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blood-orange-juice · 4 months

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ok so ive never properly played genshin and don’t plan to but i know a bit about it’s lore and characters and i think it’s really neat. however i have thousands of hours on ffxiv. on that note please explain why graha and childe are similar. i only have very basic knowledge on childe and i gotta know

Fellow ffxiv enjoyer. <3

(anyone asking me about G'raha has a 100% chance of getting a wall of text and I'm not apologising for that. enjoy your wall of text)

I'm not entirely sure I'm not a case of a person with a hammer to whom everything resembles a nail, but I do think they are the same archetype.

Sweet characters who could have been perfect sidekicks (who still are perfect sidekicks) but listened to too many epic tales as kids and found themselves in a wrong place at a wrong time and now have to play a key role in some universe-changing story.

Both are defined mostly by their stubborness, they are not very suitable for the roles they've chosen and fail over and over again until they do it somewhat right (barely).

No matter how badass they look, their power is not their own, G'raha is a glorified technician of someone else's miracle and little else than a living key, Childe wields an art of old Khaenri'ah without fully understanding it. It's all borrowed from someone else who needed them to achieve a goal.

They do look badass, but mostly because they larp. I'm honestly not sure which one enjoys theatrics more.

Civilisations that created the magic they use specialised in perversion of the natural order of things. They try to use it in relatively noble ways and mostly hurt themselves but the flavour is there.

Both are unbelievably tragic and both somehow make their stories seem almost lighthearted. Complete absense of self-pity. I think that's what makes them both so charming, it's a rare trait.

Both have an incredible capacity for loyalty and love and an incredibly twisted view of what relationships look like. "I'll cross time and space for you, I'll die for you, I'll build a city for you, I'll live for you but please don't ask me to share my plans." "I'll sacrfice my own health and respect of my subordinates to keep my brother's happyness, probably my humanity too, but don't expect me to actually interact with him."

Both have something that looks like self-sacrificial tendencies bordering on suicidality while being, if we are honest, a self-serving trait (partially born out of low self-esteem but still self-serving). They want to live in an old myth and sacrificing oneself is a perfectly reasonable price for that.

Huge egos. And I mean Huge Egos. It's a bit less obvious in Graha's case but I know the type, you see guys like that in PhD programs a lot.

Huge dorks. Both of them.

Both are stuck somewhere between human and non-human and, hmm... their ability to remain human is the most astonishing quality of both. By all accounts, neither should have. They somehow did.

Both are incapable of lying to the point where a third of each fandom headcanons them as autistic. Both are somewhat all right with tricking people without technically lying (although Childe had more practice).

Both are secretive because no one would understand anyway.

FF XIV is a kinder story, so it's easy to overlook, but technically G'raha is a case of body horror, accepts the role of a villain for a while and hides from the player way too much. Hmmm... Where else have I seen it. Hmm. Oh right. That ginger guy from Genshin.

Minor things:

Both are little shits and enjoy annoying the hell out of people they dislike.

Abysmally bad fashion sense. There should be a name for this particular type and level of bad. I don't think I've seen this anywhere else.

And then there's the colour scheme. Red+black+white+blue and red+black+light grey+blue (it's an "anime magician" color profile, I think. black-red-white as alchemy colours + blue as pure magic/something elemental). Childe doesn't quite fit but still the combination is rare.

They way they talk. Dear gods. Who the hell talks like that.

Here's where the similarities end.

One is morally grey but ultimately a good guy (technically. I think the point of ShB was that Emet and G'raha are almost the same), another is a morally grey but still (kind of) a bad buy.

At every step of his story Graha is surrounded by people who love or at least appreciate him, Childe is pretty much on his own and surrounded by people who are either shitty or clueless.

G'raha is kind. Truly and astonishingly kind, in a doomed world he chooses to love everything he touches. Silly little priest of hope. Of all the things he has done this is the most wondrous, I think. Not the time travel, not the city he founded, just being able to remain kind after everything that happened to him.

Childe is... well, Childe. I think he is a deeply decent person (to the point of having a visceral distaste for any kind of unfairness) and he's idealistic but he's indifferent more than he is kind. Empathy usually develops only when someone has shown the person empathy first and, as far as we know, he didn't have much of that in his life.

Also G'raha builds things. Childe breaks things. Childe breaks pretty much everything he touches.

One is an archeologist and a mage and another is a warrior.

I think these differences are caused mostly by the settings they were put into. Childe raised in Sharlayan would have been a very different person. G'raha trained by a voidsent and shipped off to Garlean military would look very much like Childe.

G'raha also has a beautiful character development arc. I love his ShB role. He has this huge ego in the raids and is insufferable and then we see an older and wiser him with a bunch of actual achievements and a bad case of impostor syndrome (trying to do anything real always humbles a person, we all know that real world is held together by sticks and scotch tape. honestly, this change alone is beautiful). And he gets to be an actual hero when he abandons all hope to be Important and resigns to die as a nameless villain if it saves everyone and spares his loved ones from heartbreak.

Childe's character development is yet to happen and I'm not hoping for much but we'll see.

The only difference that definitely isn't created by setting is that G'raha is naturally manipulative. In a kind-hearted way and mostly for the sake of better larp but he isn't that straightforward. Childe is spectacularly blunt for all his mysteriousness.

As a bonus, they both compare main characters to stars, but in completely different ways.

"No doubt your heroism will be the star by which I chart my course," says G'raha to the WoL.

Childe mentions the morning star, which is, of course, pretty and a good companion to a lonely traveler, but also it's not a celestial body you can chart your course by.

It's a guy whose signature weapon is called "Polar Star" and his first artifact set was full of nautical themes, so I think he fully understands what he's saying. "You are my friend but I won't change anything in my life for you."

So I don't think his story will be anything like G'raha's, his life took a different turn very long ago. I do think they used to be similar as kids, bookish boys who dreamed of adventure and being special. So it's fun to compare.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk. <3

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keyaho · 16 days

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◣the gridiron.2◢

summary: told in flashbacks and the present the gridiron follows chanel dawson and joseph anoa'i's relationship from college football to the NFL and all that is in between.

content warnings⚠️: racism word count: 2.255

◤chapter two: silly rabbit◥

Her nails always matched her current mood; black, with gold detailing across her almond shaped nails was her current fixation. Power. Dominance. Control. Luxury. When she had gone to see her nail technician there was very little talk about the news that broke this morning. She saw the faces, heard the murmurs, but knew they wouldn’t step out of place and address her directly. They could whisper all they wanted. She was there to relax before meeting up with the girl who thought she could ruin an eleven year relationship.

Chanel’s lawyer had already begun the paperwork necessary. Chanel was just going to meet with the girl as a formality, lay down what was going to happen and what the girl needed to expect to happen.

Tapping her nails on the wheel of her car, Chanel sat in the parking lot of Chateau Rosé. It was an upscale restaurant that Chanel enjoyed because of the quality of the food and service. She also knew the girl would show for two reasons. One, she used Joseph’s phone to make the ‘date’. Two, it was an upscale restaurant and she knew the girl would assume he was paying for her food in an attempt to persuade her against whatever plan she had.

That was not the case.

She wanted to already be seated when the girl arrived but opted for the reverse. She wanted to see the look on the golddigger’s face when she slid into their private booth. Such a sight was already making her tingle in anticipation.

“Yes, Mrs. Anoa’i, your table is ready and your guests have already arrived.”

“Wonderful. Have the wine menu sent to my table please.”

“Of course, Mrs. Anoa’i.”

The hostess greeted her warmly when she first entered. As she walked among the other patrons they flirted their eyes over her fitted jeans and white shirt. The black blazer and matching stilettos gave an air of indifference and simplicity. The ten carat emerald cut yellow diamond on her finger flashed as her hand moved up to tuck her black curls from her face.

As they approached the table, Chanel was surprised to see an elderly woman waiting as well. Nevertheless, she wasn’t going to let any of that deter her. Nor was she going to let this girl think she had control because of it.

“Good morning ladies,’ she said brightly as she slid into the booth across from them.

She watched their faces fall as they quickly glanced at each other. The file she had on the table suddenly slid away, but Chanel’s hand stopped it.

“I assume this is for my husband?”

Destiny Crawford. Dark hair, bright blue eyes, and tan was the type of woman that thought the world owed her and she should be given what she wanted when she wanted it. Chanel was about to snatch her back down to reality.

“Um, ye-yes it is. Where is he?”

She had the nerve to look around the restaurant.

“He won’t be joining us. As a matter of fact, your contact with him ends today Ms. Crawford.”

Snooty, the girl’s mother spoke up. “She is pregnant with his child. He should be here.”

“It’s funny you mention that. How far along are you exactly?”

The who and what didn’t really matter to Chanel. She didn’t care about that. Her job right now was to poke holes in this story for the sake of their finances. To a lot of people Chanel came off as money hungry and a gold digger. She let them believe that. It was energy wasted trying to convince them otherwise. If anything, Chanel’s position in finance made her think about money and its meaning more than its value to be spent.

Pulling the file in her direction she opened it to see photos of text messages, emails, and a doctor's report stating she was about three weeks pregnant. Hm. That didn’t quite line up with the timeline Joseph had explained to her. One of them was lying.

“It’s all right there.”

Thirsty, Destiny suddenly took a long sip of her drink. Chanel glanced at the glass. It seemed to be orange juice, but the pensive look on her mother’s face made her think it was something a little extra. She’d ask for a copy of the receipt later.

“I’m glad you brought these. I’m waiting on Instagram and Twitter to send me copies of his as well. Just for further comparison.” She paused while flipping through the pages. “I can check his emails later tonight.”

Destiny scowled as she set her glass down. “You don’t need to do that. It’s all right there in black and white for you to see! I’m pregnant with his baby.”

“Be that as it may, I don’t care who the father is, honestly. This isn’t some meal ticket to a six figure pay-out each month. If this is his child there are some stipulations to how child support will work. I’m here to inform you of those before my lawyer reaches out to you. I suggest you get one.”

Destiny’s mother sucked her teeth. “He has to help take care of the baby. Physically and financially.”

Chanel smiled as the waitress arrived. Their orders were taken upon Chanel’s insistence and as the waitress left so did Chanel’s patience.

“Here’s the deal and you have no choice but to take it; Joseph will have joint custody and visitation whenever his schedule permits it. He can and will take the child on vacation with us out of the country if we decide to do so. You will get no more than two thousand dollars a month in child support. Insurance will be covered by us as well as medical expenses. After having two of his children and running the finances, that is more than enough, especially for a newborn that can’t do anything but shit and eat.”

Chanel knew she was being harsh. However, this girl had friends who would throw her a lavish baby shower and the first few month’s supply of diapers, clothes, and baby necessities would be given as gifts. Plus, as grandmother, Chanel knew she would be spending money as well.

Destiny looked at her mother with a hard gaze. There was an unspoken conversation before she spoke up again.

“You can’t determine that. The courts can. We will file for more money than that. His support payment will reflect his income.”

“I control the finances of the home. The multiple investments, credit cards, bank accounts...all that runs through me. If that child is his, and you better hope so because the lawsuits coming your way will have you in debt in the grave, we will provide for the child because of joint custody. Not you. You are not my child. You are not his child. You’re going to work or you can sit at home and figure out how to live off those two stacks.”

“I don’t know who raised you this way, but I’m sure those black babies aren’t even his! You hooked him in with a damn lie yourself just to get his money!.”

Destiny’s face paled at her mother’s harsh words.

“If anyone is the whore at this table it’s you!”

It was one thing to speak about herself or Joseph. It was a deep can of shit one opened when they spoke to Chanel's children.

“Excuse me?”

“She didn’t-’ Destiny stuttered. “Mom!”

“Oh she meant it. Let me tell you something, I’m the whore that will be taking care of your grandchild when he’s on the road. Joseph is a damn good father, but he is shit at child rearing. I will be the point of contact whether you want me to be or not. I am also the woman that if I tell him to forget this child exists he will, even if it is his. He will sign over his parental rights just to make me happy and in the end you won’t get a damn thing from him.”

