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jaskierswolf · 3 years

Note

Hmmm Geraskier Legally Blonde AU. Music major Jaskier follows his long-time muse Chiridean to law school (what, like it’s hard?) but finds him smitten with all-star student Yennefer. Cue Jaskier needing the broody TA, Geralt’s help in not flunking out. Jaskier ends up rocking the high-profile case of Callonetta, even after evil law professor Stregobor attempts to toss him out. (I also needed an excuse to put Jaskier in a playboy bunny outfit. For reasons.)

I am so so sorry this took so long. I almost made it into a longer piece and honestly I may still use the scenes in this to expand into a longer fic on AO3 if I have time but for now... voila! _____________

Jaskier was tearing his hair out. There was no way he would be able to get the grades he needed to get into law school. He was a musician for fuck’s sake. There were so many words and they were all so boring. The paragraphs blended together and blurred making it nearly impossible to focus. He groaned and thumped his head on the table. He could do this. He wanted to do this. He had just hit a wall. He’d been concentrating so hard for weeks, which was, quite frankly, impressive for him. That sort of focus was usually reserved for his composing.

“Come on, Jask. You can do this!”

He couldn’t do this.

“How’s it going, buttercup?” Triss asked as she popped her head around the door.

Jaskier pouted and gazed wistfully out the window at the parties in the street below. “I should be out there, Triss. I could have been up on the stage or snogging some gorgeous person behind the curtain!”

Triss smirked and put her hands on her hips. “Snogging?”

Jaskier winked. “Or fucking,” he added with a shrug. “Anything is better than this shit!” He said gesturing widely to the the stack of books on his desk.

“You could just give up?”

Jaskier gaped at her and huffed. “My muse!” He whined.

“Suit yourself,” Triss shrugged. “Ready to go again?”

Jaskier groaned but nodded as Triss passed him another test whilst setting an alarm on her phone.

“Go!”

He sighed but began to scribble furiously. He could do this!

__________

He’d fucking done it. Jaskier Pankratz was at Law School. His parents had never been so proud. They’d restored his inheritance to their estate and he finally had access to his bank accounts again. No more living on tips and barista wages for him. He grinned. He’d always known that Chireadan would be the best muse! He strutted down the halls dressed in his favourite black skinny jeans and a shocking pink crop top, his guitar slung over his shoulder and an ice coffee in hand.

It was time for the next part of his plan. It was time to get his muse back!

He smiled and waved cheerfully at his fellow law students as he danced through the corridors, sipping his ice salted caramel latte through a straw. Most of them looked at him as if he was from another planet. Their clothes were black, black and black. Did no one in law school know what colour was? Yes he was wearing black jeans, but his top was brightly coloured and more than a little bit sexy. He’d paired the outfit with some designer sunglasses, a gift to himself to celebrate his reunion with his credit card, and a pair high heeled ankle boots that laced up at the front. His fashion sense was just wasted on these clever folk.

He sighed dramatically and glanced up at the doors. He was absolutely not lost. It was just… nothing was very clearly marked. Perhaps that’s why you needed all the extra tests to get into law school, even getting to class was a fucking exam.

“Are you alright?” A deep gruff voice asked. “You look lost.”

Jaskier spun around and peered over the top of his sunglasses. His jaw dropped. The man in front of him was fucking gorgeous. He had the most beautiful silver hair that was pulled into a bun, revealing a sneaky undercut on either side of his head. He was wearing a black turtle neck that was a tad too tight and stretched over hidden muscles, and on his face were a pair of thick black rimmed glasses. It shouldn’t have been so sexy but holy mother of fuck. Even the ratty old tweed jacket looked good on him.

“Lost in your eyes maybe,” Jaskier winked and bit his lips.

“Hmm.”

And then he turned and walked away. Jaskier pouted. The man must be straight. There wasn’t even a blush on his face, either that or Jaskier was losing him game.

Nah. It wasn’t that. He looked fucking hot and he knew it.

Jaskier hurried after him and placed a hand on his arm. “Wait! No. I’m sorry. I am lost, like actually lost and not just in your eyes, although can I just say,” he gestured to the man’s body. “Wow. What colour are your eyes? Yellow, no golden… doesn’t matter. They are gorgeous.”

The man raised an eyebrow at him.

“I’m Jaskier by the way. Jaskier Pankratz.” He held his hand out to shake but the man ignored it so he ran his fingers through his hair instead.

“What class?”

“Oh umm, excellent question,” Jaskier stuck out his tongue and he dug through his pockets for his schedule. It was already coffee stained and torn in the corner but who gives a shit. “Professor Stregobor?”

The man let out a weary sigh and pressed his fingers to his forehead. “Fuck.”

Jaskier tilted his head and put his free hand on his hip as he sipped his coffee. “Why ‘fuck’?”

“You’re not going to last two minutes. Follow me.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened. What was that supposed to mean? “Oh hang on!”

“Follow me.”

Jaskier’s jaw snapped shut. He hadn’t even made it to class yet and he was starting to regret everything.

_______________

“Come on…” Jaskier drawled as he rest his chin on his hands. The table was sticky and covered in beer but he ignored it. He had a job to do. He jutted out his bottom lip and widened his eyes at Chireadan.

Chireadan like everyone else in this damned party was dressed casually in a rather lovely blue jumper and chinos. Jaskier, who had been invited to the party by one Yennefer Vengerberg, was wearing a black corset, fishnet tights and a ridiculous pair of bunny ears. He should have known better than to trust Yennefer. She was fucking gorgeous and a phenomenal lawyer but she had taken a dislike to him. It was shame. He was pretty certain that under different circumstances they could have been friends. She was just ambitious and did not hesitate to trample on others to get what she wanted. He respected that.

It just had a few unpleasant side effects. Like turning up to a non-costume party dressed as a playboy bunny. At least he looked cute.

“No, no. Out of the question!” Chireadan said in his adorable little accent. It was what had drawn Jaskier to him in the first place. “I’m just not interested anymore.”

Jaskier let out a soft whine and batted his eyelids. “But I need you, you’re my muse!”

“Well you’ll have to find a new one. I’m done being fodder for your terrible songs.”

And like that the spell was broken. Jaskier gasped and sat back in his chair. “I. You. What?!” He shrieked.

“It was just one love song after another, and none of them even made sense? Do you even know how to rhyme? And we’re not even in love.” Chireadan huffed. “I want a girlfriend and I can’t do that with you trailing after me acting like a lovesick puppy. No. Julian. We are done.”

“Oh no. We are not done because you say so. We are done because you are a terrible muse with fucking awful taste in music. I cannot believe I wasted years on you!” Jaskier snapped. “I was just trying to repay you for saving my life but you. you.. ungrateful swine!”

“You’re acting like a child.”

“I’m a musician! I’m allowed to be dramatic!” He yelled and stood up, kicking the chair out from underneath him. “Yennefer Vengerberg will never love you. You’re wasting your time.”

“I know,” Chireadan sighed wistfully. “but I love her.”

Jaskier scoffed and fled the house. His pride was wounded. Not only had Stregobor called him a talentless fool who would never succeed in court, his muse, his precious muse had insulted his songs. He was fucking done with it all. He should never have come here.

His eyes stung and his throat ached as he bit back a sob. “Fuck!”

He shivered just as a heavy coat dropped around his shoulders. He touched the fabric in the dark; tweed. He smiled into his lap; Geralt. He felt Geralt sit next to him silently and he rest his head on Geralt’s shoulder.

“I spoke to Yen,” Geralt said in a low whisper. “I’d like to say she’s sorry for the costume joke.”

Jaskier chuckled. “Of course she’s not.”

“No.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier sighed dramatically as he looked up at the stars. “What am I doing here, Geralt? I’m a musician, not a lawyer, and apparently I can’t even do that right.”

“What? Who said that?”

“Chireadan,” he whined.

“He knows fuck all,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier sat up and stared at Geralt in disbelief. “Does this mean you like my music, Geralt?” Geralt scowled and refused to meet his gaze. “Oh come on, I’m having a shit night. Humour me?”

“I like your music.”

“What do you like about it, three words or less?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt groaned.

“Please!”

“It’s catchy.” A pause. “And I like your voice.”

Jaskier swallowed as he tried to remind himself how to breathe. He was certain it was the booze and Geralt actually being nice to him for a change but he suddenly had an overwhelming urge to kiss him. He cupped Geralt’s face, turning it gently so he was looking at Jaskier. “Thank you, my dear.”

“Hmm.”

Geralt’s eyes flickered down to Jaskier’s lips. There was no mistaking that and even in the dark Jaskier was pretty sure he could see a blush on Geralt’s cheeks. He was fairly certain that if Geralt didn’t kiss him now, he might die. He licked his lips and tilted his head at his friend. “Geralt?” He asked quietly.

Geralt hummed, the ever present scowl on his forehead deepening. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me?”

And he did. Then he did it again, and again, until Jaskier had forgotten all the sadness in his heart because all that mattered were Geralt’s lips against his. __________ Tag list: @alwenarin @slythnerd @davidtennan-t @flippinfricks @innocentcinnamonpun @marvagon @elliestormfound @geraskier-trashh @panerato @moonysourenza @artistsfuneral @victorieschild @hailhailsatan @wherethewordsare @havenoffandoms @bitchy-witchy-post-mortem @electricrituals @geralt-of-riviass @00qtee @kittynannygaming @stinastar @scribblesonmapleleaves @thecomfortofoldstorries @fontegagrilledcheese @anythinggoesfandoms @veritasrose @trickstermoose67

#the witcher #legally blonde #modern au #geraskier #wolfie's witcher writing #Anonymous

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theaviskullguy · 3 years

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Ink and Petals

@dapple-dualies-propaganda here's the au

Tattoo artist! Rider x Florist! Goggles

hope you enjoy!

---------

When was it not busy at Squid ink?

It was one of the top Tattoo Parlors in Inkopolis. and it was also on a pretty busy street. So, it got a lot of customers. Also the fact that one of the artists was a famous turfer.

Rider hadn't formerly retired, but he had eased out of playing Turf Wars. He had found other interests outside of the sport: Theater, art, reviewing old movies online... He still did Turf from time to time, albeit the adult league. He was too old for the more popular teen division.

So, he found a job as a tattoo artist. And he rather loved it. Not only did most of his friends consult him for tattoo advice (from where the best places are to good designs), but he also knew some gossip. One of his regulars had beef with her neighbor because he has a pet raccoon who keeps stealing her trash and Rider could NOT wait to hear more about this story.

Another thing was, well, Rider had seen some shit. From people covered head to toe in tats, to people eagerly wanting their first tattoo, even to shyer folk who wanted one to defy controlling parents or to mark something important.

None of that prepared Rider for the news he got when tattooing one of the customers. More specifically, Gloves.

You see, Gloves had been coming in for the past few days. They had wanted a pretty complicated butterfly tat, so for the last 3 days Rider has been exchanging stories with the resident enby about... pretty much anything.

This is how this exchange happened;

"So you remember Goggles, right?" Gloves asked.

Rider rolled his eyes. "What, you think I'd forget the guy who kept pulling down my pants?"

"Oh ha ha. Anyways, apparently he works at that flower shop now."

"...He what?"

"You heard me!" They said. "I went there yesterday to get something for a project and there was Goggles! He misses you, 'ya know!"

Rider was just. quiet. He hadn't talked to his crush in a while, contact dwindled when Rider stopped doing Turf as much. Never once did he think Goggles would miss him, but that was probably the self hatred talking.

"...I'll think about it." Was all Rider said.

The conversation continued like nothing happen; Gloves saying multiple cursed things and Rider sharing interesting stories he heard on his job. Time flew by and soon, the tattoo was done; a butterfly with the bi colors on one wing and the nb colors on the other. Rider was quite proud of it, and Gloves seemed to like it. They waved, and left the store, humming to themselves.

Rider looked at the clock. His shift ended in just a few minutes. He knew he had no other appointments that day, so he took to watching old recorded matches in his phone.

Those were over a decade ago. Yet he still remembered everything. His favorite part was still learning he won a match by such a small margin. It was just... amazing.

He sighed. Rider missed those battles. But he has to say, he missed his crush a bit more.

He clocked out, saying goodbye to the other employee-Cherry (business relationships were easy to maintain when your coworkers were your siblings), and headed towards the flower shop for more reasons than one.

Army had a performance the next day. And yeah, Rider knew it was romantic, but platonically giving your best friend flowers was always nice. Plus, he wanted an excuse to see Goggles again.

He looked into the shop-the blue inkling was nowhere to be seen, but then again neither was the front desk. So, Rider shrugged and stepped in.

The floral scent was strong, but not overwhelming. Plenty of blossoms lined the stands, along with tags of what the flowers were and what they meant.

Rider looked around, trying to remember which flowers Army liked again, when he heard a familiar, youthful voice.

"Hi! Need any help?"

The inkling turned around. Goggles had definitely changed since Rider last saw him; his tentacles were longer and in an actual bun, for once. His blue eyes still had that clarity, and he still had that goofy smile. Though he didn't seem to recognize Rider.

"Uhh... I'll be fine. I'm just trying to remember what flower my friend likes the most." He said, hoping his accent didn't give him away; there weren't many in Inkopolis with an Australian accent.

But, Goggles didn't seem to notice or care. "Oh, okay!"

Rider internally breathed a sigh of relief. That would have been awkward if Goggles recognized him.

He looked around the shop, before spotting a bouquet of lilies. He knew Army liked lilies. If they weren't his favorite flower, it'd be close enough.

Rider took a few of the bigger ones, and a few white roses for variety, and took them to the counter.

Goggles smiled. "This a special occasion?"

"Not exactly. Just, my friend's doing a performance for a musical and I wanted to get him something for it." Rider explained.

"What musical?" Gogs asked, arranging the flowers with a sheer, white ribbon tying them together.

"Hadestown. He got Eurydice."

"Oh! I went to go see it last night! Army's amazing at that role. He's your friend, right?"

Rider internally panicked, but calmed down after remembering he wasn't Army's only friend. "Yeah. We've been friends for a while now."

"Well, tell him I said hi!" He handed the bouquet to Rider. "On me, alright? It's for a friend anyways!"

Rider nodded. "Thanks, mate."

"You're welcome!"

------

A few weeks went by. Rider occasionally stopped at the flower shop and got flowers for...well, no real reason. He'd use them to add color to his house, or give them to friends. He just wanted an excuse to see Goggles.

He'd talked to the blue inkling a bit more, too. He'd gotten into the business since, well, he really liked flowers, and he wanted a job where he could just...relax! He still did Turf, of course, but the Adult league was more serious than the teen one, and he just wanted to have fun instead of be expected to take a game seriously.

He still didn't recognize Rider. The yellow-green inkling was a bit hurt by this, to be honest.

Though, it was a bit startling when Goggles actually walked into Rider's work. And Rider was assigned to give Goggles his first tattoo: A blue jay on his shoulder, taking off from a branch.

This time, it was Goggles' turn to ask questions as Rider worked.

"Sooo.... you've been coming into my shop for a while and I still don't know your name!" The blue inkling stated. "I mean, you can probably recognize me though!"

Rider shrugged. "Well, who can forget Goggles of the Idiot Blue team?"

Goggles giggled. "You do know me! I still don't know you!!"

"...I can assure you, we've met before that day I got Army flowers." Rider said.

"Ooh! Can I try and guess who you are?"

"Ehh, why not."

"Okay! Umm..." Goggles thought for a moment. "Clams facemask?"

Rider shook his head. "Nope."

"Inkfall?"

"Wrong."

"Eging Jr?"

"Not even close there."

"Stealth Goggles?"

"Getting closer, I'll give you that."

"....Rider?" Goggles asked.

Rider chuckled. "Took you long enough, idiot."

Goggles smiled wide. "I finally found you! Hi Riri!"

"Hey, Gogs. It's been a while."

"Yeah! I'm a bit surprised I didn't recognize you, since we were pretty close!" Goggles stated.

Rider shrugged. "Well, I'm not the most memorable person anyways."

"Riderrrrr don't say that!" Goggles said. "You're still really popular!"

"To some people, maybe. Not everyone."

There was a tense silence, other than the hum of the tattoo needle as it made the drawing.

"....So." Goggles started again. "How's life?"

"It's...well, better than it was." Rider said. "Got my own place, for one. Though it gets a bit lonely.. You?"

"I'm still living in an apartment. I really want a roommate!" Goggles proclaimed. "Maybe we could move in together?"

"..I'll think about it, Gogs. Though it might be fun being your roommate."

"Really? Thanks Rider!" Goggled smiled.

The conversation grew more casual. Rider enjoyed it; turns out Goggles had his fair share of gossip. It was kinda cool.

And as the next few days passed, Rider looked forward to each of those sessions. His crush seemed to go from "this person would be fun to date i think" to "hOLY MOTHER OF THE GODS IM IN L O V E", and it didn't help that during those meetings, Goggles had to be shirtless.

The days turned into weeks and months. Goggles moved in with Rider, and the two became incredibly close friends.

And, it came to a head near valentines day. Goggles' shop was very busy, as expected. Luckily, Squid Ink wasn't as much.

So, on his day off, just before Valentines, Rider headed to the flower shop and got a bouquet of roses. Cliché to confess on Valentines day, Rider knew, but he's a pining gay cut him some slack.

And Rider came home right as Goggles was leaving for his shift. So, that left Rider with a good 3 hours to practice his confession.

"Alright, Rider. This has to be CASUAL. 'Hey, I've liked you for over a decade but just now had the confidence to confess!' No, too creepy sounding. 'Yo, Gogs. I really like you and maybe we could go out to dinner sometimes?' ...Too casual."

....Yeah, this went on for a while.

Rider groaned, collapsing his his bed. "I wish feelings were fucking easier...I should just call Army."

So, he grabbed his phone and selected the contact, Veronica Sawyer Kinnie

"C'mon, Army... pick up."

And not one ring later, "Rider, what is it?"

"...I need romantic help. Please." Rider asked.

"Look, just because I'm married to Aloha, doesn't mean I know how I ended up here."

"Yeah, I kinda know that." He stated. "Still. I really need some help."

Army sighed. "Who is it? It's totally that one person with the raccoon story-"

"Actually, no. It's, um.... It's Goggles."

The octoling on the other end of the line could be heard sighing. "Still a morosexual I see."

"OI! You're the one who married a fuckin himbo!"

".....Touché. Still, there's a difference."

Rider huffed. "Just... give me some advice. I wanna confess to him tomorrow but I've got no idea how. I'm giving him roses, but like, there's gotta be something more I could do, y'know?"

"Have you tried asking Prince?" Army suggested. "He is the one with the obsession with rom coms and romance novels."

"This is his exam period, Army. I'm not about to potentially interrupt a cram session by asking for romantic advice!"

"Fair enough. I'd say...well, just rip off the band aid. Like... 'Hey, Goggles, I really like you and was wondering if you'd like to be my boyfriend.'"

"...Thanks, Arm. I'll, uh, give it a try."

-------

Rider couldn't sleep that well. Mainly out of anticipation.

He was gonna confess to his crush of...over a decade, at least. He didn't fuckin know what was gonna happen!

Like, would Goggles reciprocate? Would he hate Rider after it? WHAT THE FUCK WOULD HAPPEN-

He sighed. He needed to get his mind off this shit.

Rider looked over to his bedside clock: 5AM. 5 hours before his shift. 5 hours to get his shit together and plan for confessing to the world's cutest but also dumbest man later that night.

C'mon, Rider. Think. Army said to rip it off like a band aid, but Goggles might find that a little sudden and out of the blue. He could write a letter and leave it for Goggles when he went to his shift (The flower shop was closed on Valentines day). That would be a safe option.

Rider sat up, and got out a piece of paper and pencil, writing a note.

"Hey, Goggles.

There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while. I really, really like you. As in, a crush.

I totally get it if you don't like me back, or think I'm weird, but hey, I was wondering if you'd wanna go out to dinner or something. Probably not tonight cause of Valentine's day but maybe tomorrow night or something.

-Rider"

Quickly, he folded it and wrote Goggles' name, putting a little heart sticker on it. It was corny, but hey, Rider had to use up those stickers somehow.

Rider attached it to the roses, and kept it on his desk.

And so, the morning went as normal. He had breakfast, got out of his pjs, put his hair up... the usual.

But as Rider left to go to work, he left the note and rose on the table, and left the house quickly.

