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kotlc-oneshots · 5 years

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Blind!keefe au

Hey all!!! Sorry I’ve been dead, but writings block kills lol. Anyways I got this idea off of some lame discord convos and uhhh I hope it’s good. Also it’s late and lmao I have no motivation to edit my own writing uhhh here u go. Some mild swearing. Will be Kam if I keep going w it. Lov yall.

*~*~*

Pt.

one

Keefe

I’m lying in bed, of course, when the shrieking of my alarm goes off about four feet away from me. I blink my eyes open until they don’t feel sticky and gross, then grab my alarm clock. It’s a simple thing, a brick with about 5 buttons total on it, probably.

I pushed the button on the bottom left corner, and the loud wail finally ends. I groan and rub my head, wishing the colors and blobs that cloud the center of my milky vision would just come into focus.

However after years of hoping for that, every morning, I know nothing is going to happen. With a small sigh, I go into my ultra-specifically organized dresser.

Today is the first day of my senior year. Even if I wont be able to see myself, I want to know that others will appreciate the way that I look- or, at least, am dressed. There’s not a lot I can do if there’s anything wrong with my face or hair. I wish I could, though- even though I’ve been blind since birth, I still always want to look presentable. In order to do that, my friends help me once every other week to organize my outfits for the upcoming 14 days. It started in sophmore year, when Sophie got the wonderful idea, and it's been a tradition since. And thanks to my ‘photographic (ha) memory’, I always know what clothes I’m wearing. Always.

I’m about halfway dressed when hear a beep from the direction of my bed.

“New message from Fitz.” The automated, robotic voice of Siri tells me.

“Hey siri- read message from Fitz.” I respond, then finish putting on the rest of my clothes.

“Ready for your first day as a senior?” she reads back to me. I automatically change the sound to Fitz’s deeper, more human voice in my head. It’s pointless, but necessary.

“Hey siri- text Fitz ‘hell yeah brother.’” After a quick confirmation of what I’m sending, I go into the bathroom next to my bedroom. I carefully feel my way around for my toothbrush and brush my teeth, then proceed to run my hand through my hair. For a short moment, I wish I could see myself as more than a blob of milky, too bright color, but it fades quickly. I’d rather not think about it. So I finish up in the bathroom, then return to my room for my bag. With a quick ‘hey siri’, I manage to find my phone as well.

After a few more voice commands, I receive the news that Fitz will be here to pick me up at 7:30, which gives me about 20 minutes. I hop over to the kitchen and make myself a quick, hearty bowl of cereal. Being me, I choose the healthiest kind- Lucky Charms. When finished, I smile to myself and set the bowl near the sink- I know my dads at work by now, so I don’t have to worry about him. Sometimes there’s good things about waking up early. As I slip my bag on and go to the door to wait, I remember how lucky I am to have such a good memory, and such a constantly cleanly household. Otherwise, I’d be as clumsy in my house as Sophie is. I grab my cane and walk outside, chiding myself for thinking so much about the little things.

Fitz is there, honking his horn, about 5 ish minutes after I get outside. Sophie yells at him for being annoying, and I chuckle a bit. A window rolls down, and Biana’s voice comes through hollering to go to the back passengers side. I use my cane to help me a little bit, then grab onto the ledge made by the open window. I proceed to find the door handle, then carefully step into the car.

“If any freshman gives you crap today, you have full right to hit them with your cane.” Dex, who must be on on the other side of Biana, says.

“Thank you. I’ll definitely do that,” I respond with a laugh, and I can practically feel the worry in the air as Sophie warns me not to.

“We really don’t want you to get suspended on the first day. So just wait until tomorrow, and give them an extra hard whap on kneecap.” Biana adds cheerily.

“This is why you’re my favorite.” I awkwardly try to wrap my arm

around her head, but fail miserably. My peripherals are even worse than the center of my vision- there’s almost no light visible towards the edges. So I end up hitting her on the head, and play it off by messing her hair up. This, of course, causes her to whack my arm and call me a jerk.