She would never ask him to do that, but putting that fear in Destiny and her mother made her inwardly grin. She drummed her black nails on the table. Power.

“If you ever talk about our children like that again, Mrs. Crawford I will make sure your daughter is sucking dick on a street corner. I will also come at you with a lawsuit for even attempting to coerce her into entrapment with my husband.”

“I just want him to provide for the baby. We had sex, you can use all of this in the divorce case, right?”

It was like bells had rung from the sistine chapel.

“I’m not divorcing my husband over some silly little girl and the garbanzo bean in her stomach. I don’t plan on divorcing him any time soon.” She paused. “I hope you didn't. I'd leave him and he’d come running to you?”

Destiny looked down.

“Oh he fucked with a dumb ass for real,” Chanel sighed. “You know, I don’t think I’m mad he did what he did. I’m mad he insulted my intelligence by fucking you.”

Food came swiftly and so did the tab. It was clear they had plans to make Joseph pay for it because when they realized it was separate checks, and theirs was lengthy, Destiny slumped in her seat. Chanel grabbed it for a moment, snapped a picture, and passed it back.

“You invited us to lunch, you should at least pay!” The mother snapped. Her anger clearly still bubbling under her horribly tanned skin.

“I would have. Had I not seen that she ordered an alcoholic beverage and she’s three weeks pregnant. Clear your schedule tomorrow. You’re going to see my OBGYN for a pregnancy test.”

Using cash, Chanel paid her bill and slipped her shades back on. “It was nice meeting you ladies. Meet me tomorrow at nine. I will send you the address.”

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Chanel was home a few hours later with bags from Sephora, Carters, Addias, and other familiar stores strewn across the bed. When Joseph came in from the gym he peeked into a few of them; slightly grinning at some of the lace and frilly bras and panties. He took a shower before he sought her out. Going down the hall he realized the kids were out. When he found his wife she was sitting in her office by her desk. He knocked twice but she didn’t look up from what she was working on.

“Are you going to ignore me?” He said after standing there for another three minutes. Folding his arms over his chest, he waited for her to respond. “Chanel.”

“I have a feeling she isn’t pregnant. I’m taking her to my doctor tomorrow. Who says they are three weeks pregnant and then drinks alcohol?”

“How do you know?”

“I met with her and her mother today. They were expecting you because I used your phone to set up the meeting.”

Closing the file she had been working on, Chanel stood up and started to put away the various folders on her desk. Each color coded with a purpose. She had a black one specifically for Destiny. He reached up and scratched the back of his head.

“You think that was a good idea?”

Brown eyes startled him as they snapped up to stare holes in his face. “Good ideas are not something you need to talk to me about.”

“Where are the kids?” He didn’t want to argue about this tonight so he conceded.

Chanel grabbed both phones before she passed Joseph and headed towards their bedroom. “My sister was in town. She wanted to spend a few days with them before she left for New England Sunday. She picked them up from school. I thought it was best if they weren’t in town right now.”

“Wait, where did she take them?”

Chanel pulled up the text on her phone after selecting the text thread she had with Audre. “She took them to the beach.”

“So it’s just us for the next four days?” He stepped up close behind his wife.

“Yep.”

He couldn’t remember the last time they had uninterrupted alone time. After Kelani was born they always took family trips. It was hard getting alone time when the kids were constantly in and out of their room.

Stopping by the bed she placed the bags for the kids on the floor while dumping the black and white Sephora bag. Most of that was replacement for lipsticks, foundations, and other items she was running low on. It was still a hefty price tag because Pat Mcgrath had some new items she grabbed at the last minute.

He was careful when he reached to wrap his arms around his wife’s waist. He wasn’t sure what she was feeling and that was always the hardest to handle. He didn’t know exactly how angry she was. He was about to bend down to rest his head on her shoulder when she peeled his arms away. Her hand flattened against his chest to push him away. He could see the pain she tried to hide in her eyes and a piece of his heart broke. Again.

He fucked up.

“Baby,’

“Sleep in the guest room. I ordered from Waiter because I didn’t want to cook. It should be here in about thirty minutes.”

“We made a promise not to go to bed angry.”

Raking her hands through her hair, Chanel then rubbed her arms.

“I’m not angry. I’m disappointed.”

#roman reigns x black reader #roman reigns x black!reader #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic

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liminalpebble · 8 months

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Loki request: Loki and reader getting mani-pedis together.

Hello my dear @eleniblue! Thank you for the prompt. This is wayyyy outside of my usual style, but was a really great challenge so I hope you enjoy it.

CW: No smut, just one f-bomb, I think. Surprisingly wholesome considering what I usually write. But let's say Minors DNI to cover my ass.

Word count: 800 (lil shortie)

Very soft and bisexual Loki x gender neutral reader (just friendship, deeper feels if you squint), soooo fluffy

----

Wrapped Around Your Finger

“NO, Loki...no way,” you said between swigs from your water bottle. You'd been training in the Avengers' gym with him all morning, and now, a sweating, exhausted, hungry mess, you weren't in any mood for your fellow Avenger's antics.

It wasn't fair that what was an intensive, back-breaking regimen prescribed by the Black Widow herself was simply a walk in the park for his Asgardian body...and what a fucking body it was. But, as you had a thousand times before, you pushed the thought away.

“Darling....why not? Be a bit of a hedonist with me. Why must you insist on being so responsible and stoic?”

You gave him a warning glare and replied, “Because you only give me those sad puppy eyes and call me 'darling' when you're about to get me into trouble.”

He came closer to you, towering over you, but grinning that Cheshire cat grin that always disarmed you. He leaned down and purred into your ear with a mischeivous whisper, “Come on. Let's have a bit of fun, eh?”

That was the final straw. You knew you were wrapped around his lovely pale finger, with its shiny black nail.

----

“This...this is new,” you said gingerly, sinking your feet into the warm bath (which admittedly, felt amazing) and slid back into the comfortable leather chair. “I've never had a manicure or pedicure before,” you admitted.

“How could you not! It's so delightfulll,” he said drawing the last word out in a low purr. “Truly, since I've taken up residence on Midgard, this has been one of my favorite discoveries.” He sighed wistfully, eyes wondering around to take in the tastefully decorated high-end salon. “After losing my royal status it scratches a rather delicious itch to have someone waiting on me hand and foot in a luxurious setting.”

You rolled your eyes. “Have you always been such a diva?”

“Well, yes.” he said, without a hint of shame, surprised that you would even ask.

You giggled as the smiling technician began working a tickling pumice stone over the soles of your feet, and Loki chuckled along with you. He reached over and held your hand, meeting your eyes, and saying with surprising sincerity, “It really is good to hear you laugh again.”

Grinning you said, “Well, I have to admit. This is sort of fun, but it feels weird to be...well...waited on. Some of us aren't royalty.”

“Well, for now you can feel like you are. I knew you'd warm up to it,” he said just as two more technicians came over to begin on your hands. The one working on Loki's nails took up a friendly chat with him. He was clearly a regular.

After a bit, he looked thoughtfully back to you. “I wanted to do this for you as a gesture of gratitude. Of all of our colleagues, you've been the only one who listens to me and accepts me willingly, rather than out of begrudging necessity. Dare I say, you rather like being around me?” he said with peaked eyebrows and a bit of fragile hope in his voice.

“I do,” you replied, meeting his eyes. “I like our lunch dates, and how you drag me shopping, or to the movies. You even make training more tolerable. You get me out of my comfort zone.”

He scoffed. “My dear, we both know you can't be left to your own devices when it comes to fashion. You'd probably live in those...what are they called...'sweatpants'? How many novel experiences would you forgo if not for my encouragement?” he said, as he raised his long lovely hand and inspected his now perfectly shellac-ed nails. They gleamed like black patent leather with a layer of twinkling emerald glitter and gold flake; a striking contrast to his porcelain skin.

You gave him a knowing smirk. “You're fishing for compliments, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Indeed I am, poppet,” he confirmed, again, without an ounce of embarrassment.

“Your nails look spectacular,” you said, knowing he wanted more. And he gave you a disappointed look, hungry for more approval.

“And I am very glad to have your friendship. In fact, I might even say you're my best friend. The misfits of the team need to stick together, right?”

“Indeed they do,” he agreed with a regal nod. “And darling...”

“Yes?”

“I am also very fond of you,” he said, those big pale aquamarine eyes glimmered with confusing, exciting implication as they met yours.

Then he pulled back, smiling in faux-innocence, saying lightly, “Now...all finished. To brunch. Shall we?” and offered you his arm.

@queen-paladin @littlespaceyelf @goblingirlsarah @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @sweetsigyn @peaches1958 @muddyorbs @gigglingtiggerv2 @peacefulpianist @coldnique @holdmytesseract@infinitystoner @loz-3 @jennyggggrrr @glitchquakee @ladyofthestayingpower @marcotheflychair @sarahscribbles @sailorholly @tripleyeeet @acidcasualties @alexakeyloveloki @icytrickster17 @chokeanddagger @joyful-enchantress

#lovely asks #loki fanfic #loki drabble #sas #lovely mutuals #loki fluff #Mew Mew the mango says hi

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gojou-violin · 1 year

Text

nail polish

| pairing: choso x fem!bodied!reader

| warnings: 18+ MDNI cockwarming, soft choso, but also alluding to meanie Dom choso oop.

| wc: 1.3k

| taglist: @aylitgirl , @thisbicc , @aki-and-saltfish

| a/n: based off of this from me and @c-kamo

The first time you had your nails painted you were young and someone else had done it for you. As you got older, however, you learned how to do it yourself, going from messily spilling into your cuticles and onto the pads of your fingers, to meticulously reaching every corner without leaking into the crevices. You weren’t perfect by any means, but it was enough to get you through special events or the times when you wanted your nails to temporarily be a certain color without having to pay the insane prices nail technicians charged.

When you started dating Choso, one of the first things you noticed was that he liked to keep his nails painted black all the time, and if any cracks happened to form due to wear and tear, he’d immediately pull out a bottle of acetone to rub it off before repainting it. He was far better at it than you. Honestly. There was no shame in that. It was nice that you could sit there to watch his process— Or sometimes he'd insist on painting your nails for you, which was so relaxing.

One time, though, Choso’s nail cracked, and you felt like it was partially your fault because he had done so while offering to carry your bag up to his apartment after you planned to stay at his place for the night. The irritation was plain on his face. Not directed towards you, of course, but towards the fact that he’d let the nails sit for too long since he last painted them, so he should have done a fresh coat for you before you came over. Now he was just embarrassed.

“Shit—” he grumbled as he went to the bathroom to retrieve his bottle of black polish.

You followed him. “Let me,” you insisted quietly so as to not rile him up any more than he already was.

Choso turned and stared at you with the bottle balancing on his palm, his cheeks a bit red. “Huh?” He cocked a brow. It was like he had heard you, yet he couldn’t seem to quite comprehend if you meant it or not. “What do you mean?”

“You heard me.” Without any head’s up, you took the bottle from him. “Let me do it for you this time.”

Choso was still staring at you blankly to the point that you were beginning to believe that you had overstepped. But it was only a matter of time before he had you in his bed, kissing your neck and running his hands up and down your side, grinding his hips desperately against yours. Though you were still clutching the bottle of polish in your hands, Choso was trying to do his best to get you out of your clothes until you finally snaked out from underneath him so that you could flip the two of you over before going to sit on his lap. Choso looked surprised.

“I’m supposed to be painting your nails,” you insisted while shaking the bottle.

Choso rolled his eyes. “Tease.”

“You did it to yourself.”

As he shifted to get comfortable on the bed, Choso wiggled his hips to gain some momentum before using his hands to push him up towards the headboard a bit. However, you were both stopped in your tracks immediately when you fell forward with a loud, pornographic moan escaping you. Choso barely managed to grab your waist before you could fall completely over. The two of you paused. All he had done was adjust himself barely and yet you were moaning like that?

Choso grinned at your red cheeks. “Oh, my darling,” he cooed so happily, “if that’s what you wanted, you could have just said so.”