During the day, he nearly forgotten all about it; He caught up with the gossip-Apparently the neighbor with the raccoon and the regular were now dating. So that was a nice little end to the story.

Squid Ink wasn't AS busy-probably because it was Valentines day, people were spending it with their lovers, not getting inked up (unless they made the appointment when single)

And it was near the end of Rider's shift when he heard his name mentioned. Probably someone making an appointment before he heard the familiar voice of Goggles going "Okay!!"

The blue inkling walked over to his station. "Hi Ridey!!"

"...Hey, Gogs. Getting another tat?" Rider asked, trying to keep his cool.

Goggles nodded. "Yeah!!!"

"A'ight anything specific in mind or-"

"Can I get just a simple quote one?"

Rider nodded. "Where do you want it?"

Goggles pulled down the collar of his shirt slightly. "Right here, please!"

"Okay. Just try to keep holding that down so I don't mess up.

-----

And so, tattoo conversations ensued.

The quote Goggles had wanted was a simple Pride one, that said "love is love". It was discreet, but a bit of it could be seen poking out if Goggles ever wore a v-neck.

"So, any plans for tonight?" Rider asked, trying to keep things subtle. Maybe Goggles hadn't read the note yet.

The blue inkling nodded. "Kinda! I had mental plans buuuuut nothing serious."

Rider raised an eyebrow. "Who with?"

"..I m-mean, I still have to ask him.." Goggles' face turned a shade of blue, and he averted his gaze.

"....Can I guess who he is?"

"If ya can!"

He smiled. "Does his name have an R in it?" Rider had a guess it was himself, but it wouldn't hurt to check.

Goggles nodded. "Yeah!"

"Got an accent?"

"Yep!!"

"Is he doing your tattoo?"

"....y-yeah?" Goggles sheepishly smiled. "I'm n-not that discreet, am I?"

Rider chuckled, but on the inside he was screeching. "Honestly? I had no clue myself."

"Really? I've been dropping the most obvious hints!"

"...Like what?" Rider asked, now a bit curious.

"Welllll I've been picking movies you like during movie night, I've made sure to get your drink on coffee runs, Oh! And I offered to cook dinner that one time!" Goggles stated.

"...Damn. I'm just oblivious then." The former dynamo user laughed, before turning off the needle. "There. It's all done." Rider held up a mirror for the blue boy.

Goggles' face lit up. "Whoa! It looks amazing!!! Thanks Riri!"

Rider smiled. "You're welcome. Now, uh, ...did you read my note?"

"..Y-yeah, I did. And, um...I like you too Rider!!" The blue man pressed a small, quick kiss to Rider's cheek.

Rider blushed. "S-so, you'll let me t-take you out?"

Goggles nodded. "Yeah!!!"

"I...thanks, Gogs."

"You're welcome Riri!!!"

----------

aAAAAA RUSHED END

but like. hope yall enjoy!

#Galax Writes #tattoo artist x florist #splatoon #coroika #coroika rider #coroika goggles #goggles x rider

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snelbz · 4 years

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What Happens In Vegas... {6}

An A Court of Thorns and Roses, Feyre x Rhysand, Modern AU, fanfiction.

Summary: For Feyre’s twenty-first birthday, her best friend took her to Las Vegas for a weekend of fun she could never forget. She’s going home with a lot more than memories.

@snelbz / @tacmc collab

What Happens In Vegas Masterlist

Fanfiction Masterlist

My Ask Box

“Hey.” Rhys padded down the stairs seven hours later, wearing a towel wrapped around his waist. He’d slicked his wet hair back and his tattoos were displayed to perfection, defining his lean torso and muscular arms. There was a lot of skin on show. The man was a visual feast. I made a conscious effort to keep my tongue inside my head. Keeping the welcoming grin off my face was beyond my abilities. I’d planned to play it cool so as not to spook him. That plan had failed.

“Whatcha doin’?” he asked.

“Nothing much. There was a delivery for you.” I pointed to the bags and boxes waiting by the door. All day, I’d pondered the problem of us. The only thing I’d come up with was that I didn’t want our time to end. I didn’t want to sign those annulment papers. Not yet. The idea made me want to start puking all over again. I wanted to try with Rhys. I wanted to be with him. I needed a new plan.

The pad of my thumb rubbed over my bottom lip, back and forth, back and forth. I’d gone for a long walk up the beach earlier, watching the waves crash on the shore and reliving that kiss. Over and over again, I’d played it inside my mind. The same went for our conversations. In fact, I’d picked apart every moment of our time together, explored every nuance. Every moment I could remember, anyway, and I’d tried damn hard to remember all of it.

“A delivery?” He crouched down beside the closest package and started tearing at the wrapping. I averted my eyes before I caught a glimpse up his towel, despite being wildly curious.

“Would you mind if I used your phone?” I asked.

“Feyre, you don’t need to ask. Help yourself to whatever.”

“Thanks.” Joey and my folks were probably freaking out, wondering what was going on. It was time to brave up to the butt-picture repercussions. I groaned on the inside.

“This one’s for you.” He handed me a thick brown-paper parcel done up with string, followed by a shopping bag with some brand I’d never heard of printed on the side. “Ah, this one too, by the look.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I asked Amarantha to order some stuff for us.”

“Oh.”

“Oh? No.” Rhys shook his head. Then he kneeled down in front of me and tore into the brown package in my hands. “No ‘oh.’ We need clothes. It’s really simple.”

“That’s very kind of you, Rhys, but I’m fine.”

He wasn’t listening. Instead he held up a red dress the same thigh-baring length as those girls at the mansion had worn. “What the fuck? You’re not wearing this.” The designer dress went flying, and he ripped into the shopping bag at my feet.

“Rhys, you can’t just throw it on the ground.”

“Sure I can, I paid for it. Here, this is a little better.”

A black tank top fell into my lap. At least this one looked the right size. The thigh-high red dress had been a size-two joke. Quite possibly a mean one, given Amarantha’s dislike of me back in LA. No matter.

A tag dangled from the tank. The price. Shit. They couldn’t be serious.

“Whoa. I could pay my rent for weeks with this top.”

In lieu of a response he threw a pair of skinny black jeans at me. “Here, they’re okay too.”

I put the jeans aside. “It’s a plain cotton tank top. How can this possibly cost two hundred dollars?”

“What do you think of this?” A length of silky blue fabric dangled from his hand. “Nice, huh?”

I ignored his question, still staring at the tank in my hand. “Do they sew the seams with gold thread? Is that it?”

“What are you talking about?” He held up the blue dress, inspecting it closer, turning it this way and that. “Hell no, nevermind, it’s backless. The top of your ass will probably show in that.” It joined the red dress on the floor. My hands itched to rescue them, fold them away nicely. But Rhysand just ripped into the next box. “What were you saying?”

“I’m talking about the price of this top.”

“Shit, no. We’re not talking about the price of that top because we’re not talking about money. It’s an issue for you, and I’m not going there.” A micromini denim skirt came next. “What the fuck was Am thinking ordering you this sort of stuff?”

“Well, to be fair, you do normally have girls in bikinis hanging off you.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “In comparison, the backless dress is quite sedate.”

He kept digging through the bags, but he looked up at me again. “You’re different. You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” I didn’t entirely believe the tone of my own voice.

His forehead wrinkled up with disdain. “Damn it. Look at the length of this. I can’t even tell if it’s meant to be a skirt or a fucking belt.”

Laughter burst out of me and he gave me a hurt look, big, violet puppy-dog eyes of extreme sadness and displeasure. Clearly, I had hurt his heart.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “But you sound like my father.” He shoved the micro mini back into its bag. At least it wasn’t on the floor.

“Yeah? Your dad and I should meet. I think we’d get along great.”

I blinked. “You want to meet my father?”

Shrugging, Rhys said, “Depends. Would he shoot me on sight?”

“No.” Probably not.

He just gave me a curious look and burrowed into the next box. “That’s better. Here.”

He passed me a couple of sedate T-shirts, one black and one blue.

“I don’t think you should be selecting nun’s clothing for me, friend,” I said, amused at his behavior. “It’s vaguely hypocritical.”

“They’re not nun’s clothes. They just cover the essentials. Is that too much to ask?” The next bulging bag was passed to me in its entirety. “Here.”

“You do admit it’s just a tiny bit hypocritical, though, right?”

“Admit nothing. Hybern taught me that a long time ago. Look in the bag.”

I did so and he burst out laughing, whatever expression I wore being apparently hilarious.

“What is this?” I asked, feeling all wide-eyed with wonder. It might have been a thong if the makers had seen fit to invest just a little more material into it.

“You said I was dressing you like a nun, so I’m dressing you like a nun.”

“La Chaleur.” I read the tag, then turned it over to check out the price.

“Shit. Will you not look at the price, please, Feyre?” Rhys dove at me and I lay back, trying to make out the figures on the crazily swaying tag that was bigger than the scrap of lace. His larger hand closed over mine, engulfing the thong. “Don’t. For fuck’s sake.”

The back of my head hit the edge of a step and I winced, my eyes filling with tears. “Ow.”

“You all right?” His body stretched out above mine. A hand rubbed carefully at the back of my skull.

“Um, yeah.” The scent of his soap and shampoo was pure heaven, Lord help me. But there was something more than that. His cologne. It wasn’t heavy. Just a light scent of spice. There was something really familiar about it.

The tag hanging down in front of my face momentarily distracted me however. “Three hundred dollars?”

He smirked. “It’s worth it.”

“Holy shit. No, it’s not.” It wasn’t, there was no way it was.

He hung the thong from the tip of a finger, a crazy cool smile on his face. “Trust me. I’d have paid ten times that amount for this. No questions asked.”

“Rhys, I could get the exact same thing for less than a tenth of that price in a normal store. That’s insane.”

“No, you couldn’t.” He balanced his weight on an elbow set on the step beside my head and started reading from the tag. “See, this exquisite lace is handmade by local artists in a small region of southern France famous for just such craftsmanship. It’s made from only the finest of silks. You can’t get that at Walmart, baby.”

My eyebrows bunched together. “No, I guess not.”

He made a pleased humming sound and looked at me with eyes soft and hazy. Then his smile faded. He pulled back and scrunched the thong up in his hand. “Anyway….”

“Wait.” My fingers curled around his biceps, keeping him in place.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice tightening.

“Just, let me…” I lifted my face to his neck. The scent was strongest there. I breathed him deep, letting myself get high off the scent of him. I shut my eyes and tried to remember.

Something. Anything.

“Feyre?” The muscles in his arms flexed and hardened. “I’m not sure this is a good idea.”

“We were in the gondolas at the Venetian. You said you couldn’t swim, that I’d have to save you if we capsized.”

His Adam’s apple jumped. “Yeah.”

“I was terrified for you.”

His chuckle was rough. “I know. You hung on to me so tight I could barely breathe.”

I drew back so I could see his face.

“Why do you think we stayed on them for so long?” he asked. “You were practically sitting in my lap.”

I felt stupid, but I still asked, “Can you swim?”

He laughed quietly. “Of course I can swim. I don’t even think the water was that deep.”

My eyes narrowed. “It was all a ruse. You’re tricky, Rhysand Lunasa.”

“And you’re funny, Feyre Archeron.” His face relaxed, his eyes softening again. “You remembered something.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“That’s great.” He smiled, a true, handsome smile, one that he’d only blessed me with a few times. Anything else?”

I gave him a sad smile in return. “No, sorry.”

He looked away, disappointed, I think, but trying not to let it show.

I hesitated. “Rhys?”

“Mm?”

I leaned forward to press my lips to his, wanting to kiss him, needing to. He pulled back again. My hopes dived. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“Feyre. What are you doing?”

“Kissing you?” I thought it was obvious.

He said nothing. Jaw rigid, he looked away.

“You’re allowed to kiss me and cuddle me and buy me insanely priced lingerie and I can’t kiss you back?” My hands slid down to his and he held them. At least he wasn’t rejecting me totally.

“Why do you wanna kiss me?” he asked, his voice stern.

I studied our entwined fingers for a moment, getting my thoughts in order. “Rhys, I’m probably not ever going to remember everything about that night in Vegas. But I thought we could maybe make some new good memories this weekend. Something we can both share.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and after a minute, I looked up into his handsome face. “Just this weekend?”

My heart filled my throat. “No. I don’t know. It just… it feels like there’s meant to be more between us.”

“More than friends?” He watched me, eyes intent.

“Yes. I like you. You’re kind and sweet and beautiful and you’re easy to talk to. When we’re not always arguing about Vegas. I feel like…”

His violet eyes were bright. “What?”

I didn’t want to stumble over my words. I didn’t want him to think I was doubting this decision, doubting him. “Like this weekend is a second chance. I don’t want to just let it slip by. I think I’d regret that for a long time.”

He nodded, cocked his head. “So what was your plan? Just kiss me and see what happened?”

I blinked. “My plan?”

He smirked, leaning closer ever so slightly. “I know about you and your plans. You told me all about how you make a plan for everything.”

“I told you that?” I was an idiot.

“Yeah. You did. You especially told me about the big plan.” He stared down at me, eyes intense. “You know… finish school then spend three to five years establishing yourself at a midrange firm before moving up the ranks somewhere more prestigious and starting your own small consultancy business by thirty-five. Then there’d maybe time to get a relationship and those pesky 2.4 kids out of the way.”

My throat was suddenly a dry, barren place. “I was really chatty that night.”

“Mm. But what was interesting was the way you didn’t talk about that plan like it was a good thing.” He looked at me and the way those eyes were looking at me, I couldn’t have hid anything from him, even if I wanted to. “You talked about it like it was a cage and you were rattling the bars.”

I had nothing. He read me like a book and I had no idea what to say.

“So, come on,” he said softly, taunting me. “What’s the plan here, Feyre? How were you going to convince me?”

“Oh. Well, I was, um… I was going to seduce you, I guess. And see what happened. Yeah…”

He snorted. “How? By complaining about me buying you stuff?”

“No,” I said, clearing my throat. “That was just an added bonus. You’re welcome.”

He licked his lips, but I saw the smile threatening to break through. “Right. Come on, then, show me your moves.”

I hesitated. “My moves?”

“Your seduction techniques. Come on, time’s a-wasting.” I hesitated and he clicked his tongue, impatient. “I’m only wearing a towel, baby. How hard can this be?”

“Fine, fine.” I held his fingers tight, refusing to let go. “So, Rhys?”

“Yes, Feyre?”

“I was thinking…”

“Hmm?”

I was so hopelessly outclassed with him. I gave him the only thing I could think of. The only thing that I knew had a track record of working.

“I think you’re a really nice guy and I was wondering if you’d maybe like to come up to my room and have sex with me and maybe hang out for a while. If that’s maybe something you’d be interested in doing…”

His eyes darkened, accusing and unhappy. He started to pull back again. “Now you’re just being funny.”

“No.” I slipped my hand around the back of his neck, beneath his damp hair, trying to bring him back to me. I pressed my forehead to his, hoping he could see the sincerity in my eyes. “No, I’m very, very serious.”

Jaw tensed, he stared at me.

I breathed, “You asked me this morning in the car if I thought you were scary. The answer is yes. You scare me shitless. I don’t know what I’m doing here. But I hate the thought of leaving you.”

His gaze searched my face, but still he said nothing. He was going to turn me down. I knew it. I’d asked for too much, pushed him too far. He’d walk away from me, and who could blame him after everything?

“It’s okay,” I said, gathering what remained of my pride up off the floor, about to grab my Rhys-approved tank, jeans and t-shirts and run upstairs.

“Shit.” He sighed. “You’re kinda terrifying too.”

I breathed, “I am?”

“Yeah, you are. And wipe that smile off your face,” he teased.

I did no such thing. “Sorry.”

He angled his head and kissed me, his lips firm and so good. My eyes closed and my mouth opened. The taste of him took me over. The mint of his toothpaste and the slide of his tongue against mine. All of it was beyond perfect. He lay me back against the stairs. The new bruise at the back of my head throbbed in protest when I bumped it yet again. I flinched but didn’t stop. Rhys cupped the back of my skull, guarding against further injury.

The weight of his body held me in place, not that I was trying to escape. The edge of the steps pressed into my back and I couldn’t care less. I’d have happily lain there for hours with him above me, the warm scent of his skin making me high. His hips held my legs wide open. If not for my jeans and his towel, things would get interesting fast. God, I hated cotton just then.

We didn’t once break the kiss. My legs wrapped around his waist and my hands curved around his shoulders. Nothing had ever felt this good. My ache for him increased and caught fire, spreading right through me. My legs tightened around him, muscles burning. I couldn’t get close enough. Talk about frustrating. His mouth moved over my jaw and down my neck, lighting me up from inside. He bit and licked, finding sensitive spots below my ear and in the crook of my neck. Places I hadn’t known I had. The man had magic. He knew things I didn’t. Where he’d learned his tricks didn’t matter. Not right then.

“Up,” he said in a rough voice. Slowly he stood, one hand beneath my ass and the other still protecting my skull.

“Rhys, no.” I scrambled to tighten my hold on his back.

“Hey.” He drew back just enough to look into my eyes. His pupils were huge, almost swallowing the iris whole. “I am not going to drop you. That’s never going to happen.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“You trust me?” He asked.

“Yes.” I meant it, too.

“Good.” His hand slid down my back. “Now put your arms around my neck.”

I did, and my balance immediately felt better. Both of Rhysand’s hands gripped my butt and I locked my feet behind his back, holding on tight. His face showed no sign of pain or imminent back breakage. Maybe he was strong enough to carry me around after all.

“That’s it.” He smiled and kissed my chin. “All good?”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

He simply asked, “Bed?”

“Yes.” I hoped I didn’t sound as desperate as I felt.

He chuckled in a way that did bad things to me. “Kiss me,” he said.

Without hesitation, I did so, fitting my mouth to his. Sliding my tongue between his lips and getting lost in him all over again. He groaned, his hands holding me hard against him.

Which was when the doorbell rang, making a low, mournful sound that echoed in my heart and groin. “Nooo.”

“You’re fucking joking.” Rhysand’s face screwed up and he gave the tall double doors the foulest of looks. At least I wasn’t alone. I groaned and gave him a tight full-body hug. It would have been funny if it didn’t hurt so much.

A hand rubbed at my back, sliding beneath the hem of my tank to stroke the skin beneath. “It’s like the universe doesn’t want me inside you or something, I swear,” he grumbled.

“Make them go away. Please.”

He chuckled, clutching me tighter, but then he groaned and kissed my neck. “Let me answer the door and get rid of them, then I’ll take care of you, okay?”

“Your towel is on the floor.”

He smirked. “That’s a problem. Down you hop.”

I reluctantly loosened my hold and put my feet back on firm ground. Again the gong-like sound filled the house.

Rhys grabbed a pair of black jeans out of a bag and quickly pulled them on. All I caught was a flash of toned ass. Keeping my eyes mostly averted might have been the hardest thing I’d ever done.

“Hang back just in case it’s press.” He looked into a small screen embedded beside the door. “Ah, man.”

I tensed. “Trouble?”

“No. Worse. Old friends with food.” He gave me a brief glance. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll be hurting too.”

“But—”

“Anticipation makes it sweeter. I promise,” he said, then threw open the door. A hand tugged down the front of his T-shirt, trying to cover the obvious bulge beneath his jeans. “Drakon. Miryam. Hey, good to see you.”

I was going to kill him. Slowly. Strangle him with the overpriced thong. A fitting death for a rock star.

A couple about my parents’ age came in, laden down with pots and bottles of wine. The man, Drakon, was tall, muscular, and, surprise, covered in tats. Miryam was one of the most gorgeous women I’d ever seen. They both wore wide grins and gave me curious glances. I could feel my face heat when they took in the lingerie and clothing strewn about on the floor. It probably looked like we’d been about to embark on a two-person orgy.

Which was the truth, but still.

“How the hell are ya?” Drakon roared in an accent I couldn’t quite place, giving Rhys a one-armed hug on account of the Crock-Pot he held in the other. “And this must be Feyre. I have to read about it in the damn paper, Rhys? Are you serious?” He gave my husband a stern look, one brow arched high. “Miryam was pissed.”

“Sorry. It was— ah, it was sudden.” Rhys kissed Miryam on the cheek and took a casserole dish and a full bag from her. She patted him on the cheek in a motherly fashion.

“Introduce me,” she said.

“Feyre, this is Miryam and Drakon, close friends of mine. They’ve been taking care of the house for me.” He looked relaxed standing between these people. His smile was easy and his eyes were bright. I hadn’t seen him looking so happy before. Jealousy reared its ugly head, sinking its teeth in.

