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clarktooncrossing · 6 months

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Giraffe's Eye View: Christmas Specials Special (2023) | Care Bears Nutcracker

Chestnuts are roasting on an open fire. Jack Frost is nipping at your nose. Mom and dad can hardly wait for school to start again. All the dogs in the neighborhood somehow learned to bark Jingle Bells in sync. Yet retail workers are still more annoyed with Mariah Carey. Snow is getting shoveled, tossed, and formed into sentient beings leading parades without permits. It makes for an excellent distraction as the Krampus abducts children for bad behavior. Fruitcake is exchanged only to find its permanent home in the garbage. Terrorists have hijacked the Holiday office party right before your boss can give you a Jelly of the Month Club membership as your bonus. And of course, the Turducken has returned to wreak its fiery vengeance upon an unsuspecting world! If all this doesn’t put you in the Christmas spirit, perhaps these following Holiday specials will!

Greetings people of today and robots of tomorrow! It is I, Santa Clark, your geeky giraffe friend with a deep love of Christmas! My obsession for the yuletide is rivaled only by Maleficent’s hatred for it, which is saying a lot considering she once teamed up with Mad Madam Mim to kidnap the literal Spirit of Christmas. Yes, that really happened. I know this due to my annual pilgrimage to the Island of Misfit Specials, home to obscure or nerdy festive media ranging from movies, TV episodes, and comics. It’s no easy journey. Constantly I find myself confronted by sinister snowmen, genocidal gingerbread men, and worst of all, crappy commercials. Getting stabbed in the foot by a candy-cane wielding cookie is one thing, but I swear I’ve seen that ad for Wilbur’s White Elephant Gift Emporium more times than I’ve seen Miracle on 34th Street! Sometimes at night I catch myself reciting that jingle. Wilbur’s White Elephant Gift Emporium: Where Christmas meets Convenience! Huh, maybe Maleficent had a point.

Nah, my deep-rooted appreciation for this time of year can weather even the most moronic marketing! It helps that most of the merry media I’ve seen have put me in the perfect Holiday mood! Examples include the time a Ninja Turtle found himself trapped in a truck full of stollen toys, a drunk department store Santa stumbling onto a wish-granting magic bag, Big Bird nearly becoming a popsicle, Gwenpool waking up in a world where Galactus took the place of jolly ol’ Saint Nicholas, a terrifying tree stump trying to slaughter some saps over a stupid ship war, and the year when Death gave the Little Match Girl the greatest gift of all. Needless to say, I thought I had seen it all. That is, until I took my friends on a trip to the Island, tasking them to find me new, strange, seasonal specials to review! Some of them were fair, finding me festive favorites as comforting as coco in front of the fireplace. Others were fiendish, wanting to feed off my misery like Gremlins after midnight. Regardless of how naughty or nice my companions were, I’ve compiled all of their suggestions into a makeshift advent calendar! So stay tuned everyday until Christmas to see how badly my buddies can shred what little sanity I have left.

On the second day of Christmas, my buddies gave to me...

For the record, it says something when nobody's even made a GIF for what I'm about to review.

Malicious as Molly was, she may have set the bar too high with Barbie. For along comes the fairy Claire (YourClairyGodmother), set on proving that the ‘all Canadians are friendly’ claim is a myth. Having recently reviewed a slew of their work herself, she saw fit to share her suffering with me by burdening me with a Care Bears Christmas caper of my choice. Oh how nice, my executioner allowed me to pick how I get to die! Mirroring Grumpy Bear’s dour attitude, I scoured the Care Bears Wiki to make my selection, all the while wondering how this franchise is still alive after all this time. Starting out in 1981 as greeting card characters, these bears became a beloved series of plush toys parents killed each other over at Black Friday’s. Not gonna lie, having Sinbad and Arnie fight over Funshine Bear would’ve made Jingle all the Way that much funnier. It’d certainly be more entertaining then what I ended up picking, that being Care Bears Nutcracker Suite. Dear Santa, I don’t remember asking for endless torment. At this rate getting my nuts cracked probably wouldn’t be as excruciating. Still, perhaps I’m being pessimistic. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and jump right in! After all, these bears beat out Black Cauldron at the box office. Surely they have something special to offer here.

Like terrible child voice actors. We’ve got those in spades here! Okay, I know it’s not nice to call out kids who are only here because of parental peer pressure, but A Charlie Brown Christmas set the bar so high two decades prior! Though to be fair, maybe this is like Hayden Christensen regaling Padme about sand. You can only do so much when the script serves you verbal fruitcake on a platter. Such as when one of the kids, tricked into portraying the Rat King in an elementary production of the ballet by his sister, rightfully laments how lame the show is. Seeing one of her students complaining, our blonde ballet instructor halts class in order to tell a self-insert fanfiction where she herself is Clara. Whoa, deja vuh.

For all of you fearful that this is going to get repetitive, put your worries at ease. The writers made no effort to make the narrative comprehensive here. Instead of a mysterious family member, our Young Clara stand-in Anna (Tara Strong) is visited by Funshine Bear (Susan Roman) and Grumpy (Bob Dermer). Right as they tumble down the chimney ready to help this privileged dork with whatever first world problem she has, a dimensional rift abruptly appears in her room, dropping out the titular Nutcracker (Michael Beattie) and an army of rats. Sadly this time they’re not led by Tim Curry and they’re even less intimidating than before. Whereas previously they at least had swords, now they rush forward into battle with nothing but the clothes on their back. As if that wasn’t idiotic enough, they’re easily frightened off by the two bears and Anna’s younger brother Peter (Stuart Stone) in a trench coat. Wow, I was wondering how they’d top the Mouse King getting taken out by a shrunken woman’s flimsy footwear. You fail at failing to disappoint, Care Bears. Good to know I don’t need to take any of the villains seriously. By chance is it too late to bring back that creepy book lady from the movie? She’d be a better foe than the Vizier (Don Francks), a Jafar wannabe decked out in purple that commands the cowardly vermin. He’s after the Nutcracker so he can, you guessed it, take over the world and ruin Christmas. How he’d ruin Christmas is never explained, though I doubt whatever logic they presented would’ve made sense anyway.

