criston waves to the security detail as the Escalades turn around in the driveway—stirring up dust like a parched cough of earth—and then head back towards Route 210, towards the light pollution and acclaimed barbeque joints of Kansas City. Now Aemond is standing by the barbed wire fence of the pasture and looking longingly at the black angus cattle grazing on tall swaths of windswept, green-gold switchgrass. Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville are all bounding around him hoping to elicit praise and scratches. Tenny has taken a liking to Baela and follows her and Jace into the house. Belmont, still held captive by your dad, whines and struggles.

“Aemond, you can’t pet the cows,” you say. “They’re beef cattle. They spend most of their lives out in fields, they don’t get handled very often, they’re not used to people. They can be aggressive.”

He is disappointed. “Oh, okay.”

“You can pet the pigs though,” your dad says.

“Pigs?” Cregan perks up. “There are pigs?”

“Sure are. Well, they’re pigs now…come Thanksgiving, they’ll be hams! Hahaha. They’re right ‘round the back of the house. You’ll show ‘em, chickadee?”

You reply: “Yeah, Daddy. I’ll show them.”

As the rest of the band claims sleeping spots and unpacks their suitcases inside, you lead Cregan and Aemond—and Lone Jack, Carthage, and Kirksville, all blue speckled with random splatters of white markings like stray dabs of paint—to the pigs. They have a large, muddy enclosure surrounded by a wooden fence that stops at your waist; pigs, fortunately, cannot really jump. They immediately come trotting over to their visitors, tails swishing and snouts twitching, spewing a chorus of guttural oinks. Aemond leans down to pet them, beaming, then takes a Ziploc bag of raw cauliflower out of his jeans pocket and starts dropping pieces into the pigs’ gluttonous, slobbering, gaping mouths.

“Wow,” Cregan says. He’s grinning broadly, something that’s rare for him. He slips out his phone and starts taking pictures. “Iris is going to love this.”

On the second floor of the farmhouse, a window slides open. “Aemond!” Aegon calls. “I need help! It’s an emergency!”

“What’s your problem?” Aemond snaps.

“Tell Jace I need the bigger bedroom!”

“Please go away.”

“Aemond! Do not betray your favorite brother!”

“Hey!” comes Daeron’s muffled objection from inside.

“Aemond! Threaten to break Jace’s face again!”

Aemond exhales in a loud sigh and then makes for the house.

Still taking pig photos, Cregan glances over at your belly: ten weeks. Not enough to be properly showing, but enough that you can feel a difference, an extra inch here and there, a heaviness that settles in you like stones plinked in a jar. Your parents don’t know. Nobody knows but Aegon. “So,” Cregan says. “Have you told Aemond yet?”

Your attention jolts to him, a lightning strike, a surge of adrenaline. “What?”

“I remember what it looks like when someone’s trying to hide the fact that they’re pregnant.” He smirks. “And I remember that night at Club Camelot.”

People are going to start figuring it out eventually. Aemond is going to figure it out. “Do you think he’ll take it well?” you ask hopefully.

“No,” Cregan says.

In your chest, a sinking like dead weight: “Oh.”

“But he’ll probably come around to the idea eventually.”

After he’s said something unforgiveable. After he buries another knife in me, spilling blood and scraping marrow. You stare down into the pigpen, observing them root around for remnants of cauliflower and blink their awfully intelligent eyes, too clever for the fate they’ve been assigned.

Cregan lights a cigarette and puffs on it, taking advantage of a rare moment out of Criston’s line of sight. “When I first found out about Iris, I did not behave in a way that I would consider to be honorable. But fortunately, nature gives everyone time to adjust to these things. I had my head right by the time she was born. If I had to guess, I’d say it will be similar for Aemond. Then again…” He takes a deep, meditative drag. “I’d like to think I was never as fucked up as he is now.”

You study Cregan. “So you’ve been watching me. I’ve been watching you too. You haven’t been partying as hard. A few vodka shots, a secret cigarette on occasion. But no more disappearing with Aegon to do lines in the bathroom or arranging drop-offs with drug dealers.”

He shrugs. “Someone has to be the adult. Someone has to help Criston look out for the others. It used to be Aemond, but not anymore. He’s different now. One day he’ll figure out where he’s supposed to be and he’ll stop touring with Comet altogether. So I’m going to do it. There are people who need me.”

“Comet is your family,” you say. “Just as much as your mother and siblings and Iris. They love you. They belong to you, and you belong to them. And that will never change.”

He smiles; his greyish eyes are teasing but kind. “Good luck, Stargirl. You need it.”

“Thanks, Cregan.” And together, you leave the pigs and join the rest of the band inside.

Your parents’ farmhouse, the same one you grew up in—a different world, a different you—is painted in shades of gold: late-afternoon sunlight, chicken thighs and drumsticks browning in canola oil, mashed potatoes wet with cream and butter, corn cut from the cob, an enormous pan of baked macaroni and cheese, homemade rolls, a butterscotch pie cooling on the windowsill. You find a vegan alternative for Aemond in the pantry: a box of Barilla spaghetti, a jar of Ragu marinara sauce. Criston insists on cooking it so everyone else can enjoy their supper. Cregan asks your parents about tips for raising pigs; Rhaena asks about the history of the farm; Aegon eats butterscotch pie until he has to roll out of his chair and lie sprawled on the hardwood floor for a while, Australian cattle dogs licking at his pink palms and cheeks. And when Aemond finally receives his spaghetti and marinara sauce, you think: That’s the same thing he was eating in Rome. And you remember the razored sting of the comet tattoo, the nightscape motorcycle ride, the incomplete truth about Aegon, the realization of what you felt for his scarred, perfect, brilliant, haunted younger brother.

“I didn’t know the weather would be so nice here,” Baela says as she scoops herself a third helping of macaroni and cheese. Tenny lies by her feet under the table, her muzzle resting on her paws.