You gulped while staring at him with wide, deer-in-headlights-kind-of-eyes. “‘So…”

“Yes, baby?”

You lifted your skirt a bit. “I-In me… Just while I… While I paint your nails.”

He grinned. “Of course, baby.”

With so much ease and care, Choso was able to lift you onto your knees so that he could reach between the two of you to push his pants down to his knees— He was too lazy and eager to put any more effort into it than that. He just had to be inside of you, and you needed him inside.

As he pushed your panties to the side and started gently teasing his index finger up and down your folds to get you a bit more wet for him, he warned, “No moving, though, princess. You’ve gotta focus on my nails, ‘member?”

You nodded. “Yes— Yes, Master.”

Choso flicked your clit. “Good girl. Go on then.”

And then without another single bit of effort from him, Choso reclined back down against the mattress, his palms on his chest, fingers splayed for when you were ready to start painting, his eyes glued to the image of you taking his hard length in your left hand before lining him up with your slick entrance. You pouted down at him. Was he really going to do this to you? Was he really going to lay there and expect you to not do anything, or were you supposed to believe him that he wasn’t going to fuck you? Yes, he was, and the grin he maintained told you as much. So you gave in to what he wanted. You slowly lined him up with your entrance and then began to sink down and down while he stretched you with every inch that went deeper inside. It was pure bliss. The look on his face was so sarcastic in comparison to your scrunched up nose because you were trying so hard to concentrate on taking all of him.

Choso smiled. “You’re doing so well, beautiful.” But you weren’t fast enough for him, so he egged you on by moving his hands from his chest to your hips before tugging you down onto the rest of his hard length.

You yelped. “Choso—”

“Ah, ah, ah, what did you call me?”

With an embarrassed blush, you relaxed to make more room for him inside of you, then croaked, “Master…”

“There you go, princess. That wasn’t so hard. How does it feel?”

All you could bear to do was nod eagerly.

“Feels good?”

You kept nodding.

“I’m glad, darling. Now go on and paint my nails like you said you were going to.”

“What if we move and I mess up?” you whispered fearfully.

“Move? What do you mean? Like this?” Choso rolled his hips slightly.

You gasped, “You’re being a tease, ‘So.”

“Me a tease? Never, lovely. I guess you’ll just have to restart with my nails. We have all night for you to do it, darling.”

Mockingly, Choso took the bottle of nail polish and dangled it in front of your face like you were a pet and he was giving you a treat. He wasn’t far off, to be fair. You were easily excited by him and having him inside of you, which was already your reward, but getting to paint his nails for him was just an added bonus, honestly— A bonus that you eagerly accepted by taking the bottle back and unscrewing the cap to let him know that you were ready. You’d stay focused. No matter what he would do, no matter what evil plans he had roaming through his mind, you’d stay still in order to keep your hands steady so that he’d be proud of you and the work you put into his nails. You wanted them to last. You wanted him to wear them for as long as possible so that they were a constant reminder that he belonged to you and no one else— You painted his nails. You were special enough to do that for him.

“Hey, princess?” he spoke up when you grabbed his index finger to start painting. When you hesitated to look at him through your lashes, he smiled again, “I love you.”

And right as you were about to stroke the brush along his finger, he bucked up into you with a wicked chuckle. “Sorry. Was just tryna get comfortable again.”

#choso 🩸#op #fanfic #choso #jjk #choso fanfic #choso smut #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic

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secondtechnicianrimmer · 3 months

Text

Space Corp. Directive #1215225

For some ungodly reason, you fancy the second technician, but you'd be damned if you ever admitted it.

Pairing: Arnold Rimmer x (F) Reader

Warnings: None! Apart from some flirting

Chapter Five: Last Day

“Well, it's all very sad, Lister, but what can we do?”

You looked up from the robotics manual Lister had pushed under your nose.

Rimmer was lying on his bunk, examining his fingernails despite the fact it was physically impossible for them to get dirty. He didn’t seem bothered by Kryten’s potential shut off, even though you and Lister had been feeling queasy all day at the thought.

“Sad? It's sick!”

Lister had been scouring some sort of manual for over an hour now, though you weren’t sure if it was because he truly cared about Kryten or if he was just having difficulty with the bigger words. You also weren’t sure how this was all actually supposed to help Kryten but once Lister set his mind to helping a friend, he could not be talked down.

“He’s been programmed to believe in an android heaven so that he doesn’t get stroppy when it comes to turn-off time. So he accepts a lifetime of getting the short end of the stick because he thinks there's going to be some big reward at the end.”

Rimmer scoffed.

“Well, at least he gets 24 hours notice. That's more than most of us get. All most of us get is, ‘Mind that bus!’ ‘What bus?’ Splat .”

You raised an eyebrow at him, unamused by his brevity. He could act as cool and callous as he liked, he wasn’t going to get out of helping and he certainly wasn’t going to convince you that he didn’t care about the mechanoid.

“Speaking from experience there, Rimmer?”

“I do have a particularly unique perspective on the matter, yes.”

“From what I hear, you were given quite a lot of loud, ship-wide notice that you were about to pop your army boots.”

“I’m just saying, we all have to die sometime. Androids too. And it’s nice that he can get his affairs in order first.”

“Does Kryten have any affairs?”

Rimmer shrugged and went back to his nails.

“I’m sure there’s a mop and bucket somewhere on B Deck that’ll have to wear black for a while.”

You looked back down at the manual. If it had been any other time and he wasn’t being such a twat, that probably would've made you smile.

“How's he taking it?” Rimmer asked.

Lister went back to moping.

“Just keeps on doing his stupid smeggin' duties.”

“Maybe I should talk to him.” With a grunt, Rimmer lifted his legs and rolled to his feet. “Maybe he needs a bit of counselling.”

“You?”

You watched him as he sat down across the table from you. Again, you thought that if the stakes were different, if Kryten wasn’t in danger and there wasn’t a ticking countdown in all your minds, you’d be really enjoying the sight of Rimmer in his green short-sleeved roll neck, and thinking about all the fun you could have with those bloody braces.

“I used to be in the Samaritans!”

“I know! For one morning!”

Rimmer pulled a face.

“Well, I couldn't take any more.”

“I don't blame you. You spoke to five people and they all committed suicide.”

“Oh, for Io’s sake, Rimmer,” you had to laugh. “What did you say to them?”

“Probably just told them his life story.” Lister shook his head. “I wouldn't mind, but one was a wrong number! He only phoned up for the cricket scores!”

“Well, it's hardly my fault that everyone chose that particular day to throw themselves off buildings! Made the papers, you know. ‘Lemming Sunday’ they called it.”

You nudged the leg of his chair, making him jolt and have to grab for the table, which of course his hand fell right through.

The physics of his body made no sense to you, how he was able to sit and lie down, but couldn’t actually touch anything. You knew the holographic technology onboard was sophisticated enough to detect the presence of an object’s surface. He wasn’t actually sitting, but hovering ever so slightly above the chair. It was all an illusion. Still, it made your heart jump to think that Rimmer’s body had been affected by your action. It was the closest you’d ever come to touching him.

“I need you to look a touch less proud about it, Arn.”

He sneered at you across the table but Rimmer didn’t actually seem to mind it when you teased him. Perhaps because he knew you never actually meant any harm.

Lister flipped through a few more pages of his instruction manual.

“Maybe we could find his shut-off disk and turn it off somehow.”

“He's not a kit droid, Lister. He's not like that stupid thing Peterson bought on Callisto.” Rimmer shook his head. “We wouldn't know where to begin!”

“Be funny if you accidentally killed him while you were trying to save him.” You looked up to find both men staring at you. “No, you’re right, that wouldn’t be funny at all.”

“What can we do?” Rimmer went on. “He's pre-programmed to self-destruct.”

“At least we can help! At least we can make sure he goes out with a bang, give him one last big smeggin' night to remember.”

“How do we do that? He doesn't like doing anything! His idea of a good time is for us all to go up to the laundry room and fold some sheets!”

Rimmer’s mouth tugged back at the corners, forming a very Krytenesque expression as he mimicked the mech.

“Fun? Ah yes, the employment of time in a profitless and non-practical way.”

“Hey, I don't know much,” Lister rose to his feet, an idea blazing behind his eyes. “But one thing I do know is how to throw a good time!”

He ran off gleefully, leaving you and Rimmer alone.

Nerves stirred in your chest but you did your best to ignore them.

He rolled his eyes so deeply you worried they might get stuck in the back of his head, then Rimmer sighed and raised his chin at you.

“I suppose you’ll be helping him carry out this pointless caper.”

You wrinkled your nose.

Rimmer’s reluctance to do anything nice for his friends irked you no end. Sometimes it really did bewilder you, as you were sure it did Lister and the others, why on earth you were so attracted to him. He could be such a git, he never had anything nice to say, and he was a true coward, through and through.

But if you were honest with yourself, you didn’t believe that. Not really. And the small moments where he allowed himself to relax and be sweet kept your heart coming back for more.

Though he couldn’t touch you, Rimmer was always near you, always interested in what you were doing and always pestering you to join him on walks or to watch one of his mind-numbing war documentaries. And his voice was different when it was just the two of you, softer, gentler, and although he never lost his snark, he didn’t have to be on the defensive with you.

Perhaps you could admit, if only to yourself, that the small crush you’d been concealing so poorly over the last few months, had grown into affection. You’d even come to accept that, maybe, possibly, you had feelings for the idiot.

“Kryten’s just as much my friend as you are,” you said, raising an eyebrow that warned him he was being an idiot.

Rimmed huffed and crossed his arms.

“Oh, thanks. You’re lumping me in with that glorified hoover?”

“He was your friend before he was mine, aren’t you worried about him?”

“He’s not my friend,” Rimmer stated firmly. “He hates me. You remember how we found him on that old derelict? And what he said about me even when I invited him to stay with us? To share our home?”

“That was a long time ago, Arn.”

You tried to sound placating but you found it hard to repress a smile as you pictured Kryten painting an embarrassing portrait of Rimmer, then told him where he could stick it. Lister was wiping tears from his eyes as he relayed the story, but Rimmer didn’t find it quite so hilarious.

“Still,” he said, his lip curled. “He’s a smarmy know-it-all who thinks scrubbing the bogs is a recreational activity. I’m sorry if I don’t feel sorry for him.”

You sighed and closed the manual. It had been about as useless as trying to convince Rimmer to be kind when he didn’t feel like it.

“Well, I’m going to help Dave. Better than sitting around doing nothing all day.”

As you stood to leave, you dropped the book with a little more strength than you meant to. It clattered across the table, sliding so far, it almost fell into Rimmer’s lap. He stared at it, then looked up at you.

Despite his obvious social weaknesses, Rimmer must have been able to tell that he’d disappointed you. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth as he thought of what to say next, while you stared at the book and debated whether you should leave or let him try and make it better.

Finally, Rimmer’s eyes slowly dropped to the table.

“I’ll help,” he said. “You’re right. He’s my… Crewmate. I’ll help.”

You sighed, feeling your chest ease.

“Good,” you said. Then, “You know, you don’t have to go above and beyond. You just need to be nice.”

“Nice? Me?” Rimmer repeated incredulously, then he smiled to let you know he was attempting a joke.

It worked. You smiled too. How annoying.

“You can be lovely when you want to be,” you said, begrudgingly. “Just do this for me. Please, Arnie.”

He sighed, as if the effort was herculean, as if it would be painful to even try. But he nodded.

“Fine. For you.”

The party started at 8pm - that’s what the frantically organised invitation you received just an hour ago had told you - so you made sure to arrive at the officer’s club just before then.

The boys were already there. Lister jumped a foot in the air when he saw you come in, his eyes wide.

“Easy, man! I thought you were Kryten!”

“Oh, thanks,” You laughed. “You know, I wasn’t sure about this dress at first but that really helps, Dave.”

“Don’t be daft. You look great. Come in, come in, sit down, grab a party popper.”

You were ushered into the seat beside Rimmer. You didn’t have time to wonder if Lister had sat you there on purpose, you were immediately distracted by the man to your left.

“Oh, wow.”