Regardless of the reason, our heroes elect to help Nutcracker in his quest to stop the Vizier, enlisting some Care Bears Cousins to help. Though really I assume it’s to expose kids to more toys they can buy, since Funshine and Grumpy managed to make an entire armada run away in fear. Why else bring in Brave Heart Lion (Dan Hennessey) or Lotsa Heart Elephant (Luba Goy) if not for promotional purposes? Remember kiddies, pester your parents into buying these new friends or else you’ll be a sad loser! Together with Baby Tugs (Melleny Brown) and Hugs (Tracey Moore), they leap into the dimensional portal to restore order to Toyland. Along the way they encounter a bunch of cranky citizens blaming the Vizier’s rise to power on a prince named Alan. Whoa, deja vuh times two. Before anybody asks, yes, once again the Nutcracker is clearly the missing monarch. The rest of our heroes only find out after battling more rodents on a runaway train, meeting a magical fairy that’s as useless as the owl, and getting turned into wood by the Vizier. Our story ends with the titular toy’s humanity easily being restored, the villains being beheaded for war crimes, and the ballet class from earlier never really putting on their pageant as their teacher Anna walks off with her boi toi. Whoa, deja vuh times three. All while the Care Bears watch on from the raptors, waiting to pick the kids off one by one for sport.

Do I even have to say it? Honestly, what point is there in me picking out the flaws? It’d be like stating how pretty Christmas lights are, there’s no purpose in proclaiming something so patent. For the sake of keeping you all from searching up this sugary-coated crap though, I’ll list off my reasons. The pacing was painfully slow, making this extended episode feel like the director’s cut of a Peter Jackson movie. Replacing the charismatic, complex characters of those works are cardboard cutouts who are criminally one-dimensional. Even Grumpy, who I maintain is the best character in this series, feels so one-note. Worst of all is the animation. Much as I dogged out Barbie Nutcracker, I can applaud the ambition on display. Somebody clearly put some effort into the final product. At no time did I feel the same could be said for this. This was some paycheck for an animator who clearly wanted nothing to do with these blasted bears. And if all the behind the scenes stories Claire told me are any indication, I might not be too far off. Needless to say, I did not care for this special. I also didn’t care for you suggesting it to me, Claire! So when Seerius dumps something rotten into your stocking, just know that’s from me! For now though, I need a better Holiday special featuring a character voiced by Tara Strong.

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appri-dot · 2 months

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Why can't I enjoy normal stuff like sports

#wip #making a minicomic of a bunch of Nutcrackers #and as exactly ITS HARD LOL #i need to figure out reasonable proportions or so help me #not my ocs #hashal-nutcracker #and fencer(ballcrusher74)#i don't want to @ anybody this sucks ass n isnt even done yet

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synthaphone · 6 months

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im tired

the stuff happening in moderneo is indicative of a trend i've been seeing in neoclone art contribution, which is that artists who come in to work on pet colors often clash because they're coming from two majorly different viewpoints:

its for fun so don't take it too seriously and just be creative- if the site runner likes it then its good to go

its for a website that's seeking to recreate the neopets experience, so we should strive for the art we make to match the existing art in style and quality

neither of these are incorrect approaches for a volunteer collaborative project, and i think its up to the people in charge of each respective neoclone to clearly establish which of these ways they want their art team to approach the pet colors, in order to prevent conflict i'm definitely in the latter camp, and have also been called a bully on a couple different occasions for offering gentle critique. seeing very level headed and reasonable points be reacted to as though they're evil bullying makes me want to spontaneously combust. sometimes, on a collaborative project, you'll end up feeling bad when you receive critique or pushback on an idea you had. and that feeling sucks!!! but that doesn't mean that the people who gave you the critique were bullies. seeing professional artists get treated like dangerous cruel people for approaching a project like professionals makes me feel insane.

like okay, if its not a professional project and the more 'anything goes' atmosphere is whats wanted, then fine!! but you have to make that clear- and even IF that's the goal, i think its unreasonable and immature of any participating artist to demand zero critical feedback on the designs that they're submitting to the website for everyone to be able to adopt. also, if the project isn't going to be approached like its professional work, you can't expect consistent professional quality artwork, because you cannot get that from an environment that doesn't allow for critique or style direction

#i need a text post tag #also why join a collaborative project submitting art for a site everyone will use #if you get really upset at critique?#i don't understand why people don't realize how selfish that comes off?#making art for yourself? hell yeah go wild. making art for a pet site?? you have to be open to other people having opinions #especially because if you're making the Darigan Aisha or whatever; that's it! that's THE Darigan Aisha!!!#so i think its fair for other artists and users on the site to be able to offer SOME amount of input as to what that should be #like obviously if you go too far with this mindset #nothing gets done and every idea gets vetoed. that sucks too #but imagine if i waltzed in like 'hi guys. what if all future toy neopets were classic wooden nutcrackers'#and then started making nutcracker neopets at an incredible speed #and then got upset that people were like 'wait this doesn't make sense' or 'i don't like this idea'. i don't think that would be fair of me #it shouldn't just be for you and your own desires and ego!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

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neolxzr · 1 year

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pas de deux

#quin sketches #shumika #mikashu #valkyrie #shu itsuki #mika kagehira #itsuki shu #kagehira mika #mikaposting #shuposting #how did these gay people get in my nutcracker study!!!!#oshisan what if i was the sugarplum fairy...and u were my cavalier......#sorry theyre the only thing that will come out of my hand. im struggling #art block kicking my ass right now a little bit #i have so many ideas but they will not get out of me uuaaauughdhfjshgfkdsvbkvsh #adding this to my collection of 'shu looking at mika fondly'#i cant help it ok. hes in love #oh in case you were curious yes i am still in ballet. worlds most normal valkyrie fan #youll get choreo videos from me one of these days. but i kind of still suck so not yet LOL #anywya valkyrie ballet you agree. yes?#ough i cant wait for the day we get uruwashi no nightingale mv........

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lilyrizzy · 2 years

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ballerina daniel pianist max would be craaazy because i think you could have a cool dynamic similar to irl with max as a Child Prodigy musician. and daniel immediately connecting to him but feeling guilty about it. and obviously max's massive crush

anon i know you sent this 4 million years ago, but here is some nonsense i wrote for the idea of max being a failed composer, who ends up working as the pianist at daniel's ballet studio :)

"I am not doing it like this," Daniel says, but Max can't feel the movement of his lips, can't taste the words anymore, because Daniel has taken a step backwards.

In the mirror behind him, Max can see the tense line of Daniel's back. The trembling of his shoulder blades, the same way they look when he is lifting Stacey over his head for the balcony scene, or taking critiques from Christian about it right after.

It is easier to look there than at Daniel's face.

"Like what?" Max demands, and the words bounce around the empty studio. Daniel's shoulders creep up another centimetre.

"Like this, Max," and then he's gesturing between the two of them like that is meant to make sense to Max, who just-

He just wanted to be kissed. He's wanted to kiss Daniel since the first day he saw him dance.