“Hello.” I put out my hand for shaking, but Drakon engulfed me in a hug.

“She’s so pretty. Isn’t she pretty, hon?” Drakon stepped aside and Miryam came closer, a warm smile on her face.

I was being a jerk. These were nice people. I should be profoundly grateful not every female Rhys knew rubbed her boobs on him. Damn my screaming hormones for making me surly.

“She sure is. Hello, Feyre. I’m Miryam.” The woman’s coffee-brown eyes went liquid. She seemed ready to burst into tears. In a rush, she took my hands and squeezed my fingers tight. “I’m just so happy he found a nice girl, finally.”

“Oh, thank you.” My face felt flammable.

Rhys gave me a wry grin.

“Okay, enough of that,” Drakon said. “Let’s let these lovebirds have their privacy. We can visit another time.”

Rhys stood aside, still holding the casserole dish and bag. When he saw me watching, he winked.

“I’ll have to show you the setup downstairs sometime,” Drakon said. “You gonna be here for long?”

“We’re not sure,” he said, giving me a glance.

Miryam clung to my hands, reluctant to leave. “I made chicken enchiladas and rice. Do you like Mexican? It’s Rhysand’s favorite.” Miryam’s brows wrinkled. “But I didn’t think to check if that was all right with you. You might be vegetarian.”

“No, it’s okay. I’m not, and I love Mexican,” I said, squeezing her fingers back, though not as hard. “Thank you so much.”

She let out a release and grinned.

“Hon,” called Drakon.

“I’m coming.” Miryam gave my fingers a parting pat. “If you need anything at all while you’re here, you give me a call. Okay?”

Rhys said nothing. It was clearly my decision if they stayed or went. My body was still abuzz with need. That, and we seemed to do better alone. I didn’t want to share him because I was shallow and wanted hot sex. I wanted him all to myself. But it was the right thing to do. And if anticipation made it sweeter, well, maybe this once the right thing to do was also the best thing to do.

“Stay,” I said, stammering out the words. “Have dinner with us. You’ve made so much. We could never possibly finish it all.”

Rhysand’s gaze jumped to me, a small smile of approval on his face. He looked almost boyish, trying to contain his excitement. Like I’d just told him his birthday had been brought forward. Whoever these people were, they were important to him. I felt as though I’d just passed some test.

Miryam sighed. “Drakon is right, you’re newlyweds.”

“Stay. Please,” I said. Miryam looked to Drakon. Drakon shrugged but smiled, obviously delighted.

Miryam clapped her hands with glee. “Let’s eat!”

#snelbz whiv #vegas au #what happens in vegas #feysand #snelbz tacmc collab #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

17 chosen and 20 lunar for Indruck, nsfw, please!

Here you go!

Lieutenants Log, stardate 10015, Joseph Stern recording

We’ve finally arrived at an agreement with the Aquariads, the species who control this moon. They will allow our research team unfettered access to the planet, but at an odd price. They requested one of our crew agree to be married off to a high ranking member of their governing council.

I suspect, but cannot prove, that this is not a desirable being to be married to. He’s a revered seer, and yet they’re willing to couple him to a human and not one of their own? Suspicious.

Myself and the other single members of the crew were all given extensive questionnaires on everything from our sexual preferences to our daily habits. It took me a good hour and a half to finish it.

After a full earth day of waiting, we received word that chief astrobotanist Duck Newton was the chosen human. I have no idea how this happened, as Duck has little tolerance for what he views as “woo-woo” things like precognition. But he was chosen all the same.

Because this is Duck, he grumbled a bit, but cheered up when he learned he would only be required to stay with his new husband for three weeks before joining us on our field word, and that we can send him specimens for identification and research. If we decide Aquaria is the planet we’ve been looking for and establish more permanent research stations here, Duck will be expected to spend at least a few days a month with the seer. Mama made it clear that if the idea was truly not something he could agree to, she would call the deal off and we could try another approach. Duck said that wouldn’t be necessary, and that he could think of far worse things they could have asked of us.

We deposit him at the seers home tomorrow. After that, we begin our exploration of Aquaria, fourth moon of the plant Oceana and (hopefully) the home of the antidote we’ve been searching for.

Joseph Stern, Lieutenant on the spaceship Amnesty, signing off.

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

Duck waves to the skiff as it pulls away, his planetside bag slung over his shoulder. There’s only one way to go; down the single stone levee, decorated with beautiful tiles, to the massive mansion at the end.

It reminds him of the photos of Venice he’s seen in old National Geographics, beautiful buildings floating atop a planet of water. He knows Aquaria has islands, but the majority of it’s cities are on or near the water because most of its residents live beneath the waves. They remind Duck of mermaids, with scaled tails and fins giving way to humanoid upper bodies and faces. As far as creatures to get politically married off to, he could be staring down worse.

There’s still the problem of not knowing why this mer is off by himself and without a partner. Or, as becomes obvious once Duck is inside, any company at all. The other high-ranking aquariads they’ve met come with miles of attendants; here there’s only the high, curved ceilings and rippling water. Maybe the guy is shy? Or maybe he’s a dick? Or just real fucking scary to look at?

As he walks further into the house, he notices the tiled walls are covered in striking murals that, when coupled with the odd half-light allowed in by the green glass windows, makes him feel as though he’s wandering through a dream. The pools and canals criss-cross the floor, and really the ground is more water than concrete, the fact he’s able to walk at all is a concession to the fact some aquariads evolved to be land dwelling.

A splash makes him turn, and in the pool to his right a black fin cuts the water. He steels himself to not insult the alien he’s now legally attached to. The figure rises from the water, setting his arms on the edge of the stony floor and Duck steps back as a wide, toothy smile appears in an angular face.

“Hello, Duck Newton.” His tail is the same black as his fin, and his silver hair is tucked behind ears of the same color, which Duck has learned can fan out as a way of communicating.

“Uh, hi. You must be-”

“Indrid Cold, yes. Apologies, a peril of my profession is that I will always be a little bit ahead.”

“Right. So, uh, guess we’re gonna be seein a lot of each other the next couple of weeks.” He aims for a joking, nonchalant tone.

“Yes, as we’re married.” He cocks his head, confused, then grins brighter, “Oh, oh I see, you are attempting levity because this is all very awkward. I, ah, I appreciate that. Here, let me show you where you’ll be staying” Indrid pushes off the wall, swimming gracefully on his back as Duck follows him down the hall. The center of the house has more skylights, allowing him to see that his host’s fins aren’t pure black; small silver and white dots are scattered across it. He wonders if he could find constellations in them.

“Here we are.” Indrid gestures to a room, one where the only water is in the form of two deep blue half-circles on the left and right walls. The center of the room is a large bed, linens gleaming whites and pale greens, and the skylight nestles against a chandelier of finely detailed rosey glass.

“Holy shit.” Duck sets his bag down on a trunk near the door.

“Do you like it?” A flash of yellow up Indrid’s fin, echoed in the dots on his tail.

“I mean, anythin looks ritzy after months on a spaceship but” he turns, smiles, “yeah, I do. Thanks for giving me such nice digs.”

“You are most welcome. Now, this room is designed to give guests privacy. See that red panel on the wall? If you press it, it opens the pool on that side up to the rest of the house, allowing myself or servants to come in and help you.”

“So you do have staff.”

“They’re, ah, more like errand folk. None live here.” Indrid clears his throat, “I can show you the rest of the house, although if you need to sleep I can let you be. I am, ah, not entirely clear on where your internal clock sits now.”

“Aquaria’s days are about four days longer than earth’s, so I ain’t too thrown off. Happy to see more of the place.”

Indrid nods, and Duck follows him out of the bedroom. Most of the other rooms they pass are sparse squares of walkways and still water, under which lies the parts of the house Indrid uses. When they reach Indrid’s quarters, he spots what looks to be an artists’ studio under the clear blue water.

“You paint?” He kneels and peers down for a better look, Indrid bobbing nearby.

“Indeed. Art helps me make sense of my visions, and I enjoy it besides. In fact, all the murals you see in this house are my doing. There are even more under water.”

“Damn, that’s fuckin incredible. If I get my SCUBA gear rigged up, maybe I can get a tour?”

“Scu--oh, yes, an underwater breathing apparatus. We have a much smaller device that can help you breathe and sea down here” he dips his head at the pool, “unfortunately, the one I commissioned for you will not arrive until close to the end of your stay. They, ah, did not give me much time to prepare. Hence the lack of many comforts I might otherwise give, as well as places for you to and I to talk, eat or do, ah, other activities together.” The yellow intermittently flashing up his fin gives way to a burst of pink.

Oh, right. Duck pulls up his infopad (given a generous waterproofing treatment prior to his leaving Amnesty) and opens the contract he signed.

“Yeah. About that. Says here they expect us to, uh, ‘consummate’ the marriage.”

“I’m aware” Indrid’s voice creeps up.

“Do you...wanna do that now?” He spins a finger in the water.

“I, ah, I beg your pardon?”

“I mean, seems like we could just get it outta the way, rather than have the fact we gotta fuck someone we didn’t pick hangin over our heads?”

“This...this is not at all how I wanted this to go.”

Duck looks up and immediately wishes he could reverse time; Indrid looks genuinely hurt, ears flicked back like a scolded dog.

“Duck I, ah, well, you did not choose me, that is true. But I chose you.”

“Well, fuck.” He sits down with a heavy sigh, “figured some big wigs used those surveys to pick me out. Guess what they say about assumin things is true.”

“.....”

“It makes an ass outta you and me?”

Indrid blinks, then snickers, “Your humor is part of why I chose you. It is very bad, but also extremely good.”

“Glad you think so. Pretty sure Mama was ready to blow me out the airlock for some of the ones I made on the way here.” He knows he’s dodging the conversation they should be having, but how the fuck is he supposed to respond when an alien mermaid tells him he picked him to be his husband?

Indrid swims over so he can rest his arms and chin on the stone, glancing shyly up at Duck as he says, “I suppose I also made an ass of myself, as you would say, by assuming you would not see this as an obligation.”

“I mean, even if you chose me, don’t this feel like an obligation to you?”

“No. For me, it is a reminder that most of my kind are too afraid of me to even give me a chance to court them. And that the council thinks I will get into too much trouble without someone to distract me now and then, and decides the company I am worthy of is an alien explorer with no interest in me.”

“I mean, the only reason we agreed to this is because there might be a plant on Aquaria that can treat the illness runnin rampant back home. So at least it’s for a good cause?”

Indrid flicks his ears, red running up his fin, “What you are doing is noble. What I am doing is being used as a way to keep your exploration team in line.”

Duck winces, “Fuck, I’m, uh, I’m just gonna stop talkin now.”

For an agonizing five minutes they sit there in silence, contemplating their situation and stealing glances at each other. Duck always tried to do the right thing, tried to live an honest life and treat the people in it with respect. He’s been kind and polite to beings up and down the galaxy. He can extend some of that to his own husband, can’t he?

“Indrid?”

The alien raises his head.

“Can we start over?”

“Yes. But I do not see how-”

Duck holds out his hand, “Name’s Duck. Thanks for invitin me in and lookin after me the few weeks.”

Indrid’s smile widens as he understands the game, and he takes the human’s hand, “A pleasure to meet you. I am Indrid, seer to the court of Aquaria, and your anxious husband in spite of the now-changing, much more pleasant futures.”

They finish their tour, the humid air less stifling in the wake of their confessions. Indrid shows him the kitchen, the sitting room, and the gardens which, to Duck’s delight, are as much above the water as below.

After that, Indrid excuses himself to attend to seer duties and Duck goes back to his room to unpack. As he’s putting away his toothbrush and razor near a large, elaborate tub carved from golden stone, one of Indrid’s admissions from earlier floats through his mind, bobbing there like a buoy until he gets a chance to ask it.

When they’re in the gardens, Duck taking notes as Indrid dives and surfaces with new things to show him, the human slips his feet into the water and says, “Indrid? You said my offerin to fuck you wasn’t what you wanted. What, uh, what did you want?”

The alien blinks, slowly, pink and teal flashing in his tail, “It is a bit silly in retrospect, but since I knew we would not have time for a proper human marriage courtship, I thought I could mimic the process leading to a one night stand; that way you would be romanced in a manner that made you both comfortable with me and the concept of sex with a relative stranger.”

Duck chuckles, “Always wild to find out how human stuff gets interpreted by the rest of the galaxy. How’d you even come up with what you were gonna do?”

Indrid crosses his arms, mock affronted, “I will have you know I have seen a great deal of human media, courtesy of our minister of defense.”

“Oh yeah?” Duck shifts onto his stomach, sends a small splash Indrid’s way, “what was this night gonna involve, then?”

“Food, dim and therefore, apparently, romantic lighting, dancing to sensual music, and then hopefully some kissing.” The pink in his tail intensifies, “and then working out exactly how to have sex human.”

The mixture of enthusiasm and being utterly out of his element charms Duck to no end; not to mention it’s the most thought someone’s put into a hook-up with him in the last three years.

“Seems to me you got the gist of it. Though I really wanna know what you picked out for ‘sensual music.’”

A playful glint enters Indrid’s glowing eyes, “I will show you, but we must go through the whole evening, otherwise it will seem like a disjointed choice. With, ah, with the understanding that you are not obligated to kiss me at the end.

“You got a deal.”

“Wonderful” Indrid claps his hands together, “wait right here.”

Indrid disappears in a whoosh of black and silver. When he returns, he hoists six opaque domes onto the floor in front of Duck, “I initially planned to eat in the sitting room, but you like this room much better, so we can have dinner here.” With that, he double-taps the top of each dome, revealing a confusing buffet.

“Uh, are those french fries?”

“Yes. You are from the United States of America, and so I chose foods that would make you feel at home.” Indrid points to each plate in turn, “french fries, steak, a turkey with cranberries, lobster, macaroni with cheese, and an apple pie.”

The pie is covered with an odd, yellow meringue, the turkey is the size of a quail, and the black shell suggests this is not a kind of lobster he’s eaten before, but Duck can’t stop smiling.

“Also I took care to be sure none of the necessary substitutions were poisonous to you.”

“Thanks, Indrid.” He means it; in their travels they’ve learned it’s not only humans who think everyone lives and eats exactly the way they do.

Everything except the french fries tastes strange but he finds the meal, like it’s orchestrator, intriguing in it’s oddity. Indrid brings two cool, white bottles from below, offers Duck tastes of each. One is like the celery soda he drank on a dare, the other like root beer if it wasn’t gross. He keeps the second one next to him as the meal progresses, Indrid asking him all kinds of questions about botany and himself. When dinner is over, Indrid guides him two rooms over, grinning excitedly.

“I will start the music; one moment.”

A few seconds after he dives, a chrome cylinder descends from the ceiling and music fills the air.

Ninety-nine red balloons

Floating in the summer sky

Panic bells, it's red alert!

There's something here from somewhere else!

He giggles, sits down so it’s easier to call, “Indrid? Not sure you got the right song bud.”

A silver-haired head pops up, “Not romantic?”

“Nope.”

“Hmmmm” He lifts a small, white rectangle and the song changes.

He was a famous trumpet man from out Chicago way

He had a boogie style that no one else could play

He was the top man at his craft

But then his number came up and he was gone with the draft

He's in the army now, a blowin' reveille

He's the boogie woogie bugle boy of Company B

“N-not quite” The laugh is stronger now.

“Drat. How about….”

I threw a wish in the well, don't ask me, I'll never tell

I looked to you as it fell and now you're in my way

Indrid looks hopefully at him.

“Ain’t what I’d call sensual, but you’d hear it at the kind of place you’d pick up a date.”

The alien beams, starts shifting back and forth to the beat, “shall we dance?”

Duck blushes, pretends he doesn’t know why, “Uh, probably should have said this earlier, but I ain’t much of a dancer.”

Indrid swims to him, stopping close enough that Duck can see the lines on his face that reveal they’re close in age, “That’s alright. Sometimes conversing while having a drink is acceptable behavior, correct?”

“Yeah.” Duck doesn’t bother to hide how intently he’s watching as Indrid dives, his form elegant and ethereal beneath the water.

They sit sipping a hard cider that tastes of papaya and flowers instead of apples until the three other moons glow bright in the skylight. Duck yawns, and excuses himself for the night.

“Thanks for a great evenin, Indrid.”

“You are most welcome. A pity I could not make the music work.”

He’s here for another three weeks at least. And Indrid is floating through the darkening water like a dream he’s tempted to chase.

“Guess you’ll just have to try again.” Duck winks.

Indrid’s ears frill slightly and he flashes bright purple, “Yes, my dear husband, I suppose I will.”

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

Duck’s routine is not the one he usually has while docked on a planet. Every day for the last week, he wakes up, joins Indrid for a leisurely swim, works on his research, and then spends his evening with a weirdly cute alien trying to accurately recreate the earth dating experience for him.

The second night, he asked if Indrid would bring him some of his favorites for their next meal. The steamed coconut crab was a hit. The mantis-squid served still swimming, less so. From then on, when Indrid put in his food orders to the cooks at the main court, it was for a mixture of earth and Aquariad dishes, each one leading him or Indrid to share an anecdote from their time on their home planet.

For the last two nights, he’s lifted the partitions on the pools in his room so Indrid can talk with him until neither of them can keep their eyes open. He wonders if it would be rude to ask him to stay, to sleep in such a small space just so he could be the first thing Duck sees when he wakes up.

There must be floating beds he could put in Indrid’s room, or maybe a hammock he could hang in the garden.

Duck now understands that Indrid’s powers make him politically valuable, but also mean his fellow residents of the lunar city see him as dangerous, as knowing things they’d rather keep secret. Duck understands, especially if their only time encountering the seer is when he glides his formidable, dark body from the depths of his inner sanctum. But all he can see is his Indrid, awkward and well-meaning, whose fear of Duck disliking him has given way to genuine affection. His Indrid, who now pulls himself up onto the stones so they can sit shoulder to shoulder after breakfast or before dinner, whose tail Duck’s fingers beg to caress.

His Indrid who is, at this moment, continuing his losing battle with earth music.

“How about this?”

Danke schoen, darling, danke schoen

Thank you for all the joy and pain

“Oh fuck no” Duck guffaws, “anything but him, ‘Drid, he’s a boner killer if there ever was one.”

“I don’t think he’s that bad, but I will be speaking to Vincent about his human music suggestions.”

“For the love of god, turn it off.” Duck flails for the remote.

Indrid sticks out his tongue, “Very well, but I am this close to pulling you down here and seeing if you can do any better.”

“You wouldn’t dare” Duck is still laughing, eyes closing as he does, which means he gets only a splash of warning before he’s yanked into the pool. He comes up giggling and spluttering, “now, is that any way to treat your husband?”

Indrid’s laugh is a siren song, “No, I suppose not.” The music clicks off as Indrid steadies him by curving his tail behind his legs, “how should I treat you instead?”

Duck drapes his arms over Indrid’s shoulders, “You been treatin me pretty damn well, dunkin me aside.”

A flicker of pink and yellow as Indrid rubs their cheeks together, “And if I wanted to be even better?”

“I, uh, I mean if you wanted to we could tryYYYYohfuck” he hunches forward as Indrid’s tail drags across his dick. The clothing on Aquaria is thin, so he can feel the cool scales tease his skin.

“Oh, oh dear, apologies, I was only trying to embrace you further, I forgot yours do not stay concealed until they’re needed.”

“You, you keep doin that and it’s gonna be needed real quick.”

“Oh?” red eyes narrow wickedly, “does my sweet husband need attending to?” Another drag of his tail, much more deliberate, and Duck grinds his hips in reply.

“Only if you want to.”

“I do, so very badly.” Indrid nuzzles his nose, “may I take a little while to acquaint myself with your wonderful body?”

“Uh huh.” Duck tugs his shirt off, throwing it onto the land and then giving his shorts the same treatment.

“Ohhhhhhyes.” Indrid purrs, fins and tails shimmering purple and gold. Then he sinks down, swimming in a slow, tight circle around the human. Pleased chirps and trills bubble up to Duck’s ears. Cool fingers play along his legs and belly, eventually finding his dick and offering an experimental stroke.

“Fuck” he groans, and Indrid does it again, kissing his navel as both hands rub and tease his dick and folds. Indrid is clearly experimenting, maybe even using his visions to guide him, and Duck eagerness to get off succumbs to just how fucking hot it is to have a partner this enrapt by his body, to have them explore it like some awe-inspiring landscape.