You let your gaze wander up and down Rimmer’s body, drinking him in. The tux fit him perfectly, pulling in at the waist and emphasising his broad shoulders. There was a perfect red rose in the buttonhole, and his neat bow tie was just begging to be pulled.

“Where’d this little number come from?”

Rimmer seemed a little embarrassed by the attention.

“Programmed it in a few weeks back.” He shrugged. “You never know.”

“It’s very spiffy. I love the tie. Where’ve you been hiding all this style, Bond?”

“There hasn’t been an occasion for it. Ah! I almost forgot.”

Rimmer clicked his fingers, and thanks to Holly, a spangly, fur-trimmed tricorn hat appeared on top of his head.

You couldn’t stop smiling if your life depended on it.

“Sorry, is this Kryten’s surprise party or mine?”

Rimmer’s face fell.

With a lurch, you realised you’d pushed the teasing just that little bit too far. Rimmer often let you get away with things he wouldn’t usually take from the others but that didn’t mean his patience couldn’t be tested.

“Shut up, Lefty,” he muttered, twisting round in his seat so that he was facing away from you.

“No, no I mean it! I think you look great!”

“Arlight, I get it.”

You sighed.

“Arnold, you’re not listening to me.”

“I am.”

“You’re not.”

If you’d been able to, you would’ve slipped a hand around his arm and pulled him back to look at you. But you couldn’t. So you settled for leaning right over the table until you were in his eye-line again.

“I think you look really handsome,” you said, smiling.

Rimmer met your gaze. Something shifted behind his eyes, like a match had been struck. You thought perhaps it was the sign of something in him beginning to heal, or at least, of trust beginning to form.

“Oh,” he said.

His eyes moved across your face before meeting yours again. When he did, the corner of his mouth tugged back into the tiniest of smiles.

“Well… Thank you.” Rimmer’s gaze went wandering again for a moment, then he said, “You look amazing.”

“Yeah?”

You grinned so wide it made your cheeks ache. Later, you would have plenty time to berate yourself for not playing it cooler, for being so embarrassingly pleased by the compliment, but right now, you just wanted to enjoy the uncharacteristic warmth in Rimmer’s voice, and watch his gaze as it, once again, got lost somewhere around your mouth.

“Yes.” Rimmer’s smile grew just a little. “You always look…”

He stopped, his lips pressing together as if he’d said too much.

You honestly could have cried.

“Yeah?” you pressed, but then Lister reached around Rimmer and frantically slapped your arm.

“He’s coming!”

Someone, probably Holly, switched off the lights and you were plunged into darkness.

You didn’t have a chance to ask Rimmer anything else. Kryten wandered into the doorway, dressed in the tuxedo Lister had left out for him to wear.

“Hello?” he called. “Is there anybody here?”

Suddenly, the lights sprang back on.

“It’s party time!” Lister yelled, while the Cat threw streamers up in the air, his pointed teeth bared in a grin.

Rimmer clapped enthusiastically, and you followed suit, trying to hide how flustered your conversation had left you.

Kryten staggered into the room, his arms anxiously held aloft.

“But this is the officers’ club! Mechanoids aren't allowed in here!”

The Cat scoffed and ushered him into the only empty chair.

“C'mon, c'mon, sit down, sit down. Let me pour you a drink.”

You couldn’t believe the spread Lister had managed to pull together. Despite the limited resources, he’d managed to cover the table in streams and sequins, and there were plates and plates of food that could kill a human stone dead, made just for Kryten.

Every other inch of the table not taken up by dinner or decorations was filled by cans of nose-wrinkling beer, champagne, and a dangerous bottle of rum that, by the end of dinner, had left your head feeling nice and heavy.

“My goodness, I do believe I am drunk,” Kryten said, echoing precisely what you’d just been sluggishly thinking.

He shakily rose to his feet and started to flap his arms about.

“I suddenly feel the need to strut my funky stuff!”

Holly, with her sparkling tiara barely clinging to her pixelated head, slurred a warning,

“Sit down! It's the booze, you're not us-used to it.”

You frowned, feeling oddly indignant on Kryten’s behalf.

“Well, hey, if he wants to dance, let him dance!” You tried to get up but found it took several attempts to get your legs to comply. “I’ll dance with you Kryten, c’mon.”

With his grand hat now sat sideways, Rimmer was also completely out of his tree. He tried to wrap his hand around your wrist but it went straight through you.

“You dance like a drunken monkey,” he said, as you fell back into your seat.

You gasped, offended.

“I do not! I have flare, I have grace-”

“You have two left feet! That’s the real reason why we call you ‘Lefty’.”

Rimmer’s hand fell through one of your windmilling arms again, but he was so tipsy, he didn’t seem to notice. You saw it though. And you noticed something you never had before. When Rimmer’s hand passed through yours, you felt it, you felt something, you felt him. Even projected light gave off heat, and for a fraction of a second, Rimmer’s warm hand had felt oh so very real against your skin.

Feeling bold from the drink and embarrassingly needy after your time in Better Than Life, you leaned closer until your face was mere inches from Rimmer’s.

“Well, maybe,” you said, slow and certain despite the voice in the back of your head telling you to stop. “You should get up and teach me a few moves, second technician.”

Rimmer was smiling, really smiling. It pulled you in deeper; you were practically in his lap.

“Are you pulling rank, Lieutenant?”

“I absolutely am.”

There was no denying it this time. Rimmer’s heavy gaze fell to your mouth and stayed there for far too long to be accidental.

You watched, cheeks burning, as he slowly dragged his eyes back to yours. It seemed to take some effort, though whether that was because he didn’t want to or because the drink had made him sleepy, you couldn’t be sure. You had an idea, though.

“I remember the first time I got drunk,” Lister said suddenly. “School trip to Paris.”

His voice made you jump. You’d honestly forgotten the others were there. As Lister told his story, and as the night wore on, they kept looking at you and Rimmer, passing knowing looks and smiles between themselves.

You could feel Rimmer watching you too. Unashamed, you stared right back. Then you smiled, unable to help yourself.

It must’ve been a little lopsided and silly but he smiled back and appeared to move a little closer. You knew if he could, Rimmer might have slung an arm around your shoulders or your waist, maybe even rested his hand on your knee under the table.

Kryten stumbling and falling out of his chair was the signal to call it a night. You all swayed down the corridor, bumping into the walls like pinballs.

The boys headed for Lister’s quarters to keep the festivities going, but your interaction with Rimmer had left your head spinning, and that paired with the alcohol was making it hard to stand up straight. You decided to call it a night.

After kissing Kryten’s rubber cheek and telling him to have fun, you pressed your hand against the wall and carefully, slowly, staggered back to your own quarters.

“I’ve got you.”

You looked up.

Rimmer was watching you with a smile. He hadn’t gone with the others.

“I can’t help you or do anything if you do tumble, but I can run and get help if you fall into the rubbish chute.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

Rolling your eyes made you want to throw up so you settled for smiling at him.

Rimmer’s bow tie was unknotted now, and was hanging around his neck in such an enticing way, you honestly could have sobbed. You wanted to touch him so bad.

You couldn’t say any of this though. Even tipsy, the sensible part of your brain had some control. Instead, you said the first thing that popped into your head.

“I’m sorry about your uncle, Arn.” You leaned back against the wall, letting it take your weight for a minute. “That was awful.”

He looked surprised. To his credit, it had come out of nowhere, but the story he’d told the group had been rolling around in your head all night.

“It’s alright,” Rimmer said quietly.

“It’s not, Arnie.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“I didn’t laugh. I know they might think it’s- I didn’t laugh.”

“I know. I saw.”

He smiled again, small and oddly sweet. It made your chest heave. Suddenly, telling him you might be a little bit in love with him didn't feel like such a stupid idea. Then the world began to tilt.

“Woah, woah…”

Rimmer reached out for you but, of course, could do nothing to help you as you slipped down the wall. You managed to catch yourself just in time, the pair of you giggling as you clawed yourself upright again.

“Sorry, I can’t-” Rimmer laughed breathlessly. “I can’t catch you or carry you. You’re gonna have to sort yourself out, Lefty.”

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it. I appreciate the thought, though.”

Together, you carefully picked your way down the corridor until you managed, after some consternation, to find your door.

You slapped your hand against the keypad and looked over your shoulder to find Rimmer still watching you.

Was he worried about you getting home safe? That would be a turn up for the books. Rimmer didn’t care about anyone apart from himself, yet another argument for not telling him you spent most of the day daydreaming about riding him to within an inch of his not-life.

The door slid open.

“Are you coming in?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

Rimmer gaped at you.

“To..? To your quarters?”

“Yeah, if you like. Why not? There’s room. And I don’t wanna say goodnight to you yet.”

You went inside but Rimmer hesitated. He glanced down the hallway when a raucous cheer echoed down from his and Lister’s room. It would be okay if he wanted to go, but you didn’t think he did.

You heard the door swish shut. Simulated footsteps padded across the rug you’d stolen from the Captain’s office your first week onboard. You smiled to yourself.

“I don’t think I’ve been in here since you moved in,” Rimmer’s voice was faint as he looked around your quarters. “I had this room for a while.”

“Well, if you ever get bored of Lister’s snoring, you can move back in any time.”

You kicked off your shoes, getting yourself comfy. Rimmer, on the other hand, hadn’t moved further than the edge of the rug.

“Arnie?” You smiled. “I wasn’t kidding, I’d like you to stay. If you want to.”

“Why?”

“I…”

That was a good question. You knew the answer, of course. You enjoyed being with him. You liked talking to him. Inviting him to stay the night made you feel normal, like he was just a handsome man you’d gone on a couple of dates with back home, and not a hologram who’d helped rescue you from a burning starship. When he was close, you were happier, simple as.

But you knew Rimmer wouldn’t understand that, not after the way he’d been treated his whole life, and everything that had happened after that life.

“I just…” Coward. “I just like having you around, I s’pose.”

Everything went quiet then. You watched Rimmer’s face, watched as his eyebrows sank and the bridge of his nose wrinkled. The corners of his mouth turned down as his hands balled into fists at his sides, and all you could do was watch and drunkenly wonder why he found it all so difficult.

“Why are you so nice to me?” Rimmer said suddenly.

Taken-aback, you could only blink at him stupidly.

“What?”

“From the beginning, you’ve always been so nice to me. Why?”

“I…” You stammered for a second, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t know. I like you. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“Because no one likes me! No one ever likes me.”

Your heart stumbled.

“That’s not true,” you said quietly.

“And I was horrible to you when we met!” Rimmer shook his head like he was trying to read about thermodynamics in Italian. “I don’t understand you at all.”

It was getting harder and harder to stand, so you flopped down on the bed, hoping that would help keep your head from spinning.

He was right. Rimmer hardly spoke to you the first few days you were onboard. And you never had the courage to ask why. He just slowly warmed up to you, just as Lister assured you he would. Now, you couldn’t imagine letting a day go past without spending time with him, and you suspected the feeling was mutual.

“I was new,” you said, with perhaps more diplomacy than he deserved considering the way he’d treated you. “You didn’t know if you could trust me. I understood. Really, Arn, I did.”

“But I was awful to you. I didn’t want to be in the same room as you for weeks.”

“Why was that? You’ve never apologised. I didn’t expect you to but… I’d like to know why.”

“Because I…”

He stopped.

You watched him, waiting. He was swaying slightly. Or was that you? It was hard to tell. The room was still spinning.

“What Arn?”

“Because I- I was jealous!”

“Jealous?” You shook your head. “What- Why? Of what?”

“Of you!”

You hadn’t expected that. By the look on his face, Rimmer hadn’t expected to admit it either. His eyes darted around the room, looking everywhere apart from you, and finally settled down by his shoes.

“Me?” you repeated, stunned.

Rimmer sighed.

“You’re brave and you’re- You’re kind, and you’d only been here five minutes and the others already liked you more than me. And you’re smart, and you’re capable, and beautiful and you outrank me and-”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

Rimmer looked embarrassed.

“That’s not the point.”