He didn't think this was something Daniel would make him explain.

"Okay," he spits, cheeks burning from the slap of rejection, but before he can hoist his bag onto his shoulder to leave, Daniel is stopping him.

"No, Maxy, I didn't-" He's saying, hand curling around Max's wrist. "Just- I thought-"

Max can't not look at him then, and for a second he hates him, even if not really at all. Hates Daniel for asking Max to let Daniel know him. For all these nights spent playing the audition score, but other music also, while Daniel just sat next to him on his bench and told Max how 'beautiful,' his hands were, his fingers. Only for Daniel to decide he doesn't like him like that after all.

That apparently it took Max kissing him for Daniel to break that to him.

There’s a pause, and maybe it’s the way Max pulls back the arm Daniel is still holding, trying to flee, that spurs Daniel to speak again.

“I thought this would be like when you play. Like music, like- Like something you can enjoy,” Daniel, says, a confession, eyes searching Max’s face. “Not something you do with your eyes screwed shut, so tense like you are wanting to get it over with."

And- It's not what Max expected.

Music. Daniel wanted this to be like music, and Max doesn't know how to explain that nothing can be like that. That he wouldn't want Daniel to be like that anyway, because music has brought him so much pain with the joy, and Daniel only ever makes him feel like he could be good.

Except now with his hesitance, like Max kissing him isn't enough, when it’s the bravest thing he’s done besides stop picking up the phone when his dad calls. If Max's efforts aren't enough, maybe Daniel is like music after all.

He opens his mouth to tell Daniel just as much, to tell him to fuck off, to demand what else he wants from him, but what tumbles out is--

"For you, is it like dancing?"

Daniel's whole face softens then. Over his shoulder, Max watches an infinite number of Daniels relax a little.

"No," he says honestly, tugging Max to him. "Never, the way this does, and anyway, it- I think with you, it might be more."

They’re pretty words from a man used to having pretty things, and that’s something Max has never been. It shouldn’t be enough, but Max goes, easy, anyway.

Too easy, and he should stop to tell Daniel, I've never done this before, to make it clear that he means not even with a girl, because Daniel of course knows already never with a boy.

But Daniel's fingertips are coming to trace over the corners of his eyes, erasing tension Max didn't even know he could hold there. They're soft, smooth, so that Max can imagine they leave a perfect stamp of whorls and swirls on his skin, the patterns of which faded on Max's own fingers long ago, worn away by piano keys.

"What do you want," Daniel asks, voice so much gentler. "I want to give you what you want."

Max is greedy, so he has to choose carefully. Too much, and he'll be exposing his own rotten underbelly, revealing that no matter how much Daniel gives, Max will always want more. Insatiable.

He wants to be kissed, to be touched like he is something precious. Wants to be bent over and fucked, to be bruised but maybe also held after. He wants everything his father ever told him about him to be true. He wants pleasure, so white hot, that it cauterises the wound those words made inside him. Something that stops it from tearing open again, each time he remembers. Each time he calls his voicemail.

He wants to play Daniel his song, the one Max has been writing in his head the last few weeks, as he's watched him dance the same move over and over, no one's eyes on him but Max's.

Daniel would understand then, Max thinks. That Max is made of want, that he’s not sure who he’d be without it.

"Show me how it can be," is what escapes him this time, and then he watches as the Max's in the mirror are walked backwards, cheeks flushed, until his own back is hitting the one behind him, and all he can see is Daniel.

This time, Max’s eyes shut softly when they kiss.

#im so tired this probably sucks #self induldgent waffle #max/daniel #fic #halfway through writing this i remembered my old ballet dance to waltz of the flowers #did that around my bedroom for a bit #then carried on writing lol #anyway tis the season to rewatch barbie and the nutcracker kids

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rocket-powered-socket · 5 months

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Merry Christmas gu- (little elf runs past) woah, guys did you see that?…..

#idk what do you even tag Christmas posts #where’s the jolly st. nick fandom #made a nutcracker variant of my sona last year but it sucked so here’s the BETTER ONE!#Rileybot artwork #Rileybot doohickeys

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highflyartist · 1 year

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DAY 10. A CALM AWKWARD & INTENSE MOMENT AFTER BATTLE

*Note: Saragona is so bad at flirting

You could consider this as a calm yet awkward moment after the second battle.

Oh yeah, then this happens:

YEP! WE IS GOING FULL NARNIA-CORALINE-ALICE IN WONDERLAND MODE FOR THIS STORY! HA!

#nutcracker #the nutcracker #the nutcracker and the silver bell #marie stahlbaum #saragona levoy drosselmeyer #nutcracker month 2022 #nutcracker season 2022 #((yeah #((Saragona sucks at flirting #((it's sad

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floweyyyyyy · 2 years

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as a noelle kin

i miss my furrrrrr it is too coldddd

ion wanna do anythinggg

my natural protection from the temperature was robbed from meeee

(cry)

here is a picture of a me in a nice fuzzy warm dress to make me feel a bit less freezing

#fictionkin #noelle holiday #brain really went #is krismas #in the middle of september #i blame the weather changing #and the nutcracker rehearsals #hhhhhhh #i am not kidding #i got used to really warm temperatures #and now I can’t handle the cold anymore #so sad this happens every year but it still sucks #my blanket is too thin for this :((((

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mnisw · 1 year

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youtube

this will be the last of my tchaikovskyposting for tonight i prommy but the fact that the balanchine choreography is not one of the first results when you search the nut pas on youchube is RIDICULOUS. look at this.

#tchaikovsky nutcracker pas de deux #yes i know balanchine already gets his dick sucked enough but look at this #the pirouettes into the cambres #the little arabesque sequence at the end #ballet #Youtube

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lightpost · 24 days

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Good morning love of my life. I miss you. I'm in so much pain. I don't really want to do anything or go anywhere and I know I don't have too. I feel something in my stomach like blood pooling up due to the nutcracker there is so much pressure and my calf cramp hasn't gone away since this first started 4 years ago. now I'm just in more pain seeing stars and my head hurts due to lack of blood flow. I hate this feeling in my stomach like I want to throw up but the pressure hurts so much just to take a pee. God I need you

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livebloggingkidshows · 3 months

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After making Elliot likable (hopefully) in DitL I'm sad that I have to go back to making him a dick in Nutcracker AU

#the next step #tns #not liveblogging #mattie’s fics #nutcracker au #like he sucks in canon #and I did change him pretty greatly for dancing in the light #but I miss that version of him #although really I think I just played into the #hates everyone except his girlfriend #and the promptly didn't show him interacting with anyone except the roommates

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apothe-roses · 5 months

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Dance of the Sugarplum Prince

Nutcracker!Aemond x Clara!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: violence, character death, smut, tiddy sucking, oral (f-receiving), uncle-niece incest, unprotected sex, piv sex, breeding kink, possessive Aemond, obsessed Aemond

A/N: I may not be the first nor the last to do a nutcracker au, but I’m doin it anyways! Merry Christmas to those who celebrate!