Your dad nods, but his words hold a warning. “It can turn quick.”

~~~~~~~~~~

“He could be a stay-at-home dad,” Aegon suggests. It’s the next day and you’re up in a hundred-year-old white oak tree, killing time until the Escalades arrive to shuttle Comet to soundcheck and their first of two shows at Arrowhead Stadium in downtown Kansas City. You’re sitting on a colossal, sturdy branch only four or five feet off the ground, your feet dangling; Aegon is a few limbs above you, alternating between swinging like a monkey and lying on his stomach so he can peer down at you with those large, oceanic eyes.

“No. If he chooses to, sure. But not because he has no other options. A baby is not something to paper over a quarter-life crisis with.”

Aegon thinks, then is struck with inspiration. “He could work for your dad on the farm!”

“The beef cattle farm?” you say. “You want the traumatized vegan to spend the rest of his life as a cog in the blood-drenched machine of American industrial agriculture? Besides, I’m sure he hates Missouri.”

“I don’t know, I mean I thought I hated Missouri too. But lowkey it kind of slaps.” Aegon closes his eyes and smiles as the warm, sunlit breeze breathes through him, tousling his hair. It’s long again, it’s almost down to his shoulders. He smells like sunscreen and Axe body spray and the homemade waffles your mother made for brunch, soggy with dollops of butter and a river of amber-colored maple syrup. Something’s missing. It takes you a moment to realize it’s the scent of beer. Your parents don’t approve of drinking, the house is bone dry. Aegon hasn’t complained about that yet, a miracle, Moses turning the Nile to blood. Maybe Missouri is good for him after all. “How’s Starbaby?”

“Good, I think. I’m not nauseous anymore. Now I’m just super hungry and horny.”

“Oh my God, you can’t say stuff like that around me, now I’m having immoral thoughts.” He squeezes his eyes shut, frowns mournfully. Goodbye forever, pornstar pussy. “When are you going to tell Aemond?”

“Soon,” you say noncommittally, like a coward. Not a coward: someone who’s been hurt before. Not just hurt: slaughtered, buried, exhumed, robbed for the jewels on the bones of her fingers. You’re finally whole again. You’re in no hurry to imperil your resurrection. “Cregan knows.”

“Rhaena knows too.”

“What?!”

“She asked me in Dallas, but she waited until I was sloppy drunk first. Smart girl. I tried to deny it, but honestly she already had it figured out.” Aegon looks at you meaningfully. “If you wait much longer you’re going to lose control of this thing. It’ll get to Aemond before you can. And I think it will be worse if he finds out from somebody else.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I. I’ll tell him, Aegon, I promise. Before Comet flies out of Kansas City.” They’ll be leaving you here, though no one except Aegon and Criston know that yet. Their private jet will take them to New Orleans, and then Miami, and then all the way to South America: Rio de Janeiro, Sao Paulo, Bogota, Buenos Ares, Lima, Santiago.

Now someone is trekking across the field behind your parents’ house and towards the centenarian white oak tree. It’s Jace. He’s wearing a rather understated outfit today: a lavender polo, denim shorts, boat shoes. His dark curls whip and tangle in the wind.

“Ugh,” Aegon says once Jace close enough to hear. “Why don’t you go try to pet a rage-filled, 2,000-pound mound of unprocessed cheeseburgers?”

“I’m here for my complimentary therapy session.”

Aegon stares at you. You stare back. The only sounds are made by the earth and the sky and the animals, air in the leaves, the low mooing of cattle. You both wait for Jace to rescind his request. He does not. At last, you relent. “Okay. Fine. Aegon?”

“You want me to leave you alone with this inked-up ogre?”

“Confidentiality is important. I’ve always given it to you, Jace deserves the same.”

“Does he really?” Aegon flings back; but he obediently climbs down from the tree and walks to the farmhouse. Your parents have no booze, no internet, a landline telephone, and a single tv with basic cable. Everyone else is in there playing Uno, doing animal-themed puzzles, and baking apple cider cookies in honor of the first day of autumn. You’d think Comet would be losing their minds after adapting to months of nonstop, breakneck excitement, but they seem to be enjoying themselves. You feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. You don’t miss the jet, you don’t miss the bars or the five-star hotels, you don’t even miss your apartment in the city that is still being sublet by some grad student with a Flemish Giant rabbit. You wonder if you ever wanted to leave the farm at all, or if you only wanted to leave the way you felt about yourself the last time you called this place home.

Jace grins and hauls himself up onto the tree branch to sit beside you. “Want to see my new tattoo?”

“Comet has definitely already been to Kansas City.”

Still, he’s acquired one, left wrist, black ink: a single star the size of a quarter. “For you, Stargirl. So I don’t forget about you. So I don’t lose you in the sea of gorgeous women I have marooned myself in.”

“It looks like a pentagram,” you say. “That’s appropriate, since you’re basically Satan.”

He’s not offended. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I want to talk about?”

“I already know.”

“Do you really?”

“You’re happy, but you feel bad about it. You wanted to be the leader of Comet, but you wish it could have happened a different way.”

Jace opens his hands and offers you a crooked, wry smile. “I might jibe at Aemond, but I don’t hate him. Why else would I let him knock out four of my teeth without expecting any penance in return?”

“No, you certainly don’t hate Aemond.”

“And what happened to him…it sucks. I mean, obviously, it was life-ruining for him. Not ruining, I shouldn’t say that. I’m sure he’ll get a new life someday. But it wrecked him in ways I’ll never be able to understand.”

“You’ll have to let him go when the time comes.”

“Yeah,” Jace says, unusually somber, gazing out across the field of white wild indigo, prairie dropseed, blue star, yarrow.

“And if Baela gets into ballet school, you’ll have to let her go too.”

Now Jace turns to you, startled. “I can’t. I’d miss her.”

“Yes, but you aren’t right for her. Sometimes we have to give people the freedom to realize they want something more than us. It’s the greatest act of love we can do for them.”

He laughs, a disdainful little snort. “That’s what everyone says. If you love someone, let them go. But then nobody ever really does it. They cling and they manipulate and they beg. Nobody helps the people they love leave them. Nobody escapes the indignity of becoming a regret.”

Please don’t let that be true. Please don’t let Aemond regret meeting me, touching me, maybe even loving me. “Why do you think that is, Jace?”

And he says, like it’s obvious, like you should already know it: “Because letting go is too fucking painful.” He hops off the branch and drops into the tall grass below. Then he extends a hand to help you down. “Come on. I bet those apple cider cookies are ready.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You see glimmering dresses, incandescent string lights, neon signs, the winding reptilian sheen of the Missouri River in the distance, faint dots of stars muted by the city’s synthetic luminance. You taste your faux Bramble: ice, cranberry juice, a sliver of lemon on the rim, sweet and tart and cold. The speakers are thumping out Prayin’ For Daylight by Rascal Flatts. Aegon is in neon yellow. You almost wore the same, but the flowing yellow gown you bought in Reykjavik suffered an unfortunate Australian-cattle-dog-related incident before Comet left your parents’ farmhouse for the concert. You opted for the short sparkly black dress embroidered with silver stars instead…and hurried out the door before your parents could catch a glimpse of your comet tattoo.

“No way!” Baela cries as she checks her phone. “Look, look!” Liam Payne has just posted a selfie on Instagram. Cuddled up next to him on a beach in Ibiza is Shelby, tan and with her long blond waves flying everywhere. The comments are a smorgasbord: Cutest couple EVER! Aww, did you and Aemond break up again :( Enjoy your vacay, girlie! Guess love really can’t conquer all. You are stunning, Shelby! I’m still hoping you guys get back together. You deserve better! What is Aemond even doing these days?? Is this why Comet took A Girl Named After A Car off their tour setlist :(((

“Damn, poor Liam,” Daeron says. “Should we warn him?”

Aegon replies: “Bruh, this is so tragic. That dude has enough demons already.”

“Good luck, Liam,” Luke says, toasting his Mai Tai against Aemond’s fully-alcoholic Bramble. “Thoughts and prayers.”

“Maybe he’s dumb enough to sign up to be her boy band baby daddy,” Aemond quips. You and Aegon exchange an uneasy glance. Then Aegon gets an incoming FaceTime call. It’s Taylor Swift. He beams—he lights up, he glows—and rushes away to find a quiet spot where he can talk to her. Criston chases after him, extra vigilant since Aegon’s overdose in Las Vegas.

You gulp down the rest of your not-cocktail cocktail. The bartender calls over: “Another cranberry juice, ma’am?”

“Cranberry juice?!” Daeron says. “That sounds…healthy?”

“Why aren’t you drinking?” Baela asks you. It would be a rude question if you didn’t know each other so well. Though not quite as well as she thinks. Cregan and Rhaena peer awkwardly down into their glasses, eyebrows raised.

“Because. Um.” You hesitate. Aemond looks over at you curiously. “I’m an alcoholic.”

Baela blinks. “You’re what?”

“Um. I was developing an alcohol problem so to be safe I stopped drinking altogether.”

“How mature of you!” Rhaena chirps, then drags Baela towards the dancefloor. Luke and Jace go with them. Daeron and Cregan depart to charm some potential paramours: a flock of Kansas City University students for Daeron, a bachelorette party of flattered, giggly soccer moms for Cregan. You procure another cranberry juice from the bar and then return to Aemond. You are alone together, a strange combination of adjectives: solitary, secretive, appreciated, known. You migrate towards the edge of the roof and sip your matching drinks, wearing your matching black clothes, wind in your hair and the sounds of late night traffic on the streets below.

“So this is the place,” Aemond says, playful, wistful. “Where you and Aegon…met.”

“It feels so different now.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You look out over the city, breathing in humid night air and a verdant, ancient wildness. “You know how when you’re a kid, you’ll go somewhere and it feels endless and magical, and then you go back five or ten or fifteen years later and you’re disappointed? Like, that’s it? Is this even the same place?”

He swigs his Bramble. Ice clinks; the glass is frosty in his hand. “I know what you mean. But it hasn’t been that long. A little over a year.”

“I guess I’ve changed.” More grounded. Less restless. Less aimless. More pregnant.

“I hope Comet hasn’t traumatized you.”

You laugh, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only two people at this rooftop bar, in this city, on this planet: one river blue eye, one pool of sightless otherworldly mist. He hasn’t worn sunglasses since Shelby’s deportation from the band’s retinue. “Not yet.”

He is mischievous. “There’s still time.”

Not much of it. Aemond’s iPhone rings, Mr. Brightside. He checks it. “Is that Shelby offering you ten thousand blowjobs if you take her back?”

Aemond smiles. “No. It’s Helaena.” He answers and puts it on speakerphone. “Hi, LaeLae. Can I call you tomorrow? I’m at a very loud, very crowded rooftop bar.”

“With her?” Helaena asks, delighted.

“Yes, actually.”

“Okay. Call tomorrow. I wanted to tell you about the praying mantis I found in the garden. Check the weather. Goodbye!” She hangs up before Aemond can.

“Weather…?” he muses, then shakes his head and slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans. He returns his attention to you. “Ten thousand blowjobs, huh? I think I’d rather have another ten minutes in a bar bathroom.”

You are so game. It’s humiliating how game you are. Dear Starbaby, today I had slutty bar bathroom sex with your slutty dad, the same place I hooked up with your super slutty uncle. “Really?”

“No,” Aemond says sheepishly. But the corners of his lips are curled up in fond nostalgia. “That’s not my usual style.”

“What is your style?”

He drains his Bramble and turns to you. “Do you want to get out of here?”

You want few things more. “Yeah.”

You leave your empty glasses on a tray by the edge of the roof. Aemond lets Criston know that you’re taking one of the Escalades back to the farm. Aegon pauses his conversation with Taylor Swift just long enough to wink at you. No need for condoms, he mouths with a grin. And then he shouts, as the opening notes of Starboy blare from the speakers: “Stargirl, it’s our song!”

The Escalade makes one pitstop: the Walmart just off Route 210, the same one you always shopped at growing up. Aemond piles the requisite ingredients for vegan chocolate chip cookies in the screechy-wheeled cart, flour, baking soda, salt, white sugar, brown sugar, dark chocolate chips, rice milk (Aemond swears it tastes like Rice Krispies), vanilla extract, coconut oil. You wander down the aisles together talking, joking, finding excuses to touch each other, hands on wrists and collarbones and waists.

As you scan the items at one of the self-checkout kiosks, two guys buying frozen pizzas and White Claws peek over at you and start snickering. You grab snippets of their conversation like fireflies from the air: critiques of your body, critiques of your soul. You ignore them. This happens sometimes when you’re home. Someone from high school will recognize you, someone will remember.

Aemond is staring at them. Not staring; glaring, seething, mentally splitting flesh and dislodging teeth.

“Aemond, it’s okay.”

“It’s not okay.”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m not upset. Just ignore them.” He walks away from you. “Aemond, don’t!”

He grabs the closest man’s shoulder and spins him around. “You got a problem?”

Both men gawk up at him, mouths hanging stupidly open and eyes inane like fish. The one he’s clenching sputters: “I’m sorry, are you…are you…are you Aemond Targaryen?!”

“I’m the guy who’s about to go to prison for second degree murder if you don’t shut the fuck up.”

He puts both hands in the air. “Hey man, I am actively shutting the fuck up. You have a nice evening.”

Aemond releases the man with a shove that sends him staggering back into a rack of tabloids. He returns to you, puts the bags in the cart, starts pushing it out to the parking lot.

The man turns to his friend. He is starstruck, elated. It might be the best day of his life. “Bruh, I just got assaulted by Aemond Targaryen…!”

The Escalade glides through the dark to your parents’ farm and drops you and Aemond off in the dirt driveway before zooming back towards the city. Aemond insists on carrying the shopping bags…but he doesn’t go inside. He stands near where his Gold Star is parked and gazes up at the night sky: moon, stars, the hazy white shadow of the Milky Way, all unmarred by the arrogant, buzzing radiance of electricity.

“Aemond?”

“You can see everything out here,” he says. “Maybe Kansas isn’t so bad.”

“Missouri.”

“Missouri,” Aemond agrees. “But you’re still the best thing about it.”

You smile. “I don’t know the names of any of those constellations.”

He points to show you. “Ursa Major. Ursa Minor. Perseus. Draco. Hercules.”

“Heroes,” you say.

“And animals.” He ascends the steps of the front porch. They creak beneath him, weight that will soon be gone, to New Orleans and Miami and South America and God knows where else.