He spreads his hands out and runs them along Indrid’s torso and tail; the scales are just as wonderful under his fingers as he hoped, and he can feel Indrid sigh happily as he pets him.

Then lips close around his dick and he makes a series of undignified noises, digging one hand into Indrid’s hair to encourage him.

“Ohmyfuckinchrist, Indrid, yes, fuck please keep suckin like that.”

Indrid wiggles his whole body in response, happy trill underscored by a firmer suck. Duck can’t get enough of his body beneath his hands, of his mouth on Duck’s skin, and he wonders if someone can black out from how good a blowjob feels.

Indrid’s fin breaks the water and Duck runs an appreciative thumb along the top. Funny, there’s a little depression between it and the membrane of the fin. Curious, he drags his pinky along it.

The alien bursts upwards with a loud chirp of joy, “Ohgoodness, yes, oh that feels nice please do it again.”

“Yeah? My cute, needy husband need me to play with his fins to get off.”

“Not, not technically by my gods does he want you to.”

“Don’t worry darlin, I will--uh, ‘Drid? Is, is that your dick?”

Indrid follows his gaze to the thick, bumpy shaft emerging from his tail, it’s tip crowned with short, searching tendrils.

“Yes. Also an ovipositor, hence those lumps.”

“Holyfuck. Uh, I, I ain’t sure I’m ready for that yet.”

“That’s perfectly alright. Though it does mean my cock is not going into you tonight; I’m not sure I can control my bodily responses enough to avoid ovipositing accidentally.”

“Lots of others things we can do.” Duck bites the tip of one ear, making the other flare out.

“Indeed. I say we start with this.” Indrid’s tail encircles his waist just as Indrid shoves his cock between his thighs.

“Like, like the way you think sugar. Fuuuck, fuck that’s good.” The bumps from the eggs have just the right amount of give as he humps them, Indrid matching his tempo with his thrusts. He keeps his arms around his husbands neck, kissing him furiously. Indrid kisses back with a chirp, gold flashing in his scales, and Duck knows he won’t want to kiss anyone else for a long, long time.

The tip of Indrid’s cock bumps his ass and he groans at what that suggests about it’s size.

“I’m, I’m takin this fuckin perfect thing all the way before I go.” He bucks his hips harder to make his point, “gonna let you fuck me open on it, fill me up, wanna know what it’s like to cum with you inside me.”

“Oh gods” Indrid whimpers, hiding his face in Ducks neck as he squeezes his thighs together.

“And, and you’re gonna be a dutiful fuckin husband and fill me however I say, ain’t you?”

“Yes, yesofcourse, goodness Duck I, I’m-”

“Heh, you like that, mr high and mighty seer likes bein bossed around. Well, lucky you, because now that I know just how fuckin good you are at fuckin me, gonna have you doin it ever, fuckin, day.” He jerks his hips hard, three times, and Indric cums with a cry, cock pulsing as he sinks his teeth into Ducks shoulder. Duck doesn’t let up, chases his orgasm over the bumps and ridges until he nearly whites out with pleasure, clinging to Indrid tighter as his body gives up on supporting him.

After his cock retracts Indrid, still holding Duck up with ease, swims to the button that orders a cleaning cycle on the pool and deposits the human back on the stone.

“I dearly hope your team finds what you need on this planet so that I may see you beyond these few weeks.”

“Sex was that good?” Duck teases, petting Indrid’s hair as he lays his head in his lap.

“No. Or, well, yes, but more than that you are so, so very wonderful. I wish to get to know you more, to show you even more of my world and my skill in bed.”

Duck kisses the top of his head, “I hope so too.”

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

Communication log between leader of Amnesty Mission at Astrobotanist Duck Newton.

Mama: Got some promising leads. Will be back to pick you up in three days.

Duck: Glad to hear it. But take your time, no need to rush only my account.

#Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #mermay fills #alien au #terato

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oneblueumbrella · 4 years

Text

Thirty-minute Thursday

Howdy folks, in the interest of making sure I write on a regular basis, I’m starting Thirty-minute Thursday. The idea literally pulled me out of bed last night so I could scribble it down.

Basically: I grabbed a plot bunny, set my timer, and wrote for thirty minutes. I did one single pass edit, mostly for typos, and now I’m sending it out to you.

I hope to continue this each week, both to stretch my writing muscles and ease back into the tumblr-verse.

FORTUNE

PROMPT: "A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life," the fortune cookie says to Greg. Greg laughs in the Chinese restaurant. He doesn't believe in those things... Two minutes later, Greg bumps into Mycroft Holmes…

Greg rolled his eyes, re-reading the words. Outwardly, he was pretty sure he looked as sceptical as anyone would, reading such a fortune. Nobody would know how much those words had hit home. If he was a believer in karma, or fate or whatever, it might spark hope. Instead, Greg knew both karma and fate were human constructs, designed to make some people feel better about themselves, or less responsible for their lives or something.

If karma was real, he had no idea what he’d done to deserve Karen. Clearly he’d pissed off someone, because even now she affected his life. He wouldn’t be standing in this dodgy Chinese, the last place still open near work on a Thursday night, closer to midnight than he’d care to admit. Overtime wouldn’t matter this much; he’d be able to afford some decent food, and without all the hours at work, he could cook it for himself.

But she took so much when she left – literally and figuratively – so he was the guy who took on plenty of overtime when it was available. Greg was pretty sure people thought he was a workaholic, or maybe just a boring lonely old guy. That was closer to the truth than he cared for. A broke, lonely old guy was more like it. He was only boring because there was no time for anything interesting anymore. A quiet pint sometimes, and the football if he was lucky, but otherwise, life had not ended up where he thought it would.

If only karma was real. Greg reckoned he’d done some good in his life, tried to help people, let little old ladies go ahead of him at the checkout. Sure, there were some stupid decisions when he was younger, but nobody was hurt by a teenage boy scribbling on a wall somewhere, or wearing truly terrible clothing, or listening to awful music. He’d be due something good by now, by his reckoning.

Smoothing the paper out, Greg read it again.

A beautiful, smart, and loving person will be coming into your life.

He’d thought all those things applied to Karen, when they met; now he knew better. Knew to look past the superficial to find beauty, past loud statements to find quiet intelligence. Had seen it in people he was too afraid to approach.

Right now, when he thought of beautiful and smart and loving, one figure rose in his mind, and nobody in the world would be able to guess who it was. He’d learned to read the quiet mannerisms, to see the subdued reactions to the world surrounding that astonishing man. More than Sherlock, Greg appreciated the understated gestures of love Mycroft Holmes showed his brother. The two of them were the most undemonstrative people Greg had ever met, and he often wondered what their childhood had been like, to produce adults so different and yet so similar. He’d never had the courage to ask either man.

“Here you go!” the cheery man behind the counter said, passing Greg his order.

“Thanks,” he said, cradling the thin bag. It was hot, but he made it out the door before he had to shuffle it to the other hand.

As he did, the fortune cookie paper slid from his grasp, and Greg automatically ducked to grab it. Something crashed into his head, or he crashed into it, and with disconcerting suddenness he was sitting on the ground, blinking, his head pounding and stars dancing across his vision.

“Shit,” he said finally, more out of shock than anything else. What the hell did he hit his head on? There was nothing in the middle of the footpath, surely?

“Are you hurt?”

The voice was familiar, and Greg froze. Surely not. Not here, at such a late hour. Not after the fortune cookie.

“I’m fine,” Greg said, scrambling up. “Hi, Mycroft.”

“Gregory,” came the response, along with a suppressed smile. “I apologise, I was reaching down to pick up your…”

“Fortune,” Greg said with a self-conscious smile.

“Ah,” Mycroft replied. “An important prediction, if you are so intent on keeping it?”

“Maybe,” Greg said with a smile. He closed his fist around the paper. “Right now I’m more interested in this, though.” He raised the bag containing his dinner.

“You have not yet eaten?” Mycroft asked, his eyebrows raised.

“It was a late one,” Greg agreed.

Mycroft hesitated. “Might I offer you a lift home?” he asked.

“Sure,” Greg said. He ignored the irrational beating of his heart at this. Mycroft had given him a lift before, and it was hardly the start of anything significant.

“I have often wondered,” Mycroft said when they were settled in his car, “why it is you take on quite so much overtime.”

The direct question made Greg blink. “I beg your pardon?” he asked blankly.

“I apologise,” Mycroft said. “Last time we spoke, you encouraged me to ask a question when I hesitated. I understood it was acceptable to do so.”

“Yeah,” Greg agreed. “I did. Sorry. Just tired.”

“Yes,” Mycroft replied. “Hence my question. I apologise if it is too personal.”

“Not at all,” Greg replied. He sighed. This was the point he could laugh it off, change the subject; Mycroft would certainly take his lead. But he was tired, and it was a legitimate question, and if he was being honest with himself, it would be nice to talk to someone that wasn’t taking his order – either at work or in the dodgy Chinese.

“I have to,” he said finally. At Mycroft’s raised eyebrow, he added, “My ex-wife cleaned me out. Pension’s only a few years off but it’s not enough to stay in London, so I’m trying to save as much as I can until then.”

Mycroft stared at him. “I see,” he replied finally.

Greg shrugged. “It’s alright,” he said. “My clearance rate’s pretty high with all the extra hours. Might even get a promotion before I retire. That’d make the pension a bit better.”

“Gregory,” Mycroft said, “Please allow me to offer you an assurance.” He drew a deep breath. “Should you ever lack for a place to live in London, I will gladly accommodate you. I have access to a number-”

“No, Mycroft,” Greg interrupted, feeling himself flush. “I mean, thanks, but it’s fine.”

“It is not,” Mycroft replied with a heat that surprised Greg. “To be left in such a situation is far from fine, and if I am in a position to rectify it, I would wish to do so.”

Greg stared for long enough that Mycroft eventually looked away. It was fairly dark, but Greg would bet money Mycroft was flushing.

“Why?” he asked. “Why would you offer that to someone?”

“Not to someone,” Mycroft corrected him. “To you.”

“Me?” Greg asked.

“Yes,” Mycroft replied simply, and to Greg’s astonishment his usually reserved face showed a range of emotion Greg was not even sure Mycroft even felt.

Holy shit.

“Oh,” Greg replied. He glanced out the window, blinking. “We’re at my place.”

Mycroft nodded. Greg’s heart pounded as he said, “Can I offer you a drink?”

“A drink?” Mycroft repeated.

“Or not,” Greg said. “A fortune, maybe.” He handed over the paper. “I think I’ve already got mine.”

Mycroft read the tiny words, his mouth dropping open at the implied meaning. When he looked back up at Greg, it was with a question clear in his eyes.

Greg nodded, heart in his mouth.

Mycroft returned the nod, swallowing hard as he followed Greg from the car.

+++

Five months later, the fortune sat framed in the entrance to a small, comfortable flat in central London, close to Westminster and Scotland Yard.

Five years after that, it adorned the bedside table of a cottage in a very tiny village an hour from central London, in which two very happy men had agreed to retire.

#mystrade #thirtyminutethursday #iamwriting

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chaosintheavenue · 4 years

Text

Fallout Survey Results!

There were 69 responses this time around, aaand the results are in. This was a really random survey mostly based on pure curiosity, so make what you will of the results!

Without further ado, let’s get into it...

Which Fallout games have you played?

Which did you play first?

Which game is your favourite in terms of gameplay?

Which game is your favourite in terms of lore?

By the way, that one ‘other’ vote was my own, for Van Buren. If I had to stick to the canon games, I’d have gone with New Vegas, 100%.

Are they canon?

Tactics:

BOS:

Van Buren:

Where would you LIKE the next Fallout game to be set?

Here’s a map of how many times each state was specifically mentioned, because I'm a map nerd.

Top Answer: New York

Other countries mentioned: Canada

A lot of people mentioned that they expect previous locations to be re-used, but didn’t specify which.

Favourite character

Arcade Gannon: 17 (a lot of my Fallout mutuals are Arcade stans, so there was probably a bit of bias here, but still, an impressive victory for Arcade!) Nick Valentine: 5 Craig Boone: 4 Rose of Sharon Cassidy: 4 Joshua Graham: 3 Raul Tejada: 3 Veronica Santangelo: 3 Fawkes: 3 Deacon: 2 John Hancock: 2 Courier Six: 2 Benny: 2 Lily Bowen: 2 Folks who got one vote: Goris (aside: THANK YOU for making me look up who this is, I have been blessed), Charon, John Henry Eden, Butch Deloria, Irving Gallows, X6-88, Harold, ED-E, Preston Garvey, Ronald Curtis/Picus, Cait, Gob, Ulysses and RJ MacCready

Least favourite character

Vulpes Inculta: 10 Shaun/Father: 8 Caesar: 7 Strong: 5 Paladin Danse: 4 Piper Wright: 3 Craig Boone: 2 Legate Lanius: 2 Parker Quinn: 2 Daniel (from Honest Hearts): 2 Jericho: 2 And the list with one vote: Antony, Mortimer, Three Dog, Princess, Dean Domino, Myron, Cait, Roger Maxson, Arthur Maxson, Justin Ayo, Colonel Autumn, Joshua Graham, Colin Moriarty, Aaron Kimball, Alistair Tenpenny, Ulysses and Robert Edwin House

Favourite faction

Followers of the Apocalypse: 30 (holy moly lol) New California Republic: 7 Minutemen: 6 Railroad: 5 The Kings: 4 Yes Man: 4 Brotherhood of Steel: 4 Caesar's Legion: 2 Enclave: 2 The Institute: 1 Great Khans: 1 Westside: 1 Megaton: 1 Ghoul settlements in general: 1

Favourite DLC

Old World Blues: 14 Dead Money: 12 Nuka World: 9 Far Harbor: 7 Lonesome Road: 6 Honest Hearts: 6 Point Lookout: 5 Broken Steel: 3 Operation Anchorage: 1 Mothership Zeta: 1 The Pitt: 1

When you think of a chem that removes addictions, which comes to mind first?

When you think of Harold, which version of him do you picture?

The fate of cats

New Plague symptoms

Does Duncan MacCready have the New Plague?

Are any characters secretly synths?

The synth-accused: Sole Survivor, Ulysses, Easy Pete, most birds, Travis Miles, Courier Six, Colter, Deacon, Mr House (’just for fun’), Piper, and many settlers in general

Also, @ respondent that I’m pretty sure was @hiscotti-biscotti... 👀👀👀

Which New Vegas ending would you pick to be canon?

And finally, a handpicked selection of the gushing comments (got a bit long because there were so many I liked too much!)...

I wish they made the main quest harder to acces and finish, or to have more step to it... because once I played it one the experience wouldn't be the same. It so amazing discovering new location and being like 'I'm gonna explore that' so damn good.

The fallout franchise has one of the most beautiful heavy lore ridden world I've ever seen

I love the theme of change in the west coast trilogy and how strongly it contrasts the game's moto of "war never changes". I love how you can look at the changes to the NCR from shady sands to the republic but I also love how you can look at the Khans. People and factions do change, but waging war over petty dramas never does, you can escape it, but only if you admit you were wrong and change for the better.

I love the world and the characters. There is always some fucked up shit in the past that has a chance of snowballing into worse shit in the current time, like the cazadores and the new plague. And when characters are written well, they have a chance of being the coolest part of the games, like with Nick Valentine/Hancock or any of the characters of New Vegas.

When things get creepy it's wonderful. More in the vein of Dead Money or the Glowing Sea please!

I love how in NV the apocalypse isn’t just the end of everything. There’s still culture! There’s towns! There’s just people vibing! It feels less like the apocalypse and more like a developed area that is experiencing a war. People moved on after 200 years. Because that’s what people do.

The hopefulness of rebuilding.

Hhhh LORE!!! Apocalypse aesthetic!!!!! HOPE AND LIGHT AND HEALING AND GOODNESS AND ALSO COOL WASTELAND SHIT AND DEATHCLAWS... fallout good.....

oh my god i love arcade gannon so much i dont know why but i am literally about to start studying latin at uni because of him.

Can I just say I love how fnv gave us LGBT characters without making the fact that they're lgbt their entire personality.

I can go through abandoned buildings without getting arrested.

I love that it's helped me make so many new friends and has reignited my creative drive.

Say what you will about robot fetishists but Fisto was the greatest thing to happen to the series. A true icon and reminder of wonderful writing and character design. They may say you can't make a flawless character, but I say "look at Fisto". Don't boo me, I'm right.

#fallout #long post

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hello-im-not-a-possum · 4 years

Text

It takes a pack to raise a pup

“This is bad... What am I going to do?!” The gofer nervously paced around the infirmary, clutching the bitten arm in his hand before turning to face the Janitor “Please tell me that this is just a bad joke!” He pleaded “Please tell me that this is just a mistake...”

“Sorry ta break it to ya Bud.” The janitor lowered his cap down in sympathy. “But I ain’t jokin’ and I ain’t wrong about this: dat ova here is definitely a werewolf bite. I should know, I saw what my table an’ chair legs looked like after my first few full moons.”

As this was a very serious situation, he forced himself to hold back his laughter at the intrusive memory of his wife telling him that her solution to keeping him from turning the furnature into his chew toys was to swat his snout with a rolled up newspaper every time he ignored his bones and squeaky toys in favor of the table legs. This resulted in him letting out a noise that sounded like a cough.

“B-but what about my Ma and Grandpa?! They don’t even know that monster stuff goes down in the studio! How am I supposed to explain to them that every month, I’m going to turn into a blood-thirsty monster!?”

“If ya don’t wanna tell ‘em, they don’t have ta know.” Wally shrugged. “A lotta wolves don’t tell even their closest family members.”

“What if my Ma questions why all my clothes are getting ripped up?! What if Grandpa finds out when he sees me turn for the first- Oh no... WHAT IF I BITE THEM?! WHAT IF I EAT THEM AFTER I TURN?! WALLY, WHAT IF I END UP KILLING THEM?!”

Buddy felt sick to his stomach as he slumped down to the floor, Wally sat down next to him and patted his back.

“Hey Buddy, you’re gonna be fine. Trust me! There’s a ton of werewolves here at dis studio, none of us would mind showin’ ya the ropes or givin’ ya some good advice for dealin’ with this. Who knows, it might even be a little fun ta get a new pup in the pack.”

“Uuuugggggghhhhhhhhh...”

The Janitor’s words and smile didn’t reassure the nervous gofer, if anything, hearing that he and Wally weren’t the only wolves in the studio made Buddy wonder if the monster that bit him last week was one of his own coworkers. As he thought about it, The wiry music director who was in a constant state of irritation seemed like he was a good candidate to be the wolf who bit him...

He would be lying if he said he couldn’t imagine the man sinking those sharp teeth of his into a human being’s flesh.

“Buddy, c’mon, look at me. It’s gonna be okay, I’m not gonna lie to you, changing is always scary the first few times but you don’t have to do it alone. I can rally up the pack if ya need all of us or I can just keep this between you and me, but no matta what happens, I’ve got your back.”

“Thanks Wally...” He sighed as he still dreaded what was to come. “How soon can you get them?”

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

“Ta-daaaaa! Welcome to werewolves not-so-anonymous!”

Wally unfurled the crudely-made banner as Buddy walked into the break room, Susie clapped, Henry smiled and gave a friendly wave, and Lacie looked bored and unamused but gave a thumbs up and a half smile.

The gofer let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he was holding in. Wally alone could’ve been an outlier among werewolves but not all of them. He knew most of these people; the voice actress was hands down one of the most infectiously cheerful people he’d ever met, The Head Artist was a patient and kind man who the gofer looked up to as both an artist and a father figure, and while he didn’t know the mechanic very well aside from the facts that she wasn’t the most friendly or social of people, she didn’t seem half bad.

These people weren’t monsters, he wasn’t a monster.

“Alright, I know a some of us here already know each other but others don’t so lets start ourselves off with some introductions. Who’s going first?”

“Okay. Hi, I’m Buddy, I’m the studio’s gofer and I got bitten pretty recently so I’m kinda scared about all of this...”

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

On the day of the full moon, Henry rented a van with the intent to take the werewolf pack to a cabin in the woods so that Buddy’s first transformation would be in a secluded area.

“So how’d your folks take it?” Lacie inquired to break the silence. “They didn’t look happy when we picked you up.”

“They took it better than I expected, I guess?” The gofer sighed “I mean, my ma seemed pretty scared, but she seemed more scared for me than scared of me.”