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. All rights go to HBO and George RR Martin

The snow falls heavy and thick outside the window. You watch the snowflakes dance to the ground while your family makes a ruckus behind you. The adults Gossip amongst themselves while your brothers laugh and joke amongst themselves. You love your family, but you’ve grown tired of your overbearing aunties trying to set you up with “nice boys” they know.

You notice a figure making their way towards the front door, making your own way towards it to greet them. Right after the doorbell rings, you open the door, smiling at the woman on the other side.

“Aunt Alys,” you smile and embrace the older woman.

“Forgive me for my tardiness, but it’s nearly impossible to make one’s way through that,” she replies, indicating to the storm outside. Other family members come to greet Alys, so you move to the side and let them. She pulls a large case out from under her coat. She reveals several beautifully made dolls, winding them up and letting them dance across the carpet. Your family is in awe. While they’re distracted, Alys approaches you.

“I have a special gift for you,” Alys says. She opens her bag, gingerly pulling out a final doll. He was a beautiful man with long silver hair and black armor accentuated with gold.

“This,” you aunt explains, “is no ordinary knight. He is a prince of a faraway land.”

“Oh Alys, she’s too old for dolls!” your mother calls from across the room.

“Oh, but he’s so beautiful!” you rebut. “Couldn’t I just put on on my shelf and admire him?”

“You can put these dirty dishes in the kitchen,” your mother tells you. You sigh, setting your doll on the windowsill. Alys follows you into the kitchen.

“Perhaps you should’ve brought me a real prince. That would’ve made mother happy,” you laugh. Alys simply smiles at that.

Suddenly, a loud crash sounds from the sitting room, followed by your mother shouting “Luke!” You rush into the room. Your doll is lying on the floor at your brother’s feet.

“It was an accident!” Luke explains. “I only wanted to get a closer look!”

You rush over, picking your doll up off the ground. One of his eyes is broken. Luke apologizes profusely while you carefully extract the broken pieces. Alys approaches.

“I couldn’t find a spare eye, but this should fit,” she says, handing you a small sapphire. You slip it into his empty socket; it fits perfectly. She provides a small strip of black fabric that you use as a makeshift eyepatch.

“Thank you, Alys,” you say, giving the older woman a hug. You don’t notice the worried look she gives your doll.

BONG

Was it midnight already? You must have nodded off at some point. You look down at your prince, admiring his handsome face. Perhaps it’s the dim light, but it looks as though his mouth twitches.

You’re about to go to bed when something moves at the edge of your vision. A small man walks out from under your Christmas tree! For a moment, you think it’s your prince. However, this man has two eyes and looks older. He wears a crown that looks like it’s made of wood. He’s looking around, clearly searching for something. You stay as still as possible, hoping he doesn’t notice you. Theres a possibility you’re still dreaming, but you’re not willing to take that risk.

“Looking for someone, Daemon?” a voice calls out. Both your heads snap to the corner where it came from. Your mouth falls open. It’s your prince! But he’s alive! He approaches the man, sword drawn.

“Aemond,” Daemon greets. “It appears you’ve suffered a horrible accident. Shame. I was hoping for a fair fight.”

“And you’ll get one,” Aemond snaps. At that moment, more figures storm into view. You recognize them as your brothers’ toy soldiers.

“Alright. Two can play at that game,” Daemon raises a hand, and several mice scurry out from nowhere. You clap a hand over your mouth, trying not to scream. Daemon and Aemond draw their swords, circling one another. Daemon strikes first, but Aemond is quick to block. The mice and toys launch at each other. You’re enthralled. Though bloodless, the battle is intense.

Suddenly, Daemon strikes Aemond’s blind side. He’s sent flying to the floor, his sword clattering away. Daemon smiles viciously, standing over his nephew. He raises his sword to strike the killing blow and—

WHAM!

A giant slipper knocks him off his feet. Aemond glances at you, noting you are now missing a slipper. He grins, then springs into action. He draws a dagger, races to his uncle, and plunges the blade into his neck. Daemon never had time to regain his senses before he bleeds out, choking and clasping at his throat. The battle stops. The now leaderless mice scurry off, and the toy soldiers return to where your brothers left them originally. Aemond walks over to you. As he does, he grows until he’s the height of a normal man. You stare up at him, lips parted. He’s tall, and even more handsome as a man.

“You saved me,” he states, kneeling at your side.

“I-it was nothing,” you stammer, blushing. “I didn’t want him to…kill you.”

Aemond’s lips curl into a smirk. “Such a sweet thing you are,” he muses. He reaches out, winding a lock on your hair around his finger. “It’s not every day a man can say he was saved by someone so beautiful or kind.”

Your blush deepens. “You’re too kind,” you whisper.

“You must come back to the castle with me. My family will want to meet the girl who helped defeat my wicked uncle and his wretched mouse army,” he stands, extending a hand to you. You look around the empty sitting room, wondering what to do.

“It’s only for tonight. I promise to have you back by morning,” he assures you. You bite your lip, not noticing the way his gaze darkens. Then, you smile and take his hand. When you stand, you notice how much taller he is. you look down shyly, but he tucks a finger under your chin and tilts your face up to his. For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But then he says, “let’s be off then,” and leads you to the Christmas tree. With each step, you shrink until you can easily walk under the branches.

You spot a castle in the distance. A beautiful red fortress perched on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a sprawling city. The faint ringing of bells can be heard.

“It seems word of our victory has spread,” Aemond observes. “I imagine the celebration is well underway.

“Oh, but I’m not dressed!” you realize.

“Look down, little one,” Aemond replies. You do, and you gasp. Your simple nightgown had been replaced with a beautiful white dress, tied by a large red ribbon. The skirt floats in light layers down to your calves. Your feet are covered by red slippers with ribbons wrapped around your legs.

“How…?” you start to ask, the question dying on your lips when you look up and see Aemond had changed as well. He’s wearing a black and red jacket adorned with golden epaulettes, and also matching breeches and shiny black boots. His hair is loose, and the swath of ribbon covering his eye is replaced with a proper eyepatch.

“Come,” he requests, extending his hand. “We don’t want to miss out on the festivities.”