Your parents are watching the 11:00 news in the den. The weatherman is issuing tentative warnings for tomorrow. Summer is gone, storms are coming in. They politely ask what you and Aemond are up to and then try not to look repulsed when you mention vegan cookies. You’re actually pretty excited; you love cookie dough, and because it will have no raw eggs in it, you can eat as much as you like without endangering Starbaby.

On the kitchen counter is the same CD player that your mom has owned since 2008. You press play on whatever she has currently spinning around in there. MercyMe? TobyMac? Danny Gokey? What you hear instead is Crush by David Archuleta.

“That’s a throwback,” Aemond notes.

“My parents love David Archuleta. He’s Christian, he’s cute, he’s gracious, he doesn’t swear. I remember them incessantly calling in to vote for him when he was on American Idol. They put in a prayer request at church to help him win the competition. I guess God used his executive veto power.”

“Do they know he’s…?” Aemond draws an invisible rainbow in the air with his fingers.

“No, they don’t use Google.”

“We won’t tell them. He needs the record sales.”

You and Aemond mix the cookie dough and then portion it out on a baking sheet. He slides the sheet into the oven, sets the timer, and then notices the reserve of dough you’ve left in the bowl. You dip your pinky finger in and then lick it slowly, savoringly: sweetness, chocolate, fats obtained without the sacrifice of a soul.

“Looks good,” Aemond says, a little hoarsely.

You swipe your index finger around the curve of the bowl and then offer it to Aemond. He holds your hand still and licks your finger clean, his tongue dragging over your skin, goosebumps rising on your arms, heat stirring up everywhere. You’re transfixed by him; you can’t stop watching. Then he closes the gap between you and cups your face in his palms and kisses you, not in some glittering city or on a stage or for an Instagram post but in the kitchen of a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, the home of nobodies. His lips are sweet, swift, seeking more. He only pulls away when the noise of heavy footsteps approaches the kitchen.

“Smells great in here, chickadee! Even if they are vegan cookies.” Your dad says the word vegan like someone else might say the name of a tourist destination halfway across the globe. He can’t quite get the pronunciation right. His eyes snag on the bare skin between your shoulder blades. “Lord almighty, what is that on your back?!”

Your comet tattoo, that’s what. “Uh, Daddy—”

“It was my idea,” Aemond says quickly, seamlessly. “They’re my lyrics. Lyrics I wrote before the accident, I mean. And I was feeling just…purposeless, and useless, and really doubting myself. She wanted to show me that my work still mattered. So when the band was in Rome, Jace got a tattoo and I suggested she get one too. It’s entirely my fault.”

“Huh,” your dad replies uncertainly. “Is that right? Well, I suppose there’s not much to be done about it now.” He chuckles and moves your hair so it’s covering your tattoo. “Let’s not mention it to your mother. She’s already got high blood pressure. Say, can I try one of them cookies when they’re ready?”

Criston and the rest of the band arrive back at the farmhouse just as the cookies are coming out of the oven. Miraculously, no one is drunk enough that your parents are aware of it. Everyone samples the vegan chocolate chip cookies and agrees that they are nearly as delicious as the cruelty-enhanced version. You and Aemond watch each other from across the kitchen that’s now crowded with people, hearing them but also not, wanting more and knowing you can’t have it, here in this place with little privacy and very few remaining secrets.

Comet scrambles to get ready for bed, racing to claim bathrooms and banging on doors to peer pressure people into finishing their showers faster. Back in your bedroom, clean and alone and wearing an oversized Backstreet Boys t-shirt and your favorite Cookie Monster pajama pants, you rearrange your pillows over and over again and try not to think about the band leaving in two days. Strangely, you don’t really want to go with them; you don’t want to board the jet, you don’t want to sightsee, you don’t want to be surrounded by people ingesting poison in all its forms. But the thought of being away from the band—from Aegon, from Aemond—is impossible, unbelievable, horrifying. You’re humming something as you crawl into bed. You don’t even realize what song it is until you’re under the covers and sinking into sleep: The Man Who Can’t Be Moved.

You’re only asleep for ten or fifteen minutes. When you wake your eyes are watery and you can’t remember your dream—you almost never can—but you know that Aemond was there. Now he’s here in your room as well. He’s gently stroking your cheeks, your forehead, sitting on the edge of your bed.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he’s murmuring, only a silhouette in the darkness. But you would recognize him anywhere. “You had a nightmare. You were crying, I heard you.”

“Were you lurking outside my door or what?”

He doesn’t answer. Instead he asks: “What were you dreaming about?”

“You.”

And when you reach for him, he meets you without hesitation, his hands in your hair and his lips on yours, blankets thrown aside, his weight between your thighs, your fingertips ghosting against his face, reading his past and future like braille. He bites your lower lip, nips at the curve of your jaw, kisses a path down your throat like the contrail of an airplane. You yank off his t-shirt. He lifts away yours. He’s touching you everywhere, fingers beneath your pajama pants, smothering his moans against your neck so no one else will hear.

He whispers breathlessly: “I don’t want to rush this time.”

“I’m yours for as long as you want me.” Forever, I hope. And then: “Can I turn on the light? I want to see you.”

For a moment, he doesn’t answer. And then he reaches out to click the lamp on. The nightstand is cluttered with your souvenirs: refrigerator magnets, snow globes, figurines, cosmetics, snacks, crochet celestial objects, the frisbee from New Jersey, your plushie sika deer nestled together with the hammerhead shark from the aquarium at the Mandalay Bay. In the weak golden lamplight, you study Aemond like a painting, a marble statue, a comet you’ll only see once in a lifetime.

You say, softly like a prayer if you believed in such things: “You are so fucking beautiful.”

He doesn’t believe you, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to see you too. Your clothes are gone, every scrap of fabric and concealment; if he is cognizant of any minuscule changes in your body, he is not suspicious of them. Now he is bare for you as well, now he is pushing your thighs apart so he can marvel at you, taste you, drench his mouth and chin in your wetness, bring you to the edge of a cliff with no bottom, no rocks to rupture against. Now he is inside you, tremendously big but also careful, listening to you, watching every line of your face, slowly, so exquisitely slowly, his tongue darting between your lips and his palm against your cheek. And you remember how Aegon felt—always so simple and yet transient, soothing and welcome but never necessary—and Aemond could not be further from that. Nothing about what you have with him is simple. It is profound and intense and singular, and the thought of it not lasting forever is agony.

Afterwards, he retrieves his vintage metal lighter—small, square, Targaryen etched into one side—and a shimmery gold pack of his Benson & Hedges cigarettes out of the pocket of his pajama pants that are crumpled on the floor. He lies on his back and takes deep, drowsy drags, smoke like opaque morning mist in the air, one arm draped across you as you rest your head on his chest, lungs and heart and bones and blood.

Secondhand smoke isn’t good for the baby. You get up out of bed and sneak across the treacherously creaky hardwood floor. “Let me open a window.”

“So your parents won’t know?”

“Yeah.” You push the window open and then turn to him. “You should stop smoking. It’s really bad for you.”

Aemond smiles faintly. “Why would I care about that?”

“It’s bad for the people who love you too.”

He looks at you for what feels like a very long time. “Come back,” he says at last.

You do: to Aemond, to his warmth and lust and tenderness, to the space he occupies that will soon be empty like the vast expanses between comets, between stars.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I would like to say something.” You rise from your seat at your parents’ long dining room table, perfect for hosting judgmental-church-people gatherings and family reunions. Lunch for Comet Donati is steak and baked potatoes, lovingly prepared by your mom just before she and your dad left in their Ford F-150. It’s Sunday, and your parents will be at church socializing with their friends until late afternoon. Aemond is suffering through another meal of boxed spaghetti and Ragu marinara sauce. He doesn’t seem to have much of an appetite; not for food, anyway. You take turns glancing at each other and then looking away, smiling, flushing. Now he is intrigued by your announcement. His brow knits into thoughtful little grooves. The Australian cattle dogs scuttle around under the table for scraps. The television is on in the den. A tornado watch has been issued for the greater Kansas City area; no big deal, they get alerts like this once or twice a week here sometimes. It rarely amounts to carnage. Outside the sky is a tumultuous grey but not especially sinister at the moment: no greenish hue, no cloud rotation.

“You agree that Aegon hooking up with Taylor Swift would be disastrous for everyone involved,” Jace jokes.

“No, I know what it is,” Aegon says. He pokes at his baked potato with his fork, melancholy.

“I want to thank you for giving me this amazing opportunity,” you tell Comet. You have perhaps not dressed for an occasion of this significance: flip flops, a tie-dye One Direction hoodie, an old pair of shorts you found in your bedroom dresser. You like the way Aemond watches you when you wear them. “And I’ve experienced so many things, and learned so much from all of you, and I sincerely hope that we’re going to be in each other’s lives forever. But for right now…for this tour…Kansas City is my last stop with Comet.”

“What?!” Baela cries.

“No!” Rhaena gasps, her dark doe-like eyes glistening.

People are asking you why, people are asking you to reconsider. Aemond only stares, a sharp hostile look, menacing like storm clouds.

“I really, really appreciate everyone’s concern. But it’s been over three months, and this was never intended to be a permanent arrangement. Right, Aegon?”

“Right,” he reluctantly agrees.

“And it’s time for me to figure out what the rest of my life is going to look like, because I can’t just follow Comet around the world forever.”

Cregan nods to Criston. “Did you know about this?”

“I did, yeah,” Criston confesses. “We finished up the paperwork last week.”

“But we’re going to miss you,” Baela says. She sounds shockingly close to tears. Jace tries to soothe her and she shrugs his hand away.

“I know,” you concede. “And I’m going to miss you too. But we’ll still talk all the time, and I’m always willing to help you guys with anything, and maybe in the future I can visit—”

Aemond stands, his chair squealing against the hardwood floor, and flees from the dining room.

“That went well,” Jace says.

Aegon points towards the doorway Aemond left through and asks you: “Do you want me to…?”

“No, I’ll do it,” you say, and go after Aemond. He’s outside by the pigpen, his hair and t-shirt whipping wildly in the strengthening gusts of late-September air. Sparse raindrops fall from the sky. The pigs are agitated, pacing, oinking, scampering in and out of the shed they have for shelter. Aemond is smoking, embers glowing on the end of his cigarette; you purposefully stand upwind from him.

His voice is stunned and dazed and beneath that dangerously angry. “You’re leaving the tour.”

“Yes.”

“When we get on that jet tomorrow, you’re not going with us.”

“No, I’m not.”

“And you told Aegon and Criston but you didn’t tell me.”

“I had to tell Criston. And Aegon…” What can I say? What is the truth? “Aegon is easier to talk to about things like this.”

“So you feel like you can’t talk to me?” Aemond demands.

“Well, yeah, because sometimes you’re kind and patient and the single most incredible man I’ve ever met, and then something rattles your demons awake and you’re this…this…this vengeful, mistrustful, irrationally insecure person, and I can’t do anything right because you’ve already decided what my intentions are.”

“I want you to stay with Comet,” he says suddenly.

“I can’t, Aemond.”

“In Tokyo you asked me what I want, so now I’m telling you. I want you to stay.”

“Why, so you can sometimes love me and sometimes hate me, and refuse to build a new life for yourself, and relive what happened at the Budokan over and over and over again because that’s the background noise of everything you do now? Why?”

He gestures vaguely. “So we can figure things out.”

“I’m figured out, Aemond! You’re the one who isn’t and I can’t help you anymore, you have to do it for yourself, you have to want it!”

“You’ve never wanted to stay with me. You’re a liar, you’re a user. I’m glad Comet could fill that gap in your resume.” He takes a forceful drag and exhales smoke that the wind snatches away. “All you do is keep things from me.”

Venomous, violent disappointment blooms dark and scarlet in your veins. “You have no idea how much I’ve kept from you.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

You watch him, mourn him, commit him to memory for when you can’t see him anymore, every thread of him, miraculous and doomed. Saint Jude, you think, a man your parents as good Southern Baptists do not pray to. You tell Aemond: “You’re a lost cause.”

“And you’re a nobody.”

You turn away from him like ripping a page in two. You don’t want anyone to see the tears welling up in your eyes, escaping down your cheeks, marking you as someone who was weak enough to believe you could save him. You know that’s not the way it works, you know people have to be willing to accept the truths you help them uncover like prehistoric bones. Still, you believed in him. Why? Why?

Because I wanted to. Because I love him.

Your flip flops pound against the soil of the driveway, raindrops leaving spots like freckles, dust flying everywhere. You swipe at the tears that blur your vision. When you are far enough away that nobody can see you from the farmhouse, you rest your trembling hands on your belly. The life in progress there is half-built of Aemond, you carry pieces of him around with you like coins jangling in you pocket. You can’t forget him. You can’t forgive him. It shouldn’t be possible to be so close to somebody and yet so far away.

There’s no one out on Route 210. Your flip flops cross from a dirt road to black pavement. You lose track of how long you’ve been walking. Five minutes, ten minutes, it doesn’t matter. What are minutes when your mind is years away?

How will I keep Aegon in my life without tabloids finding out about the baby? What will I tell my child when they ask who their father is?

A vicious wind, so strong it snaps branches from trees and almost knocks you over. And then you hear it, that sound that every inhabitant of the Lower Midwest knows: a deep rumbling like a train. You peer up into a sky that is dark and murderous and glowing a strange sickly green. And above your head, spiraling with increasing speed: a funnel cloud, an emergent tornado.