“Alright, dumbasses, knock it off,” Fitz, my best friend of the

past 6 years, yells. “By the way, Keefe, we’re pulling in now.” A knot forms in my stomach. Man. First day of senior year at Foxfire. I can’t believe its so close to being over. The beginning of the end.

We pull into the parking lot and step out of Fitz’s Volvo. I turn towards the building, and take a deep inhale of the crisp morning air. My friends and family always like to comment on how pretty the building looks. Foxfire is a really prestigious private high school, and I know that they put a lot of money into the architecture

and the grounds. It's a pity that all I see is a building shaped blob of its beige color, and the faint blobs of green and other colors that I know are trees.

I try not to let myself think about it.

We walk into the building, and Fitz automatically splits off. He's supposed to help some teacher set up the presentation that the Freshman go to. I love him, but it's the first day of school and that man is already busy. This year is gonna be rough if we wanna keep up our hangout sessions- although, we both did take the same 6 AP classes. We’ll probably study together, when he’s not with his million other commitments.

After a few hugs and highfives, and a few debate friends greeting me, I go to my first class. I’m /not/ getting caught in that crowd, especially with the idiotic freshman pretending that they own the place. Off to AP music theory it is. C118 is easy enough- no stairs, and it's a pretty straight shot to the classroom. Again,

I thank my perfect memory to get me around. I may not know what the building looks like, but I basically have the blueprint downloaded in my head. Good times, man.

First period doesn’t result in much. We all get a copy of the syllabus, and a short introductory reading. I can feel a tinge of annoyance when the teacher acknowledges my inability to.. Uh, read it, but a girl named Linh volunteers to help me out with it. She seemed nice enough. She had a bit of a Canadian accent, and when I asked about it she confirmed that she was from… Minnesota. She was really sweet, and I’m genuinely hoping that’ll become a friendship.

The next couple periods go uneventfully. Fitz is in one of them, and Dex the other so I don’t have to worry about another situation like in first period. And the teachers always let me go about 2-3 minutes early, so I can avoid the crowds- that is, until lunch. I’m on my way down to the cafeteria when I run into… someone. They must have been very quiet- I didn’t realize they were that close to me and coming around the bend. So when they did, we kinda collided. I hear a soft curse when they thud to the ground, and from the shape and sound I know its a guy. I put the cane in my left hand and offer to help him up. I’m not sure what it is, but he doesn’t accept it.

“You good man? I didn’t see ya there.” I laugh a little, because

duh. He doesn’t. I can’t really make out any of him- his hair is /probably/ black- and this agitates me, because he doesn’t respond. And then he practically runs away.

I have no way to identify him- probably a dumb freshman that didn’t want his ass kicked by the blind senior. Trying to shake off the interaction, I roll my eyes and start on my way to lunch again.

“Honestly, today was AWFUL. The second half, at least.” I’m now at Fitz’s house, along with Dex. “I already told Dex about that one guy that ran into me, but Stats teacher was awful. She probably heard something from Michaels about last year- just because I rarely showed up doesn’t mean I don’t know what I’m doing! I got along in that class fine.”

“Keefe, I taught you like half of that course.” Fitz replies, laughing.

“Because you actually know how to do math! Michaels is an awful excuse for a pre calc teacher. Dex, be glad that you got Hex.” I retort. It’s not wrong- Mr. Michaels had been very incompetent. If not for Fitz, I would have gotten the worst grade I ever had in my high school career.

“You know I am.” Dex agrees. “Even Hex hates Michaels, but she won’t admit it. Outright, at least.”

“Ok, enough about horrible teachers. Tell me about the guy who ran into you.” Fitz pipes up, not wanting to be apart of a conversation dissing his soccer coach. I let him divert the conversation, even though I really wanna rag Michaels to the ground most of the time.

“Well, that's the thing. There’s nothing to tell- I ran into him and he fell. Then he ran away, without saying a word,” I say. “I wanna know just as much as you do.”