The walk to the castle is filled with merriment as the small folk throw flowers over your heads and dance and cheer. Inside the castle is even more merry as ball is in full swing. You spy the king and queen at the end of the hall, their matching silver hair catching the light.

Aemond leads you to the middle of the dance floor and leads you in a waltz. The night passes in a series of twirls and lifts, until a hush falls over the crowd.

The king leads his queen off the dais into the center of the crowd. Everyone pushes back, forming a wide berth around them as they lead a solitary waltz. You feel a large hand on the small of your back.

“Come with me,” Aemond whispers. His breath tickles your ear.

He leads you out of the room. The two of you race down the halls. You haven’t felt this exhilarated since you were a child chasing your brothers outdoors.

You’re lead into a bedroom that you presume is his. You don’t have time to take in the decor, as he grabs your face and kisses you hungrily. You kiss him back, hands tangling in his soft hair.

He deftly undoes the bow on your back. He tries to untie the laces, but he gets impatient and just tears your dress open. You gasp as your dress falls from your body.

Aemond scoops you up and lays you on the bed. He looks over you like a lion about to devour his kill.

“Have you ever been with a man before little one?”

“N-no,” you stutter, causing him to chuckle.

“Well,” he starts, “allow me to show you.”

He tears the rest of your underthings off, leaving you bare before him. Without breaking eye contact, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth. Your head rolls back as he sucks on the sensitive flesh, kneading your other side.

“So beautiful,” he gasps, switching to the other tit.

“So perfect.” He trails kisses down your torso. He fingers swipe through your folds. He brings them to his lips and sucks them clean; his eyes roll back and he groans.

“I knew you’d taste sweet,” he purrs. He lowers his head to your mound and drags his tongue through your folds. You gasp and instinctually shy away, but he pins you with this hands on your hips. You can only moan as he relentlessly devours your cunt.

“M-my prince…”

“Aemond. Call me Aemond,” he breathes, sending a shiver through you. You feel your peak approaching, closer and closer. It’s just about to wash over you when he pulls away. You whine at the loss of stimulation.

“The first time I make you come, it will be on my cock,” Aemond states, once again leaning over you. He sheds his clothing with ease. He’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever seen. His cock is long and thick, and already leaking. He strokes himself as he gets into position.

“What if it doesn’t fit?” You ask innocently.

“It will fit.” He replies. “I’ll make it fit.”

He angles his cock and enters you with one sure thrust. You gasp loudly, clinging to his shoulders.

“Gods you’re tight,” he whispers. He begins to rock in and out of you, setting a steady pace.

“So wet, and I’ve barely touched you. Such a needy little thing. Absolutely begging to be fucked.”

You babble incoherently in response. Aemond chuckles and starts playing with your pearl.

“Already cockdumb are we?”

He pinches your pearl.

“I could keep you here you know. Fuck you—breed you— day and night, until your belly swells with my child. You’d like that wouldn’t you? My perfect little princess. My broodmare. Mine.”

You’re a little frightened by his declaration, but you’re to overwhelmed by pleasure to do anything about it. You can only lay there as you climax, the pleasure melting your bones and heating your blood.

“That’s my girl. That’s my good girl,” he groans, and you feel his cock pulse followed by a sense of warmth. He keeps his cock plugged inside until he starts to soften, then he pulls out. You feel a mixture of your fluid and his seed leak out. He hold your legs open, admiring the sight. Then, he lays down, pulling you into his arms.

“You’ll want for nothing. I’ll make sure of it,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You lay against his chest, and it isn’t long before sleep claims you.

“Sweetheart, wake up!” you hear your mother call. You reluctantly open your eyes. You’re in your own bed, in your own room.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but we have some surprise guests waiting downstairs,” she pulls open the curtains, and you wince at the sudden brightness.

“Get dressed quickly! I need to get back downstairs!” she rushes out of your room, closing the door behind you.

At first, you don’t move. There was a heaviness in your chest. It had all been a dream. Of course it had been a dream. Mice soldiers, living dolls, and princes could only be the product of dreams. This is the real world, and there are guests waiting for you.

As you get dressed, you realize your prince doll is nowhere to be found. You must have left him downstairs.

Voices could be heard in the sitting room as you make your way downstairs. Unfamiliar voices. You round the corner and freeze. Sitting around the room are three very familiar faces.

“Darling, these are my half-siblings.” She leads you to the Sugarplum King. “This is Aegon,” then to the Queen, who smiles sweetly at you, “Helaena,” then finally to the most familiar of them all, “and this is Aemond.”

He takes your hand in his, planting a kiss on your knuckles. You stare up at him with wide eyes. He’s wearing an eyepatch. Over the same eye your brother broke. Was he hiding a sapphire under there?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you breathe.

“Please, the pleasure is all mine, niece,” he purrs, looking at you in a way an uncle should never look at a niece.

“What happened to your eye?” Luke asked abruptly. Jace whacks him on the shoulder, admonishing him.

“Ow!”

“It’s alright. It was an accident long ago,” Aemond replies.

“Oh, let’s not dwell on unhappy memories,” your mother says, turning to Helaena. “How is Alicent? It’s been too long since I’ve heard from her.”

The conversation carries on, but you’ve stopped paying attention. You’re not looking at him, but you feel his gaze on you. Just as intense as it had been when he made love to you in your dream.

A dream.

It had only been a dream.

Right?

#aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #house of the dragon aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut

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autisticlancemcclain · 5 months

Text

Keith presses the heels of his palms to his eyes and exhales deeply. He lets all the air trickle out of his lungs until his chest feels concave, until spots dance behind his closed eyelids, until his lips start to go numb. Then he lets go and lets the air get sucked back into him like a vacuum.

“One more try,” he whispers to himself, conscious of Lance sleeping — finally — beside him. “One, and then we move on.”

He swipes the touchpad on his computer to wake it back up, dragging the blinking curser over the rarely-used blue ‘10’ under the Google logo. The page loads, and loads, and loads, and finally spits out the next few results.

Most of them he’s already seen before. Dozens of times. BARGAIN BALLET TICKET SUBSCRIPTION, reads one link, CLICK HERE FOR 20% OFF YOUR FIRST MONTH. Another reads, Rush Ticket Prices — Buy Now!

He’s been there. Clicked that. Priced it out. Looked at the worst possible, next-to-the-washrooms, garbage seats. Nothing. Not a single ticket within their limited budget — or even close to it.

Completely out of the realm of possibility even if they hadn’t agreed on a price limit for their Christmas gifts.