It was a stupid thing to focus on. He’d said so many nice things about you in the space of a few seconds, picking out that one probably made you seem vacuous and superficial. But it was just so thrilling. It made your heart rise up in your chest, pushing against your ribs, like it was trying to reach him.

“Arnie…” You smiled. “Do you think I’m beautiful?”

Slowly, his face softened. Rimmer seemed to realise that you weren’t making fun of him, you really were just happily surprised. Still, the booze and the weird night had obviously left him a little disoriented, and you thought Rimmer must be having as much difficulty navigating whatever it was that fizzled between you as you were.

At last, he took a step forward.

“You’re tilted at about a 60° angle, you know,” Rimmer said quietly.

He came to a stop just in front of you, so the toes of his boots were almost touching your blue socks.

You looked up at him, just enjoying how tall and handsome he was for a moment.

“It’s been ages since I was this worse for wear. Sorry for…”

“It’s alright.”

Rimmer obviously didn’t want to talk about his feelings anymore. That was clearly enough emotion for one night. Your mind was still whirring though, and the confession you’d been rehearsing for weeks teetered dangerously on the tip of your tongue.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked.

He was starting to hover again. He kept glancing towards the door. If he wanted to go, why didn’t he just go? You weren’t stopping him.

“Can you get me anything?” you asked, feeling suddenly despondent.

“Fair point.”

Rimmer looked towards the door again.

You almost told him it was fine, you were fine, he didn’t need to stay if he didn’t want to. But before you could, he surprised you by sitting down next to you on the bed.

It was an odd sensation. You’d been close to him many times, squashed up together in Starbug when Lister’s driving got a little creative; walking side by side as you explored a floral asteroid or an empty moon; sitting next to each other in the cinema, your hands almost but never touching, the urge to rest your head on his shoulder omnipresent but impossible.

Still, it was strange. To be near a person and not be able to touch them. To be able to feel warmth coming off them, see their chest rise and fall, watch their eyelashes brush their cheeks and their hands slip self consciously up and down their thighs, and know they weren’t real. Well, Arnold was real to you. It was probably about time you told him.

“I’ve missed this. Parties. Having a laugh with your mates.”

You smiled, nodding your head towards the door just as an excited shriek that definitely came from Cat rolled down the corridor.

Rimmer merely nodded, his hands now cradled in his lap. He couldn’t seem to meet your gaze but you knew you had his attention.

“You know, usually, I’d, erm… Hah, I’d usually end the night curled up on someone’s sofa with no blanket, so I’m very grateful for you taking me to bed.”

Rimmer looked at you like he was dying to ask if that was on purpose. Instead, he shrugged.

“I’ve woken up in a few strange places in my time. Don’t worry.”

“And I would always end up doing something stupid, you know. Like kissing someone I shouldn’t.”

Rimmer actually blushed.

“Right,” he said, clearing his throat.

“It didn’t happen often.”

“Of course.”

“Exciting when it did though.”

“Yes, I- I suppose it would be.”

You waited. Either the penny hadn’t dropped, or it had and Rimmer just didn’t want to acknowledge it, because he was looking at you blankly.

With a sigh, you turned your body, hiking one leg up onto the bed and crossing it so that you could lean in closer. The man had spent his whole life belittled and bullied and humiliated. Sometimes, you just had to speak plainly.

“Arnold,” you said. “You should stay tonight.”

Rimmer didn’t react. You wondered if he’d somehow misheard you, or not heard you at all. You were still pretty tipsy, even if you could slowly feel your head beginning to clear. Rimmer was still drunk too by the looks of things. Maybe you were mumbling and he was too far gone to catch it anyway. Should you try again? God, no. This conversation was embarrassing enough as it was.

That train of thought was thankfully stopped in its tracks when Rimmer slowly shook his head.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said quietly.

Cheeks burning with embarrassment, you straightened up.

“Oh.”

“You’re drunk, Lefty. It wouldn’t be right to-”

“I really like you,” you blurted out.

Rimmer blinked.

“Thank you?”

“No, I mean-” You huffed and closed your eyes, trying to force your spinning head to focus. “I really like you, Arnie. I think about you all the time. I-”

“Darling, it’s fine. You don’t have t-”

Darling. You were right.

“I want to kiss you so bad, it’s killing me.”

It really did go quiet then. Even the boys a few doors down had fallen silent at last.

Rimmer stared at you. He just stared and stared. You didn’t blame him. You wouldn’t know what to do with that either. But then his gaze dropped to your lips again, and your chest lurched so violently, it almost tipped you forward into him.

“I’m sorry,” You raised your hand to your mouth and shook your head. “I’m sorry, Arn. I shouldn’t have said that.”

He closed his gaping mouth with a snap. When he spoke again, Rimmer’s voice was croaky and unsteady.

“It’s alright.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to tell you like-”

Your stomach lurched again. This time, it was not good news. The hand covering your mouth clamped down.

“Oh, God,” you mumbled.

Rimmer’s expression brightened with understanding.

“Bathroom, now.”

You stumbled to the en suite, tripping over your stupid Captain’s rug on the way. Hands shaking, you gripped the cold cistern and wretched over the toilet.

As you brought up all you’d consumed over the course of the night, you were faintly aware of Rimmer standing over you, his voice soft and steady, reassuring you that everything was okay, that you were going to be alright, that you were doing brilliantly and you’d be in bed before you knew it.

Though you had no memory of it, you must have brushed your teeth after you finished. Mint stung your tongue as you fell onto your bed. Head swimming, you let out a long sigh and pawed at your duvet until it covered your body.

Rimmer was crouching by the head of your bed. You’d never seen him look concerned before. It looked so pretty on him.

“Hi,” you whispered.

Rimmer smiled faintly.

“Hi, Lefty.”

“Mm, I prefer ‘darling’.”

“Maybe on special occasions.”

He raised his hand as if to brush your hair back from your face, but ended up just ghosting it across your cheek instead.

It took some effort but you slipped your hand out from under the duvet and beckoned him closer with the last of your flagging energy.

“Please stay.”

This time, Rimmer didn’t glance towards the door. He didn’t look worried or cornered or confused. He didn’t even hesitate. He just smiled and did as you asked.

“Okay, darling. Budge up.”

Next Chapter

Master List

#arnold rimmer #red dwarf #chris barrie #arnold rimmer imagine #arnold rimmer reader #arnold rimmer smut #arnold rimmer x reader #arnold rimmer x you #arnold rimmer you #red dwarf fic

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labyrinthofsphinx · 11 days

Text

Statistical Outliers

Part 4 and 4.5 of drabble. Couldn't really figure out how I should chop it up so, extra long one this time. Still working on something else in the meantime.

“Voxtek is proud to present the newest innovation in headset technology. Gone are the days when the screams of the damned or your annoying mother-in-law ruin your gaming experience! The sound cancellation on them is guaranteed to see you through even the noisiest situation!”

As if to accent the point, Vox, while wearing them, stood in front of comically large speakers. The sound cut out just as the speakers activated, the force of the sound enough to send his employees flying. Vox, himself, couldn’t hear anything. A quick press of a button to the side activated a secondary feature, sound filtering.

“And if that wasn’t enough, they can also filter out any sound you want, save for your voice. Again, perfect for the unfortunates still stuck in their mother’s basement! Not only are they connectable to any and all of your Voxtek devices, but the wireless communications can hook up straight to your speaker function. You can take your call and enjoy walking through a scream park without a problem! The perfect gift for a busybody like myself!”

On cue, Velvette slid into frame, sporting a brand new, very modernized outfit. On top her head was the special one she requested, the one with ears. The lights dimmed ever so slightly, and Velvette’s outfit jumped to life, including glowing eye shadow and, of course, the frames of the ears. Again, not sure why it was such a necessity but he’s rolling with it.

“And right now, we’ve got a specialty line of them, working in collaboration with Velvette Designs! You might’ve seen them on the web lately! These items are limited release, so get them while their hot!”

Then, of course, the finale.

“Here at Voxtek, we strive for innovation! So Trust Us and take a look at our newest product!”

Before the commercial even finished, the limited release items sold which, at least informed Vox, that Velvette had once again been right. Apparently, people were fighting each other tooth and nail outside of stores for a set. Muggings and an odd black market popped up almost immediately. And that also meant the knock offs were starting up too, things that only ever made his products look even better by comparison. People wanted these things so badly that they were willing to risk getting ripped off. And these were people that hadn’t been hypnotized. Odd.

He might’ve felt compelled to thank her, but the kid was reward enough. Speaking of…

He watched him sitting there in her studio like a glorified trophy. Velvette was working on some designs that Val came up with for his models, things that looked trashy and were made even trashier. Naturally, that just wouldn’t do for their brand. While Vox didn’t usually care about this sort of thing, especially since none of Val’s workers ever wear clothes long enough for it to ever be noticeable, he will admit that it looked better on the poster if Angel wasn’t wearing cheap stockings and fake leather.

Anyways, the rest of the studio was treating the kid like a set piece, something to look at, coo at even, and then quickly return to work. He wasn’t speaking, but he was sunken into the couch like a boy dragged out to go shopping. Just sit, smile, and pretend everything everyone puts on looks lovely. Velvette had him in an oversized sweater which only made him look even punier. Looked good in pictures though, he noted as he scrolled through her recent posts.

He waved the footage away. He had other matters to attend to.

Like, for example, filming that segment about the horrors and potential health hazards of a specific frequency of radiowaves.

…

Just a few more hours. Then, he’d turn in for the night. Just had to go over the stock list again, product numbers, sales, and finally the new pitches his lesser technicians came up with. Only a few more things to do…

His sharks started to swim agitatedly, circling more, and then disappearing from his peripheral. Oh, great. He had a guest. Three guesses who.

“Val, I don’t have time for this right now! I’ve got-”

The smell of coffee caught him off guard. Val didn’t bring him coffee. He brought coffee to Val sometimes, but the only person who brought him coffee he threw off the building the other day. He didn’t expect him back to work so quickly either. Huh. Employee loyalty was a heck of a drug.

“Ah, great timing, and here I thought I’d have to go grab one myself-”

When he spun the chair around, he was greeted to the kid. He had a tray in his hand. Sitting atop it was a coffee, apparently handmade, and a muffin, chocolate chip from the looks of it.

“What’s this?”

The kid opened his mouth, then promptly shut it without uttering a peep. Vox rolled his eyes.

“You can answer when I ask you a question. What is this?”

“Black coffee, only a sip of cream. And a chocolate chip muffin.”

He peered at them, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not fucking blind. I know what they are but what,” He gestured. “is all this?”

“You…you’ve been in here all day.” His ears folded behind him, granting him an odd insight into just torn up he seemed to be. “I notice you haven’t eaten anything for hours…and I thought, well, you know.”

“…where’d you get the coffee?”

“The coffee bar.”

“How’d you know what I liked?”

His ears perked up almost immediately, and a thin smile crept up on him.

“So I was right?”

Well that remains to be seen. He snatched up the cup, the need for caffeine just overriding caution. Sure, it might be poisoned, but the deadliest kind around here was Val’s kind, and Vox regularly makes out with the man. If it was going to kill him, it should’ve done so already. Now, that didn’t mean he didn’t do a secondary analysis, testing the coffee as he chugged it down. The results came quick, almost as quickly as the warm liquid hitting his stomach.

It was…coffee. Black, with just a sip of cream. Actually, this was better than the ones his assistant made for him on the regular. That’s…not what he expected.

How exactly had the kid figured out his order?

Not that he’d admit that he liked it, of course.

He made a sour face, looking at it like it had been poison.

“Disgusting.” He tossed his hand up before the kid made a move to take it back though. “But better than nothing I guess.”

He snatched up the muffin this time and took a bite. Okay, it was actually good. Warm still, the chocolate was melted slightly into the muffin. Their kitchenette wasn’t fully stocked, so he had to assume the kid used the ingredients from his cooking kitchen. A quick double check at least told him that the kid cleaned up after himself so…not so bad. Certain things were out of place and would need fixing before his next kitchen segment, but it wasn’t a bad price to pay, sort to speak.