~~~~~~~~~~

Criston is herding everyone towards the cellar, bellowing, waving frantically: Aegon, Luke, Rhaena, Jace, Baela, Cregan, Daeron, five yelping Australian cattle dogs. Through the window, they can see the tornado approaching the farmhouse, a column of shadowy atmospheric fury, unpredictable and unstoppable, here and then gone, the meteorological version of a comet.

Aemond slams the door as he sprints inside from the field behind the house. He breaths heavily, his chest heaving as his clear right eye studies the band’s panicked faces. “Where is she?”

“What the fuck do you mean ‘where is she’?!” Aegon pitches back. “She was with you! She’s with you, right?!”

Aemond looks at Aegon, looks through the glass at the tornado, grabs the keys to his 1960 Gold Star off the dining room table.

~~~~~~~~~~

You’re running, but you can’t see; there’s dust and debris everywhere, there are pieces of trees and fences careening through the air, when you breath you choke on airborne earth. The wind keeps pushing you off the road and then you have to fight your way back. You have to find your parents’ driveway. You have to get to the house. The sun is gone, and the roaring like a freight train is louder, louder, louder. And now there is another sound too, a different sort of growling, mechanical and familiar. Punching through the haze like a bullet, Aemond and his Gold Star screech to a stop beside you.

“Get on!” he screams over the storm, then helps drag you onto the seat behind him. You link your arms around his waist and then you’re flying together, just like Rome, just like before Reykjavik or Paris or Singapore or Tokyo or East Rutherford or Las Vegas or any of the other cities happened, back when you believed you could cure him like a witch with a spell, back when you wanted him in a way that was unburdened by truths you wish you didn’t know.

The Gold Star rockets by trees, utility poles, fence posts seconds before they are ripped from the ground by 200 miles per hour winds. Aemond steers roughly onto the dirt road of your parents’ driveway. You cling to him, breathing him in: smoke, cologne, memories, nightmares, dreams. In the rearview mirror is a maelstrom of dark, churning grey peppered with wreckage.

Something collides with the motorcycle, a pence post, a tree limb, you don’t know, it doesn’t matter. The Gold Star is knocked off the driveway like a bloodied tooth from a jaw. You sail off of it as it begins to roll; you hit the ground hard on your back, loose a pitiful wounded howl, try to start crawling towards the farmhouse.

“No, stay down, stay down!” Aemond is saying over the roar of the tornado. He covers you, he shields you, he pins you to the ground, he puts his hands over your eyes. The last thing you see is the Gold Star lying on its side a few yards away, its wheels still rotating. It’s over 400 pounds, too heavy for Aemond to lift even if you helped him, even if that couldn’t hurt the baby.

The baby?? Your own hands go to your belly. You try to ascertain if the heat throbbing in your back has traveled anywhere else, reached with blood-red, needle-sharp talons to your child, to your future.

The wind is letting up; is that your imagination? No, the tornado is receding, the debris fall to the earth, the deafening runaway train made of rogue air evaporates. Cautiously, Aemond rises from you. When you look at him, the right side of his face is riddled with shallow, bleeding gashes; but his eye is mercifully unharmed.

“Aemond,” you say, pained, reaching for him, trying to clean the blood from his face with your sleeves, a hoodie with some boy band on it, men you don’t know and don’t care to meet, fantasies that pale in comparison to the reality that stains you like rust.

“I’m fine, are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I think so…”

They come stampeding down the driveway: Criston, the rest of Comet, the barking Australian cattle dogs.

“Oh my God, they’re alive!” Jace exclaims, and soon everyone is there, surrounding you and Aemond like a circle, a ring, an orbit, something that goes around and around and might fade but never ends.

You aren’t worried about the baby. There’s no cramping, no pain except the throbbing in the curve of your back, blood loosed and then trapped, indigo bruises tattooed under your skin like ink. You press your palms to the earth and brace yourself so you can stand. No one is helping you get up; why is no one helping you? Why are they only staring, gasping, covering their mouths with shaking hands?

“You’re bleeding,” Aemond says, a panicked voice through fog. Slowly, like trying to run in a dream, you look down. There are thin rivulets of scarlet snaking their way down your thighs, calves, shins, ankles, painless ruinous tributaries, constellations unraveling until the patterns cease to exist, no myths, no monsters, no men, just senseless pinpricks of distant light you’ll never know the names of.

“No,” you whisper, like you can stop it from happening if you refuse to believe it, like it’s a mistake you can talk yourself out of. You gaze up at Aegon. Knowledge flies between you, something shared like an heirloom or an oath.

“Call an ambulance,” Aegon says to Cregan. “Tell them that she’s…” His eyes dart to Aemond and then back to you. “Tell them to hurry.”

Aemond is holding you, he is touching your face, he is asking: “Are you cut, do you need stitches—?”

“I’m alright, it’s nothing, it’s—”

“What are you talking about?! It’s not nothing, you’re bleeding, why are you bleeding?”

“Aemond, it’s nothing—”

“Tell me what to do, tell me how to help you!”

“It’s just…” And a sob breaks from your throat, and your words are brittle and splintering, and you can’t lie to him anymore. You’re out of time in so many ways. “It’s just the baby.”

#aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x y/n #aemond x reader #aegon ii #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen ii

302 notes · View notes

guy-in-a-dress · 1 year

Text

Rating the main M*A*S*H crew on their hugging abilities

1. Hawkeye

The hugger of all time

Probably picks you up n hops around with you while yelling about whatever the fuck he's being insane about at the moment

The skinny arms lowkey dig into your everywhere but it's worth it

9/10

2. Trapper

Beefy teddy bear

IDC if he said he's out of shape in that one ep I can see that beef. Muscly ppl are some of the best huggers

WILL spin you. He probably sends the kids that hang around around the camp into orbit when he's in a good mood

10/10

3. BJ

Father figures give the best hugs

Also something about that mustache make him feel significantly huggier idk why

He'd probably jump around like Hawkeye or at the very least shake you like a rag doll

You know you've had a good hug if you feel mildly concussed afterwards

10/10

4. Henry

What did I say about father figures

His office is open for hugs as long as he's not on the phone with his wife

He'd be real confused going into it tho

"Arms over the shoulder- oh no around the waist okay"

Also whatever is in those vest pockets would poke you

8/10

5. Potter

Grandpa. Need I say more

Not to mention he's a horse girl(gender neutral), who are known for being excellent at hugs

Unfortunately he smells like an antique barn but that comes with the job of being your friendly neighborhood horse grandpa

9/10

6. Frank

Unpopular opinion time but I genuinely think he's capable of being a great hugger

Like he needs SOME type of positive trait to balance out his cartoonishly evil persona so I think this is a bone I'm willing to throw

He'd probably be that relative that you let hug you bc you feel kind of bad for him

Then he ruins the moment by saying the most horrifying shit imaginable

That and he always seems to be in a cold sweat no matter the weather

7/10

7. Margaret

A good hugger when it counts

Isn't one for hugging or physical touch beyond sex

However

She will not hesitate to hug a patient or child if she's asked or if she feels it's necessary

If she's in a good mood she'll hug a nurse who's having a hard time

7/10

8. Charles

The repressed of all time

Will not give hugs unless he's mega drunk

Probably wasn't hugged enough as a child

If someone else initiates he'll probably complain but eventually reciprocate like the antagonist-turned-bitchy-roommate he is

Definitely get "disgusting. Do it again" vibes from him esp in later seasons

5/10

9. Radar

Nope

Look I'm definitely a "southerners and midwesterners give the best hugs" truther but this boy is a limp noodle

You'd get an arm around the shoulder if you're lucky

He's probably bad at handshakes too

Won't initiate unless he's on the verge of tears or losing his mind with hype

4/10

10. Father Mulcahy

Since he's a priest I'm choosing to count him as a father figure and by this point you know what I think about dad hugs

He's 100% DTH(down to hug) and won't bring it up again afterwards (he counts hugs as silent confessions)

He'd probably do the 'rocking back n forth' thing too if he thinks it's necessary

11/10

11. Klinger

Fuck yeag

Is a lot like Mulcahy in that he will hug anyone he thinks needs it

Also probably has several handkerchiefs on his person just in case you need to cry

If he's upset he'll probably squeeze you like a stress ball without realizing but that shit's therapeutic

10/10

#not to worry potter will probably teach radar how to give a good handshake #hawkeye pierce #trapper mcintyre #bj hunnicutt #henry blake #colonel potter #frank burns #margaret houlihan #charles emerson winchester iii #radar o'reilly #father mulcahy #mashposting #mash #mash tv #myposting #maxwell klinger

423 notes · View notes

exhuastedpigeon · 4 months

Text

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by @wikiangela @daffi-990 @devirnis - thanks friends :)

More NHL AU today. The speed dating scene was supposed to be like 1000 words... it's already 1.6k and it's not done yet soooo that's going well.

A couple fun facts - the IKEA meatballs are mentioned because one of my favourite Swedish players mentioned once that when he was really homesick during his first couple NHL seasons he'd go to IKEA. Also, Burrito Boyz is a real chain in Southern Ontario and it isn't as bad as you're thinking it is.

Buck bursts out laughing even though it wasn't that funny and can’t seem to stop until he catches Taylor’s eye and sees her glaring. He pulls himself together and looks down at the next card in front of him. “Okay, w-what’s your favorite food?” “My abuela’s pozole,” Eddie says without missing a beat. “And my mormor’s köttbullar.” “I’m so uncultured,” Buck mutters and then raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent plea for him to elaborate. “Köttbullar is Swedish meatballs, kind of like the kind you get at IKEA, only better and my mormor’s are the best.” Eddie tells him with a grin. “Have you really never had pozole?” “I grew up in Markham, Ontario man,” Buck says with a shrug. “We don’t really have much in terms of good Mexican food. I mean, I’ve had Taco Bell and don’t get me started on Burrito Boyz.” “Buck I need you to shut up before I swear in this family friendly video,” Eddie looks half exasperated, half fond as he speaks. “Pozole is a perfect dish. It’s a soup made with hominy and meat and then you can garnish it with chili peppers and other stuff, I like mine to have a little heat. Abuela makes it for family get-togethers and sometimes when you’re sick, it takes her hours but it's so f- freaking good.” “So we need to go to IKEA and then to your abuela's for dinner?” Buck asks with a grin. “I’ll ask Abuela to make pozole if you promise to never call Taco Bell Mexican food again,” Eddie says, leaning his elbows on the table and meeting Buck’s eye. He still looks mildly offended, which is fair. “We live in L.A. We can get great Mexican food here.” “Deal,” Buck extends a hand and Eddie rolls his eyes, but shakes it. “Can you two read the questions on the table please?” Taylor asks, her voice cheerful but her face look might actually be able to kill them. “Sure can, TayKay,” Buck grins at her over his shoulder and turns back to Eddie. “Well, read me a question, Diaz.”

no pressure tagging @thewolvesof1998 @hippolotamus @jeeyuns @watchyourbuck @monsterrae1 @loserdiaz @cal-daisies-and-briars @callmenewbie @wildlife4life @spotsandsocks @rosieposiepuddingnpie @acountrygirlsfun @steadfastsaturnsrings @underwater-ninja-13 @king-buckley @butchdiaz @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @eddiebabygirldiaz @princessfbi and anyone else who wants to share!

#buddie #buddie wip #tease tidbit tuesday #tidbit tuesday #my wip #wip: going five hole

84 notes · View notes

whatitshouldvebeen · 7 months

Note

Why is Johnny so beautiful and sexy? ♥️♥️

I fell in lust with Johnny the moment I saw him. Let's do an in-depth analysis on why he's so gorgeous, shall we? Here's a picture I'll be using for reference-

Physical features

That ass

That ASS omfg

He's got hunter eyes—his brow being low makes his eyes look dangerous and predator-like

He smirks quite a bit, everyone knows smirks are sexy as fuck

Dark eyes and dark hair is a killer combination (no pun intended)

His eyebrows are sharp and low, giving a perpetual, mildly pissed off expression we slasher simps love

It might be just me, but I think his nose is hot too, like the curve of it looks like it might have been broken at one point

His lips are just full enough to bite 😈

He's got a real toothy grin with pronounced canines

Slicked back hair is sexy as fuck. I can't really express why, but a lot of my faves have that hairstyle. Maybe it shows they put some effort into their appearance?

Angular jawline with high cheekbones? Slay me now

He's got muscles but they aren't bulging or overwhelming, they look like muscles that came from hard work

Speaking of bulging, have you SEEN the front of this man's jeans? He is packing like 7-8 inches minimum

The perfect amount of stubble lines that gorgeous jawline

The amount of scars this man has makes me think he probably fights for fun, maybe he even lets victims get the upper hand or find a weapon only to still beat them in the end. Hot.

He's tall, and physically intimidating

I think he's mixed white and Korean based off his eyes, double hot.

Dat ass💋

Personality/Non-Physical Features

His voice is deep as fuck. (I wish he sounded more Texan though. He sounds like Albert Wesker IMO, not that I don't love Wesky I just think he isn't southern enough.)

He's got supreme confidence. "Nobody escapes me."

He seems playful, like how he said "Hey there!" To Maria when he grabbed her camera. Silly murder baby 👉👈

I like how he treats Bubba, he's rather kind to him.

When he walks slowly he's got swagger to his step 🤤

I think if all stalkers were even 50% as hot as Johnny people would have a lot less of an issue with being stalked tbh

He's charming, and used to pulling women, so he's clearly got game.

Definitely manipulative and narcissistic, but I'm here for it, manipulate me every second of every day pwese Johnny 🥺

When he says, "That's it, die for me!" It makes me wish I could die for him fr

#johnny slaughter #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre game #johnny sawyer #tcm

90 notes · View notes

narrativelysignificantturtleduck · 7 months

Note

ok i know the sex ed post was ages ago but I saw it in your most liked tab and it got me thinking, particularly with zukka, that even though they had sex ed they wouldn't have had gay sex ed. zuko grew up with sailors + the royal family in homophobic fire nation, and sokka got probably taught by gran gran about having babies. so all i can think is that if they decided to take that step when older, they are gonna have no clue what to do. queue sokka very very awkwardly shuffling up to bato who he knows is in a relationship with his dad and saying can I ask a question. promise not to laugh at me. except bato is less amused and more mildly horrified that sokka has chosen him to answer these questions

oh my god yeah. like, i'm not sure gran-gran's sex ed would've been heteronormative - depends on what you think the southern water tribe's attitudes are - but there's a very strong possibility that sokka, as a sexist teenage boy who thought he was straight, may have been like GRAN-GRAN EWWW STOP LALALA I'M NOT LISTENING

like the convo went: here's how babies happen -> sometimes grown-ups do this without the intent to make babies -> people can also do it with people of the same physical sex -> sokka running away screaming

he now regrets that.

for zuko, i think he might have. um. hands-on experience. y'know. on the ferry. with jet. does that prepare him for being in an actual relationship? probably not.

i'm not sure either of them would want to ask for guidance tbh. both of them canonically have experience with women (azula saying "mai seems to be in a good mood lately" had an undertone to it, sokka and suki in "the southern raiders") and zuko has some experience with men, so they'd probably just assume it's fine. figure it out as they go. it can't be that hard, right?

that said the image of sokka asking bato for advice on having gay sex is SO funny. bato knew he was signing up to be a dad when he started dating hakoda but he didn't think he'd have to give The Talk. also he has to be really careful about what examples he uses since his current gay sex partner is sokka's dad. (i imagine bato had some other relationships, but they all ended bc they realized he'd never value them above hakoda.) also sokka is asking specifically because he wants to have sex with the fire lord and like bato knew they were dating but he's never gonna get over how weird his life is now. "my stepson is asking me advice on gay sex so he can fuck the fire lord". truly wild.

meanwhile zuko has started spending time at piandao's bc he needs a father figure since iroh fucked off to ba sing se (plus piandao knows fire nation politics & can help him navigate being the fire lord) so he walks in one day and is like "yeah i have a question. not about politics but uhh. personal stuff" and piandao's like "oh what is it" and zuko tells him and piandao is like "i'm so honored you're asking me" and goes to his library and finds him a guide to gay sex that got banned in the fire nation but piandao managed to find a copy (he has a lot of illegal gay lit) and hands it to him like. go have fun kiddo. i'm rooting for you guys.

the other possibility is that suki (who is still dating sokka, they have an open relationship) finds out they want to have sex and knowing the state of their sex ed decides that they need a Lesson. it's a very good lesson because kyoshi island has very good queer positive sex ed but sokka has some interesting feelings about his girlfriend teaching him how to have sex with his boyfriend. not bad feelings. just interesting

ANYWAYS this is a fun topic and thank you for the mental image of sokka asking bato about gay sex

#ask #nina's personal log #sokka #zukka

57 notes · View notes

oxygen-stealer · 11 months

Text

Scriddler fic recommendations!!!

Stay (2017) by iammemyself

Rating: General

49,873 words, 11/11 chapters (discontinued)

Arkhamverse

After Arkham Knight, Jonathan and Edward move to Canada together, where the full weight of Edward's grief crashes down on the both of them.

This fic is fucking miserable in the best way possible. It feels so grey and depressing like almost the entire time even with its ups and downs. Things get better, but it's fucking hard. Legit among my favorite fics. Also Jon's so obscenely old here I love it lmfao. (There's also a Stay (2016) I haven't actually looked at, might be a prequel or smthn idk)

I'm With You by nonbinaryspock

Rating: Mature

50,684 words, 35/35 chapters

Jonathan and Edward rekindle their somewhat messy relationship from their college years. Things are still a bit messy but they've at least got some hindsight.

Hella angsty, they're both so horribly dysfunctional <3 (specifically Jonathan will just say/think the absolute wildest shit and then just go on like that's normal). I really just love how visceral their emotions can be.

Runs In The Family by ChaoticMimzy

Rating: Mature

8,703 words, 5/5 chapters

Edward's father dies and he goes to his funeral (solely to be there for his sister, mind you) where he grapples with past trauma and catholic guilt.

Very very rogues podcast coded (highest compliment). It's mostly Edward-centric and doesn't focus on the scriddler too much but it's still worth a read. Edward's rage towards his childhood circumstances is so potent and agonizing I love it so much. He should get to kill god a little bit imo

(More below)

Let me play you a song on my violin by batmanforeverlol

Rating: Teen

7,206 words, 1/1 chapters

Ghost AU. Edward is a retired criminal turned private investigator who finds himself running through a cemetery, where he meets a man playing a violin.

Ngl I cried super hard reading this but it's also one of my absolute favorites. Why would you write this? Why would you hurt me in this way? (It's really sweet but also really fucking sad, you should read it. Share my pain)

Terminal by iammemyself, promethea (Aerosol)

Rating: General

7,073 words, 1/1 chapters

Edward gets brain cancer again, this time the Lazarus pits aren't gonna help him.

As you could imagine, this fic is just sad from start to finish. I cried so fucking much reading it its not even funny.

He Just Likes The Rush by Human_Resourccs

Rating: General

16,072 words, 9/9 chapters

Jonathan's thrill-seeking brings him some interesting company. (Or, as I know it: the fic where a fucking spider lives in Jonathan's hair for months and Edward still lets him touch him. If that's not love I don't know what is)

Sapiophile by XavIniesta685

Rating: Mature

17,529 words, 3/3 chapters

The Moon Is Not Made Of Cheese by Stry_Shttu

Jonathan has given up in every sense and is about to leave Gotham until a series of events change his mind. A lot of "falling in love within a day" fics can feel kinda forced but this one flows really naturally.

Rating: Teen

7,820 words, 1/1 chapters

Arkhamverse