He keeps scrolling down a few pages that all advertise the same thing — a disgustingly costly subscription here, bargain-but-not-really tickets there, more scammy resell ads than one would believe possible. Even, notably, a still-active link from 1997 that Keith peruses for clicks and does not actually count towards his one-more-try limit. (It even tries to accept his Paypal, which is crazy and means that someone updated the site to accept modern payment for a show that is no longer running. Keith is so amused by the pure audacity that he has to fight the urge to buy one. Wild thing, ADHD.)

Just as he’s about to give up and buy his boyfriend yet another plant this year, a link catches his attention. It’s the very last result on page 13, with no description, no punctuation, hell, hardly even a sentence of text. Nutcracker ticket sales, it reads, for a website called ‘FeuillesBrillantAcademie.org’.

Keith shrugs. Might as well. Not like anything else has been promising.

He clicks the link and immediately wishes he hadn’t. The ugliest website he’s ever seen literally assaults his eyes — a bright blue and a neon purple, clashing in the worst possible way. It takes at least four solid seconds for his eyes to unblur enough to recognise the screen in front of him as having words rather than a solid wall of Bright And Bad. Even then, he has to squint, glasses practically touching his eyeballs.

Feuilles Brillant Academy is pleased to present the final performance of the hard-working dancers this season, is what he can finally make out. The show begins at 7 p.m. on December 23rd, tickets for $20 per person. In-person payment not accepted. Please pay via e-transfer using the link below. Call out administrative office if there are any difficulties.

Keith stares at the page for as long as his eyes can handle, then he looks up at the ceiling. (Where, he may add, he can still see the screen perfectly, because the damn thing has been burnt onto his retinae. He will never mock Matt for his web design degree again. Well, probably.)

This seems…too good to be true.

It’s outrageously cheap, for one. Keith has been looking for literal days and the cheapest he’s managed to find is $50 per person, for bad rush tickets. $20 is bonkers. For two, this is a perfect time, and nearby, as well. And there are still tickets left. Somehow.

Something is amiss.

Keith’s first thought is that it’s a prank page. But the page is buried so deeply — page thirteen of Google. The hidden archives, basically. If this is someone’s prank, it’s garbage. His second thought is that the link is a virus, which, while possible, is still kind of unlikely for the same reasons. Why on Earth would someone post something nefarious so obscurely? It doesn’t make sense. This might be one of those rare times when something isn’t too good to be true, it’s just good.

Then again. Keith just got his laptop back from the last time he fucked around and well and truly Found Out.

Time to get a second opinion.

Despite the disgustingly late hour, the phone picks up on the second ring.

“Hey, stinky,” says Pidge. Keith can hear the smile in her voice as clearly as the explosions and gunfire of Call of Duty in the background.

“Asshole.”

“Turd for brains.”

“Skidmark.”

“Rotting splatter of parking lot vomit at three in the afternoon in Arizona during high summer.”

“…Pidge, that’s disgusting.”

She snickers. “I win.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Keith freezes as Lance stirs next to him, curling his arm around Keith’s bent leg and muttering something in Spanish too fast for him to understand. Keith smiles, tucking a stray curl back under his fluffy frog-eye hairband, lingering over the scar on his temple from a skateboarding accident when they were fifteen. “I need your help.”

“Well, obviously. You’re calling me at three thirty four in the morning. Usually you’re in bed by nine because secretly you look up to Adam and emulate his habits.”

Keith flushes. “I don’t remember ordering a psych analysis, fucker.”

“Consider it a bonus! Tell Auntie Pidge about your troubles.” He can practically see the face she makes immediately after, and snorts. “Ignore that. My mouth is not attached to my brain. Carry on.”

“I need you to check out a link,” Keith says, choosing to be merciful. “It’s pretty buried and obscure, but honestly I think it’s fine —”

“Yeah, last time you thought a link was fine you fucked your shit up so bad I had to download another virus to cancel it out. I’ve never had to do that before. You fucked your laptop up so bad I’d actually never seen that kind of damage before, Kogane. And I do this for a living.”

Keith pouts. “No, you commit cyber crimes for a living.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m an angel and have never gotten so much as a speeding ticket. I am a law abiding citizen. Send over the link.”

Switching his phone to rest between his ear and shoulder, Keith does. “I need to know if the link does what it says it does.”

Pidge hums. He can hear the ding of her laptop as his e-mail goes through, and then the sounds of her clicking as she inspects the website, running it through her various programs that Keith cannot fathom for the life of him.

“What did you say you were looking for, again?”

Keith closes his eyes and tips his head back, letting it thunk gently on the thin wall under the big window, in the corner of the apartment where they’ve shoved their bed. He lets his eyes go blurry, lets the stars they stuck on the ceiling before they did anything else turn into bright green dots. They’re real constellations. The two of them spent hours on them; Lance on Keith’s shoulders, tripping and shouting and laughing.

“I need tickets,” Keith says quietly. He turns his gaze slowly to Lance, who is sleeping soundly again, who has bags under his eyes, whose hands twitch every few seconds, who frowns deeply. “And we can’t — these are the only ones I could find. That I can even pretend to afford. I need it to be —” He swallows. “I need you to tell me they’re real.”

Pidge is quiet for a moment. The only sound is her breathing, her nail tapping slowly on the edge of her screen.

“The link is exactly what it says it is.”

Keith sits up. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man.”

Keith bites back a cheer so he doesn’t wake Lance up. Hell yeah! This is perfect! Exactly what they needed! Just — a little bit of luck. A little bit.

“Thank you, Pidge,” he gushes, hurrying to punch in his information. “Seriously.”

Pidge huffs fondly. “Okay, dweebus. Gross. Go be all affectionate somewhere else.” She pauses. “Take a picture when you tell him.”

Keith smiles. “I will.”

———

It takes every inch of Keith’s willpower to keep his mouth shut for a whole three weeks.

“I Know you are hiding something, Kogane,” Lance says while walking home from classes, while curling up into him as they watch TV, while cooking, while showering. “I see it in your face.”

“It’s nearly Christmas, you dweebus,” Keith says every time, and every time he softens it with an exaggerated kiss to Lance’s cheek, one to make him laugh despite himself and shove Keith’s face away. “Of course I’m hiding something.”

But it’s eating at them both. Lance’s blatant curiously makes it that much harder for Keith to keep things hidden, to stash the tickets between the pages of his corniest romance novel that Lance won’t touch with a ten foot pole. To wait, and wait, and wait, as they set up the three-foot high discounted Christmas tree and Lance changes their sheets to the flannel ones his mother gave them.

But the days pass. Finals come and go and so does the time. And finally, finally, it comes time to crawl onto the creaky mattress, knees on either side of Lance, nose kisses down his neck, and murmur, “We’ve got plans today.”