“God, kid. Where’d you learn to bake? You should get your money back.” He snarked.

But, as he chanced a glance, the kid’s delicate smile grew slightly. His ears weren’t pulled back anymore. In fact, they flicked up with excitement. It was annoying.

“What?”

The kid’s attention flickered between the coffee cup and the remains of the muffin. There was pride drawing on his cheeks, almost turning them flush. He had to pull back the urge to shock some sense back into him.

“Well, why don’t you run along now? You’ve handed over your revolting-”

“But you’re eating them.”

He blinked. Did this kid just interrupt him? Him?

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He quickly added. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he looked almost gleeful. Had he been among friends, Vox imagines he’d be bouncing off the walls. Even his tail was wagging like a dog.

And there was only so much disrespect Vox could take in one turn. Especially to his face. And despite the coffee and snack.

“Get. Out.” He sneered through his teeth.

That wiped the smile off the kid’s face. His ears tugged down again, and his tail pulled at the bottom of his legs. His eyes drooped as he nodded, bowing out. His head lifted only for a moment, peering at the aquarium. Vox couldn’t see it directly, but the mirrored image of him in the glass seemed to wag a friendly finger towards his man-eating friends. He didn’t stop walking though. The door hissed shut as he left, giving Vox back his space.

The coffee was warm on his hands. The warmth seeped into the very soles of his shoes as he took another sip. You’d think he’d be used to the cold now, since he often kept this room colder than others to save his monitor’s the extra workload of having to cool. But heat was something he craved, just like moths crave the moon.

He bit into the muffin again. When was the last time he had a chocolate muffin? He can’t remember. He should look back into the security footage, steal the recipe for his next dessert special. At the very least, he needed to write it down so that when his assistant does finally reform, he can have it whenever he wants.

Work called back to him again, even as he polished off the muffin. The coffee made the extra time bearable, as usual. Not great, but better.

The news was the usual assortment of dramas. Another turf war has broken out, pitting southeastern kingpins against each other in a violent exchange that encircled the block. Fifty eight dead so far, but who counts death that aren’t permanent anyways? His new headsets were doing wonderfully, and the fakes were proving themselves to be both a disappointment and, as Velvette keeps tabs on such things, akin to social suicide. It was Voxtek or nothing.

And not to worry, they should have new shipments coming soon! It’ll only cost an arm, a leg, or a soul.

The bitterness of the coffee held back the sweetness leftover from the snack.

Alastor was asking around now, about the kid. He caught him disappearing to the cannibal part of town, old stomping grounds to him. There were less cameras there, but he didn’t need them to know that he’d be visiting his old gal pal. Rosy, for all else that she was, knew a lot of gossip. Gossip that, ironically, really wouldn’t help here. Alastor should know that. The kid wasn’t even close to there when Vox’s men picked him up. Was he dragging his feet? He seemed less enthusiastic about the kid’s safety than Vox would’ve expected. They had seemed close. Well, as close as any of those deadbeats seemed to be. Alastor wasn’t the type to purposefully turn his back on a friend…or potential ally. Then, he considered how similarly he was treated once upon a time. Close enough to seem close, but never enough to truly care. For a moment, he wished the coffee was more bitter.

Finally, after a few hours slipped into a few too many, Vox was done with today. The rest had to wait for tomorrow. What was the point of being an Overlord if he couldn’t draw the line where he wanted? Oh, wait, no. That project needs to be reviewed and-

He caught an odd alert. Someone was looking something up on his T.V., something not in the library.

Sitting there on the couch, the newest waste of time sighed to himself as his search yielded no results. Vox tapped into the camera just in time to hear him complain.

“Oh, come on! He has to have it here somewhere. It was his show.”

A show of his? He brought up the search.

Well…it was one of his, one of his first ones. Back when he was still fresh off the hooves of the mortal realm fads. It was a sitcom of sorts, featuring characters dealing with life in a POW camp during the war. It was so old; it was still filmed in black and white. Half the actors in it had died to exterminations. One had drained his career down the bottle and drugs. Another had faded into obscurity when he refused to sign on for a different project, an insult Vox treated kinder back then.

It had been fun though, at the time. One of his first big breakout shows. People ate it up. Until times changed and tastes changed and no one wanted to hear about that war anymore. Vox got with the program. He wasn’t about to let an opportunity slip.

Unfortunately, that was the end of his first experiment. He gave it one last episode, ending like any other, before moving to the next thing. It’s too bad too. He’d been hoping the end of that show would showcase the actual end of the war, but…well…as he said, times had changed.

So, what was the kid doing looking it up? He hadn’t the slightest clue.

The kid kept digging, trying to find it on his streaming, his internet, even digging through the cabinet looking for DVDs. He wasn’t going to find anything. Once everything went to digital, that was the end of the DVDs.

He had half a mind to call Velvette up and tell her to watch her pets. In fact, he was going to but…his fingers curled around the warm mug.

Ugh, fine. Whatever.

A ping noise popped over the T.V., making the kid jump to attention. Look at that! All eight seasons of the show just got downloaded onto the platform! Aren’t you lucky?

He’d not seen so much joy in someone down here in a long time. Like, childhood giddiness. He was smiling like it was Christmas and the first present he opened was the one he wanted all along. It was odd, to say the least.

“Yes!” The giddiness spread to his legs now, and he could barely keep from leaping off the couch as he turned it on.

The intro song played. It was a chipper tune, playing along the lines of the old marching songs but lighter toned for general audience viewing. The kid knew every beat of it, and he twitched his head to the drum. Personally, it’d always been an earworm for him. That’s one of the reasons he went with it. Anything that could stay inside your head all day was something you’d give another watch later.

But, again, it’s been a while since any of this aired. It made sense that he’d still remember the beat. He invented it. The kid had no reason to know it, not this well. Maybe he heard about the show from some old sinner lurking about, that he could kinda understand even if he didn’t get the fascination with it. But knowing the song?

The more he watched, the more he realized that the kid wasn’t just excited to see the show, he was a fan of it. He knew the characters, knew the catchphrases, knew the twists. Hell, he seemed to know most of the episodes in general, from guest stars to side plots.

By the time he’d finished with work, the series was up to its last season. It’s this one the kid fell asleep watching. Vox wasn’t even sure the kid ate anything this whole time. Vel and Val were still out partying or whatever at this ungodly hour of the night. Given how he hasn’t moved at all, he can only imagine that Velvette abandoned her little toy or, worse, expected Vox to make sure he was still alive by the end of the day.

Speaking of food, he’d need some himself. The coffee was gone hours ago, and the muffin felt like a lifetime away to his stomach. He could make himself something. Hey, those cooking shows weren’t just an act. But that would require so much more work than he felt capable of right now.

He dragged himself away from his monitor room, his pet sharks darting about for one last look at their owner before the doors slammed shut again.

Was the meatloaf he made the other day still there? Probably not. Anytime Val smokes too much, he devours any leftovers that managed to make it the day. The bar had some snacks stocked in it, some for Velvette and some for bar prep, namely lemons, limes, and small accompaniments. At this point, he’d eat a whole fucking tree of lemons if he had to.

When he got to the longue, episode eighteen of the last season was playing. He remembers filming that one, where the POWs snuck out dressed in drag to pretend to be army nurses for the other side. At the time, even in hell, the drag caught people off guard, mostly because Vox made sure it damn well looked convincing. He snickered to himself as the lieutenant asked if the outfit complemented his figure. That was an adlib. The actor actually asked to keep the costume afterwards. Vox obliged.

Okay, now, bar.

He found some of the spread snacks lying about: crackers, chips, and different cheeses. He also found the whiskey, which he needed after a day like today. He grabbed them all and sat at the coffee table, just as the characters flirted past the guards to get to the secret plans hidden in the hospital. Ordinarily, they try not to eat here, on account of the expensive furniture and because Vox himself has made a habit of standing on the furniture when he got too excited. But with both of them gone, he didn’t care.

As for the kid, well, he was too small to take up much space on the couch as it was. That, and he was curling up as much as possible, so he hardly took over much more than elbow space. He sat down beside him, eyes unfocused and starting to drift.

In the world’s worst excuse for a sandwich, he smushed a piece of cheese, the kind didn’t matter, between two crackers. He downed about twenty of them before he reached for his whiskey. Yeah, there definitely wasn’t enough of that for tonight. He finished the bottle way too fast. Great. Well, better get back to the crackers. Otherwise he was gonna have a massive migraine later. And that just wouldn’t do with the morning news!

God, he needed another drink-

“Do they get out, in the end?”

He almost spit the crackers and cheese out like a rocket. Thankfully he didn’t. Velvette would throw a fit if she sat down and ruined an outfit on spit out, half chewed crackers.

“Where you just sitting here the whole time awake-?”

“Because the last episode doesn’t say if they got out.” As the kid pouted and, before he could even come up with an intelligent response, noticed the empty bottle and snack food. “…is that your dinner?”

If he wasn’t so tired and, admittedly a little tipsy, he might’ve snapped at the kid for talking over him, then not even giving him the second to think. As it was, the alcohol, the sleep deprivation, and growling of his stomach was making his mind a little too fuzzy to answer like he normally would.

“I dunno, kid. Didn’t think too much on it.”

“…regarding the show or dinner?”

He blinked slowly. It didn’t make the world stop spinning.

“Both. I think both.”

The kid went silent for a moment, just enough time for him to sit up a little bit more. Geez, was he always that small? Was it just his stupidly big ears that made him look bigger?

“I can only make muffins.” The kid announced randomly.

He swears his processors were lying to him. He did not just say that.

“…What?”

“Lucifer taught me how to make muffins, but I haven’t figured out pancakes yet. Do you want PB and J?”

“The fuck are you on about, kid?”

“Everybody says hangovers suck, and that it’s worse if you don’t eat anything. You want crust or no crust?”

The alcohol was swimming in his brain too much. The kid had a point. He’s drunk too much and ate too little. What would the viewers say tomorrow if Vox, the Vox, looked like he drank himself stupid the day before? Logically, his numbers automatically fed back to him, he should eat something.

But his mouth wasn’t running by his logistics, unfortunately.

“What do you mean, ‘everybody says’? What, you’ve never been hungover?”

The kid’s face pursed like he ate a lemon, or a girl with kooties tried to kiss him. Revolt, the kind that only kids had for stupid things like love, baths, and vegetables, tugged on his face.

“I make it a point not to drink anything I could run a car on.”

A deep throated laugh burst from him. He’s not even sure where it came from. It kinda just puked right out his mouth and filled the room.

“That was funny.” He managed between filling his lungs. “Where you always funny, or am I way too drunk?”

He doesn’t think he should’ve said that last part out loud now that he thinks about it. Thankfully the kid didn’t answer the stupid question with a stupid answer. Instead, a small grin peeked under his muzzle.

“So, PB and J?”

He put the bottle down, the empty clang of it echoing in the room. He forgot how quiet it was when everyone else was gone. He was so used to this being their space, their collective space, that any time spent alone felt…odd. The kid wasn’t much. Even drunk off his ass, he couldn’t really compare to having one of the other Vees here.

But, you know, he was funny. A bit.

And he offered peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Even the other Vees never offered as much when he was drunk, not that he remembers anyways.

“Yeah, kid. Go make me a fucking sandwich.”

“Okay, but don’t watch the last episode without me!” He leapt up and over towards the cooking set. Again, he needed to chase his staff over and clean that up later, for tomorrow’s lesson. He was going to go over a filet mignon with red wine reduction sauce. That was the plan. Now, for some reason, he was wondering if he was better off showing how to make muffins.

The intro song played again. It was the last episode of the series. Nothing special, he didn’t get to have the grand finale he’d once envisioned. It was still as good as any other episode though. And no, he didn’t feel like waiting either.

The kid came back with the sandwiches about a fourth of the way through. He had removed the crust and sliced it down the middle to make two even triangles. It was a fucking lunch his mother could’ve packed him for school. He was eating school lunch. He didn’t feel drunk enough to be eating school lunch, though he was just hungry enough to cave.

It was good, obviously. Hard to mess up PB and J, especially with his own ingredients.