“Yeah, that tends to happen...” Henry nodded.

“Guys, I have a question”

“Go for it.”

“If Sammy’s not a werewolf, then why is he coming with us? Wont he get turned?”

The music director rolled his eyes and took a very long sip from his coffee, he also wasn’t looking forward to tonight but for a very different reason.

“Nah... Don’t worry.” Lacie laid back and stuck her boots up on the dashboard. “Hell’s Songbird is cursed with something else so he’s immune to lycanthropy.”

Nobody noticed that the man had flinched at Lacie’s statement.

“...Is he basically an unofficial member of the pack?”

Wally and Susie’s eyes lit up at the question and they smiled at each other before answering.

“Yes.”

“Definitely.”

“Absolutely.”

Wally broke down laughing as Susie broke out her stage voice, even Buddy let out a soft chuckle at her dramatic movements.

“The grumpy banjo man is indeed the pack’s loyal brother, not by blood or spirit, but by true love-”

Said grumpy banjo man turned to face the back seat, the regular irritation in his voice gave way to a sarcastic, deadpan tone.

“If you people genuinely think I ‘love’ getting chewed, slobbered on, roughhoused with, pounced on, and ripped apart by a pack of near-mindless wild animals almost every single month, then you’ve probably been huffing too many ink fumes.”

“Yeah, yeah, so bein’ the ‘designated driver’ of da group isn’t always fun... But ya do it ‘cause you looooooooooove us!”

Henry sighed in a mix of annoyance and acceptance in a way that implied he knew exactly what was going to happen next.

“I’m a married man.” Sammy continued to deadpan. “I thought you knew that by now.”

This response only egged Wally on.

“Psssst! He’s not denyin’ it!” The janitor stage-whispered “So it must be true!”

“Shut UP Franks.”

Sammy huffed and crossed his arms, but not denying Wally’s statement, which led to a loop of Wally’s teasing and Sammy’s fruitless attempts to shut the conversation down, which was only ended by reaching their destination.

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

Buddy felt goosebumps as the van pulled up to the cabin and the sun slowly started to dip down.

“Here we are.”

“Finally! I swear, every single car ride I have with that. walking. headache. becomes the longest one I’ve ever endured.”

“Hey!”

The cabin itself probably looked like a much more warm and inviting place during midday, but as the shadows of the trees started to cast down on the humble little abode, it looked almost sinister. Although, that could’ve just been Buddy’s imagination working against him.

He hoped it was just his imagination working against him.

“Fuck, it’s gettin’ dark real fast.” The mechanic remarked as she looked at the sky. “Should we slap the meat on the grill now or just wait after we change and eat it raw?”

“We should wait.” The animator replied. “At this rate, if we try to cook it we’ll change before it’s halfway done.”

Buddy helped carry things into the cabin; a cooler, a couple of blankets, a duffle bag filled with dog toys and bones, they all seemed like reasonable items, but he couldn’t deny he felt something was missing.

“Hey Sammy, you’re looking out for us after we change, right?”

“Unfortunately.”

“So where are the ropes and chains? And isn’t there supposed to be bear traps and tranquilizers or something like them?”

The musician raised an eyebrow at the gofer.

“...Why would we need those?”

“...To tie us up and keep us from killing people?”

Sammy’s Jaw dropped at Buddy’s suggestion.

“Holy fucking shit... kid, you’re not turning into a monster, you’re just becoming a glorified puppy.”

“But you said it yourself, you get ripped up!”

“So?” Sammy scoffed. “That’s just what all dogs do.”

“He’s more of a cat person than a dog person.” Susie called out from the kitchen “Take everything he says about werewolves with a grain of salt.”

“Easy for you to say!” Sammy called back. “You’re not the one who had to cover over ninety-seven miles in different directions to round up a bunch of whimpering wolves because SOMEONE decided to set off a bunch of firecrackers just as the moon rose!”

“Hey!” Wally called out. “I said I was sorry!”

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

It was time.

Like it or not, he was going to become a beast.

He knew the others’ own transformations were happening right now, he heard their bones snapping and cracking, the changing shadows cast on the floor as he dashed to his own room praying that he’d make it in time.

In the madness, he saw a glimpse of what Sammy’s curse was. He wished he didn’t see that, it would’ve so much easier to trust Sammy’s protection if he didn’t know that burden of the musician’s curse was like a werewolf’s curse except the ‘wolf’ part was scratched off and replaced with something else. The chill that ran down his spine when his eyes met the monster’s also didn’t help.

Buddy locked himself in his room, quickly taking off his clothes so they wouldn’t get ripped during the change and wrapping himself up in the provided blankets to keep himself from seeing his own transformation.

His heart pounded against his chest as he heard someone whimpering and scratching at the door on the other side.

“Focus, Buddy...” He tried to reassure himself. “Deep breaths, don’t get scared...”

He highly doubted he’d be lucid for his first full moon, but the idea of losing his mind and becoming a ravenous monster just didn’t sit well with him, So he tried his best to stay ‘awake’.

No matter how hard it was.

The curse started off his own changes with either his skin, his senses, or his mouth. He didn’t know for sure as it felt like all three were happening at once as he spat out a bloody mouthful of his own teeth into his hands and watched fur sprout up all over his arms, the taste and smell of blood in his mouth and on his now paw-like hands, as well as the smells and sounds of everything else in the cabin was overwhelmingly nauseating.

“D-don’t freak out... the others have been through this lots of times... this is completely normal... Stay calm Buddy...”

He tossed aside the teeth and threw himself deeper into the blanket pile in spite of his body’s increasing temperature and new fur coat. The gofer couldn’t tell if the whimpering he heard was coming from the other wolves scratching at the door or from him.

The next thing the curse went after was everything else; muscles, bones, etc.

It was painful, but at the very least it was fast, he didn’t even have the time to whine for mercy before the malevolent force of the werewolf curse stopped. Buddy let out a sigh of relief as he dug himself out of his blanket cocoon.

He looked at the mirror and saw a frightened looking young wolf, his eyes still looked human and his fur seemed to match the color of his hair. While he didn’t like looking at this and calling it his reflection, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of himself. In spite of fear trying to drive him to the same level as a wild animal, he was still him.

Or so he thought as he was startled by the sound of his door unlocking itself and creaking open.

He let out a yipe and started to bare his teeth and growl at the weird beaked creature that poked its head into his territory. The said creature was not impressed in the slightest and simply came into the room.

Buddy growled louder and snapped his jaws at the creature, his ears laid back and his hackles bristling straight up. While the creature did move away from his bite, it was still not impressed. Out of desperation, he lunged at the black-feathered beast, desperately trying to scare it out but the monster looked like it had dealt with this before as it glided out of the way of his attack and picked him up by the scruff of his neck.

The young wolf flailed, bit, clawed, and snapped at the creature. But he could swear that the beast’s only response to Buddy’s last-ditch efforts to keep himself alive were to roll its eyes and toss the wolf out of the room.

And into the line of sight of two other wolves. Both adults, one of them had pitch black fur, the other one had dark gray fur, but both of them had curious almost human-like eyes.

Thankfully, they smelled familiar to him. Even as a human, he could always recognize the smells of cleaning supplies, bacon soup, and ink. As he got a little bit more used to his new senses, while most of the smells and sounds were still new, and there was too much of it, he could at least identify what they were.

The black wolf came closer to him and sniffed his face before licking it. The other wolf pawed the first wolf’s face away from his own. Assuming that this was just some kind of greeting, Buddy sniffed the first wolf’s face and licked him back, the second wolf let out a noise that sounded like an amused snort.

THUNK

A loud noise from the kitchen that came with a new smell made him realize how hungry he was. Assumingly all thinking the same thing, the three wolves dashed into the kitchen to see the toppled-over cooler being raided by two other wolves. The bird like creature was biting and flapping its wings at them, clearly trying to keep them away from the coveted red meats the cooler held.

“STOP. EATING. PLASTIC!” The creature cried out to deaf ears of the pack. “YOU’RE GOING TO GET YOURSELVES SICK! JUST WAIT FOR ME TO UNWRAP THEM FIRST!”

This tyranny would not stand with the wolves, united as a pack, the five starved beasts joined forces against the giant bird-monster that stayed between them and their food.

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

Buddy woke up groaning with a headache, sore muscles, and an upset stomach the next morning.

Last night was a blur to the gofer, like a dream, the most of what happened during the full moon quickly faded from his mind as he woke up. If it wasn’t for the fact he could still see the bird-monster form of the music director looming over him in the cabin’s rafters, he would’ve chalked the whole thing up to just be a bad dream.

“Sammy?” He groaned. “What happened last night?”

“As soon as I opened the door, all of you ran to the fields instead of the woods.” The music director sounded like he was too tired to be irritated. “I tried to steer you back towards the woods because there was a barn over there, but as usual, none of you listened to me.” Okay, maybe he was still a little bit irritated.

“Oh no... Did I eat anything there?”

“No, but you did get your head stuck underneath a fence and whined until I let you out.”

Buddy blushed in embarrassment as he wrapped his blanket tighter around him.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, everybody does stupid things the first time they change.”

“So how come you didn’t change back?”

“My curse isn’t determined by the moon, it’s determined by... other things. I don’t like talking about it.”

Sammy wrapped himself up in his wings, ending the conversation.

“G’morning.” Wally set down a fizzing glass of water by Buddy, the Janitor looked more exhausted now than he did after a 12-hour deep clean of the studio. “Ya might wanna drink that, it’ll help with the headache.”

“Thanks Wally.”

He smiled as he sipped down the liquid, while the gofer knew that the changes weren’t going to be easy for him to adjust to, at least he had other people who were willing to help him through it.

#hauntober #moonlight #bendy and the ink machine #batim monster au #buddy lewek #wally franks #susie campbell #lacie benton #Henry Stein #sammy lawrence #fanfic #it's werewolf time lads #body horror #took all night to write this

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365days365movies · 3 years

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January 18, 2021: The Mask of Zorro (Epilogue)

Some good old fashioned ‘90s fun, this one! WHOO! This one’s not an Oscar winner, sure, but I’d watch it again! It was a good time. Anyway, let’s break it down, shall we? HEEYA, TORNADO, AWAY!!

Recap

Cast and Acting

Antonio Banderas is suave when he needs to be, but also injects needed character and roughness when it’s necessary. He’s a great Zorro, and he genuinely makes me root for him. At the same time, he has a darker past, and they don’t shy away from that fact. Great choice for the character, and I do like the idea of officially making Zorro Hispanic, if I’m honest. Anthony Hopkins is surprisingly fantastic as the old Zorro, a role that was originally going to be played by...Sean Connery. HOLY SHIT, is it lucky that he dropped out, because Hopkins is way better than Connery would’ve been. His portrayal is full of pain and deep-seated revenge, but also clearly is still in mourning. Catherine Zeta-Jones has an interesting turn as the Inevitable Love Interest. However, I can’t really claim that the character is anything overly unusual, especially for the time period where the movie is set. And I think she suffers from simply not being given enough. Again, kind of the typical Inevitable Love Interest. Not necessarily bad...but definitely needs some more meat. Matt Letscher and Stuart Wilson were fine villains, playing their Sheriff of Nottingham and Prince John roles satisfactorily. But I also can’t say they stretched beyond that at all. Really, I’m saying that Banderas and Hopkins were great beyond what was given of them, and the others...served their role. 7/10 for this one.

Plot and Writing

The plot for this movie, while historically inaccurate, was fine! Wasn’t really anything unique, though, given the fact that this film is essentially Robin Hood in Mexico. Which, yeah, is entirely fine (one could argue that I love that movie and I STILL WISH I COULD’VE TALKED ABOUT ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD DAMMIT), but it did its job, while also throwing in its own setting-based innovations. It’s the kind of plot perfect for your stereotypical popcorn movie. Now, the writing...the writing. The writing works...sometimes. And other times...Elena talks, I’m sorry, her lines were REALLY BAD half the time. Whoof. But Banderas and Hopkins did seem to be given the good lines throughout. Look, the story and writing aren’t exactly bad, but they’re not really anything to write home about, let’s be honest. We’re going 6/10 here.

Directing and Action

When this film was developed, both Steven Spielberg AND Robert Rodriguez were on the docket at some point. But both dropped out, and their replacement was...Martin Campbell. Won’t get off this list, huh, Marty? But, as is typical of Campbell, the action was fantastic, fun, engaging, and well-shot. The directing was good as well, and the cinematography definitely had its moments. Not amongst the best in the repertoire of Campbell and Philip Méheux (yup, him again, too), but definitely not the worst. Again, great, if not spectacular in some cases. 7/10 for this, though, since it was a lot of fun.

Production and Art Design

High points for this one! From its period-authentic wardrobe to its beautiful set pieces, this movie brings you into 1840s California, at least as far as non history major would know. It certainly felt authentic to me, although I’ll freely admit that I’m no an aficionado of Mexican cultural history. And when the sets aren’t fully realistic, they’re certainly memorable. The mine is a massive feeling setpiece, and you feel the grandeur and danger throughout it. Full credit to production designer Cecilia Montiel, costume designer Graciela Mazón, and art directors Michael Atwell and Ernie Merlan for the 8/10 I’m giving this movie!

Music and Editing

Legendary composer James Horner, ladies, gentlemen, and others! The pasodoble music score, laced with horns and guitars, is a wonderful and memorable element of the score. And while I wish this movie had a Hispanic composer (and director, and a writer), Horner’s good at composing somewhat culturally accurate music. So, music was mostly good...except for that end credits song. NO. NO THANK YOU PLEASE. Fun fact for you: this film was nominated for the Academy Awards for Sound and Sound Editing. Did it win? No, lost both to to Saving Private Ryan, understandably. Did it deserve to win? Well...some of the sound editing is quite good! And other times...the explosions roar. So, it’s mixed for that. Still, for the great music, and the good sound design during most action sequences (most action sequences), I’m giving it an 8/10.

72%, folks.

And like Atomic Blonde, it seems low, but I will absolutely watch this movie again, it’s a fun time! It’s the kind of movie that you turn on in the background when it’s on TV, look over, and enjoy yourself for a few minutes. I really did enjoy this one!

But, now that some somewhat light fare’s been enjoyed...we’re going to start looking at a different type of hero.

A bloody one. And we’re gonna start...en France. And...maladroitement.

January 18, 2021: Léon: The Professional (1994)

#the mask of zorro #martin campbell #antonio banderas #anthony hopkins #catherine zeta-jones #stuart wilson #matt letscher #zorro #365 movie challenge #365 movies 365 days #365 Days 365 Movies #365 movies a year #user365 #useralans #action january

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aph-honk-kong · 3 years

Text

The Pulse

All the gossip about the youngest Wang fellow bringing back a commoner, of all people, but from a bystander’s standpoint. [Written for @aphasiaweek with a focus on Thailand and Vietnam.] [A continuation of this.]

More OCs because Wherefore Not Lauren Tan - Singapore

...

8 Repulse Bay Road, Hong Kong

For two people who’ve only known each other for a few months, Linh has to say they’re getting along pretty well.

The marrying couple probably only hired them both for the news coverage, because who in their right mind would commission two chefs with two entirely different styles who’ve never met before to work on something as important as a wedding cake?

At least she gets free dinners out of it.

Next to her, holding his chopsticks in one hand and a pencil in another, fellow celebrity chef Somchai Akari stares at his sketchbook, flipping through pages upon pages of wedding cake sketches. “The bride says she wants the cake to ‘consist of a delicate melange of French and Chinese elements’, whatever that means.”

“It means we make a croquembouche, slap a red dragon on top and call it a day,” Linh says drily.

He snorts. “But seriously, does she want it to taste or look like an ungodly Franco-Chinese combination?”

“Damn if I know. All rich people are vague.” She plucks the sketchbook from right under Somchai and closes it. “Let’s take a break on it tonight. We’ve been losing sleep over the stupid wedding banquet for the past four months, we can afford to take an evening off.” Linh nibbles at a bundle of noodles. looking out at the large buffet line across the enormous dining room. “Come on, people-watch with me for tonight.”

Somchai obliges. He takes a sip from the glass of white wine resting in front of him and turns his chair to face the crowd. “Didn’t Yao say this would be a simple dinner?”

“There are less than two hundred people here.”

“And that’s simple?”

“Dunno.” Linh shrugs. “Yao probably thinks so.” She squints at a table a few meters away from them. “Oh look, there’s Yong-Soo Im. Can’t believe he’s not being followed by his horde of rabid fans.”

“I saw Yao’s security prying them off of him when he came in. The guy’s so popular it’s scary.”

Linh turns her view to another table this time and her jaw drops. “Holy shit, is that Gabriella Sabularse?”

Somchai practically clambers over her to get a look. “It is. D’you think she’s going to the wedding?”

“Of course she is, anyone who’s anything will be there. Why is she here now, though?”

“Probably looking for more juicy gossip, if you ask me.” He drinks from his wineglass again, eyeing Ella warily. “Wasn’t she the one who let it slip that Vicente and Madeline were dating?”

“Mmhmm. We wouldn’t be stuck here, at the whims of Madeline Bonnefoy, if not for her.”

“I don’t know whether to thank her or punch her for that.”

“Hey, who’s that she’s looking at.” Linh follows Ella’s gaze to a table at the corner of the room, where Leon is eating his dinner. She doesn’t recognise the guy he’s sitting with at first, but when she gets a full view of his face, she has to rub her eyes to make sure she’s not hallucinating. “Somchai.”

“What?”

She points to the man discretely. He’s looking around him, wide-eyed, and out-of-place in his non-designer clothes. But plainness aside, there’s no hiding who he is. “That’s Harald Grieg.”

“The Harald Grieg?” Somchai repeats. “The Dragon Room’s head chef?”

“That’s the one. The place got into the world’s top one hundred restaurants just a year after he took charge. Oh goodness, I can’t believe we’re getting to see him in person.”

“Well, no surprise. You did say that anyone who’s anything is going to the wedding.”

Linh squints at him. “Grieg is hardly known outside the restaurant world, though, and he’s nowhere as rich as these folk. What if he’s going to be Leon’s plus-one?”

“As his boyfriend, you mean? Yao would lose his mind.”

She’s about to reply when she sees Madeline approaching them, probably to interrogate them about the cake. “Fuck, fuck, pissy bride at twelve o’clock. Grab your book and look busy!”

...

Harald’s been at the house for three hours and he still can’t process it all.

The moment he and Leon arrived, a group of servants showed up to offer them hot towels to wipe their hands with. Then another pair arrived to take their coats for them and carry their bags up to one of the living rooms, where most of the people were. The place feels even bigger than the W Hotel, and somehow even fancier than their suite at the Four Seasons - which he didn’t even know was possible.

The dining room looks like a replica of some three-Michelin-starred restaurant, with a glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling, tables covered with glossy silk coverings and chairs with elaborately-carved backs that must be a nightmare to clean. Leon’s introduced him to most of his friends, most of which seem filthy rich like he apparently is.

“I didn’t know you were this rich,” he tells his boyfriend while having dinner.

“We’re just fortunate,” Leon defends.

“That’s rich-people talk for ‘I am so incredibly wealthy that now I think I’m a commoner’.”

“Ouch.” He presses a hand to his chest in mock offence. “Well, you don’t seem very surprised.”

Harald looks him right in the face and deadpans, “we live in a house in London, and you refuse to shop anywhere but Waitrose’s. It was pretty obvious.”

“Oh.”

Someone suddenly breaks free from the cluster of gossipers near the buffet line and collapses into the seat next to his. “Why did I decide to show up?”

Leon grins at the girl, who looks just about ready to die. “Can’t imagine seeing you here, Lauren.”

“Says the persistent bastard who wouldn’t give in until I agreed to show up.” Lauren rubs her temples, groaning, “fuck you, by the way.”

“Love you too.”

“So this is the infamous boyfriend?” She turns her attention to Harald. “Huh. Not bad.”

“Hi.” Harald’s voice cracks. “Are you a friend of Leon’s?”

“I guess you could say that. I worked at that flashy hotel of his while studying for my master’s at Oxford, and he just grew on me.” Lauren bites into a steamed dumpling, adding, “and now I’m stuck with him here.”

“I pity the poor kids who have you as their professor,” Leon mutters.

Harald tries to stifle his laughter. At least there’s one normal-acting person this dinner.

“Oh look, there’s the old man.”

True to Leon’s word, Yao is rising from his table and approaching theirs. “What do I say to him? How do I greet him? What - “

“Don’t think too much about it.”