“That’s cute.” Dex comments, and I shake my head.

“You know what I mean.”

“Suuuuureee.” The tone of his voice makes me hit him, which starts a wrestle between the three of us that lasts for about half an hour. By the end of it, I’m sure I have multiple bruises from falling, kicking something wrong, and getting hit, but I don’t care much. We fall into a panting heap on Fitz bed, and we through half hearted punches at each other that hold no intention. Needless to say, I’m sweaty and gross, and when Fitz informs me that it's almost 8, I ask to go home. A man's gotta shower- and get his beauty sleep.

So Fitz drives me and Dex home, the three of us having pointless conversation about classes and plans we should make. I get dropped off first, and they wait as I carefully make my way to door of my house, not leaving until I get inside. I hear the thrum of his engine as Fitz drives off, then make my way to the bathroom.

After a quick shower, I brush my teeth and head off to bed.

I drift off, and my thoughts are filled with a mysterious blob with probably black hair and evil math equations.

#keeper of the lost cities #dex dizznee #kotlc #keefe sencen #sophie foster #tam song #blind!au #fitzvacker #writersblock #highschool!au

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swan-archive · 7 years

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@me would you perhaps like to stop being obnoxious?? would you like to shut up for one SECOND of your life????

[listens intently for several seconds]

she said no, have some stupid-ass modern au wereham tropey fluff

John’s not here.

Alex thinks maybe at some point he’ll get used to the way he wakes up now, all at once and with instinct screaming at him before his higher brain functions kick in. Not tonight, though, and he jerks awake and sits up in bed staring stupidly around at the empty room before he catches the sound of a chair scraping against the kitchen floor and notices the light shining through the slightly-ajar door. Chill, Alex, he tells himself, take it easy, he’s just getting a glass of water, he’s allowed, and curls back up on the bed.

John persists in his absence, though, and after several minutes Alex gets tired of waiting. He glances at the clock on the bedside table. 2:48 AM. Not like John to be up and about at this hour. Boy likes his sleep. And now Alex is wide awake, so he pushes himself out of bed with a groan and shuffles into the kitchen on his bandy legs.

John’s there, sitting at the table, scrolling through his phone with that blank look on his face that means he’s genuinely upset. Doesn’t hear Alex as he comes into the room and leans against the doorframe.

“So, bad dream, or…?” John jumps and slaps his phone down on the table.

“Shit! Alex, don’t sneak up on me like that!” says John.

“I literally walked right through the door in front of your face, but sure, let’s go with sneaked up on you.”

“You’re quiet on your paws,” John grouses. “And not all of us have your hearing.” His fingers flutter nervously over his phone. Alex cocks his head.

“You waiting for a call or something? At three in the morning?”

“No, no, uh, it’s just…” John looks at his feet. “I couldn’t sleep, that’s all, and I didn’t wanna wake you up tossing and turning. Brought the phone out with me so I could at least catch some Pokemon while I sat here. Really, that’s it.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re a worse liar than I am, second of all, I know for a fact you haven’t touched Pokemon Go since, like, November, and even if you did this apartment complex only spawns Pidgeys.”

John grimaces. “Am I that transparent?”

“An open book, Mr. Laurens.” Alex taps the phone with a claw. “Can I?”

John presses his lips together. “Nothing to see,” he says.

“Gotta be something.” Alex picks up the phone, unlocks it (with some difficulty; touchscreens tend not to like his paw pads). Blinks down at the screen. Text backlog, “Dad” at the top. The most recent text from Henry is something about John’s sister Marta. Apparently her soccer team is doing really well this season.

“Yeah,” says John dully, as if that explains everything.

“No, not ‘yeah,’ I don’t get it. Your sister plays soccer, and that’s…bad, somehow?”

“Check the date stamp.” Alex does. A bit more than two weeks ago.

“Two weeks ago, that was…oh. Oh.”

“Yeah. Just before he found out about. Um.”

“About me, right.”