Edward is lonely, Jonathan goes to see him while also being Jason Todd's really lame dad. A good mix of sweet and silly.

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side by 30PacketsofKetchup

Rating: Teen

21,542 words, 8/? chapters (this fic hasn't been updated in like 5 years so be ready for that specific brand of agony)

Teenager AU. Jonathan meets the mildly annoying new boy in town and they bond.

I looove this fic so much I'm absolutely heartbroken that it wasn't ever finished. Idk the vibes are nice and I love how flustered young Jon gets when he's got a crush.

South of Hell by nonbinaryspock

Rating: Teen

14,194 words, 35/35 chapters

Teenager AU. No one in their awful little town likes Edward or Jonathan, but they've at least got eachother. Very southern gothic.

Exit Wounds by nonbinaryspock

Rating: Teen

18,066 words, 38/38 chapters

Demon/supernatural AU. Edward is a private investor and his demon ex-boyfriend suddenly shows up after 5 years in need of a place to stay. Edward is thoroughly unimpressed.

I'm in love with this AU big time, it's got some pretty neat world building. I also love how distinctive the characterizations here are. BAH I'm not great at describing but it's very angsty and good.

Frighteningly Unprofessional by bookynerdgoblin

Rating: Mature

28,412 words, 11/11 chapters

One of Jonathan's students knows about his unethical experiments, however instead of reporting him, he offers to help in exchange for his partnership. Things spiral from there. Edward is purposefully being super obvious and Jonathan talks to his cat like a person.

Words by scarecrowv

Rating: General

4,651 words, 1/1 chapters

Edward's daughter keeps calling Jon "mama" and he has no idea how to handle it, aka psychology professor Dr Jonathan Crane talks to a 2 year old like an adult.

A Case Study in Step-Parenting by Ifthinkerwrites

Rating: General

16,053 words, 5/5 chapters

Another lil scriddler family fic, Jonathan navigates step-parenthood :)

Sitzfleisch by SproxGrail

Rating: Mature

1,205 words, 1/? chapters

Jonathan is living in Edward's walls and talks about him like a little freak. I need this fic to update again please please please it's so creepy I'm in love with it

Some series to look at as well!

Memoryverse by Enigmatic_Robin

Rating: General

15,393 words, 11 works

A bit more of a psychological horror/thriller than a romance. Jonathan is manipulating Edward into complete dependency. It seems easy while Edward is in love with him, but he'd better watch out for when that veil slips.

Scriddler Family AU by Enigmatic_Robin

Rating: General

17,722 words, 9 works

Scarecrow and Riddler end up raising Stephanie Brown and Tim Drake. And all the shenanigans that come with that.

Love Me Dead by lymongrab

Rating: Explicit

25,624 words, 6 works

Kinda just a nice progression in Jonathan and Edward's relationship with some added spice here and there. Mostly pretty sweet.

Arkhamverse by iammemyself

Rating: General

354,608 words, 28 works

In which Edward and Jonathan's relationship is a bit complicated, but Edward is also a robot dad!!

(Everything from here is nsfw centric)

This section would be longer but i actually found out the person who wrote some nsfw fics i really liked was actually a proshipper weirdo so I'm not including those. Why can't people be normal

Kiss The Go-Goat by korereapers

Rating: Explicit

5,203 words, 1/1 chapters

Demon AU. Edward summons a demon and gets a little carried away

Shout out to this fic for getting me into Ghost, the only band I ever listen to now lmfao. Anyway I'm a big sucker for anything involving monster/demon/creature!Jon

Connected by korereapers

Rating: Explicit

6,458 words, 1/1 chapters

A hookup gets wayyy more emotional than expected. But, y'know, they're not in love or anything. Right?

Comfort by curiouscorvid (prometheanTactician)

Rating: Explicit

4,866 words, 1/1 chapters

Mad Max AU. Edward is traversing the wasteland, where he finds and helps a desperate escapee.

I've found that Mad Max AUs are always so sad no matter what even though the movie itself is kinda silly lmfao.

worldly pleasures by leetheshark

Rating: Explicit

3,227 words, 1/1 chapters

Arkhamverse

Jonathan doesn't really know how to handle any sensation that isn't painful.

#so many of these are super sad im sorry #but they're GOOD #you should read all of these #i'm too nervous to tag people but idk if any of these authors see this hello you're cool #scriddler #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #fic rec #oxy talks-y

90 notes · View notes

dealwithadeer · 2 months

Note

The thought that Husk and Alastor knew each other in life and the mystery of why Husk is alive.

It has made me think that maybe it's not just that they were friends in life but that Alastor was looking to regain everything he lost in life and make it better.

Like, alastor dies and everything he had in life he loses and now in hell he's looking to get it back and improve it (his radio show for example) and Husk is among those things.

Personally, from what I remember from the wikis they died in the different time periods and different states with Alastor near New Orleans and Husk near Las Vegas i doubt that they ever actually met but it is a rather interesting AU.

Here is a bit of fic for you as a 'thank you' for your ask and me loving your idea of Alastor trying to recreate his past just better:

Alastor loves the past. His past, to be precisely. Maybe there is still a part of him that is mortal and refuses to fully acknowledge just how long he has been in Hell and that he is going to be stuck there until the day he stops to exist or maybe he simply saw the time period he has spent on Earth as the peak of human society.

And with this love of the past comes a certain hatred towards change and an inability to let things go. Something, which Husk could certainly attest to.

There was no real label to describe what he and Alastor were when they were alive. They knew more about each other than any other person, although this did not mean much for Husk since he had a lot of fellow gambling aquaintances but no real close friends. Meanwhile, Alastor had a few close female friends like Mimzy, but they only saw certain sides of the Radio host. Husk had the questionable privilige of witnessing and surviving the sides of Alastor that were a little bit .. unfitting for a southern gentleman. Although that setiment may very depending on ones own definition of a 'southern gentleman'.

And while Alastor kept most of his circle around with providing entertainment, protection and good company Husk was kept by Alastors through a variety of .. other methods. Manipulation that Husk waas very quick to bullshit on when he dared, threats and outbursts but also an unwavering bond between them that Alastor tied around Husks neck like a leash.

When it finally come to the surface that Alastor a murdered seriel murderer, Husk had felt like celebrating. He was free, free to go away from this place, free to actually pursue another relationship, free to...

A few months later Husk found himself in front of a dirty mirror in a small room in some run-down motel, completely drunk and out of his mind with Alastors voice in his head.

'Oh, my poor poor friend. Have I not always told you that you need me. Now look at you all by yourself.'

Husks life continued that way, although he could not particularly say that it was all bad. When luck had been on his side, it had really let him feel the highs of life.

Still, when he found himself in Hell after he died he was only mildly surprised. He was not afraid to admit that he was greedy and his alcoholism could certainly count for gluttony. But he doubted that his addictions had much to do with his current predicament.

It was probably all the bodies he buried or tore apart with Alastor. All the times he had thougth about saving Alastors next victim or to go to the police and do or say .. something but he never did.

Husk just really hoped that Alastor would never find him.

Alastor meanwhile knew that he would him sooner or later.

in his own eyes, he had made Husk and he had made sure that by being his accomplice in so many things that Husk was just as destined for this place like he was.

It would all just be a matter of time.

Keeping a 'low profile' quickly proved to be rather boring and after a few thefts and some games that were in his favour from the very beginning Husk was sarting to live better than he had thought.

He quickly learned that he could even more and get people to work for him if he got them to gamble away their souls. Of course, there was a part of him that was able to see how messed up this was but the powert trip this all gave him was just to good to pass up.

Besides, this was Hell. He was not doing to innoncent people, he was instead just .. carrying out their punishment. And when compared to some of the other Overlords he was actually quite generous to his souls. They just had to help him build his own casino and take care of it for him.

When he had developed his own territority and made a name of himself, he found an invitation being brought to him.

It had been handed to him personally, by the Radio Demon himself who had arrived in his casino one day without any previous annoncement.

Alastor actually liked the Casino, it was clearly trying to set itself apart from all the other gambling spots in the Pride Ring by actually providing something called 'atmosphere', stepping into felt liek stepping into a little world and place of its own only helped by the complete lack of window and lighting that always made one feel like it was the middle of the day. Just so that none of the customers would ever be able to tell how much time and money they have already spent in this place. The owner of the place also clearly had a liking towards the color yellow but Alastor could not really judge anyone of making their favorite part of their theme when his entire suit was red. The music was always not exactly bad and Alastor was pleasently surprised that it was actually provided life.

And he seemed to have just the luck that the very owner, a cat demon with wings, what a rare speciman (Alastor wondered what he would taste like) was giving some of his costumers who were looking for another kind of entertainment in the form of a classy saxophone solo between their games. Alastor ordered a drink and sat down on one of the suddenly free chairs.

His smile widened as he recognized the song the song the cat was playing. Of course he would recognize it, he must have heard it a hundred times before. Had heard when it was being practices and he had heard it when his Husker had first played it in front of a audience (him and some of Alastors friends in a bar).

That was of course, only a mild suspicion, but when Husk ended his little show by making the saxophone disappear and reappear in another place in the casino, was Alastor absolutely sure that he had found his Husker.

And while he should be happy for his friend to have made it big, a part of Alastor would have preferred to have found him cold and desperate banging on the Radio Demons door in the middle of the night in the hopes alone that Alastor would help him.

Because this would make a few things a bit more difficult but maybe also more entertaining.

To Alastor, his own body is already an improvement mainly because he is a whole lot more intimidating and powerful than he was alive. Being able to turn into monstrous beings was also another advantage.

Huskers afterlife form was also a huge improvement. In his lifetime as Alastor had known him Husker had possessed a bit of a rogueish handsomeness, but now he was almost.. perfect.

#there will be more #just wanted to answer your ask #love the thought of Alastor wanting to #make his Hell-life into an improved and perfecto form of his earth-life

24 notes · View notes

findafight · 10 months

Note

STOBIN AS DRIFT COMPATIBLE BESTIES FIGHTING KAIJU!!!

OKAY OKAY BUT. post canon au where the Breach opens in the early nineties instead of 2013, and eventually when the Jaeger Program is just in the fledgling stages, right at the start when they figure out the drift and sharing the load, some American government goon looks at another, and they're both thinking the same thing. They know a couple chucklefucks who are scarily in tune with each other that already have monster fighting experience. The problem is of course the chucklefuckery and also they. Hate the government.

But they figure yknow. May as well try to get the actually very good at killing monsters the military can't clowns. They need people willing to go into deathtraps and fight giant monsters, and those two have done that a few times before. They need people that can connect to each other while also fighting without dying, and figure those two are a prime example. So after a lot of government groveling and Robin and Steve slamming the door in multiple suits' faces, they eventually agree to at least...see what it's all about. Because they heard about the attack in San Francisco on K-day, about Manila and Cabo San Lucas and Syndney, and it was all bad, and as much as they dislike and distrust the government and military...they do want to help (and the pay is...good). It was probably only a matter of time before their luck in avoiding monsters ran out anyway. At least this way they had some control of how.

So Steve and Robin are in the Jaeger Academy almost as soon as it opens. It's...an adjustment. They're obviously not the regular type to join, mostly its a bunch of men who were maybe ex military or something, and they stick out. Training is a pain in the ass, they've spent the years between the upside down closing lounging and working and starting to relax, and so there's the expected heckling.

(I want them to meet Newt and Herman so bad like. they'd be around the same age as them (because we are bumping everything in PR canon back for this) and I think the combo punch of Newt and Robin being themselves would be hilarious. They're all kinda outsiders in the macho militarism of the Academy and i think the chaos would just be. unimaginable. )

But anyways. I think during the testing to see drift compatibility, Steve is called up and looks the scientist/military guy (because it's early days there aren't really "instructors" yet) and says "If you even think about putting me in one of those fucking things with anyone other than Robin, you've lost your mind and forgotten we're only here because you asked us to be together." Everyone is like ooooooh but then he squints at them and they shut up like oh damn okay sorry yeah.

And that's the end of that discussion.

There's something about being in the drift with each other that makes all that complaining and speculating and wishing to combine when they were teenagers seem half-assed. It's...not like anything either of them can describe. It feels right, like they were always meant to be that way. If they lived in each other's pockets before the Drift, they're in each other's skin now. Silent communication is expected for long-term drift partners. Residuals of the bond, dream sharing, but Robin and Steve, even among other pilots are exceptional. There's entire discussions happening in brief eye contact. They move in sync outside the Jaeger just as well as if they were still in the Drift. They've only had one RABBIT incident, and they pulled out of it fine. It's...eerie for some people to watch them, even other Pilots. (also the fact they'll casually mention shit like "well at least the air isn't toxic" or "hey. don't call this torture, that's offensive. I've been tortured!" or even "can't believe i survived evil bats for this shit." which is mildly offputting)

They end up on the Pacific northwest and into southern B.C. with a Mach 1 called... something like Midwest Deluge or something idk. They're media darlings the first Kaiju they kill two fifty kilometres off the coast of Washington. Robin is quirky, and Steve has all his midwestern boyish charm, and together they entrance people with the Drift. There's interviews and talkshows and then at some point action figures? (Dustin does not let this go. By this time he's also working in K-sci. [obviously??] but he's still annoying little brother shaped.)

Steve is usually one of the first quoted to describe the Drift, in his first interview having said "When I first met Robin --became friends with her--it felt like we'd known each other our whole lives. Now we have." Robin is also sometimes quoted with "There's probably nowhere I'd rather be, than in Steve's head."

Of course, with them being in the media, being kickass, and also being part of a program that emphasizes compatibility, there's questions on whether or not they're dating. Because while the Drift isn't romantic by nature, my god people would romanticize it. And when two hot people of opposite genders that are not related to each other in any way are piloting the Jaeger, and are just *gestures to all of stobinisms* assumptions abound.

They're in an interview after their third kill when it happens. It's a few years into their tenure as Pilots, maybe '96? (if the Breach opened in '91 and they were recruited in 93?) The host asks "So. romantically. You two have always denied that attraction, but working so close together, literally in each other's heads, isn't there a chance that has blossomed into something else? Something more?"

They roll their eyes. Steve says "there's nothing more than what Robin and I have. Romance isn't more it's just something else."

Robin goes "Plus..." Before Steve looks at her, eyebrows raised. "I think so" she says, obviously to a question Steve asked that only she heard. "What are they going to do? Fire me?" they both laugh.

He shrugs. "if you're sure..."

Robin hums. "Yes, well. I agree with everything Steve said. The Drift isn't romantic, it's connection. It's knowing. All sorts of relationships can be Drift compatible. Steve's and mine is Platonic. Capital P."

"You gonna actually say it anytime soon?"

"Shut up."

"I dunno it seems like you're stalling."

"Christ, Steve. I'm getting to it. Let me tell the world I'm a lesbian without nagging, goddamn." She turns to the interviewer. "anyways yeah I'm a lesbian so it was never going to be romantic between me and Steve. I'm just obsessed with him."

There's a pause, before they lean into each other and giggle. Steve whispers "good job" that's barely picked up by his mic.

They get a stern talking to by their Marshal but Robin was right. They can't get fired for it. They're too good and pilots are too valuable for plain ol' homophobia to get in the way. (It's seen as a cornerstone moment in queer history, a Jaeger Pilot, someone the world can do nothing but respect, came out! casually. with an already supportive loved one sitting beside her, ready to laugh with her.) And while some people act weird or distant about it, most move past it pretty quick, considering the Midwest team is well respected and there's obviously the bigger problem of underwater aliens trying to kill everyone. You either get over it and work with them or you leave or get people killed.

By the time of the events of the movie, they're old-timers. They've upgraded once to a Mach 3 after a brutal fight with a high category than expected made Midwest Deluge inoperable. They're in Hong-Kong because where else would they be? They need to end this. Just like they needed to see the Upside Down to the end. Their whole lives have been dominated by fighting for their lives and to protect their home and the world. One last push. They aren't even forty yet.

and then the breach is closed and the world is saved and they can retire with their massive pensions from being the best monster killers ever <3

#stobin #platonic stobin #stranger things #steve harrington #robin buckley #platonic with a capital p #stranger things au #stobin pacific rim au #Anonymous #finda writes stuff #findaanswers #pacific rim au

103 notes · View notes

cha-melodius · 8 months

Note

This is very exciting I can’t wait to read what you come up with.

For me?

Firstprince. A corner office.

(HELLO LOVELY thank you for this prompt, and I hope you enjoy the finished product. 💕)

chamel’s fandom fest info | read all the fics

Step Into My Office, Baby

(firstprince, 2.4k, E; read it below or on AO3)

Henry is staring out the window at the southern end of Central Park when he hears a very familiar cadence of footsteps entering the office behind him. A moment later, Alex gives a low whistle.

“Look at you, Mr Fancy Pants with the corner office,” he says, his voice low and teasing and shot through with fondness.

Henry still winces slightly. “I did try to turn it down.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re an idiot,” Alex says. He’s leaning up against the door frame, his legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded in front of his chest. It’s late in the day, and he’s shed his jacket and rolled his shirt sleeves to the elbow, revealing muscular forearms that Henry can’t keep his gaze from lingering on. When he manages to force his eyes up, Alex is smirking at him. “You earned it, H. Fair and square.”

If anyone had told Henry two years ago that this moment would happen, he would have laughed in their face. To say he and Alex did not get along at first would be putting it mildly. Or rather, Alex resented Henry and everything he embodied, and Henry saw the benefit of keeping Alex at a distance even as they were forced to share an office. Then, getting accidentally locked in the building overnight together yielded a tentative truce, and a fast friendship had bloomed in its wake. It’s been lovely and also dreadful, because now Henry is constantly forced to weather his warm smiles and his teasing smirks and his bloody forearms.

The owner of which is currently flopping bodily onto Henry’s new couch and wiggling his hips in a completely obscene manner as he gets comfortable.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna fucking live in here,” Alex tells him as he stretches his arms up and tucks his hands behind his head.

Yes, nothing to worry about at all.