“That’s not very helpful!” He hastily stands up when Yao reaches the table and forces a smile. “Hello.”

“Ka Long!” He pulls Leon in a hug, laughing, “Aiyah, you look so thin! Is the awful English food not enough for you? I told you all those years ago that you’d starve to death in England, and did you listen?”

“I’m fine lah, don’t worry about me.” He pushes Yao away. “Anyways, I want you to meet my boyfriend Harald.”

Yao looks at him, eyes narrowed. “Ah, Harald the yacht-less.”

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing, I’m just messing with you.” He smiles. “I hear you work at the Dragon Room?”

He nods. “I’m the head chef there.”

“Very impressive. You won an award as one of the UK’s most talented young chefs this June, didn’t you?”

“Yes, that was me.”

Yao’s expression softens, and he says, “well, I’m glad Leon is together with someone with talent. But if you don’t mind asking, wherever did you train? With your skills, I assume you studied at one of the Cordon Bleu academies?”

“No, actually,” Harald corrects, “I just went to a vocational centre in Trondheim, where I grew up, right after high school. I wasn’t ready to leave the country just yet.”

“Your brother?”

“Yeah, his name is Stellan.” After that, he adds sheepishly, “his full name is Stellan Grieg. Have you heard of him before?”

Yao furrows his brow. “It does ring a bell. Is he famous or something?”

“He’s a writer. Maybe you’ve read one of his books before.”

“Maybe. Well, I have to go now, but it was very nice meeting you. See you at the wedding.”

“See you,” Harald echoes. He waits until Yao is out of earshot before turning back to Leon. “Oh my goodness, he hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

He pushes Leon down onto his chair and sits square on his lap, ignoring how both of them blush. “I bet he’s planning to assassinate me.”

“Come on, don’t worry.” Leon pecks him on the cheek. “Yao doesn’t show his emotions much, but he has to like you. Everyone likes you.”

...

“Well?” Ella is onto Yao the moment he sits down, eyes glittering with curiosity. “Anything new about Harald?”

“His brother couldn’t afford to send him outside the country!” Yao bemoans. “I could’ve accepted it if he’d gone to one of those French or Swiss schools to train, but some nobody vocational centre in Norway? I couldn’t name a culinary school there if I tried!”

“Oh my goodness, he must be really poor, then. Did he really say his brother didn’t have enough money to send him elsewhere?”

“No, but he did say that his brother was a writer.”

Ella sniggers. “A writer! They’re definitely broke. I can’t imagine what Leon sees in him.”

“Well, they’ll break up soon enough,” Yao says dismissively. “At least, they better.”

...

A/N: Just saying but there’s nothing wrong with going to culinary school in Norway Yao just doesn’t like it because he’s stupid and rich

Follow your dreams kids

#aph hongice #aph hong kong #aph iceland #aph vietnam #aph thailand #octalia #aph singapore #aph philippines #aph fanfiction #my writing #aphasiaweek #crazy rich asians parody #here it is #late #but here

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #3- Robots in the Vents, Because It’s Not a Roberts Story if It Doesn’t Happen at Least Once

So, the duobots are having a hell of a day.

Shock, our resident obligate belly-sleeper and newly-single robot, laments the passing of his buddy, leaves a vial of innermost energon by his body- a practice that will be expanded upon later- then covers up any and all traces of their having worked with Prowl. These are the inside guys Prowl called after he flipped that table in issue #1.

As Shock tracks down the tracer Ore was supposed to be planting instead of being eaten by the quantum drive, he comes across that sparkeater that got mentioned last issue.

That is his brain.

Then he explodes.

Which brings us to the scene we left in issue #2. Sparkeater on board the Lost Light, which is full of sparks that probably would prefer not to get eaten.

Holy shit Cosmos is huge. I don’t remember him being that goddamn big.

Rodimus thinks that this whole sparkeater thing is really neat, and he’s happy to be a part of it, but he’s not so thrilled about the prospect of subjecting the others to this event, so he orders everyone to find a friend and go to their rooms until he and his select few sort this whole thing out. He doesn’t tell them about the sparkeater, because that’s some scary bullshit to throw out there less than a day into the trip.

Everyone files out, Swerve having forgotten about Tailgate, who’s having a minor wardrobe malfunction. Since he doesn’t have legs at present, he calls out to the one other guy he knows on the Lost Light.

Tailgate really knows how to pick ‘em.

Over with the dead body, everyone stands what is probably unadvisedly close to the scene of the crime and Ratchet performs a quick and dirty autopsy. The boys discuss the validity of Red Alert’s theory that this was caused by a sparkeater, with the mention of Rewind’s grainy footage making the creature seem like the Cybertronian equivalent of a cryptid. Probably less Fresno nightcrawler and more chupacabra. Ratchet tries to get everyone to focus for two goddamn seconds, when Trailbreaker picks up Shock’s brain module, knocking everyone right back off track again with the discussion of Rossum’s Trinity, the idea that the spark, brain module, and transformation cog are all interconnected, and damage to one can cause the others to shut down.

Ratchet’s had just about enough of this lot, but he gets through his examination.

This is the issue Alex Milne started drawing the insignias in himself as opposed to the previous practice of IDW having them put in in post.

Rodimus, however, wants to show off his new toys as it were, and asks Chromedome to take a gander. Chromedome wearily obliges, having Ratchet pop the brain back in Shock’s head so he can do his thing. Every other person on this fucking ship is a doctor, you see, and Chromedome is no exception- he’s a mnemosurgeon.

(Yes, my spellcheck DOES lose its mind every time I type that.)

Chromedome takes his terrifying pointy hands, jams them into the eye sockets of this corpse, and gets a brainfull of Shock’s final moments.

This is such a cool panel, and I went and ruined it for myself by realizing the upper left portion shouldn’t be visible, seeing as the brain is already outside Shock’s head, without any sort of cord connecting it to his body.

Back upstairs, folks are moving into their rooms for the surprise lockdown. Cyclonus is being a pal and is carrying Tailgate, because I’m pretty sure the little guy is just about the only person who’s talked to him in a non-hostile fashion in the last couple of months, and that really gets old after a while.

Those legs sure are something, Hoist. Is it just, like, a rule that a certain percentage of Transformers designs have to be at least somewhat unintentionally horny?

The two find a room, and then Cyclonus remembers that he’s not supposed to show things like empathy until later in the series, and drops Tailgate on the floor unceremoniously.

Meanwhile, over with Skids and Swerve, the pair’s found something truly wonderful- a fully-stocked bar. Swerve’s always wanted to run a bar, and this just might be his chance to chase his dreams.

Swerve is the punching bag for MTMTE, in case you couldn’t tell.

While Swerve is not-so-subtly crying for help, Skids is busy enacting another Roberts writing-staple- the robot in the vents. See, Skids has hit his bad boy phase; he doesn’t play by your daddy’s rules, so he’s gonna sneak out and do generally whatever pleases him, because he’s got a big honkin’ chunk of memories that just aren’t there anymore. Apparently that’s all he needs to go AWOL.

As Skids lifts himself up into the ceiling to fulfill his destiny as a vent-pest, he asks Swerve if he listens to music, which is met with a negatory. Odd, given his later characterization, but maybe he’s more into contemporary works.

The ass poking worked! Swerve is now the proud owner of one whole entire friend!

Back with the corpse crew, Chromedome’s finished his assessment of the body, and agrees that there’s a sparkeater amongst them. This is a huge fucking problem, to put it lightly, both in the sense of actual, physical danger, and the metaphysical space of the Lost Light itself.

Are we sure this thing didn’t just see this ship full of over 200 war veterans and say “that’s some good eatin’ right there” and snuck on board? Because if I were a horrific monster that was drawn to pain and emotional trauma, I’d absolutely consider the Lost Light a gold mine.

As Chromedome lays his head in Rewind’s lap, the others weigh their options. Sparkeaters go after the brightest sparks, then work their way down, so this thing is probably on the move as they speak. The thing’s eaten recently, the sparks haven’t completely digested, and that means they can’t just shoot it, because then it’ll explode, and we’ve had enough of that for one day.

Rodimus has everyone else go to hunt the thing down, while he and Drift hang out here in the basement. When Ultra Magnus questions this plan of attack, he’s brushed off, though Rodimus appears to imply that he thinks he’s got the brightest spark on the ship. Probably all that Matrix nonsense he went through.

Back upstairs, Animus gets shot with the irony gun and gets his soul vored.

This is what happens when you tell lies, kids. Your lemon-lime flavored soul gets eaten by the mecha-Krampus.

Whirl, who had locked the door to the habsuite, which is why Animus was out in the hall to begin with, realizes that something seriously messed up is happening, and does what he knows best, i.e. shooting first and asking questions probably never.

Good thing Trailbreaker is there to keep Whirl from exploding the entire ship, employing the help of his forcefield ability to contain the barrage.

In the resulting chaos, the sparkeater escapes, having triangulated its next meal, and it’s not Rodimus.

It’s this dweeb.

You can tell he’s in his office, because he’s got a landscape painting in there. Landscape paintings are pretty much the only decor allowed in doctors’ offices, I’m pretty sure it’s, like, a law or something.

Luckily, Rung decided to get threatened by a space-cryptid directly under a vent, so Skids can save his skinny little butt. Good job, Skids. Proud of you.

Back with Tailgate and Cyclonus, little dude’s just finished explaining his whole deal. He’s still trying to figure out what the hell happened during his dirt nap, so Cyclonus tries his best to fill him in on the several million year war. Keep in mind, Cyclonus wasn’t exactly there either, so his whole explanation probably isn’t the best. He wonders out loud which side Tailgate would have gravitated towards, had he been around for the massive mess the Autobots and Decepticons made.

Meanwhile, back in the GODDAMNED DUCTWORK, Rung and Skids are crawling as fast as they can to escape the sparkeater, though they can’t be that worried about it, seeing as Rung answers a phone call on his weird body-harness phone setup. Rodimus tells the two of them to head for the engine room, so that the sparkeater follows them down. Rung doesn’t seem too thrilled about this plan, but what’s he gonna do, argue with a potential space-pope?

Skids punches through a vent into the elevator shaft, then uses his grappling hook- which I want to say is never seen again after this issue- to lower them down in one of the most well-known crotch shots in the entire comic series.

Iconic.

They land on top of the elevator, and Skids yells at Brainstorm to punch the "E for Engine Room” button. The sparkeater bursts in through the ceiling, and Skids and Rung book it out of there, leaving Brainstorm to his inevitable demise.

Or not.

Rung and Skids have made it to the engine room, so now it’s time for the next portion of Rodimus’ plan, which is really only a small tweaking of what Rung was doing earlier- instead of being a moving target, he’ll be playing the role of stationary bait, as Rodimus holds him like a fucking crucifix made out of people, urging the sparkeater to come take a bite.

Up on the bridge, Perceptor gets ready to kick on the quantum engine, as per his captain’s request. Sure hope this plan works, because if they lose Rung, I don’t think they’ll ever find another therapist, thanks to the apparent ratio of 1:1/3 of the entire population of Cybertron.

The sparkeater lunges, Rodimus throws Rung off to the side, and he and the beast wrestle, Crocodile Dundee style. Perceptor initializes the jump, and, because they’re in the danger zone for the quantum engine, they get sucked in.

Rung seems a little miffed, but I’d say this is a win for Team Rodimus, even if those arms of his are toast. It’s cool though, he can get new ones.

Smashcut to Rodimus and his sick new arms, as he finishes explaining just what the hell happened to Magnus. Magnus isn’t quite as jazzed about the whole “used our therapist as a worm on a hook” thing as one would think, surprisingly, but Rodimus isn’t in the mood for a lecture. Off in the background, Tailgate’s getting his butt fixed, curtesy of Ratchet. Tailgate’s talking up a storm, regardless of Ratchet’s rather cool reception to the chatter.

Tailgate did some thinking while everyone was locked in their rooms, and he’s made a decision, based on his limited understanding of the Autobot/Decepticon war.

I guess Cyclonus forgot to mention the fact that there isn’t a single Decepticon on this ship for a reason.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #liars A-to-D #issue 3 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing

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mcnuggyy · 4 years

Note

I actually own the first two Taz gn and at the end of the book they have a fan art gallery I noticed in the first gn "here be gerblins" they favored alot of the white Takko fanarts or a white Merle, but in the 2nf on "murder on Rockport limited" they added fanart that features Takko and Merle either as Black or Latino I can show you what I'm talking about once you answer (in the 2nd one they have two light washed Agnus fanarts too 🤢)

Ah I own all the GNs too so yeah I’ve seen these pieces,, but gosh I never noticed the “mostly white char designs” thing in the first book until now holy shit... I have complex feelings (not really actually but) about Angus being seen as any other race because like I get the whole “every design is canon thing” but when we as a community like all come to the conclusion that Angus is Black and other artists like purposely make him white??? just to like “be different” or worse “he would be cuter if he was white.” 🤢 THAT’S where I have very big problems. ALSO, do people realize you can have ALL sorts of different angus designs and still have him be black???? Like what about a lil angus with dreads, or cornrows, or twists!!! (twists would be so cute HELLO??) Point is, I often see people come up with a Black char design and think that the “Black” part is like giving a character a specific hairstyle or nose shape or something? Just a feature you can take on or off. When in reality Black folks have their own variety of features, hair textures, skin tones, etc. etc.

But yeah!! gosh thank you for pointing that out cause I honestly wouldn’t have caught it since I don’t have the books with me atm (they’re still in my office ripp)

#moodlenoodleblog #replies #callate guero

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

Text

Male vampire (Ruben) x trans male reader (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Because approximately 3 people expressed interest in seeing this 4.4k story extract, here it is. It’s been up on my Patreon since June 2018, so I think it’s ok to post here now...

As I said in the answer to the ask that prompted this, it’s a bit AU ish because it assumes that his partner doesn’t know what happened to him with the hunters, which was discussed in his story with Ash, and its a reader insert. Ash is a trans guy in Ruben’s two part story, but the reader here is almost completely gender neutral, with one reference to being ‘male’ (trans or otherwise) mentioned: “You are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. Thank you.” and one passing reference to ‘T shots’…

It’s fluffy, with a bit of angst, lots of tender feels, and features some violence/attack (not to the reader), blood drinking and, because it’s Ruben, a bit of vomiting…*shrugs, it is what it is*.

Ruben shifted his weight, pulling you close to him and humming contentedly. It was early for you, around five in the morning. It was a real pain having a boyfriend who couldn’t go out in the daylight and who got weaker and weaker the longer he stayed up past dawn.

But he was worth it.

“Morning,” you croaked, grinding your hips playfully back against him where he lay curled around you, one arm draped over your waist.

He answered by kissing your neck, just below your ear, inhaling deeply as he did so. Something seemed to thrum through him a second later, like the wind in the rigging of a ship, and his whole body went taut.

“Ruben?” you asked, coming awake with a jolt as his hands tightened on your hips.

He wasn’t breathing.

You turned over in his arms and saw that he had rammed his eyes shut and his jaw was clenched. “Stop moving. Please,” he hissed through his teeth as you reached for his face, hard and sharp enough to have been carved from stone. “Lie still.”

You froze.

“Shit,” he hissed, and suddenly he had dissolved into dark, swirling mist, and left the room.

The bed was cold where he’d been lying. With no heartbeat, his body was always cold, but now it drove home to you just how inhuman Ruben really was. He’d been good about controlling his bloodlust around you, but Aubrey had warned him just the previous evening that since he was now in a relationship, he needed to feed much more regularly. He still hadn’t got the hang of that, and so his bloodlust was unpredictable.

You sighed and sat up, running a hand through your tangled hair. Residual tiredness clung to your body like the shadows in the corners of the room, but your brain was awake.

Ten minutes or so later, you slipped on a pair of jeans and yanked a hoody over your pyjama t-shirt, shuffling out of the room and heading for the kitchen. If you were awake, you might as well be up. Lying in bed without Ruben didn’t seem all that appealing.

To your surprise, you found him in the kitchen, leaning against the solid-oak island in the middle, head bowed, hair falling forwards. He was dressed now, in simple black trousers and a white shirt, tucked into the waistband. His back was heaving irregularly, almost like he was crying. His heavy, black cane was nowhere in sight.

“Ruben?” you asked in a small voice from the doorway, not wanting to crowd him if he was still having difficulty.

He jerked around to face you, and you saw the tell-tale flush in his cheeks that told you he’d just fed. His eyes were a violent, scarlet red, and when he saw you he began to pant again like he’d just come out of a dead sprint. He whispered your name, looking away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Can I come closer?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, voice like broken glass.

You crossed the room straight to him and looped your arms around his solid torso. His chest was hard as marble, and he stopped breathing immediately when you laid your head against him, squeezing hard. “I love you, Ru,” you breathed.

“I should try harder for you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you countered. “You are trying. Ruben, you let me share your bed; you’re trying to drink more often even though the thought of it still makes you sick; you’re staying up past dawn just so you can get a few more hours in with me… Ruben, you’re… amazing.”

He heaved a little, as though he really was going to be sick, and you pulled back just in case.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, bringing the fingertips of one hand to his lips.

“Ruben… Why does drinking blood make you sick?” you asked hesitantly a moment or two later.

He sighed and looked down, dropping his hand to run his palm absentmindedly over the top of his thigh beneath his hip where you knew the scars from his old injury lay.

“I… I wasn’t always like this,” he began. “When I was newly turned, I had no trouble drinking.”

He didn’t look at you as he spoke, instead his eyes went to the kitchen window, pupils shrinking to mere pinpricks as the rising dawn gathered pace and the sun climbed towards the horizon. The sky above was still a dreamy, lilac blue, but the horizon showed the glow of dawn.

“Not long after the turn of the century,” he went on, “What with the interest in mesmerism in the early 1800s, and Conan Doyle’s involvement in –”

“Oh, that century…” you interrupted with a snort, and he did look down at you then.

For a moment, it seemed he didn’t understand, and then he softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he snorted a laugh out of his nose. “Yes, that century,” he chuckled. “Apologies.” The light of amusement faded a little in his bright, red eyes as he went on, but it didn’t leave his expression completely, despite the nature of the story he told you. He seemed to draw strength from the distance you represented between that time and the now, anchoring himself by sheer proximity to you in time and space.

You went very still as he spoke. He’d never told you why he walked with a limp, or why he bore those terrible scars at the top of his leg, the silvery-grey lines and puckered marks boring into his flesh and snaking up his torso like veins in his marble skin.

“There had been a steady rise in interest in the ‘occult’ and all things ‘supernatural’, and it prompted the ranks of the infernal guild of people who call themselves ‘vampire hunters’ to swell almost exponentially.” His lip curled in disgust as he spat the words out. “I had been living in London at the time. Aubrey kept an eye on things here, but I shut up the castle every eighty years or so in order for folks to forget about us.”

“I see,” you said, leaning your weight against the kitchen counter beside him.

He looked at you for a long moment before smiling sadly. “It’s very early for you. Are you sure you want to hear all this now?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you rasped. “I do.” No way you wanted to stop him now that he’d started to open up to you.

“Very well. Would you like a coffee at least?”

You nodded again, and he began to make you one while he spoke. He seemed grateful for something to do while he talked. The little espresso machine whirred away, dribbling strong coffee into the mug.

“You want it watered down?”

“Yes please,” you said, and he boiled the kettle too.

“My house was broken into during the middle of the day, and my housekeeper – who knew about me, about what I am – tried to warn me. It’s almost impossible to wake me after I’ve fallen into my trance during the daylight hours, but she managed to rouse me by slamming a silver crucifix into my chest.”

He snorted sarcastically and shot a sideways glance at you.

“That’s like hooking a car battery up to your heart, let me tell you.”

He sighed, turning his attention back to the boiling kettle.

“The hunters burst in then, and dragged her away, believing I had been holding her there under my influence. I fought for my life, but I was so weak. They almost killed me. They had weapons designed specifically to hurt vampires…”

The kettle clicked off as it reached a boil, and Ruben seemed to welcome the interruption. He topped the mug up with water before handing it to you, and you caught his retreating hand in your fingers and squeezed him hard. Ruben looked down at you then and smiled.

The red light had not faded from his eyes and his features still seemed sharper than usual in the dim light of the kitchen.

“What happened?” you asked, still holding his cold hand.

He didn’t try to pull away, but he did resume his former stance, staring out of the window with his left hand behind his ramrod straight back.