Lance groans. “No we do not.”

Keith smiles widely. He knows Lance can feel it, because he scowls harder, trying to hide his own fondness even as he melts into Keith’s affections.

“Yes, we do. I know. I planned them.”

“Well, then, un-plan them,” Lance grouches. He turns over so he’s facing Keith, now, trying hard to glare up at him, but late afternoon sunlight bleeds into his dark brown eyes and makes them shine golden, and they are as warm and bright as the rest of him, and his hands slide up Keith’s chest, over his shoulders, brushing through his hair, to rest on his cheeks. “Come nap with me.”

Keith turns his head to press a kiss to Lance’s palm, keeping his mouth there. Lance rolls his eyes, and can no longer hide his smile. “Later. I made plans. Dress up, I’m gonna pick us up some food for the way. We’ll leave in forty minutes.”

“Ugh.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re fooling, baby. I can see you eyeing the closet.”

“Shut up and get me a burrito.” He soothes the bite of his words by pulling Keith’s face closer to his, pressing their lips together softly. “Please.”

“Whatever you want.”

God, he’s whipped, and Lance knows it, because he grins, pleased, and pulls Keith even closer, kisses him stronger. It takes Keith a good five minutes to muster up the willpower to pull away, and Lance knows it, smirking.

He finally manages to yank himself away, stumbling backwards towards the kitchenette of their studio. Lance pouts at him.

“Menace,” Keith says sternly, deliberately turning away as he pulls on his boots and coat. He ignores his boyfriend’s grumbling and finally makes it out the door, hustling to their favourite bodega and hoping it isn’t too crowded.

Thirty-seven minutes later, burritos secured, Keith is shoving his frozen fingers around the door handle to jimmy it open. The bodega was indeed crowded and they are indeed late. The show starts in an hour. From what Keith remembers from Lance’s recitals — and he has been to many — people who are late are people who miss the show. The ballet does not fuck around with tardiness and disruptions; if you’re late, that’s tough shit for you. Plan better.

“You’re going to eat shit,” Lance says, amused, the fourth time Keith power walks right over black ice and nearly actually dies. “Slow down, babe.”

Keith does not.

“Can’t,” he huffs, keeping a half-eye on the pavement. A tourist walks into him, shoving him into Lance, who takes the opportunity to slide his hand into Keith’s back pocket and wink at him when his cheeks colour.

“Why can’t we slow down? Where are we going?”

“It’s like you don’t know what surprise means.”

“I do know. I also know that if I annoy anyone long enough they’ll snap so I’ll shut up.”

“Nah. I like it when you talk.”

He’d meant it as somewhat of a comeback, as a jab back to Lance’s teasing. But suddenly Lance stops, spine going rigid, something like shock flirting across his face for half a millisecond before he blinks it away and moves again. It happens so fast that Keith would almost be convinced he’d imagined it, except Lance’s cheeks are crimson.

Keith smiles. “Lance.”

“Shut up.”

“Babydoll.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m barely sayin’ anything, baby.”

“You are so fuckin — gay, you know that? God. Who fuckin — who says shit like that? Who on this Earth?”

Keith laughs, bending down to kiss right below Lance’s ear, to feel his flushed skin warm to frozen tip of his nose.

“You are so easily flattered.”

“Easily flatter this dick. How about that. Fuckin. Jerk.”

He lets Lance grouch at him, pleased and embarrassed about it, as he pulls them along the overcrowded streets. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes ‘til the show starts, thirteen minutes ‘til they get there. Hopefully.

“Are we almost there? It’s cold and these shoes are pinchy.”

“I told you to wear comfortable shoes!”

“You told me to dress up! I can do one of those things, Akira!”

At the seven minute mark Keith starts running. Lance, surprisingly, doesn’t complain — a grin pulls at his sharp features, actually, and he wraps their hands together and runs faster, despite not knowing where they’re going. Every time they bump into someone in a suit he laughs. He laughs harder when they curse at him. Keith has to fight to keep his head in the game, to keep running, to not stop where he’s standing and watch Lance laugh for hours and hours and hours. It’s been too long.

He nearly pulls Lance’s arm out of his socket when he stops then abruptly, shouting “Here! Here! We’re here!” and pulling him inside a well-kept brownstone.

“Where’s…here?” Lance wonders, taking in the well-salted walkway and pretty red-and-green decorations all over the aged brick.

Keith doesn’t answer. “Close your eyes.”

Lance narrows his eyes. Keith makes his expression as wide and pleading as possible, and in seconds Lance caves, much to Keith’s satisfaction.

“You’re a pain in my neck.”

Keith kisses him quickly and chastely. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let me walk into anything.”

Satisfied that Lance won’t peek, Keith shuffles them over to the box office, holding out their tickets. The stewardess smiles at him, scanning them, eyes twinkling at Keith wordless plea for her to keep the secret, and gestures towards a grand set of doors.

“Up the stairs, to your left, seat and row on your ticket,” she murmurs. “Enjoy the show.”

Keith nods his thanks and rushes them off.

“This sounds very fancy,” Lance observes as their shoes click on the — literally marble, how the hell were these tickets $20 — floors. “Dangerously so.”

Keith shrugs. “Perhaps.”

“…Not to be. A bummer. But please tell me you remembered our budget, Keith.”

“I did, Lance. I swear.”

Lance relaxes into him, and Keith realises for the first time how tense he was. He winces to himself. He probably could have made things a tad less stressful and still kept the surprise. He’ll remember that for next year.

“Okay, good. I trust you.”

They barely make it to their seats in time. Keith’s butt barely makes contact with the cushioned chair before the lights dim and the orchestra starts tuning, the rest of the audience lapsing into almost immediate silence.

Lance inhales sharply. “Keith…?”

“Open your eyes, sweetheart.”

Lance does, and they’re wide, and his mouth drops open, slightly, and for a moment he just stares, frozen, at the stage and the lights and the set, the familiar set, as the dim light casts shadows onto his face. The orchestra’s tuning note reaches its satisfying peak, harmonizing as one sound, and Keith’s full attention is on the lines of Lance’s face, the set of his jaw, the curves of his cheekbones.

“Merry Christmas,” he says quietly.

Before he can say anything else, before Lance can say anything else, the familiar sound of pointe shoes tapping delicately across the stage steals Keith’s attention. He turns his eyes to the stage, watching the dancers strut on the stage, and — stops.

He leans forward, squinting.

What?