~~~~~

The corner office comes with promotion and a whole heap of new responsibilities, and Henry quite quickly finds himself drowning in work beyond the long hours he’s used to spending with Alex at the office. He’s in the middle of a particularly terrible stretch at the moment, the looming deadline somehow simultaneously the light at the end of the tunnel and the headlamp of an oncoming train. Alex has been in the thick of it too, working late nights beside him, though that apparently doesn’t include tonight.

Henry loves him—truly, to his endless misery—but he needs to work, not listen to Alex chattering aimlessly while he sits on Henry’s couch tossing M&Ms into the air and catching them in his mouth.

“I was thinking about Thai,” he says, as if it isn’t gone one in the morning. “D’you think Noodies is still open?”

“No,” Henry huffs. They’ve been closed for three hours, and Alex knows this. “Why are you still here, anyway?” he snaps without meaning to, immediately regretting it when Alex’s face falls.

“Well, I was keeping you company and making sure you don’t collapse into an endless spiral of work like a fucking black hole, but I guess Mr Corner Office is too important to need anyone’s help,” Alex sneers, pushing himself angrily to his feet.

Christ, they haven’t spoken to each other like this since that horrible first year, and even more than the work, that’s what finally breaks Henry. Alex is halfway to the door by the time Henry catches him by the elbow, and he jerks out of Henry’s grasp immediately. Thankfully, he does stop, though the glare he levels at Henry does a poor job at masking the hurt written on his face.

“Alex, wait,” Henry pleads. He lets out a heavy sigh, dragging a hand over his face. Christ, he’s too bloody exhausted for this. “I’m sorry. It’s just this project is driving me batty. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”

“Well,” Alex says, fidgeting as he frowns down at the ground. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” He sighs as he looks up again. “But I get it. They’re putting too much on you.”

Henry reaches out and puts a tentative hand on his elbow again; this time, he’s not shrugged off. “Can you forgive the stuck up prick in the corner office who takes everyone else for granted?”

“That guy?” Alex snorts. “No. But you’re not that guy, H.”

“I feel like him sometimes.”

“C’mere,” Alex mumbles, and the next thing Henry knows he’s being tugged into a tight hug.

It’s not the first time they’ve hugged, but it’s the first time it’s been so fierce, and it feels like it fundamentally shifts something inside Henry. Alex winds his fingers into Henry’s collar and buries his face in his neck, and it’s all Henry can do to hang on like he’s clinging to a life preserver in a storm.