“They wanted to try out their new weapons, I suppose,” he said, voice growing a little distant. “One of them had a shotgun full of silver buckshot. I lashed out at him just as he fired it, and it all went into my right thigh and hip. That’s where all those ugly marks come from,” he said, bringing his fingers back to his leg.

You laid your hand down over his and looked up at him, eyes blazing with the unspoken sentiment that his scars were not ugly.

He smiled, though the gesture was hollow, and continued. “Another had a phial of silver nitrate,” he said, tone turning bitter. “He was a photographer, and had discovered that vampires could not appear on film because of the use of silver in the preparation of the film. The clever fuck thought to weaponise it.”

He raised the lower hem of his white shirt and revealed the snaking dark lines up his stomach.

“I was incapacitated by it, and they thought they’d take advantage of that fact to try out a little experiment they’d been cooking up for us. They forced blood down my throat, but it was laced with garlic and holy water. It wreaked havoc with my insides and I’ve never been the same since.”

“Shit, Ruben,” you said. “That’s… barbaric…”

He smiled at you, and this time it held no humour at all. “Vampire hunters are not known for their empathy, sweetheart,” he said, and you actually shivered. He sighed. “Now every time I drink blood, my body tries to reject it.”

“How did you survive? How did you get away?”

He smiled. “I… I am not a very strong vampire during the day – my bloodline is much more powerful under the influence of the moon – but there are some vampires who can walk about in the day, so long as they are careful not to expose their skin to the sun for any great length of time. I have a couple of friends – twins actually – who are able to walk in the daylight. They are well known for fighting back against vampire hunters, and they had caught wind of the planned attack on my house. They came just in time.”

“I’d like to meet them,” you said. “So I can thank them.”

He smiled and squeezed your hand, still held gently between his fingers. “I would like to introduce you to them. I think you would like them.”

“Thank you for… sharing that with me,” you said in a soft voice.

He looked down at you and you set the coffee down on the counter behind you and tucked yourself under his arm.

He didn’t speak for a long while, but eventually he brought the conversation back to the whole reason you were both standing in the kitchen together, and not lying side by side in bed. “Not being able to drink blood very easily doesn’t mean I don’t experience bloodlust though…”

“Do you think not drinking regularly makes it worse?”

“Definitely,” he sighed.

He leaned down and kissed the crown of your head, raking his fingers through your hair, just above your ear. He inhaled deeply, beginning slowly and expanding his chest until he’d drawn in a great lungful of your scent.

“It doesn’t help that I like the smell of you so much,” he chuckled wryly, letting his breath go in a rush. He didn’t seem to be in danger now that he had fed.

“Would…?” you began, swallowing, feeling your heartrate rising with mingled excitement and apprehension. “Would… Would it be easier if you… um… you know…” Unable to articulate the rest of your question, you tilted your head to one side and exposed your carotid to him.

You looked back up to see his eyes locked on your neck. “I don’t know,” he said, unblinking.

“Ruben,” you asked, an idea suddenly occurring to you, “Have you ever been in a relationship with a human before?”

He laughed. “No. Only vampires, and few enough of them.”

“Male or female?”

“Male,” he said immediately. And then he kissed the tip of your nose.

“Would you be willing to try drinking from me?” you asked.

“Now?” he blurted, looking taken aback, almost panic-stricken.

You shrugged. “Why not? You’re full, so you’re unlikely to lose control, right?”

He licked his lips, his irises flaring brighter like hot coals graced with a breath. “It does significantly reduce the danger,” he said. And then he snapped back, blinking. “No. I can’t believe I even entertained the possibility. No.”

“Ruben, please,” you begged. “Just try… It might make things easier.”

“Or it might make everything ten times worse!” he fired back, releasing you and limping a few steps away. “I can’t risk it. I can’t risk hurting you.”

Anger flared in your stomach and you ground your teeth, and you spat, “You’re already hurting me, Ruben, by not trusting me enough to try.” And then you turned on your heel and marched from the kitchen, fists clenched at your side.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day, and you felt guilt gnawing at the pit of your stomach as the sun wheeled through the sky at a pace that was painfully slow.

Finally, late in the afternoon, you went to his bedroom, unable to bear his absence any longer. As expected, his double bed was empty, but you pressed your hands on the wall panel where you had seen him disappear into the secret room, and sure enough you found yourself in the little connecting corridor to his room.

His coffin was in a far corner, tucked up demurely against the wall, and you crossed to it. Your hands trembled as you reached for the lid and raised it soundlessly up, leaning it against the wall. The room was dark, with no windows or lights and illuminated only by the sliver of light which spilled from the passageway behind you. In the gloom, his face looked gaunt and lifeless, his chest was still, and he looked truly dead in a way that chilled your blood. You’d only seen him ‘asleep’ or in his trance a couple of times and it wasn’t your favourite way to see him, stretched out like a lifeless corpse.

Tentatively you reached for his face and as your warm palm came in contact with his chilly skin, his eyes flew open and he sucked in a great breath, like a free-diver coming up for air for the first time in minutes. He sat bolt upright and stared at you, confused, eyes blazing red in the dimness of the room.

You didn’t wait. You couldn’t wait. You flung your arms around him and hugged him. “I’m so sorry Ruben,” you said from somewhere near his neck. “I never should have said that to you. I’m sorry.”

His breathing was became ragged and irregular for a moment, as though his body hadn’t quite remembered how it was supposed to do it, but he held you in return, somewhat cautiously, and murmured, “Shh, it’s alright.”

“I was wrong to say that you don’t trust me. You do, I know you do. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, chuckling this time. “I could have reacted a little better myself. I was just… a little overwhelmed by your suggestion.”

You pulled back, rocking onto your heels while he cracked the tension from his neck and jutted his chin out at you, asking you to move back and give him some room while he got up.

“I gave your idea some thought before I passed out,” he said once he was standing. He still wore the black trousers and white shirt he’d been in that morning, though there was hardly a crease in them. “I would like to give it a try, if you’re still willing.” He held onto the wall as he stood, as though waiting for a head-rush to pass.

“Really?” you gasped, eyes going wide and heart skipping a beat or three. “Sure.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Come, let’s get you out of this dark room. You belong in the light.”

He squinted as he limped out into the bedroom, and, despite the curtains which were drawn, he reached for his dark glasses, the light levels of the late afternoon clearly too much for him. He grabbed his cane, the steel handle slipping into his palm with long familiarity, and made his way wordlessly towards the door.

You walked through the house beside him in silence, following his lead. He ended up taking you to the little courtyard on the north side of the castle which was walled in on all sides and sheltered from the sun during all but the middle hours of the day. He sank into a wooden chair at the little table beside the fountain at the centre, and waited while you dropped into a nearby one.

Aubrey joined you a while later, armour clanking quietly, and he took a seat beside his brother. He chatted amicably with news of his partner’s progress on the job that had taken them away from the castle, and then, at a single look from Ruben during a natural lull in the conversation, Aubrey quietly took his leave, and disappeared back inside the castle just as sunset began to gild the upper parapets of the walls above.

Ruben was silent for a long time. Finally, he crossed his legs elegantly in a way that made your blood pool in your groin, and he looked up at you. “I would like to try to drink from you,” he said slowly. “But you have to understand my reticence.”

“I get it,” you said immediately. “I know you care for me, and if it really might make the bloodlust worse, then obviously, I don’t think we should do it. But… if you think there’s a chance it could make it easier for you to be around me, then…”

He drew in a deep breath and slid his hand across the wooden slats of the scrubbed table-top. He opened his fingers and invited you to slip your hand into his. He let the pad of his cool thumb play over your knuckles, his face quiet and dark, lost in thought.

Eventually he swallowed and flicked his eyes up to meet yours. You were surprised to see that they had returned to the chocolate brown colour which he showed when he was passing for a human or trying to make you forget what he was.

“So, when do you want to try it?” you asked, seeing something akin to resolve settling into his features. He wasn’t happy about it, but you thought you could sense a slight, nervous excitement in the very corners of his pale lips.

“I think if I spend too much time thinking about it, I’ll overthink myself out of it,” he said very softly. “I want you to be comfortable, and I want to do it while it’s still light.” While I’m still weak.

“Let’s go then,” you said, standing and holding your hand out to him.

He followed you inside, his hand closing tightly around yours. You felt the familiar, rocking rhythm of his walk behind you, and drew comfort from it.

“I’ll fetch a dressing,” he said awkwardly. “You’ll probably need it for the wound.” He sighed and added, “I’m not biting you in the bathroom though.”

You grinned, “But it has such a nice alliteration.”

Caught off guard by your unexpected humour, Ruben did that little snort where his nose crinkled and his eyes creased at the corners. “Come here,” he said, tugging you off balance and into his arms.

He kissed you then, and it was like the very first time he’d kissed you properly. His hands travelled through your hair and then to your shoulders. He pulled you tight against him and deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking your mouth. He moaned as he traced the contours of your torso til he landed at your hips and then he growled softly, pulling back a moment as he grabbed you and his hips reared into yours. The point where the two of you touched seemed to thrum with energy and you both gasped, panting.

Ruben began to laugh. “I love you,” he said, shifting his hands to cup your jaw. “You are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. Thank you.”

You shook your head, smiling. “You are strange, Ru…”

“I know,” he sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with. Go and sit down in my room. I’ll join you there.”

You couldn’t help the fizzing fear that ran along your veins as you sat there alone in the waning light of day, waiting for his footsteps on the corridor outside. It felt like the waiting room at the doctor’s or something. Soon, however, the door creaked open and he stepped in looking pale and more than a little grim, his dark glasses folded and tucked into the top pocket of his white shirt.

You smiled, trying to reassure him as much as yourself, and he blew the air from his lungs in a rush. He was clearly as nervous as – if not more so – you were. He laid his cane against the table nearby and limped over to where you sat in the armchair by the window in a perfect rectangle of evening sunlight.

“I’m glad you pulled the curtains back,” he said, standing right on the edge of the pool of direct light.

“How do you want to do this?” you asked with trepidation.

He smiled nervously. “Bring the chair to the edge of the light and get comfortable. When you tell me you are, hold out your wrist to me in the shadow.”

“Not my neck?” you asked.

“You’ve watched too many vampire films with Aubrey,” he scoffed. When you scowled, he added, “I need to work up to that.”

“Oh,” you said. “Right.” And you began to arrange the chair as he’d instructed. Happy at last, you drew a deep breath, and held out your hand. “Will it hurt?” you asked.

“Probably at first,” he said, eyes dark and warm with no hint of red. “But your adrenaline will kick in and you’ll probably feel mild euphoria.”

You nodded.

“Last chance to –”

“Do it, Ruben. I want this. It’s not as if you’re turning me with this, is it?”

He actually snarled at you for that, and you flinched. “I will not turn you,” he said. “You will never ask me to do that, do you understand?” His eyes blazed scarlet now.

A mute nod was all you could muster.

Ruben relaxed and took your wrist in his cool hands, massaging over the veins with both his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just couldn’t inflict this on you.”

“I understand,” you said, voice cracking.

Ruben closed his eyes and exhaled. Then, without opening his eyes, he raised your wrist to his lips and as they peeled back you saw that his canines had elongated. He sank them straight into the flesh beneath the heel of your palm and you flinched in pain as he punctured the radial artery.

He let out a long, deep moan, as though he’d never savoured anything so beautiful, and then he began to suck. He drank deeply from you, bent over your hand, until you felt him start to shake, and he pulled back with an effort, eyes blazing crimson. He lapped at the tiny, welling pinpricks of blood – you had expected there to be much more – and then in a swift motion he placed the lint dressing over them and taped it down.

He grabbed your other hand and pressed it down hard over the wound without a word.

He still hadn’t taken a breath.

He didn’t look at you as he pushed himself stiffly back to his feet and turned away. You watched his torso contract as his body began to reject the blood already, and he staggered to the en-suite on the far side of the room. He disappeared inside it and a moment later you heard him fall to his knees and wretch into the bowl of the toilet.

Was it like this every time he fed?

He heaved again and you heard more fluid hitting the water in the toilet. Rising, you made your way hesitantly to the door and found him clutching the seat of the toilet, kneeling before it, back curved over as his body tried to expel the blood.

You rushed to him and dropped to your knees beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he hissed, spitting blood. “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t look. I’m fine. It’s… It’s…” he heaved anew, and spat while you rubbed his back between his shoulders.

“I don’t mind, Ruben. It’s ok.” There wasn’t much in the bowl, but it still looked dramatic.

He fell still for a while, and then nodded once, pushing himself up with a grunt and flushing the toilet, closing the lid promptly. He crossed to the mirrored wash basin and splashed his face clean. Eventually, he turned to look at you, standing in the centre of the bathroom.

“Not a total disaster,” you smiled weakly.

“Admittedly… no,” he conceded. “But it could have ended a little less… indecorously.”

You chuckled, but the sound quickly died. “Ruben, is it always like that for you?”

He shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve fed directly from the artery. Your blood was probably a bit rich for me…” he said. “The stored blood I drink tends to change the longer it’s kept. Stale blood is… ‘gentler’ on my system, let’s say.”

“Oh.”

“But I didn’t feel a surge of bloodlust the way I was expecting, so I suppose I should be grateful for that at least. How are you? Did it hurt? Do you need to sit down?”

“No,” you said. “Trust me, my T shots hurt more than that.” You waited for his smile, and then stepped close to him. You held him. “Thank you,” you said. “I hope… I hope it helps, and I hope maybe we can try again.”

He nodded and kissed the crown of your head. “I love you,” he said. “Never doubt that.”

“I won’t,” you said. “I couldn’t.”

________

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#vampire #male vampire #ruben #trans male reader #exophilia #vampire x reader #mlm #male vampire x male reader #blood drinking #vomiting #but only briefly #feels #also Ruben turning into mist because that's what he does when he gets overwhelmed

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ubernoxa · 4 years

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The Dare: A GNR FanFic

Chapter 31: Earthquakes

Story Summary: A stupid harmless dare, that’s all it was supposed to be. It was supposed to be something they would do, and never revisit. For Delilah, little did she know that visiting the strip wasn’t going to be a one time thing when she made the choice to accept the dare. Life is full of choices. Some choices can mean absolutely nothing, while others can change your entire world. Delilah had heard many rumors about the Sunset Strip or Devil’s Strip. Teenagers would whisper stories about how the Devil walks the streets of the strips without a care in the world. It was known as a place untouched by God. After years of hearing rumors about the Devil’s Strip, Delilah wants to see it for herself. Thus a Dare was born.

Chapter Summary: Earthquake (noun), a sudden and violent shaking of the ground, sometimes causing great distruction, as a result of movements within the earth’s crust or volcanic action.

Author’s Note: Shit’s about to get real

Masterlist

Taglist: @gingerspicetalks @str4nge-haze @queen-crue

Earthquake (noun), a sudden and violent shaking of the ground, sometimes causing great distruction, as a result of movements within the earth’s crust or volcanic action.

While most earthquakes happen within the Earth’s crust, this one happened on the surface. Don’t worry, even though this one didn’t happen within the earth’s crust, it was still just as deadly. Just like any earthquake, it was bound to have aftershocks.

It had been three days since Mags had told Drew about the pregnancy.

Three days since her and Drew stood in the pouring rain.

Three days since he screamed at her and denied it was his own child.

Three days since he shoved her to the ground almost throwing her in the street.

Three days.

Tonya walked into the apartment after covering Mag’s shift at the strip club. It must have been at least 2 AM, she had honestly lost track of time. She unknowingly let a sigh escape her as she opened the rotted door causing the fragrance of whatever Delilah had cooked fill her nose. Tonya still hadn’t made her mind up about Delilah. Of course she was an absolute free loader who had inadvertently been the source of a lot of problems lately, but it was moments like this that Tonya let that slide. Moments where Delilah was there without question for her friend, even though she hadn’t known her for a while. No doubt that Delilah had cooked lasagna by the smell that filled the apartment. Between being their personal chef, cleaning, doing laundry, and taking care of the Mag’s brother’s band she earned her way of off Tonya’s hate list. As Tonya stepped into the living room, her heart ached as she saw the sight that had fallen asleep on the couch.

She placed a blanket over Delilah, carefully grabbing the pens and notebook that she must have been using before she fell asleep. Shaking her head Tonya looked at the sketch of Duff she had drawn. She hadn’t heard much from Delilah about how the boy’s visit to Seattle was going, but she knew it wasn’t going in accordance to plan. Tonya used to compare Steven or Tommy to a love sick puppy, but now Delilah had taken that role from the drummers. Duff had been gone for a day, and she was already missing him like he had left for the war.

Tonya felt her smile match the one that was on Mag’s face. Dried tears had stained Mag’s cheeks, but the smile was a source of hope. A source of hope that there was a place that Mags could imagine where she could be happy.

“Hey,” Delilah’s voice had caught Tonya off guard.

“Hey,” Tonya shot back.

“How was work? I made you some dinner,” Delilah stood up and made her way over towards the kitchen to reheat some lasagna for Tonya.

“Those look good,” Tonya pointed to some sketches that were laid out on the table.

“Thanks, Axl wanted me to draw some new logos or designs while they were out on tour. I think he is looking for some artwork for their new fliers,” Tonya mindlessly nodded at the brunette. Part of her wished that she could draw, but she knew she never had the patience for it.

“Any word from them?”

“Yeah, I talked to Duff a few hours ago. They ended up hitchhiking up to Seattle because their car broke down. They somehow made it, and their first gig is tomorrow so fingers crossed,” Delilah plastered on a fake smile and a happy tone as she spoke to Tonya. When he first called her and said that their car broke down and they were hitchhiking she wanted to beg them to come home. She was worried sick about him. Hitchhiking was so stupid, how could he have been so stupid! She wanted to scream at him, and beg him to come home. She didn’t, she couldn’t. He needed to do this.

“I wouldn’t worry about them Delilah....plus no one would ever mess with Axl Rose. He’s defiantly wound a little different than the rest of us,” Tonya sent Delilah a comforting smile hoping to alleviate her worry.

It was obvious that Delilah was putting on a strong front, but she could tell she was worried. It was clear she loved Duff, and he felt the same way back. Most people girls would whisper on how they would find someone like Duff, but Tonya didn’t. She knew rockstars were only good for one thing, heartbreak.

“Tea?” Delilah quickly pulled Tonya from her thoughts. Without hesitation Tonya nodded her head thankful for the brunette’s help.

“How’s she doing?” Delilah froze as Tonya pulled her out of her thoughts. Both girls barely able to focus this late at night. She was still waking up from her accidental nap, and her mid was still racing.

“Better, but not good. She plans on going to work tomorrow...or I guess today because it like what 2 in the morning?”

“Hmm, good for her. I don’t know if I can keep covering for her...it’s gotten kind of...hard,” Tonya took a bite of her lasagna as she finished speaking.

“If you don’t mind me asking, what’s Mag’s job? She’s never said anything,” Delilah felt silly as she asked the question. She had known the girl for months now and it had never come up. Tonya sent a sweet smile to Delilah as she watched her cheeks redden.

“She’s a dancer,” Tonya didn’t need to wonder why Mags didn’t tell Delilah about her job. She was probably ashamed or some shit like that.

A silent ohh crossed Delilah’s lips as she stared towards Mags who was currently asleep in the living room. The gears confined to turn.

“Don’t tell her I told you that,”

“Why?”

“She’s worries you’ll judge her or some shit. She’s not proud of it,” Tonya snapped back at Delilah as she spoke.

Delilah remained silent as she stared at Mags who was still asleep.

“A job is a job. I don’t know her story, who am I to judge,” Delilah’s words caught Tonya off guard.

“Seriously?”

“What do you means seriously?”

“She’s a stripper, don’t religious people hate strippers or some shit like that? Don’t they call them the Devil’s mistress?”

Delilah calmly shook her head no. “My parent and other might make a comment about it, but like I said, I don’t know her story. She needs a job to live, so she got herself a job.... Let him who is without sin among you be the first to throw a stone at her. Mathew 7:13.”

“Huh, I always thought you religious folks were a bunch of judge bitches,” Tonya’s comment earned a snort from Delilah.

“Some are, some aren’t, depends on who you’re talking to.” Silence filled the room once again as Tonya continued to eat her lasagna.

“You know, when I was little my mother wanted me to be a nun,” Delilah casually shrugged causing Tonya to almost choke on her lasagna.

“You okay?” Delilah turned to her roommate who was chugging her tea to help alleviate the coughing.