“And he hasn’t, he hasn’t—not that I’m, I shouldn’t complain, it’s not like we were ever on the best of terms anyway—maybe it’s better like this, he always gets up my ass for not responding to his six million texts a day, but…”

“But. Oh. But he hasn’t been talking to you.”

John nods. Feeling sick at heart, Alex scrolls down to the bottom of the text log. A series of texts from John, over the past two weeks, ranging from a multi-paragraph explanation starting with Dad, I’m sorry we scared you the other night, but I just wanted to let you know what the deal is with Alex, it’s really not as bad as you think… down to a sad little one-line i’m sorry. please call me.

No expression on John’s face. “It’s, I think he’d been looking for an excuse, you know? Like, it looks bad if he cuts his gay son off entirely, so he has to pretend he’s cool with me being the way I am, but the second he has a convenient excuse—”

“Like me?”

“—he can just go ahead and call me sick and disgusting with impunity and drop me without feeling bad…” John catches sight of the look on Alex’s face. Cuts himself off. “Shit, Alex, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s. I just figure I’d be a pretty convenient excuse, if that’s the case.” Alex scratches at his own furry chin with what he hopes is a nonchalant air. He’s more or less where he’d been when Henry last came a-calling, which is to say, objectively hideous. Not exactly not even a little human, but human enough to turn one’s stomach. No wonder Henry had lost his shit. Alex probably would too, if he found out his child was dating the love child of Chewbacca and were-Michael Jackson from the “Thriller” video.

John’s starting to get an expression back, and that expression looks an awful lot like guilt, so Alex decides to head it off. “Look, I know I’m—ugly, don’t argue with that, it’s true, but you didn’t do anything wrong here. And your dad’s not stupid—”

“His political views beg to differ.”

“…Okay, he has some wrong ideas, but he loves you, John, I know he does.” Alex sets down the phone, takes John’s hand in his. “He has to figure it out. He has to know that he’s the one being awful to you for something that is not your fault. And once he’s done throwing this, I don’t know, this tantrum, he’ll get over himself. And it’ll be fine. And if that means I have to make myself scarce for a while, that’s fine too.”

“That is not fine. I’m not breaking up with you because of something this stupid.”

“Did I say that you should?” And, okay, Alex had heavily implied it, but hearing John say that, even to deny that it would ever happen, makes his heart start racing with panic. He covers his tracks. “All I meant was, I stay away from him except for new moon, let him get used to the idea of me. He’ll come around. People do. Eliza did, right?”

“Eliza had a crush on you. Not the best sample size.”

“R-right.” Alex’s ears droop. “Uh. Still. He’s your dad. My point stands.”

“He’s stubborn.”

“So are you. I seem to recall the two of you got into a fight over whether you were going to vet school or to study poli sci. Which of you won that one, again…?”

“Okay, okay, I get it.”

“And, by the way, I’m stubborn too. The two of us can outlast him. Yeah? We can, John.” John picks at his phone case and declines to agree. Stubborn, right. Close the subject before John can get an argument together. “Anyway, staying up and worrying about it isn’t gonna fix anything.”

“The irony of you trying to tell me that is kind of incredible.” Alex decides to let that pass without comment. It’s a good sign that John has brightened up enough to be sarcastic.

“How about I make us some tea? Help you relax. You know, I was so pissed when you threw out the coffee, but after our, uh, our little adventure with it I’m really starting to warm up to the idea of some nice herbal brews. And it’s nice for when you can’t sleep, right?” Alex walks over and opens the spice cupboard, peering at their selection. “What’ll you have? We’ve got chamomile, mint, lemon balm, rooibos, um…since when have we had nettle tea?”

“Oh, yeah. The lady at the co-op talked me into it when she saw me looking at non-caffeinated tea. I tried to tell her no thanks, but she was really excited about it, and I kind of felt bad, and apparently nettle’s okay for dogs…”

“Huh. Nettle, like stinging nettle?” Alex pulls the lid off the tin and snuffles at it. “I honestly would not have thought you could make tea out of that stuff. Wouldn’t it hurt your throat to drink it?”