Except somehow, Alex is both the life preserver and the storm.

~~~~~

When the project finally wraps up, it’s a big deal, and the whole office celebrates accordingly.

“Work hard, play hard,” Alex sing-songs with a wink as he fills Henry’s champagne flute again.

He’s been ricocheting around the room, putting that patented Claremont-Diaz charm to good use. There’s almost certainly a promotion with his name on it after all of this, so he has more than enough reason to celebrate. He’s already been teasing Henry about stealing his office. Henry feels jubilant, effervescent like the bubbles bursting in his glass, and he forgets to be self-conscious about the way he watches Alex. Forgets to school his expression. Forgets not to smile too broadly when Alex hooks an arm around his neck and hangs off him like a monkey.

“Hey, hey, c’mere,” Alex says all at once, tugging him toward the door of the massive conference room that’s serving as the party hub.

“You quite literally just poured me a new drink,” Henry points out.

“So bring it with you. C’mon,” he almost whines, which should not be as endearing as it is. He’s unleashing his most devastating giant brown puppy dog eyes. Henry never stood a chance.

“Where are we going?”

“I just need a breather,” Alex sighs heavily. He drags Henry down the office corridors at nearly a jog, until the sounds of chatter and clinking glasses fade away, all the way to the open door of Henry’s office. At Henry’s cocked eyebrow, he laughs. “Best view in the building.”

He doesn’t walk over to the bank of windows, though. Once Henry’s inside the door, he pushes it shut, sealing them off from the rest of the office. Then he returns to Henry’s side and plucks the champagne flute from his hand. He downs half of it in one go, laughs at Henry’s affronted “hey!” as he deposits the glass on the desk, and grabs the fronts of Henry’s jacket before he starts walking backward across the office. Henry can’t help but laugh helplessly at Alex’s chaotic manhandling, at least until Alex stumbles into the couch and he’s dragged down by Alex’s dead weight dropping out from under him. They land in a giggling heap, and Christ, he’s in Alex’s lap, but when he tries to disentangle himself, he feels Alex’s grip go tight at his hip. An arm slides around his waist, loose enough not to be demanding, but firm enough to prevent him from moving away.

Oh.

Startled, he looks down at Alex, whose cheeks are flushed a dusty rose from the champagne and the exertion, who’s breathing heavily through pink lips temptingly parted as he stares back up with his bottomless dark eyes. He isn’t laughing anymore.

“I like this office,” Alex murmurs. “Something about it settles me. When I’m here.” His grip shifts on Henry’s hip, fingers tightening. “With you.”

“Alex,” Henry whispers, barely daring to breathe.

One corner of Alex’s mouth twitches. “Maybe it’s not the office.”

It’s impossible to tell which of them moves first to close the narrow gap between them, lips meeting in a fierce, hungry press that quickly deepens. Alex nearly bites at his lips, dragging his teeth along their inner edges, and it shouldn’t work for him but fuck, it really does. Henry finds himself pressing closer, revelling in the way that Alex’s arms tighten to bring their bodies together as he sinks his fingers into Alex’s curls.

“Christ, I never thought you’d want—” Henry starts, though he doesn’t manage to finish that train or thought before he’s diving in to kiss the corner of Alex’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Alex breathes as he tips his head back to give him better access, “me neither.”

“What?” Henry asks, huffing a soft laugh against his skin.

“I mean, does anyone expect to fall in love with their work nemesis?”

That makes Henry pull back and stare down at him in shock. “You’re—”

“In love with you?” Alex finishes. There’s an impossibly soft look on his face, but it’s undercut by a flicker of nervousness. “Yeah, baby. Head over fucking heels.”

Henry feels himself tremble at baby, which is an entirely novel experience, though perhaps not unexpected given how his usual reaction when Alex teasingly calls him sweetheart. He’s so fucking overwhelmed that the only thing he can manage to do is lean in and kiss Alex again, slow and tender and full of all the words and emotions threatening to choke him. He presses his forehead to Alex’s when they part, and for a moment they just breathe together—unconsciously, perfectly, in sync. It’s everything he never let himself imagine, all those late nights together, all those meetings and emails and coffees delivered with sunny smiles that he refused to read into. Alex is warm and solid under him now, grabbing his waist as they kiss and kiss and it becomes heated again, until he’s rocking his hips up eagerly to meet Henry’s in a way that is rapidly going to become a problem.

Especially since Alex seems to find it not a problem at all.

“Wait, Alex, we can’t—” Henry tries, biting down on a groan when Alex palms over his hardening cock before making quick work of his belt and the fastening of his trousers, “—the windows.”

As if that’s the most troubling thing about them having sex in Henry’s office while half the company is just down the hall.

“We’re on the fiftieth floor, baby, no one’s gonna see,” Alex says, undeterred, grinning wickedly as he slips a hand into Henry’s boxers.

Right, then, that’s… good enough, actually. Henry’s been waiting for this for two and a half bloody years and he’s not really inclined to wait any longer. He kisses the smile off Alex’s face as he sets to work on the buttons of Alex’s shirt, rapidly pulling them open so he can get his hands on more of Alex’s skin. And Christ, he’d known Alex was fit—it’s hard not to know, with how ridiculously tightly cut he wears his suits—but it’s another thing altogether to drag his palms over the swell of his pecs and the hard lines of his stomach. Alex bites down hard on his lower lip when Henry tweaks one of his nipples, then retaliates by twisting his palm with just the right amount of pressure over the head of Henry’s cock. Henry moans as his hips buck up into Alex’s grip, chasing the friction that borders on just this side of too much.

“What do you want, baby?” Alex murmurs against his lips, and ‘everything’ feels like too big a concept in the moment, so Henry chokes out, “Just this, just you—” and lets himself get lost in the feeling of Alex’s hands on his skin. He’s so unbelievably worked up that it’s not long before the tension building in his groin is reaching a breaking point, but it’s looking down that finally does him in—watching the head of his cock appear and disappear within the tight circle of Alex’s long fingers, brown skin against dark pink. He tumbles over the edge with a choked off laugh, clinging desperately to Alex as he works him through it, until he’s hissing at the point of oversensitivity.

For a moment he just breathes, his face buried in Alex’s shoulder, mindful of Alex shifting slightly beneath him even if he’s trying not to be obvious about it.

“Not trying to harsh your afterglow here, but d’ya think you could move so I could get a tissue or something?” Alex asks eventually.

“I’ve got a better idea,” Henry rasps, dropping his hands to the fastenings of Alex’s trousers. He shifts back to get a better angle and tugs Alex’s boxers down enough to release his cock, long and rock hard and leaking at the tip, then takes Alex’s hand covered in his come and wraps it around his shaft with his own, weaving their fingers together.

“Oh,” Alex gasps, his hips immediately rocking up into their combined grip, Henry’s come slicking the way and filling the silence of the office with some of the most obscene sounds Henry’s ever heard.

He lets Alex set the pace, which starts out as a slow drag and rapidly picks up tempo, until Alex is quivering under him and swearing in at least two languages. Alex tips his head back against the couch, and Henry can’t resist ducking down to scrape his teeth along the long column of muscle so temptingly laid bare before him. The movement seems to make every muscle in Alex’s body tense up, and then he’s coming with a “Fuck, baby,” that has Henry groaning along with him.

They clean up quietly, trading soft kisses that they occasionally get lost in, setting each other to rights enough so that they can— well, perhaps not return to the party, but at least leave the building. Henry doubts that their absence has been noticed, anyway.

“Jesus, I’ve been wanting to do that since you got this office,” Alex groans once they’re done, pushing a hand through curls as he stretches slightly where he sits on the couch.

“What, that specifically?” Henry asks, furrowing his brow at him.

“I mean, more or less,” Alex admits. One side of his mouth tugs upward into a smirk. “To be fair I think I’ve imagined every possible way of taking you apart on this couch.”

“Christ, Alex.”

Alex grins broadly and shifts over to press his lips to the corner of Henry’s mouth. “You wanna hear the list?”

“You’re an incorrigible delinquent,” Henry protests, letting himself be drawn into another kiss. Then he leans in, lips brushing the shell of Alex’s ear, and whispers, “Tell me at home.”

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #rwrb fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fic #firstprince fanfic #chamel's fandom fest #my fic

63 notes · View notes

essektheylyss · 9 months

Note

Just wanted to say that your posts on the Southern Reach books inspired me to check them out. I tore through the first one and I'm about halfway through the second - absolutely loving them so far. So thanks!

Any other books like this that you'd recommend?

I'm really glad you're enjoying them! They're definitely on top of my favorite book list at this point, they're absolutely phenomenal.

I have a few, though they're mostly similar by virtue of nebulous vibes—I dunno how much I'd say they're like the Southern Reach books, but they gave me a similar feeling.

What Moves The Dead by T. Kingfisher (who is on tumblr!) is a historical fiction novella in the category of what I lovingly call "fungal horror"; it was the first thing I read in 2023 and it was phenomenal. I think I finished it by noon on New Years. (CW for most of what comes with that particular horror vibe, though I don't think there's anything more than you'd encounter in the Southern Reach.)

The Lathe of Heaven by Ursula K LeGuin is older (as you might imagine) and might seem a bit of an odd line to draw here, but it deals with a post-climate disaster world and has a lot of the same ambiguity that I liked in the Southern Reach. Also plenty of red tape bureaucracy. (CW for unreality and psychological malpractice, and a very vehement one at that; both of those are pretty much the focal point of the plot.)

Piranesi by Susanna Clarke is... pretty indescribable, if I'm being honest, but it concerns a man who lives in and studies a world called The House, which is a series of rooms filled with statues that frequently flood. You will finish it and stare at a wall for a while to process it. (This probably requires a very mild CW for amnesia, but it's not particularly well-described.)

Also, because I am who I am, a nonfiction recommendation: Underland by Robert Macfarlane. It's about underground spaces and deep time and it is genuinely one of the most beautiful books I have ever read in my life. If you want the kind of mildly-fearful awe that the Southern Reach inspires, except applied to the actual world we live in, please read this book. I think it rewired my brain entirety. (CW for claustrophobia, as there are some extensive descriptions of various underground locations, both manmade and geological.)

I also have just barely started the Ambergris Trilogy, also by Jeff VanderMeer, and though I'm not far into it, it's already promising, and I've heard good things!

Also if anyone who sees this has additional recommendations, please feel free to add them; I'd also love to find some more to read with the same vibes.

#southern reach trilogy #enjoy the rest of the trilogy! it does not chill through the end lol

55 notes · View notes

delulumc · 6 months

Text

Pretend Chapter 26: Eye Eye Eyes | Part 2

Son Chaeyoung x Myoui Mina ♡ Pool date in Australia ♡ Suggestive fluff & Deep angst | Set during Ready To Be World Tour (2023) Word count: 4874 | CW: Gender Dysphoria

Read previous chapters on AO3

The sun hung low in the sky, a faded, golden disk that almost allowed you to look at it. Even though dusk was just a handful of hours away, the entire firmament burned with an intense and scorching heat that enveloped everything in an infinite expanse of bright, washed-out blue.

Mina floated in another, smaller blue infinity, facing the sky. Eyes closed, she felt the cold ripples of water lapping at the skin of her back, and the warm radiance of the Australian afternoon baking the front of her body at the same time.

Cold past behind her, warm future ahead. Her mind was still stuck in repetitive, obsessive thoughts, but it wasn’t tortuous memories anymore. It was brimming with possibility, with yearning of a different and more realistic kind. It was possessed by sheer want.

She stopped floating on her back and opened her eyes, turning to her own puddle of sunshine sitting on a sunlounger near the edge of the pool.

“Are you sure you’re not joining me?” Mina asked, not bothering to cover the tinge of neediness in her voice.

“Maybe later,” Chaeyoung answered with a smile. “The chlorine in pool water isn’t good for my bleached hair. I want it to hold out at least a couple more years before going entirely bald.”

Mina chuckled, hiding her mouth behind a small, elegant hand out of habit. Chaeyoung had complained about it before, saying she wanted to see every second of her smile without missing anything. Mina shot her hand down abruptly when she recalled that.

“I think you’d rock it. Even with a shaved head you’d be the cutest.”

Chaeyoung laughed, though something shifted ever so slightly in the angle of her smile. She looked back down and continued fiddling with her polaroid camera.

Mina shrugged off the tiny spike of annoyance in her chest and kept swimming, diving into the deepest part of the pool. It was funny, she thought, the way she’d felt like drowning constantly for most of her life. She thought the feeling would go away. She thought the weight of an ocean would have been lifted off her lungs when she threw herself bare in front of her love, of her end. It didn’t. She kept sinking, deeper, darker. Drawn into the depths by Chaeyoung’s siren song, into a bottomless flooded trench of desperate hunger. She'd been fed scraps, small kisses, reckless touches. It didn't sate her. On the contrary, her need became more pressing after the first taste. Longing caressed her heart from the inside, soft like a ghost. Cold like a knife. Mina held her breath until her chest hurt.

She emerged, gasping slightly, eyes closed. She brought her hands to her hair to pull it back in place, and was greeted with the sound of a shutter behind her. Shuddering slightly, a wave of satisfaction traveled down the curves of her back and dissipated into the water.

“For your collection?” She teased as she turned around, accidentally leaning into a sultry tone way more intense than she intended.

Chaeyoung blushed and stammered, trapped between a giggle and an unintelligibile word. “I, sorry, I mean, yeah, sorry. Like, uhh, can I?”

“Please do.” Mina gifted her a gummy smile. Heat emerged on her cheeks, blooming through the cold droplets that adorned her all over. “But for every photo, you’ll have to spend a minute in the pool with me in exchange.”

The girl grimaced, arching her eyebrows with an apologetic expression on her face. “I’d rather not. I’m very sorry.”

Mina sighed and let herself float on her back for a few moments again, letting her frustration simmer down and disperse into the water. She got lost in the endless pale blue of the sky once again. It was technically winter in the southern hemisphere, though even the Australian winter was as hot as a mildly crisp summer day in Seoul. Every so often a chilly breeze would blow from the nearby river and rake its claws across the rooftop pool area. It was deserted except for them. Mina couldn’t stand it anymore.

She turned to her girlfriend again. She had changed into a simple black swimsuit to go outside, with a bulky, oversized nylon jacket that covered her halfway down the thighs hanging loosely from her shoulders. She was bundled up on her chair, carefully arranging her polaroids on a towel so the wind wouldn’t blow them away.

“Is it that time of the month? Is that why you won’t come in?” Mina asked her.

Chaeyoung tilted her head slightly. It took a second for her to react, shooting her big eyes wide open. “What!? Um, no, it isn’t… No, it's… It’s kind of the opposite, actually.”

“The opposite? What’s the opposite of being on your period?”

The blonde girl shook her head vigorously. “Nevermind, I… I just misspoke.”

“Chaengie…” Mina gritted her teeth and got out of the pool, grabbing her sunglasses and putting them on with purpose as she walked to take a seat next to Chaeyoung.

“Wanna tell me what’s wrong?” She sat down, laying a hand on her girlfriend’s.

“...Pic first. You look too sexy with your hair all wet like that.”

Taken aback, Mina couldn’t hold her giggle in. The water still clinging to her skin felt like it evaporated in an instant. Her fingers retracted instinctually, clamping down on Chaeyoung’s small hand.

The photographer continued swapping between her phone and her clunky camera, taking snapshots of Mina, the view from her chair and them both together with one device and then the other, documenting reality with precious meticulousness.

At the mere recalling of Chaeyoung’s ‘Gallery of pretty things’ in her phone and the memories and mementos she kept as polaroids, Mina’s heart started leaping and flipping inside her. She was taking pictures for both collections. Pretty memories. Beautiful memories. She suddenly understood Chaeyoung’s fondness for pictures - these were moments and feelings she desperately wanted to sear into her memory forever.

Why ruin the afternoon prodding her girlfriend for answers she knew she wouldn’t get, at least not right now? She was probably nervous - after all, they were technically on their first proper date, and in a semi-public place where unwanted looks could be drawn to them. It was that exactly, nerves. Must be.

The sight before her caused a disobedient smile to ignore Mina's commands and bloom on her face, despite her efforts to contain it.

“Instead of a photo, I’ll do you one better.” Mina said.

“Waaay ahead of you. Been taking videos too.” Chaeyoung answered without looking up.

“That isn’t what I meant.” Mina’s voice had lowered without her permission.

A violent gust blew over them, making Chaeyoung’s hair thrash about wildly. She gave one of her soft tiger cub screams and giggled, covering the pictures she’d printed with a towel. Mina shuddered.

“Really? What did you mean, then? Do me what better?” Chaeyoung continued.

It still roused her like the first time, it still shook her from the soles of her feet, it still made the tiny hairs on her neck stand on end and the knot in her throat tighten and unravel. In the past few weeks she’d blissfully, thankfully lost the count of how many times she had kissed Chaeyoung’s plump, soft, rosy lips. How many times she’d felt the curve that fell into the corners of the girl’s mouth tug and stretch into a smile pressed against her own. How many times she’d opened her eyes during a tender and careful bite to steal furtive glances at her long eyelashes resting on her blushing cheeks. The times she’d caught her looking back with those big, round eyes with beautiful dark pupils she could fall into and never be found again.