“I told you not to watch without me.”

The kid huffed as he bit into a different sandwich, also peanut butter and jelly.

“Did I ever say I agreed to that?” He mentioned back.

“…you’re kinda a jerk.”

Of all the insults he’s taken: the curses, the lengthy speeches, the loudmouth screeching of a certain radio, he’s not sure he’s ever been called a ‘jerk’. It was so wildly immature, but not in the ‘I’m spouting whatever curse comes to mind’ kind of way. But, probably because he was drunk and because it wasn’t the usual cursing white noise it hit harder than expected. Like, he laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it.

“A ‘jerk’? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” His toothy grin might remind one of a shark, though it probably looked less intimidating with peanut butter all over his teeth.

The kid shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just seemed to be the word that fit best, I guess.”

Somehow, that was even more insulting.

“…shut up.”

He did as he was told, staying quiet for a good couple of minutes, but Vox didn’t really talk much either. He usually loved talking in the middle of movies or shows, partly to annoy but partly to entertain when the watchability wasn’t there.

“Do you still have the sets from the show? I know sometimes people in Hollywood would reuse sets.” The kid asked, interrupting the silence. And giving Vox plenty to talk about.

“From this show? Nah. We used some of it for other programs at the time, but a lot of it was scrapped when we branched out into Sci-fi shows. The space race was a hell of a time for TV.” Notably, the kid seemed genuinely upset to hear that, though something about the sag of his shoulders told Vox that he expected that answer.

And, okay, he was still drunk and not thinking right.

“I’ve got the captain’s hat in my closet.”

The kid’s jaw snapped open.

“Really?”

Wow, he just wore his emotions on his sleeve, huh?

“Yeah, it’s got all the pins on it still too.” Why had he kept it? Even he didn’t really know the answer. There’s been a few times where he’d thought about throwing it away, like the rest of the old, outdated junk but…well, then there were moments like these. When drunk, he liked thinking about those stupid passion projects. It was better than focusing on more recent events, usually.

“That’s so cool!”

Well, that might be going a step too far.

“It’s just an old hat, kid.”

“From a classic show!” He argued. “It just sucks that Hell doesn’t have museums or something.”

His show as a dusted up old display in a museum? Even drunk, that sounded suspiciously like an insult.

“That’s because Hell is the museum, kid.” He flashed his teeth again. “Too many old bastards long past their time hanging around and dragging their fucking heels. It’s all a museum and a fucking zoo down here.”

To that, the kid didn’t seem to have an argument. He gave up a little sigh.

“You’d think people with knowledge from, like, thousands of years ago would be really cool.”

“Fossils.” Vox, now hitting a little too close to his chest, stopped smiling. “Just a bunch of fucking fossils who are pissed off that the world didn’t fucking stop turning when they died. Bunch of narcissistic assholes who think everything should revolve around them.”

The kid stopped mid-bite and just looked at him. After a moment, it started being pretty funny.

“Hey, the world actually does revolve around me!” He stated. The kid raised a brow and gave a slow blink of his eyes. “It’s true! If it wasn’t for me, nothing would’ve ever changed down here. Trust me, before I got to Hell, you would’ve thought we were in the dark ages.”

The episode’s outro played, a reprised version of the intro song. As the last episode though, it seemed a little slower pitched than he remembered, as if it wanted to go on just a little bit longer. It was an absurd thought, especially since all episodes fitted nicely into the exact TV slot allotted to them, with commercials. None of them were any longer than others. But this? It seemed longer. Did he do that on purpose? He doesn’t remember doing that on purpose.

He snatched the remote before the kid could. His eyes were dipping a bit from the need for sleep, and the cocktail of PB and J and whiskey settling in his stomach. So, rather than take a chance on the remote, he flicked the signal between his fingers, telling the TV to put on a game show. Guess he still had old crap on the brain because the one that popped up was one of the ancient, prerecorded ones. That was back when TV was on more of a schedule, meaning that at some point in the night the broadcasts would stop.

It was a non-creative project, something he’d ripped off from a show he’d used to watch, except instead of trying to figure out someone’s job, you’d typically be figuring out how they died. Vox had found some pretty amusing ones over the years. One of his favorites was the guy who’d been reporting the weather and died when a fish leapt out of the water and smacked him in the face. Poor bastard wasn’t even sure if it was the impact of the fish that killed him or if it was falling off the dock and getting run over by a boat.

Some of the best ones resulted in sinners that looked really fucking weird, because, apparently, part of being in hell was remembering, forever, how and what killed you. He remembered a guy that looked like his face was squashed by an old cartoony hammer because he’d actually died to a piano being dropped on his head.

Vox, of course, had been the host. Some other demons filled in the guessers’ positions, people who’ve long faded into the background of his mind. In this one, a demon resembling a polar bear wrote his name down and sat beside Vox as the questioning began.

“He got sliced by a hockey skate, didn’t he?”

Okay, color Vox surprised.

“How’d you figure that?”

“’Cause his fur looks like a hockey jersey and he keeps trying to hide his neck.”

Huh. He supposed that was true. Maybe he’d seen the episode before though. Maybe he was just lying. Well, there was one quick way to test it.

“Not bad. Alright, here’s a tougher one. How did I die?” He challenged. He better not say he got crushed by a TV. He’s heard that one way too many times, and he was sick and tried of people assuming he got knocked off like a looney tunes character-

“My guess would be a power surge.”

“…huh?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t look like you’ve got any scars on you, but you’re a kind of dark blue everywhere. And you short circuit the city when you get mad. So, my guess would be you got electrocuted or something.”

That was a first. Obviously, his death was a little more graphic and detailed than some random electrocution. Here, come watch the death of your favorite TV star! Live for one night only. Or alive for one last night only. And there were still people out there that thought the chair was merciful. Merciful, my ass. That shit had hurt.

“Couldn’t be further from the truth, kid. You really suck at this.” He teased. “But since we’re on the subject…”

There honestly wasn’t much to go on for the kid. He was used to having these answers behind an info card, rather than having to guess himself. Sure, constant practice showed some consistent things. He’s not sure how the fox part of his appearance played into things, but he could spot the pattern of his ears and arms well enough. The slight glint of his freckles reminded him more of taillights than of actual freckles. Also, he was a kid. What was the most obvious thought there?

“What? You go chasing after your ball and get hit by a car?”

The kid suddenly found interest in his feet, kicking them around like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Oh, he could picture it now. A stupid little kid on his way to school, playing in the street when all of a sudden-

“I got run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

A What?

“Come again?”

“I was driving my car, took my eyes off the road for a second. An eighteen-wheeler had come barreling down the road going the wrong way.”

What the fuck?

“Like, run over though? Not just crashed into the car?”

He nodded.

“I think that’s why I’ve got treads on my arms, legs, and ears. If you get my meaning.”

Holy shit. Like karma was a bitch and, yeah, obviously the kid was down here for…something but-

“Was it quick at least?”

The kid bit his lip, and his body curled closer to him.

“I…I just remember the headlights.”

He was lying. Vox knew that. Oh, fuck, that’s a hard way to go. Plus, he’s a kid. He felt like his brain was running too many programs at once, never a smart thing to do while intoxicated.

“How old are you?”

“Um…twelve, I think. Maybe thirteen. I…I don’t really remember. Time’s so weird down here.”

Twelve? They threw a twelve year old down here with the likes of serial killers, sex offenders, and power hungry dictators? What the fuck did he do? Did he accidently bring a super psycho into the Vee tower?

“Where you murdering other children behind the school cafeteria or something? How does a twelve year old get into hell? You’re not even alive long enough to do anything. Or big enough. Or have a functioning brain.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“No, we are clearing this up right fucking now. Why are you down here?”

He was not going to let this go. The last thing he needed was for a deranged little twerp like Alastor’s girl running around stabbing things. Sure, he hasn’t shown any of that yet and he did check into that loser’s hotel but he’s learned better than to trust that. If the kid wasn’t going to spill, he’d just make him, with a quick suggestion of course.

“I…I mean.” The kid shuddered, and he seemed to gulp down air. “I-I went for a drive. It was dark, and it was raining. I-I honestly d-didn’t mean to hit him! He just walked out from the woods somewhere a-and I-I-I didn’t see him.”

Oh. Well, that made more sense then. But damning a twelve year or thirteen year old for an accident? Seemed excessive, even to Vox. Usually he punished people for, you know, actual mistakes. There was the occasional fuck up that couldn’t be ignored obviously, but he’d think kids would get a special pass, at least.

“So, what? You bury his body in the middle of nowhere?”

He shook his head.

“I just…I just panicked. I drove off…I…I didn’t even try to help.”

“…okay, then what? You lie to everyone and get someone else convicted?”

There had to be another reason…right?

“No. I only drove another few miles before the truck happened.”

Wait. Wait.

“You mean to tell me that you got damned to hell because of an accident? You? A kid?”

“…I…I think’s it more because I ran instead of helping-”

He said more but Vox toned him out because what the actual fuck. No wonder hell was overpopulated. An accident? An accident was all it took to send an otherwise innocent soul to shack up with the murderers, rapists, and tyrants of the world?

You knew something was wrong when he thought that heaven or whoever was in charge of this nonsense went too far.

“I am not drunk enough to process this.”

“You’ve had two bottles already.”

He had? Huh. Where’d the second bottle come from? A quick look revealed that he was holding a bottle, a different one from the one on the table. Though, from his spot on the couch, it’s started to look like four bottles rather than two. Again, not a good sign.

A quick check of his internal clock told he needed to be in bed like two hours ago if he’d planned on getting up without issue in the morning. He went to stand, putting just the barest amount of weight on his legs when he felt them buckle. Okay, too drunk and too weak to walk. Brilliant.

“See that blanket over there?” He gestured to the same one the kid found yesterday, labeled with their logo in that warm flannel knit. It was on Val’s couch which meant it might not exactly be clean, but if he’d been scared away by that about Val, they wouldn’t be in their stupid little back and forth all the time. “Go get it.”

He did as he was told. Being sober granted him the ability to at least check it before bringing it over. In that time, Vox pushed around pillows, making a small wall that he planned to use as a rest for his screen. The kid held the throw out, and he wasted no time in tossing it over himself. He always had to make sure it didn’t accidentally cover his fans, least he overheats and really needs a tune up in the morning. Almost as soon as he laid down right, everything in his body seemed to be losing power. Feedbacks were starting to fail. Limbs started turning to jelly.

“Do I have to sleep on the floor again? It’s cold on the floor.”

“Kid, could you just shut up? I’ve had too long of a day to deal with this.”

“…is that a no?”

Sparks started flying about his face, some getting dangerously close to the blanket. By now, most of the casual fabrics lounging around their inner sanctum up here have been made fireproof. Live and learn and all that. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been known not to melt a few of them when in a particularly bad mood, anger he tries to keep tight on a leash.

Except when he’s drunk. Like now. Which is a bit of a problem.

Calm down. You don’t want to set the tower on fire now, do you? No, you don’t. That’d be bad for the reputation, the brand’s reputation, and especially your reputation. You don’t want him to win again, do you?

Plus, you’d have to deal with pissed off Val and Vel.

He steeled his nerves and opened his eyes a bit.

“Clean this shit up and I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t. He’d be passed out long before clean up would be finished.

“…pinkie promise?”

Were pinkie promises deals? He didn’t think so. Nothing in his database said they were.

“Yeah, sure.”

Despite the dark circles on his eyes, the kid was surprisingly springy. And trusting, because he seemed to just take Vox’s word on the matter. He caught him bounding around the table like a jack rabbit in his fading peripheral vision, his red fur blending in with the maroon hues of the cushions around. Right before everything went offline, he had an odd moment of clarity.

He was unarmed, drunk, passed out on the couch at the disposal of someone who would literally only gain from his death. It wasn’t like he was under contract. His guards wouldn’t be so stupid as to let the kid leave, but it’s not like any of them could reach him in time if, say, the kid poured the whisky into his outlet.