“Yeah, uh. I think I’ll stick with chamomile for tonight.”

“Probably a good move. Save the culinary adventures for another day.” Alex putters around the kitchen, filling the electric kettle and fetching mugs and carefully picking two teabags out of the box. Keeps watch on John out of the corner of his eye. John’s phased back into obsessively checking his phone. Call logs—text logs—call logs—text logs. Alex knows he’s just offered to keep a low profile around Henry, but at the moment the idea of, not tearing his throat out necessarily, but shaking him up at least a little bit, is sounding pretty good. He stops himself when he feels a growl starting to rumble in his chest.

Not useful, Alex. Not human, Alex. He glares at the kettle and takes deep breaths until the water boils, pours out two mugs and dunks the teabags. John looks up from his phone for a moment when Alex sets his mug down on the table in front of him, but gets wrapped up again, this time in what looks like the archive of Facebook Messenger messages between him and Henry. The likelihood of there being anything useful in there is vanishingly small, but Alex doesn’t have the heart to scold just now, not when John looks the way he does.

Alex laps at his mug of tea, burns his tongue. Decides to let it sit for a while. He brushes his knuckles against John’s, and John sighs and at least switches his phone to his other hand so he can run his fingers over Alex’s paw pads. Alex chuckles a little.

“Well, isn’t this disgusting.”

“What?”

“Look at us. Sitting here, holding hands, drinking tea in the kitchen at—” Alex glances over at the microwave display, “—at 3:05 AM. We’re like a stereotype of a couple. I’m gonna throw up.”

That teases a flicker of smile out of John. “It’s pretty bad,” he allows.

“Well, as long as we’re being gross and couple-y—” Alex reaches out and snags the phone out of John’s hand.

“Hey!”

“No, no, I’m doing a thing,” says Alex, holding the phone away from John at arm’s length. He finds Spotify, taps in a quick search, selects. Soft brass starts playing out the phone speakers. John raises an eyebrow.

“Really, Alex?”

“Yeah, come on.” Alex stands up and executes a little sashay around the kitchen, his tail swishing back and forth. “Frank Sinatra’s a national treasure. Up, John. We’re dancing now.” He holds out his hand, pulls a meaningful face. John rolls his eyes, but allows Alex to pull him out of his chair and into a clumsy spin.

“You’re an awful dancer.”

“Shut up, I’m amazing. Yes, you’re loooooooove-ly, with your smile so warm,” croons Alex, hooking an arm around John’s waist and waltzing him around. “No, I’m leading now, let me—hm, hm, nothing for me but to loooooooooove you…”

The smile in question lights up John’s face properly, and Alex trails off, his heart suddenly feeling far too big for his chest. Three in the morning, John’s hair is a horrible bird’s nest, he’s wearing a shirt that Alex can smell he grabbed off the top of his hamper, and he’s beautiful. Beautiful. And Alex is—slightly more than half a wolf. He ducks his head, careful to fold his ears back so they don’t hit John in the nose.

“What is it?”

“It’s a joke, see,” says Alex, striving to keep his tone light, “because the way I look tonight is, uh, really fucking bad.”

“Alex.” John tilts Alex’s head back. Alex expects him to go off on one of his you are beautiful just the way you are speeches, but all he does is kiss Alex, just where the cool leathery skin of his nose meets velvety fur. Alex sniffs a little, shakes his head.

“Um. You wanna, you wanna lead for a little bit?”

“Sure.” There’s a moment of shuffling hands around, and then John steers Alex into a much more graceful two-step. His hand drifts down to Alex’s hip, and he strokes his thumb against the fur poking out where Alex’s t-shirt has ridden up. Alex feels his tail start to wag, and wills it (unsuccessfully) to get ahold of itself.

The song slows to its dreamy finish, and John actually dips Alex, looking at him through his eyelashes and smiling oh so tenderly. It’s quite romantic, until Alex’s paws lose purchase on the linoleum and he scrabbles for balance, clinging to John to keep from falling over. John rights him, and they both burst into laughter.