“Sorry...I just...don’t take it the wrong way, but it’s hard to see you, Duff Mckagan’s girlfriend, a nun,” Delilah joined Tonya as their laughter filled the room.

“Crazy right? I wanted to change the world,” Delilah admitted once her laughing died down.

“What are you two giggling about at 2 in the morning,” Mags appeared in the kitchen obviously exhausted.

“Did you know that Del here was almost a nun?” Mags sent Delilah a small smile.

“No I did not! I am horribly offended that I wasn’t told this sooner. Does Duff know?,” she teased back.

Laughter and giggles filled the room, but once the laughter died down Mags spoke again.

“You guys should follow me to the living room, you need to know what’s about to happen,” Mags tone went dark, and a familiar sadness filled her features. Without question, Delilah and Tonya followed her into the living room.

Before she could even begin to tell the story, Mags began to cry. The wound Drew made was still fresh and raw, but she had to tell them. This wasn’t just about her anymore.

(Flashback to three nights ago)

Mags stood waiting for Drew underneath one of the street lights. She was thankful for the water that poured from the sky concealing the tears that had stained her cheeks.

“So fucking poetic,” she mumbled under her breath as the rain continued to pour.

After what felt like an eternity, she spotted a figure that resembled Drew’s walking with an umbrella over his head. That’s when she felt the pit grow in her stomach. She knew this wasn’t going to end well.

“Hey, are you okay?” Drew’s voice was laced with concern as he spoke. It gave Mags hope.

“Yeah, peachy,” Mags sent a sad smile back, earning a confused look from Drew.

“Then why did you call me to meet you here. I have a deadline at the end of the week, I need to get this story out,” Mags jumped back at his sharp tone. She froze as she was finally able to see his dry features. Dark purple circles were painted below his eyes, it was clear he hadn’t gotten any sleep in a while.

“I’m...I’m...”

“Mags, it is pouring rain, spit it out.”

Since the words were failing her, she took the pregnancy stick out of her pocket and handed it to Drew. He remained frozen as he stared at the stick.

Positive.

Holy fuck, it was positive.

Drew couldn’t breathe as she looked back at Mags.

What about his career?

His life?

His actually girlfriend?

What was he supposed to tell his family?

They had been smart.

She was on the pill.

He wore a condom.

Unless...unless she lied to him and she didn’t take her pill.

Was she trying to trap him with a child?

Was she trying to use him because he had a career he was building?

“What the fuck is this shit Mags.”

“A pregnancy test, Drew. What they didn’t teach you that in college?”

“Tell me this is fake!” He shouted back.

“It’s Tonya’s right? We all know she sleeps around! Or is it Del’s? She is dating a wanna be rockstar, so it comes with the territory,” Drew screamed back at Mags making her turn white. For the first time in her life, Mags wasn’t just scared, she was petrified. Her brain lost function as fear took control.

“You fucking bitch, tell me this isn’t yours!” Drew shot back making Mags take a couple steps back.

“It’s mine Drew, I’m carrying our baby,” Mags squeaked, her voice barely louder than a mouse.

“No you’re not. How do you know it’s mine? How many managers or bar owners have you slept with to get your brother’s band a gig?”

“Who...who told you that,” Mags wanted to run, she wanted to hide, but she couldn’t.

“I had to do my research Mags, it’s apart of being a writer. Why do you think I wanted to fuck you in the first place? I heard such great reviews!”

It was in that precise moment that Drew had shattered Mag’s hearts into thousands of pieces.

“Drew...I..”

“You’re all the same. This place really is..” Drew shook his head laughing at his own realization.

“This place is what, Drew? What?” Mags was finally able to find her voice as she screamed back at him.

“This place is without a doubt the filthiest vile place I have ever been, and the people here are so much worse!” He wore a smirk as he screamed back at Mags. One thing was clear to her, he was enjoying this. He was enjoying f ripping her to shreds.

Mags remained frozen at his words causing a larger grin to splash across his face.

“I can see your brain is trying to process this. Good for you for actually using it for the first time in years!” He cheered and clapped.

“You are all the same! You, Trixie, Del, and Tonya. Birds of a feather, is that how the saying goes? You’re all desperately clinging onto something, something so unreal that you will never obtain. You all live similar lives as you drink your ‘sorrows’ and ‘pain’ away. You will live on the strip and you will die on the strip,” he continued to laugh at his comment as if it was some type of sick twisted joke.

“Now you stand in front of me, ‘claiming’ that you are pregnant with my child? Please, I don’t buy it for a second. I’m not some idiot. Now have to go make a lot of edits to the article coming out in two days thanks to this little stunt your pulling. The desperate whores of the strip..has a certain ring to it don’t you think?”

“You fucking bastard,” once again Mag’s voice was not above a whisper.

Drew shook his head and let another chuckle escape his lips before promptly shoving her to the curb. He then smiled as he left her alone alone in the rain with her tears, her only company, falling down faster than the rain that surrounded her.

She loved him.

She truly loved him.

(End flashback)

The small living room went silent as Mags finished telling Tonya and Delilah what had happened.

“That fucking bastard!” Delilah shot a glance towards Tonya unsure if she had meant to say it out loud.

“I just thought you should know before his article comes out. I don’t know what the hell he is going to say about us, but I highly doubt that it will be good,” the tears once again stained Mag’s cheeks.

Without hesitation, Delilah pulled Mags into her arms. While her heart was focused on Mags her mind couldn’t help, but wander wondering if Mags actually slept with people to get her brother gigs.

They had survived the earthquake, but will the same be said about the aftershocks?

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trickkombowerskru · 4 years

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Road Trip-Henry Bowers Imagine

Request: Anonymous: Hey can you do an imagine where the reader gets a call saying she has to go pick up henry from juniper hills and she is like super successful and she isn't sure if she should but she ends up doing and they have a super cute road trip to her house and it's all fluffy. Also I love your work❤

A/N:I kinda went nuts with this prompt bc I really loved it so this one is real long strap in folks

Warnings: None

You exhale after an exhausting day at work, as you take off your coat. After an entire day of meetings, finalizing pieces, and reviewing editorials you were beat. You wanted nothing more than to get into the bath and have a glass of wine.

Then to follow that up by changing into sweats, and watching whatever new awful movie hit Netflix recently to turn your brain off and relax while you could before you had to be up the next morning to do it all over again.

As soon as you poured your wine your phone ringing obnoxiously loud killed the mood. You pick it up not recognizing the number at all, but seeing it was a call from Derry, Maine. Just upon seeing the town, a familiar feeling struck you, something that was pulling you to answer.

“Hi is this Y/N L/N?”

“This is she. “

“Hi this is Katherine with Juniper Hills Asylum.”

Why the hell was a random mental hospital calling you?

“Can I ask why you’re calling?”

“Ah yes, due to good behavior and new found evidence in the case that he did not commit these crimes, Henry Bowers is to be released early, and to the first person on his emergency contact form, which is you.”

Hearing his name again made you feel like you just got punched in the gut. And then you know the feeling. It was everything your first boyfriend had made you feel. You needed to take a minute to debate whether you would go.

“Oh I have another call I’ll call you back soon.”

“Alright.”

You think of all the pros and cons, you were in New York now which was a while 7 hours away, and it was one am, in order to get there by morning you’d have to leave at three or four. On the other hand you would feel terrible if he was thrown out on to the streets or something. Also the fact that the feelings were slowly coming back, along with memories.

You quickly call your assistant since you decided you would go. Who knows? Maybe it could even be fun.

“Hey Addison? Yeah something just came up I won’t be in tomorrow until late in the afternoon, maybe not at all.”

“Is everything alright Y?N?”

“Yeah fine, fine I just need to go on a business trip in Maine.”

“Oh okay I’ll be sure to get the email out”

“Thanks Addison you’re the best.”

You quickly called the number back.

“Hi Katherine I’ll be there.”

“Great tonight is his last night, he’ll be released to you when you arrive.”

“I can get there around 10.”

“10 am got it, we’ll let the other workers know.

You put your wine glass in the fridge and then proceed to grab a bunch of caffeine. By the time you had to go you were more than awake. The closer you got to Derry, the more memories came flooding back to you. Along with guilt, you remember when everything went down, and how you would go to see him.

Then you graduated and once every few days became once a week, once a week to once a month, and by the time you left Derry it was once every few months, and you had to break it off.

You hated hurting him like that, but you had no choice, seeing him even less would just hurt your relationship. You moved to New York for college, and worked your way up to the ladder to where you were now. Currently you were the CEO of a really large fashion magazine, really creating an empire.

You laughed to yourself remembering all the dumb shit you two got into, how he carved your initials into the kissing bridge, your first kiss, your first time, and just everything else.

It felt weird to be back in Derry, you never really forgot it, but you had somehow forgotten enough. Enough where you had made up enough to seem believable in interviews in case they had asked you about your childhood.

You take a deep breath to calm yourself down when you finally pulled into the parking lot. A sense of dread filled your entire body as you were lead down the halls into the lobby by a worker.

Before you entered you could see Henry waiting through the clear double doors, you smiled seeing how nothing had really changed. he still had that rough and tough small town charm and even still had his mullet, which you would be sure he got cut, later.

When the doors open, the look of awe on his face is so heartwarming. He had no idea it was you who was picking him up, his heart swelled seeing you again after all these years, looking somehow even more beautiful.

He was never mad at you for leaving, he actually understood it, and if he held you back, he would hate himself even more. So yeah while being stuck in this hellhole he still loved you and thoughts of you made him smile.

“Y/N,” he asks.

“Hey,” you say softly.

“Hey,” he replies.

Without missing a beat you are hugging, almost wanting to cry at the way he clutches to you as if you were his safe place.

You sign the papers and he practically takes your hand and runs out.

He takes a really deep breath in once outside.

“Aw finally some fresh fuckin’ air.”

“They didn’t let out out?”

“Eh sometimes, but not for long, I swear being stuck in those walls drove everyone even more fuckin’ nuts... it’s the little things you miss the most, but they add up ya know.”

“I guess get that. Like what?”

“Uh fresh air, a nice cig, good food, just to name a few,”

You nod the ride began extremely awkward. Not a word was said from you at first, worried he may have just been secretly mad or something.”

He seemed to pick up on this right away, as after about 25 minutes he looks over at you an smiles.

“I ain’t mad at you.”

“What?”

“For leavin’ I ain’t mad.”

You nod, feeling a weight taken off your shoulders.

And shortly after as cheesy as it was “I Melt With You” comes on the radio. You smile and turn it up, looking over at him. It was your song back in the day because of a whole running joke. In no time you two are singing terribly at the top of your lungs and laughing.

“God remember that night we snuck out to go to prom. I still have no clue how I got you to go with me.”

“You were my girl, and beside I knew that shit would get me brownie points, and what happened it did.”

“Yeah yeah whatever you say Bowers, you still cut up the dance floor.”

“Maybe,” he smiles.

You pull to a halt when you reach one area.

He looks around and chuckles when he sees you get out of the car.

It was the kissing bridge, you look around and then see it, the carving he made all those years ago, still clear as day, you run your hand over it and grin.

You take a picture with you phone and then head back to the car.

“It’s still there. God I remember that night, on the way back from that shitty horror movie, first time you told me you loved me, after you did that carving.”

“Yeah...” he breaths out still taking in how gorgeous the sunlight bounced off the side of your face

The rest of the ride flies by filled with reminiscing and laughter.

You make stops every now and then at gas stations to refuel and get snacks and drinks.

Henry even surprises you with what you always used to get back in the day.

“You remembered?”

“Layer the blue and the red, blue on top, and then since for some reason it’s such a damn pair like we are a two pack of Slim Jims and I get one. ” he shakes his head with a laugh reciting what you used to say to him all the time when you went on snack “runs” back in the day as he pulls apart the pack, handing you one of them.

“I’m impressed. God it’s been so long since I have this absolute garbage combo!,” you exclaim taking a really big sip of the Slurpee.

“So where are we goin’ anyway? Where do you live?,” he questions a s he takes a bit of his Slim Jim

“New York,” you say his eyes light up and you can see a cute sense of childlike wonder in them

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Once you hit New York you notice Henry’s eyes go large again as he looks around at the hustle and bustle of the city and all the shops and stuff. Now though the crashing effects of the caffeine were starting to get to you, but you wanted to get Henry settled in, and then get him a few things, considering his old clothes definitely wouldn’t fit him, and lord knows he probably wanted out of that hoodie and uniform.

You take another sip hoping that the sugar will be enough to keep you up.

When you pull up just by the size of the outside of the building Henry was taken so back, but that was nothing compared to his face when he got inside.

“Holy shit Baby! This is like a fuckin’ mansion how do you not get lost? What do you do to live here?”

“I uh, I run a fashion magazine, and help design stuff, CEO of the company now actually,” you say feeling flustered hearing him calling you “Baby” again.

“God damn!”

“Yeah it’s pretty nice.”

“That’s an understatement.”

You laugh as he looks around.

“Okay so I’ll show you the bathroom so you can showers, and then I’ll just give you some men’s designs I have lying around here, then we can go out and I can get you a few things,”

“Hot water,” Henry says as you start walking him to one of the bathrooms.

“Huh?”

“That’s another small thing you miss, hot water.”

“They didn’t give you hot water?”

“They did at first, but then the damn shower busted and they never got it fixed.”

“Well you can take all the hot water you want, just leave your clothes on the chair there and uh I guess I’ll uh-”

“Burn em.”

“You want me to burn them?”

“I ain’t ever wearin’ that shit again, not like you wanna keep it.”

“Okay noted. I’ll burn it, and I’ll leave you fresh stuff in the guest room 2nd door to the left from here.”

He nods and starts stripping before you leave, making you laugh.

“Can you wait till I leave?”, you joke.

“Ain’t nothing you ain’t seen before,” he smirks, making your slight blush come back.

“Yeah well it’s been a while since I’ve seen it. I don’t know if anything’s changed<” you tease and drift your eyes downward.

“Only for the better Darlin’ not much to do in that hellhole, but walk around, watch the shit they had on the tv, read somethin’, or workout.”

You laugh again and shut the door, heading to your design room. to get him something casual, but nice. You luckily had some down played stuff from a shoot coming up. Sure you liked fresh stuff on your models, but you could always wash the stuff, and have it pressed to restore it.

You quickly retrieve his outfit from the bathroom and lit your fire place throwing in stuff one by one slowly so it doesn’t grow too large, then grab some more caffeine to stay awake.

Oh yeah you were going to for sure gong to crash at like 7 or 8 tonight and there was no way you were going to try and go in today, you’d be falling asleep during any meetings.

You pick up your phone, calling Addison again to let her know.

“Hey Girl.”

“Hey.”

“I just wanted to let you know that the maybe has definitely turned into a no go today, I am exhausted.”

“Aw I’m sorry, make sure you get some rest tonight okay?”

“Oh trust me I will soon. Just wanted to let you know that way you knew that you and Mark were still in charge and heads of the meetings and all that. I mean you can call or text if you need something during them of course, but yeah just wanted to give you a heads up on that. Plus they are smaller meeting anyway so I know for sure you guys will handle them perfectly.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course,” you say as you hear the shower finally shut off.

“I gotta go, but good luck I know you two will do great!”

“Alright. Thanks for the heads up. I can put an extra shot of espresso into your latte if you want.”

“Oh yes! I know I’ll definitely need it, I know I’m still gonna come in tired despite how much sleep I get tonight God knows I won’t wanna get up thanks. Okay see ya.”

“Bye.”

You turn around and your breath hitches for a minute when you see Henry in the outfit you had chosen. He almost looked entirely different then he did when you picked him up now that he was in actual clothes.

“So how do i look Sweetheart could I be in Vogue or what?,” he jokes striking a ridiculous pose with a smolder on his face.

“Sure.

You let him pick out whatever he liked, along with helping him with a few things, and making sure he head a few nicer pieces and a suit, then go to the barber’s shop.

“Okay I know it’ll be shocking and all, but Hen....the mullet has to go you need to update your look for a full 2016 makeover.”

The look on his face was priceless.

You tell the guy how to fix it at least a bit, making sure the mullet goes, he could style it up if he wanted, but something told you he would just leave it with the slight bangs he had. either way it was for sure an upgrade.

When he was done he looked in the mirror, ran his hand through it a bit, you could tell he liked it. Then he puts his hand on the back of his neck, feeling it.

“Feels weird. Like I always had it.”

You laugh.

“You look good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you find yourself leaning in, in the slightest way to kiss him before catching yourself, your phone ringing saved you so you stepped out to take it. It was Addison making sure of a few things before the meeting started, but you were thankful for her timing.

You went back in mentally kicking yourself for that. Hoping he didn’t notice, which it didn’t seem he did. Like it would be weird after all this time to just pick things back up where they left off right?

Like it had been forever and sure he may have been being flirty all day, but that could also just be because you were taking him in. Also would he even want that?

You shake your thoughts and then go to the apple store where you had the field day of teaching him his way around a modern phone. Were you spoiling him a bit? Yes. But you couldn’t help it, despite these feelings coming back, you wanted him to be able to find his way around the city, even if it wasn’t by your side.

Once you leave of course it starts to rain, you quickly rush into the house, changing into comfy clothes and grabbing a blanket. You eventually drift off, waking up somehow in your bed to the loud crash of thunder.

Did Henry carry you here? How long did it take him to find your room? Did he tuck you in or did you just pull up the blankets yourself? The thunder takes you out of your thoughts along with a squeaking sound.

You check your phone it was midnight, you fell asleep around 7, and you had around 5 maybe 6 more hours before you had to get up, and head into the office. While you did wanna go back to sleep, you still felt pretty refreshed from that nap. First thing first though you wondered what that noise was.

You pull on a hoodie and quickly find your source when Henry’s door was open. You see him toss and turn, seeming to be stuck in a nightmare. You knew he hated storms back then, they were harsh and loud, and reminded him of the lashes his father gave him.

It made sense that without any form of comfort over all these years, along with whatever else piled on top of that, that he would still be afraid. He wakes up in a gasp, wiping the cold sweat off of his forehead.

You gently knock on the door he looks over and slightly smiles seeing you.

“Hey,” you gently say.

“Hey Doll.”

“You still hate storms.”

He nods.

“Yeah. Yeah they're the fuckin’ worst.”

“Well now that we’re both up you uh, you want me to make some cocoa?”

“Yeah..sounds nice.”

“You still want that dash of cinnamon?”

“Please.”

“You got it”

He sits on the couch, hugging one of your pillows, as you get to work on the cocoa., when it’s finished you add the final touches, and can’t help but sneak a glance at him shirtless, when he releases the pillow to take the mug.

He was definitely right in that joke earlier you notice that he for sure had lots of muscle still built up. You try and shake yourself out of your thoughts, but this time it just holds there.

“Um do you wanna sleep in my room tonight? It just sounds like your fear has gotten worse. I’d hate to leave you alone with that.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Once the cocoa is done, you put the mugs in the sink and go back to the couch. The thoughts cloud your mind again when he lays next to you, and you want nothing more than to either be held or to hold him. You just decide to let it out before it bottles up.

“Hey Henry?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you um...do you still have feelings for me?”

“That obvious huh?”

That took you for surprise.

“No actually I was in my head all day about it. When I got that phone call the other night some feelings came back, but once I got into Derry and saw you again they hit me like a damn bus. I just wasn’t sure how you felt.”

“Well now you do, the thoughts of you were the only thing that could get me to even crack a smile in that shit hole.”

“Do you...do you still love me?”

“Princess I never stopped.”

You lean up and finally after all these years kissed him again, and that was the final nail in the coffin with every single emotion blasting through your body. You pull away and he caresses your face.

“You had no idea how badly I’ve wanted to do that all day or to just do it again for so long.”

“Come ere’,” you say and as if it’s nothing has changed.

You remember the first time he came to you in the rain, not caring it was pouring or storming, he needed you after a particularly rough time from his dad. It was also the first time he came to you after his dad, and after a bit of comfort he told you the truth.

He shifted over into your arms, and you started to do what always used to calm him down, running your fingers through his hair.

“I missed you,” he says smiling up at you.

You kiss him again and quickly drift off again, getting back together with Henry or even really seeing Henry again was definitely not how you would have expected to spend a day, but you weren’t complaining.

He was here in your arms again and you were going to be here for him this time. You would be here to help him heal, to help him grow, and everything else.

#it chapter 2 #the bowers gang #henry bowers #henry bowers imagine #henry bowers x reader #teach grant

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