Keith is…very familiar with the Nutcracker. He’s grown up alongside Lance’s family since he was eight years old. He’s been to more recitals than he can count. He’s been dragged to more performances than he can ever remember. Lance has lived and breathed and loved ballet his whole damn life, for the entire time Keith has known him, and that love bled well outside of the studio, has lasted even after he aged out of the program last year. Keith knows how the Nutcracker begins, and nothing about the program said this one was supposed to be any different.

Half of the dancers walking onstage are significantly shorter than they should be.

Now he knows damn well that there are kids in the Nutcracker. The main character is a kid. That’s the whole deal.

But there is not one adult on that stage right now. Hell, not even a teenager.

Keith looks down at the ticket — Feuilles Brillant Academy. He looks back at the stage. He looks at the other audience members — lots and lots of people with camcorders. And other small children.

Keith sinks into his chair, head in his hands.

His dumb ass bough a ticket to a children’s ballet recital.

Lord above.

“Lance, I am so sorry,” he whispers, “I was so caught up in the ticket being in budget I didn’t bother actually, like, looking deeper into things, this is totally — Lance?”

Keith leans forward in alarm, hands immediately falling on Lance’s knee, on his back. His shoulders shake and his hands are pressed to his eyes.

“Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” Keith says desperately, embarrassment replaced with panic. Everything feels like it’s crashing down around him, as dramatic as that is. He’d been so excited for this. Now it’s a whole mess. “I didn’t mean to — fuck things up, shit, we can leave.”

Lance shakes his head. Blindly, he reaches over the grasps Keith’s hand, holding tightly. His own hand is damp from his tears.

“No, no, it’s — perfect,” he whispers, voice hoarse. “I —”

His chin trembles, and more tears spill over his cheeks. As the music swells along to the climax of the first dance, Lance lifts the armrest separating their seats, half crawling over Keith until his head is tucked in the crook of Keith’s neck, arms folded between their chests, hands clutching at the fabric of his sweater. His voice is wet with tears and soaked in an emotion Keith can’t quite name, an almost — relief.

“It’s been so long. I didn’t want to — I thought I wouldn’t be able to do this again. I wouldn’t let myself think about it.”

Keith lets a huge, relieved exhale, sagging forward. He wraps himself more comfortably around Lance’s frame, squeezing him back, pressing a lingering kiss to his temple.

Growing up has been…hard. For the both of them.

They’d been told by everyone who knew them that they were being stupid and reckless. Keith has been promised that they won’t last more than two years by almost every grownup he’s ever known. Even his own brother had sighed his trepidation when Keith told him, stubborn and bold-faced, that he was moving in with Lance, that they were going to start their lives together the second they pulled off their caps and gowns, that they were ready for the next step. That they were eighteen and ready to face the world.

“Sacrifices,” Shiro had warned, “are going to be half your life now. It’s not that I think you can’t, Keith. I just. There’s a reason people don’t move in with their highschool sweetheart they summer after they graduate. Katy Perry wrote a whole song about it. It’s a banger.”

Keith hates it when his brother is right, and this time he was right about so many things in consecutive order. Living on your own is hard. Learning to live with someone else is harder. Doing it in a city far away from home, while balancing school and work and rent and groceries, is the hardest.

“I miss dance,” Lance croaks, and Keith closes his eyes and breathes deeply and holds Lance tighter.

He knows Lance misses dance. He knows that he hasn’t so much as listened to a ballet since they moved to New York, unless it’s in the dead of night, and he thinks Keith is asleep, and he puts in his headphones and moves their furniture as silently as he can to the edges of their tiny ass studio apartment and laces up his falling-to-pieces pointe shoes and dances like the very act of it is tearing him apart, and cries the whole time. And then stashes his shoes in the bottom of his gym bag and crawls back into bed and pretends again in the morning that he left his pointes back in Arizona. And Keith looks away and lets him because school is already twenty thousand a year and in no shape or form can they afford that and money to rent a studio.

But Keith can give him this. For a little bit, maybe, even if it’s little kids with handmade costumes pirouetting across a stage.

“I know, bluebell.”

Lance exhales, shaky, breath ghosting across Keith’s collarbones, and finally turns back towards the stage, keeping tucked under Keith’s chin. The kids dancing as the Snow Queen’s ladies-in-waiting are — three years old, maybe. At most four. They keep twirling right into each other like clumsy little bumblebees. It’s maybe the cutest thing Keith has ever seen in his entire life, and what’s better is the tiny smile that graces Lance’s face, despite the tears, growing bigger every time one of them wobbles back up to their feet and prances on, oblivious.

They watch the rest of the play in silence, Lance hands entwining with his sometime around the Dance of the Sugarplum Fairy and holding fast. They stand and clap as loudly as the gathered parents, louder even, at curtain call, as each kid jumps and twirls across the stage to thrown roses and cheering. It’s adorable.

They’re among the first to walk out, because the majority of the crowd surges towards backstage to collect their kid, so the walk is blessedly unrushed. They take their time, observing the pictures of grinning ballerinas that line the walls and numerous awards on endless shelves. Keith is filled with a deep and strong longing, a strange feeling of coming home — years of waiting on plastic chairs for Lance to finish solo practice when they were thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. Of taking his boots off at the door and quietly sneaking in the back of the studio, ducking away from other dancers’ boring stares, to watch Lance shine under the studio lights, reflected a thousand times by mirrored walls. Of the smell of lemon cleaner and polished hardwood floors and satin.

He notices a poster on the wall, among dozens of drawings and pictures of intricate sets, and freezes.

“Lance,” he says, tilting his head, “look.”

At the end of a hallway, right next to a door, is a hand-painted banner, reading: WE’LL MISS YOU, MISS RAULA! HAPPY RETIREMENT!

He squeezes Lance’s hand. “I bet they’re looking for a replacement.”

Lance stares at the poster for a long time. “You think?”

“I think it wouldn’t hurt to shoot them an e-mail.”

Smiling, Lance stops them in the hallway, puts his hands on Keith’s shoulders, stands on his tiptoes, and kisses him, long and sweet and loving.

“I’m already in a pretty tight spot now,” he murmurs, still standing so close to Keith and smelling so sweet that he has trouble focusing on his words, “‘cause this is already kind of the best Christmas gift ever. If that ends up being true I’m never topping you again.”

Keith laughs, suddenly, not expecting the turn, and Lance grins, pulling Keith down to him and kissing him again. It’s less of a kiss and more of a press of smiles, a clack of teeth, a shared laugh.

“I love you, Lance. Merry Christmas. I will be the Gift Giving King forever.”

“Shut up, goober.” He lifts Keith’s arm, tucking himself under it as they walk back out into the snowy December night. “I love you too.”

———

based on this post (third slide)

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