“Sorry, Fred Astaire,” Alex says, grinning. “Get yourself a better Ginger Rogers if you’re trying to do the fancy stuff.” He moves to disentangle himself from John’s arms.

“Hey, wait a second, don’t run off just yet. You chose the first dance, so it’s my turn to pick, isn’t it?” Alex shrugs and gestures, go ahead. John grabs his phone and queues up another song. It starts up, all echoey guitars and whispery alt-pop vocals.

“This doesn’t sound like a jazz standard to me,” Alex complains.

“Oh, shush. You never said there were rules to this. Now come here.” John reaches out and pulls Alex close, wraps his arms around Alex’s shoulders and buries his face in Alex’s fur. Alex sighs and relaxes against John’s chest. He’s so warm, and he smells so good, smells like home and smells like mate and smells, above all, like John.

“When you say I love you…” John sings softly into Alex’s ear. He’s a much better singer than Alex. He lays his hand on the back of Alex’s head, strokes at the thick not-quite-fur not-quite-hair there. Alex grips him a little tighter. Yes, Alex loves him. Alex loves him, and Alex needs him, and Alex would let him go in a heartbeat if John wanted something more than dancing barefoot in his kitchen with a mangy werewolf.

Would let him go, even though Alex knows to do so would surely kill him.

“I love you,” Alex whispers against John’s neck. He should say more, I’m sorry about your dad, I’m sorry I’m like this, I’m sorry you’re saddled with me, but he can’t quite manage to choke it out. “I love you.”

“Yeah, that’s the song,” John teases. He toys with Alex’s ear, and Alex whines and melts a little more. “But I love you too.”

Alex pulls back just enough to tilt his chin up and kiss John. Proper kiss, not a doggy lick or a nuzzle. Ever so careful to keep his teeth out of the way. John says mm and leans into it and holds Alex, holds him, holds him, and for a while it doesn’t matter what Alex is. He’s loved. That’s all he needs right now.

The song has a long outro, but Alex doesn’t care, and John doesn’t seem to either. By the time it fades into silence, they’re not dancing so much as swaying together, not to any particular rhythm, just enjoying being close. They stand there for a long moment in each others’ arms.

Then, John yawns so hard Alex hears his jaw creak.

“Tired?”

“Hmm,” says John. He swipes at his eyes. “Yeah. Finally. Come to bed with me?”

“Our tea, John.”

“Oh. Yeah. ’S fine. We can spare two bags. We’ve got more.” John pulls at Alex’s hand, and Alex lets himself lean forward and lick John’s cheek.

“Okay, bossy. Bedtime.”

They switch off the kitchen light and Alex, with his superior night vision, leads John back into the bedroom. John hums under his breath as they climb into bed.

“Lovely,” he sings, almost sighs, pulling the covers up. “With your smile so warm...” He traces a thumb over Alex’s lower lip. “And your cheeks so soft...”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Alex grumbles, before John can start mussing the fur on his face. He rolls over so John can spoon up behind him—makes him feel safe to have something at his back. “Go to sleep, Sinatra.”

“Alex?”

“Hmm.”

“I do think you’re beautiful. I really mean that.”

“You’re right. I’m pretty sexy at new moon.”

“No, I—you’re beautiful. You are. Doesn’t matter when. Just wanted you to know.”

“Oh.” There’s a joke in there, somewhere, something about furries and DeviantArt accounts, but Alex can’t bring himself to make it. A protest in there too, I’m not I’m not how can you say that please don’t lie to me just tell me I’m hideous. Can’t put that one out there either. “Good night, John,” is all he says, around the tightness in his chest. Squeezes John’s hand in his, runs his other hand over his own face, the fur there already finer than it had been when he’d gone to bed. Breathes slow.

Drifts off, warm arms around him and soft music in his ears.

#swan talks #hamilton for ts #wereham au #don't.....look.....at this........please

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