She was no longer aware of how many times Chaeyoung had cradled her face with such care and reverence that she felt like the most valuable and fragile thing on earth. She had no idea how many seconds she’d spent feeling the girl’s round tip of her nose brush lightly against the sensitive skin of her face, locked in an embrace.

Thousands of times by now, probably. And still Mina’s soul was set alight with the same blinding brightness each and every time.

A low grunt rolled out of Chaeyoung as her lower lip was caught by a soft, affectionate nibble. Mina pushed with her face, hungry, desperate, forcing her girlfriend to lean back into the chair. With some effort, Chaeyoung pulled back, panting.

“Not… We’re not…” She looked around, her chest heaving. “We’re alone, right?”

Mina nodded and kissed her again, but Chaeyoung quickly used her hand to caress her cheek and gently guide her away again.

“You’re getting me all wet.”

Mina felt like her heart had jumped into her mouth. “What?”

“Pool water, I mean.” Chaeyoung’s face burned up in a second, blushing intensely. “Mina, I’m… I don’t feel okay doing this outside. Anyone could come up and see us. Let’s… try to keep it lowkey, alright?”

“Take it elsewhere, then?” Mina asked with a breathy whisper.

The younger girl only looked at her, mouth slightly open as if asking for more. She hesitated for a moment.

Selfish, brash and reckless, Mina took Chaeyoung by the hand and got up before she could speak.

______________________________________________________________

Ever since I was little I’ve spent most of my time alone, locked in my room. I wasn’t really interested in people and I wasn’t good at communicating, so I spent all day with games, knitting, legos and toys. I was perfectly content by myself. When I entered highschool I was pushed and shoved into having a more active social life, but I think I didn’t change much. My hobbies remain the same all this time later, and most of my days are still just like that: alone, locked in my room. Familiar, comforting walls all around keeping me safe and hidden. There’s scary stuff outside.

Sometimes I feel like there’s something fundamentally different in me, though. I couldn’t tell at first, not until I ventured out and talked with other people. But it was always there. Turns out I’m pretty, who would’ve thought? Boys lined up to confess to me, but I couldn’t reciprocate. There’s nothing there for them. My classmates couldn’t understand it. Couldn’t understand this thing I have inside me. They went out on dates, got boyfriends, broke up, talked about love. Got their hearts broken, their bodies taken, their lives changed. I was tormented by a strange hunger while everyone around me feasted, but I didn’t even have a mouth to eat with.

The longing, the loneliness inside me grew until I couldn’t take it. I stole a bite. A single morsel. I was quickly taught I mustn't even open my mouth. That I must stay safe and hidden. There’s scary stuff inside. So the hunger grew. Unchecked, ignored. Years passed, and I withdrew more and more into my room, into myself. I gave up on love. It wasn’t for me. But then I met her. My Chaeyoung. I wouldn’t say she helped me open up. Saying she turned me inside out would be more accurate.

It’s her face. Her voice. That tiny pointy tooth that pokes out from the edge of her smile. Her shadow, her very silhouette. It’s enough to shake me out of the autopilot I had settled into and start living my life again. To live it with purpose, to take control. All to steer myself in her direction. I’m locked in my room like always and she’s sitting right there at the edge of the bed looking up at me, making the walls feel like they’re a mile away. Making me feel exposed, in danger and dangerous. Her beauty mark calls to me like it’s done from the very first time I saw her, saying ‘put a thousand kisses right here.’

Lust I’ve known, and learned to suffocate. This goes beyond that. She’s earned my heart, taken it by force by merely existing next to me. And as if it wasn’t enough, she stares at me with those big doe eyes, those long eyelashes batting the air at every blink. Asking what I’ll do to her without using words. She’s the cutest thing in the entire world, and I want to eat her up. Her soft voice. Her skinny frame. Her small hands. I adore all of it. There’s a sweet heaviness in the air. It’s so heavy she can’t lift her eyes, stuck to the floor. It’s hard to breathe. I’m trembling with excitement. I want to find an explanation, but there’s nothing there for me. Maybe it’s the way she’s always been there for me, taking care of me when I couldn’t. Maybe it’s the way she tries to cheer me up even through her own sadness. Maybe it’s how she taught me not to be scared anymore.

I don’t know what it is, but the heat that builds up in me, the cloudy daze I’m slipping into, it’s all making the room feel cold. Her loving gaze prods me onward. It takes some effort for my voice to come. “Undress me, please.” She doesn’t. Her face changes. The excitement, the yearning mirroring my own is still there inside her eyes, but her posture shrinks. I grab her hands and she doesn’t pull away. They’re warm, and small. Smaller than mine, but her fingers are long, longer than mine. I guide them to my neck and back, and this time her hands comply and shake against the knot and clasp of my bathing suit until they’re undone. I let her go. Her arms fall back onto her lap and she stares, vacant, frozen, so I take care of the bottom piece myself.

I look down in a haze, and barely recognize the naked body I see. Poised for what it’s demanding. Tensed as if prepared for straining work. Covered in the slight shimmering moisture of the pool, a cold layer of microscopic droplets that makes light bounce off the skin in ways I’ve never seen or imagined. There’s something a bit like pride, resemblant of confidence, that sparks in my chest. Laid as bare and enticing as I can be in front of the maw I’ve so long dreamt of offering myself to. There’s no reaction. She’s perfectly still.

“Chaeng-Chaeng?”

She jolted, looking up and refocusing her vision. Mina grabbed her hands with tender care. They were still shaking. The black-haired woman took a step closer to her girlfriend, who was sitting on the edge of the bed and looking up at her with fearful reverence through watery eyes.

A few minutes ago she was barely able to process the sight of Mina’s bare back, interrupted only by a pesky strip of black cloth running across it. The smooth, soft, unfairly perfect skin of her back had been an object of her obsession for years, and a cherished view whenever she used open-back clothes for a photoshoot, a concert, or right now. From barely being able to function just for seeing her in a bikini, having Mina be completely naked in front of her had caused her to shut down, if not only for the impending doom she was going to be put through. It was too much.

Mina caressed the back of her hands using her thumb. The stimulation brought her back to earth for a moment.

“Back then, at the park, I asked you to kiss me. But I had to do it myself.” Mina said. Chaeyoung looked back down at her feet.

The woman continued, raising her voice ever so slightly. “...I asked you to come with me here, but I had to drag you by the hand. I asked you to undress me and here I am in front of you, of my own volition.”

She sat down next to Chaeyoung, who wouldn’t move at all anymore.

“I don't have a problem with asking, even begging, if it's for you. But I make you do all this, and you don't even protest, and won't reject me… And yet you won't lay a finger on me either, unless I do it first.”

The younger girl swallowed coarsely.

“What is it that you want, Chaengie?”

It took her a moment. “I want you, but-”

“No, don't say but.” Mina’s voice went back down to her gentle, whispery tone, brimming with careful kindness, though shaking with impatience.

“Say it in one word, or a single sentence, but no excuses anymore. Please. I know the thing you want the most isn't me. That's fine. Tell me what it is.”

Mina was expecting to see tears, but they didn’t come. Her girlfriend clenched her fists instead.

“I just want to feel like it's okay to be me, alright?” Chaeyoung looked at her abruptly. The tears were there, a reflection in the girl’s dark pools, expanded by anxiety. They were just refusing to fall.

Mina’s heart was squeezed. “Oh Chaeng-Chaeng, you're-”

“No, let me. Let me finish, okay?”

She pulled her hands away then breathed in and out of her mouth a few times, trying to calm herself.

“What you’re saying, the thing about me not wanting you. It’s actually the complete opposite. You got it all wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Mina’s brows furrowed. She sat down next to Chaeyoung, suddenly all too aware of her naked skin in the exposed air of the chilly room. Her girlfriend, ashamed, wouldn’t lift her gaze from her own shoes.

“I mean that I’m not what you want, Minari.” The nickname exposed her vulnerability. Chaeyoung’s heart was raw and tender, trying to grab onto any sort of comfort it could find.

“I cannot be what you want,” she reiterated. “I’m not dumb, I can tell how strongly you’ve been coming onto me.”

“Well, I certainly am sitting naked on the bed we share.” Mina tried to joke to lighten the mood, but regretted instantly when Chaeyoung just nodded and pursed her lips.

“I wish I could answer to what you’re asking, Mina. More than anything, believe me, I wish I was able to give what you want from me.”

“And what is it you think I want?” Mina asked, caution wrapping each of her words.

“I mean, you said it already. You’re naked next to me. Aren’t you cold?”

Mina nodded, and scooted closer to Chaeyoung. The clothed girl’s shoulders tensed up visibly.

“We can’t. I’m sorry. We can’t have sex. And I don’t know if I’m getting ahead of myself, or if I’m just projecting, but if you want this, us, to keep going, it can’t either. Not for long.” Chaeyoung’s voice trembled into a low monotone, submerged in despondence.

“There’s no future with us together, Mina. We can’t go out in public, we can’t become official, we can’t build our lives together. And it’s not because it’s taboo, not just because we’re idols.”

An uncomfortable, churning feeling inside her made Mina shift her position. Everything had been going so well, so unbelievably perfect, that she had decided to overlook Chaeyoung's obvious distress for weeks. Now the end of her perfect world was in sight, all for pretending things were well. She left out a shaky sigh, trying to force her face to remain neutral and attentive.

Chaeyoung sniffled, then slammed her balled up fists on the bed. “Fuck!”

Mina reeled out of sheer reflex, startled out of her panicking trance. The room felt colder by the second, the kind of cold that couldn’t be repelled by clothes or blankets.

“If it was that only - the public, the scandals, I wouldn’t give a shit. I’d ask you to come hide together in some other country, or deep in the mountains where it’s just us. That’d be so nice, so simple.”

She finally looked at Mina, locking eyes. Chaeyoung’s big, beautiful smile adorned her face, though behind it stood the saddest expression Mina had ever seen on her. Her eyebrows were arched, her eyes leaked tears silently. This tiny, vulnerable girl wasn't pushing her away. She was begging for help. Mina's heart grew a size, though it was a sad and foreboding feeling.

“Whatever it is, Chaengie, we can make it work. I don’t mind if-”

“No, you don’t get it.” She raised her voice, cutting Mina off. “I’ve never… I’ve never been…”

She choked back a sob. Mina reached for the girl’s hand, and managed to brush her thumb on the back of it before it was pulled away with fearful apprehension. Chaeyoung inhaled deeply.

“I’ve never been who you think I am. I’m transgender, Mina. I'm not… Not…” Her voice sounded like she was out of breath. Barely above a raspy whisper. It trailed off into nothing, her sentence left unfinished.

There was a lack of reaction for one moment. Mina brought her feet up to the bed, hugging her knees. The silence in the room became deafening.

“Okay.”

Chaeyoung was too busy staring at a corner of the room, her mind empty. She didn’t register the answer at first.

“It kind of crossed my mind a few times. Just a suspicion, but I thought it’d be ridiculous to… Sorry, I don’t…” Mina sighed, bringing her legs back down and crossing her arms instead.

“I’ve always known there’s something weird going on with you, Chaeng. Not weird, sorry. Nothing weird about… Sorry, let me start over.”

Mina shook her head, confused and frustrated at herself, still trying to digest what was happening. She got up and grabbed a light white jacket from her open suitcase, next to the bed. Her hands shook, betraying cold, nerves, or maybe both. Her strides back to Chaeyoung’s side, however, were purposeful and self-assured now that she was half-dressed.

She reached out with her hand hesitantly. She grabbed her girlfriend’s narrow chin with delicate care. The skin of her face glistened with silent tears. Mina leaned over and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Thank you for telling me. I love you.”

“But?” Chaeyoung whispered.

“But nothing,” Mina sighed, sitting down. “It’s hard to swallow, obviously. It’s definitely not what-”

Chaeyoung interrupted. “I'm sorry. That’s what I meant, that’s the problem. I mean, you obviously want…” She exhaled, trying not to break as she wiped away her tears.

“I told you already. What I want is you. Only you, whatever you’re willing to give me. Whatever you can.” Mina protested with a hint of frustration in her tone.

“This body can’t do that. Don’t you get it? Sometimes I look at you and it breaks my heart, because you’re perfect. You’re like, made for me.”

Mina’s heart stirred, touched but worried sick.

Chaeyoung sniffled, then continued. “And maybe I tricked you into thinking something similar, but it’s just a trick. I made you love me but what you love isn’t what I am. I’m not perfect like you. Not even close.”

Mina was now staring at the floor too, unsure of what to say. “I’m so sorry, Chaeng. I love you, really.”

“But you don’t get it. There’s no way someone like you would get it.”

Chaeyoung sniffled a few more times, disturbing the stillness of the silence they were in.

They couldn’t tell how much time had passed when Mina talked again.

“I… learned to dance before I learned how to have a proper conversation.”

For just the second time, Chaeyoung looked directly at Mina. She continued.

“Without dancing, without my body, I wouldn't know how to navigate the world. It's like a link, an interface of sorts. Between me and the outside.” She reached for Chaeyoung’s hand again, and this time she didn’t pull away.

“If I become unable to dance or if there's a disconnect, or a rift between me and my body, I'd feel very lonely. I felt lonely before I danced. And I feel the least lonely when I'm dancing with you guys, to this day.”

Chaeyoung’s hoarse, dry voice tumbled out of her throat. “You… you actually kind of get it… How?”

“You've taught me a lot, even if you don't notice.” Mina smiled.

She continued. “But you know what, your body as a middle point, it works both ways. You may feel trapped inside, but you could also, you know, let other people reach in. Let me.”

“It’s not that I’m trapped. I just… It’s… I look at you, you’re perfect. You’re all I want. And this body of mine, it’s…”

“Look, Chaengie. I have to go to the gym every other day, on top of all our practicing. I have weekly nutritionist consultations, laser hair removal every four months, dermatologist once a month. A perfect body doesn't exist. Our job is to get as close as possible, and you're the best at your job.”

Chaeyoung looked puzzled. Her eyes had already acquired a pink tone, though she had stopped crying.

Mina got up. “Look at this scar,” she touched the side of her lower abdomen, bare and smooth, right at Chaeyoung’s eye level.

“When I was 14 I got so stressed about liking girls that my appendix ruptured. My own dad took it out. I still think of him when I see it.”

“This discoloration on my shoulder? They always cover it up with makeup.” She shrugged off her jacket, not taking it off entirely. “I was 8 and fell off a persimmon tree while picking some for my mom. It's her favorite fruit. The scrape was horrible but it was worth it.”

Chaeyoung opened her mouth to ask what she was trying to accomplish, but Mina went on before she could speak up.

“This bruise on my shin is from earlier today, when I insisted on carrying your stuff. It's not permanent, but it's proof that I went out with you. It’s a reminder of our first date, for as long as it lasts.”

“And these?” She let the jacket fall to the floor. It hadn't registered earlier, but now it dawned on Chaeyoung all at once - the fact that Mina was showing her bare skin, her everything, presenting herself as she was. Not only that: she was deliberately pointing out her imperfections, and still she was perfect.

“These…” She slid her palms down her own waist, stopping at her hips near a few faint vertical lines on each side. “The dermatologist almost managed to erase them entirely by now, but these lines on my hips are stretch marks. I used to hate them. They showed up around the same time my ballet instructor said I was growing up wrong. I hated myself for it, but now I kinda like them. They’re proof I’ve grown.”

“You’re perfect, Mina.” Chaeyoung smiled through a second wave of tears.

“No I’m not. There's no such a thing as a perfect body, but yours, yours is perfect, because it's a part of you. It is you.”

Mina grabbed her hands again.

“Even if at face value you don't like the body you ended up with, it's yours, and it's been all this time. Your body's story is your story, Chaeyoung. I know you know this."

Chaeyoung looked at her with a face drenched in self-inflicted misery, but the budding start of a deeper, bigger and more heartfelt smile was evident on her mouth. Mina kept going, her voice remaining low despite the rising passion in it.

"Your tattoos, your gender and whatever you've done with it… It’s all you taking control of your body, you telling your own story through it. But even the parts that can’t be changed, the parts you can't control at all, they're still who you are. They're still part of your story. Let me be a part of it too."

Mina sat down again and grabbed Chaeyoung's head by the sides of her neck, caressing her softly behind the ears with her thumbs.

"I love you. I love you, Chaeng-Chaeng. You're the most important person in my life, you're what makes me happiest in the whole world. Nothing's gonna change that."

Mina brought her closer and kissed her wet cheeks, her nose, her closed eyes. They were slow, tender kisses that made Chaeyoung shudder slightly. Mina cradled her girlfriend's head against her bare chest. Chaeyoung was warm, soft, her thin arms wrapped around her waist comforted her back. Their slow breathing soothed each other as the sky outside burned with an intense orange tint that dyed the entire room through the window.

Chaeyoung closed her eyes, grateful to live. Her fight or flight faded into bliss, as leftovers of adrenaline and dopamine in her bloodstream clinged onto a new stimulus. She hugged Mina harder, painfully aware of her bare skin, the soft warmth radiating from it laced with her aroma. It was enough to kick her heart into a frenzy once more. She was scared again, scared of what was inevitably coming. But something else held her fear back.

Mina pulled her gently into the bed, laying down. A mass of dark, silky strands partially covered Chaeyoung's face, making her close her eyes and inhale the lavender-and-jasmine perfume with a deep sigh. With her eyes now closed, the first thing she felt was the weight shifting beside her, then a line of small kisses leaving a tingling trail on her jaw. She let herself sink.

#fanfic #twice fanfic #twice #twice fluff #twice imagines #michaeng #mina x chaeyoung #chaeyoung x mina #son chaeyoung #twice chaeyoung #chaeyoung #myoui mina #twice mina #mina #delulumc

30 notes · View notes