This is a bad idea, he concluded. Then he knocked out.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel oc #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #vox #hazbin hotel fanfic #hazbin hotel fic #hazbin hotel ficlet #hazbin fanfic #drabble #hazbin hotel velvette #hazbin hotel vees #the vees

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dees-nails · 1 year

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Color Changing Sailor Moon! 💜

#dee's nails #black nail artist #black nail technician #nails #nails of tumblr #nails on black women #pretty nails #kawaii nails #nail art #dip powder #sailor moon nails #sailor moon

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zyettemoon1800 · 1 month

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Pillarmen x reader with back problems

pillar men react when their s/o that has glasses

pillarmen react to their mate being unable to have children

Pillarmen x painter reader

Pillar men x black s/o

Pillarmen reacting to a s/o with curly hair

pillerbois with an s/o that slav squats

Explaining valentines day to the Pillarmen

pillar men be like with a s/o who has feline-like qualities

Pillarmen with an incubi s/o

General male s/o hc with the pillermen

pillarmen x s/o with abandonment issues

pillar men x black s/o when they wash their hair

pillar men x fem.tall reader

Pillarmen x belly dancer

Pillarmen reacting to s/o cosplaying as them

Pillermen react to an S/O who lives touching their horns

pillarmen reacting to a s/o who doesn't like to be touch

Pillarmen x s/o that has a bad tooth

Giving and receiving

pillarmen react to a s/o that is allergic to ginger

Yandere Pillar men reacting their suicidal daring

Pillar men Easter

Pillarmen when they see the baby is growing their horn(s)

Pillarmen x short reader

Pillar men: Ass, tits, chub, or thighs

pillarmen would react to the reader telling them "I'm in Spain without the S"

Pillarmen wanting to cuddle

pillar men x reader who has a low iron

pillar men with a harpie s/o

pillarmen reacting to reader thigh riding them

Pillarmen reacting to fem reader catching stuff between their thighs

pillarmen with s/o that’s a nail technician

The pillar men with an s/o who can dance

Pillarmen kinks

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princessrai · 2 years

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Princess Rai Nails

I really need $110 by tomorrow. To start my dreams.

#nail technician #black women #investment #princessrai

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bangtanhoneys · 9 months

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BTS MOMENTS: Hobi & Grace - Watermelon Nails

If there was one downside to comebacks, it was the nails. Everytime there was a comeback with music videos to shoot, photoshoots to do and then performances to do, Grace’s nails always had to be done. The nail technician took great delight in creating specific designs relating to the song or album but making sure they were workable as well. And Grace took great delight at having them cut off until the next time.

But here was comeback season and they were in L.A to shoot their music video for Black Swan. Grace’s hotel suite had been set up as a wardrobe and a beauty parlour just for her since she had three (or even more, she had lost count at one point) outfit changes. Not only that, they were in the process of dying her hair to a honey blonde for the shoot. Beauty, as it turns out, took time. Which is why the stylists, hair team and nail team were getting an early start the day before the filming.

“I’m hungry,” Grace pouted as the nail technician held onto her hand, painting the fake almond-shaped nails perfectly. The other hand was currently under some kind of UV light.

“What do you want?” her manager asked from the couch, feet resting on the coffee table with the remote control on his stomach after he had found a channel that showed American baseball.

“I think Hobi had some watermelon so that would be nice. And another cup of tea would be great, maybe some squid jerky if we have any,” Grace asked. She would have turned her head to look at her manager but it was currently in the process of being dyed.

“I’ll go and have a look at what we’ve got. Anyone want anything else?” he asked, slipping on his shoes. Once her manager got the staffs list of snacks, he closed the door to the suit behind him.

It was nice to listen to the hair stylist and nail technician gossip, with Grace joining in when she could. Most of the time she was around the boys or even the male staff, who treated her as some kind of royalty and normally wouldn’t converse with her. Her manager didn’t give two hoots anymore and routinely shared the latest gossip and stories. Her bodyguard was just as bad.

“Snack delivery!” Hobi declared from the door, holding aloft a bowl of cut up watermelon and a tea cup with a straw. “Manager-nim is on snack store duty but he won’t be long.”

After bowing to the stylists, Hobi pulled a chair to his noona’s side and took a good look at her. Within a few moments, he grinned and hid his laugh behind his hand. “Ah noona, you always look funny during these times.”

“I hate you so much. Are you going to feed me or not?” she playfully glared, pulling out her hand from under the UV light to show Hobi her nails before she was instructed to put it back in. “I’m currently in nail mode.”

“Of course, that’s why I’m here,” Hobi said as he speared a piece of watermelon onto a fork and held it to Grace’s lips. The fruit was soon devoured.

“Guess you were hungry. Must take a lot to have your nails and hair done?” he laughed, giving her another piece.

“You have no idea,” Grace muttered around the fruit. “This comeback is painful, in more ways than one.”

“But you look good. ARMY is going to have a field day when they see you blonde again with those nails and those outfits. I’ve just been having a look at them,” Hobi added as he angled the straw to Grace’s mouth.

“I’ll end up dying but as long as the music video looks good who cares.”

“I’ll make sure to get plenty of photos of your nails and hair to show ARMY of your sacrifice. Those are pretty pointed though. You sure you’re not going to poke an eye out?” Hobi mused as he stood and leaned over the table to look at the technicians work.

In quick retaliation, Grace poked Hobi’s side with one of the nails in question causing him to jump and squeak. “Who do you think I am? Namjoon?”

#bts 8th member #bts additional member #bts eighth member #bts female member #bts scenarios #bts fic

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pitty-me · 4 months

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Local nail salon vs non local review:

Non Local experience: I once had my nails done at a birthday party when I was eleven. It was fine and I had gotten crackle nail polish which had black on top and red in the cracks. It was very neat. But I didn’t love having my nails done. I usually just cut them or painted them myself.

But now in my twenties I have found myself looking for new experiences and just being able to do something fun or nice for no reason in particular. So in June for my birthday (10th) 2023 me and one of my best friends, practically my sister, set out to try and be “girly”.

Now I’m a typically nervous person. So I tried to book a time at a salon in a neighboring state, as we were right on the border, online but they never saw it. I even CALLED to confirm before we went but no one picked up or called back.

After driving more out of the way than I had expected we had arrived. We walked in to the owner giving a male customer a pedicure. There was only them and presumably the owners pre teen child. I said “Hi I tried to make an appointment online for today at four pm but I don’t know if it went through. I tried to call to confirm also but no one picked up. Do you have availability?” The owner and man looked at us as if we interrupted something important and she said “Ah..No.”. We said “Okay thanks.” and left. We felt awkward, the atmosphere was awkward, the whole ordeal was AWKWARD.

We then tried to drive to a second place, still oddly far, that claimed to take walkins. When we pulled into the parking lot there was a woman by the driveway in, smoking a cigarette. We parked and walked towards the second salon hoping for a better experience. Then the woman we saw RAN at us asking what we were doing. Feeling more awkward I explained we were walkins only to have her tell us no!

Now I could see in just a little and I thought they were just super busy. BUT IT WAS NEARLY EMPTY! With two employees and like one customer a woman ran at us to stop us from entering. We were done trying to do nails and hungry. Defeated, we left for an early dinner. We would try again a different month.

Local experience: It’s been months now. We were determined to try again somewhere closer. So I called to make an appointment which went well but I was clearly confused and new to this.

BUT SUCCESS! We had an appointment for four pm for a full set of acrylic nails! It was now December ninth 2023 and we were at last getting our nails done! We drove there, walked in and it was still awkward and confusing but they sent us to separate stations and we were on our way to being girly.

We did think being separated was weird but at least we were actually being seen. They definitely do not care about appointments, which is good and bad. It's practically walkins only but at least that works for us! I chose longer nails with pastel purple cat eye nail polish and my friend said shorter with a lighter pink.

Now since it was our first time and we knew nothing they gave her SHORT nails. Like barely there nails. But I didn't see that till later.

We both sat in silence having no idea how to talk to these people. My technician seemed content with that and it was only a little awkward. I listened to some other customers' random chatter and watched him work on my nails. I do have sensory integration so some things that wouldn't bother most people bother me, like filing my nails. That was the part I hated the most but I pushed through it!

Now I did realize most if not everyone paid in cash. Of which I had NONE on me. Que my silent panic that I wouldn’t be able to pay and everyone would be mad at me. Towards the end I did find they accept cards, but cash is preferred. I paid for us both and we left having a pretty good experience.

We did go back for fill ins January eleventh 2024 and had just as good an experience. My friend had her nails done just the way she wanted, we got to sit next to each other, and had a little more chit chat with our techs.

Although something my tech put on my nails burned when she drilled off the old acrylic, which also burned, and it burned a little again when she was finishing off the fresh acrylic. But I pushed through and got this turquoise color cat eye again.

Overall it was all a good experience and we will for sure go back again in like a month. Finding the right nail salon is like dating. You just have to go and see the different choices and who will actually let you in!

Thanks for reading if you made it this far!

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valiumvenus · 1 year

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Nail Technician As Palm Reader

by Warsan Shire

The nail technician pushes my cuticles

back, turns my hand over,

stretches the skin on my palm

and says, I see your daughters.

That night, in a dream, the first girl emerges

from a slit in my stomach. The scar heals

into a tight smile. The person I love pulls

the stitches out with their fingernails, black sutures

curling on the side of the bath.

I wake as the second girl crawls

head first up my throat---

a flower , blossoming out of the hole in my face.

#warsan shire #poetry #literature #upl

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my-maas-murdered-heart · 1 year

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The Valley Vet pt. 2

Azriel x Veterinarian!Reader

Modern AU Fic

Part 1

Summary: A slow burn romance. The reader just moved to town and is starting a new job at a new veterinary clinic. Her little sister said there is a man there she’s going to love. Will that be the case?

Warnings: None for now.

Word Count: 1,760

Notes: I did not expect Part 1 to get so many notes! Thank you guys so much. I hope you enjoy part 2 and the rest to come!

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It had been a long first week. There were surgeries, patients, difficult owners, and Dr. Azriel to contend with. He had seemed to follow your every move; he would pick apart your treatments, diagnoses, and even your suture technique. It was starting to look like he would “hate” you after all. Luckily, he mainly stayed in surgery while you took rooms which was fine. There were plenty of surgeries that were interesting, but wound cares were your favorite. He could keep all the spays and castrations. Rooms kept things interesting and you got to move throughout the building, not just stay stuck in one room. Although, surgery had music.

You sat on a stool in the technician room with a sigh and rubbed your temples. Even though it was finally lunch, now was the only time you had to input your patient notes. Technically, the technicians could do it, but for now you would attempt to maintain them yourself until you got to know the techs better. You entered your code and pulled up the patient’s file. It was a 1-year-old female bulldog with severe skin allergies and a yeast infection in her face folds to boot; even better was they planned to breed this genetic nightmare. Poor thing. You pulled her chart from the pile and began to translate it into the computer along with your treatment plan.

As you were finishing up a fourth chart, Alice, one of the technicians walked in. Her hair was half black, and the bottom half a bright red. She had a bottom lip piercing, one on her cupids bow, and one in her nose, with a full tattoo sleeve on her right arm. You had really taken a liking to Alice, as you were both about the same age. She had a total punk rock/Addams family vibe to her that you found quite refreshing.

“Are you coming Cacy’s going away BBQ tonight?” She asked, jumping up onto a treatment table. There were two stainless steel tables in the tech room you had decided to work in. It had wood cabinets all along the back wall that held everything the clinic needed to do surgeries, treat wounds, medications, bandages, and a dozen other different materials. An adjacent wall held a sink and counter space with a set of shelves for anesthetics and other injectables. “Hello… Y/n?”

“Uh, yeah, no I don’t think so Alice. I barely know Cacy, or any of you guys. I feel it would be an intrusion.”

“Girl, it’s not. Everyone in the clinic is going, even your sister.” Speaking of Annie, she waltzed right in with a tiny fat chihuahua right at that moment.

“Can one of y’all give me a hand? They want a nail trim, but they said she can bite.” Annie began wrapping the little thing in a towel, covering its head, and leaving tiny paws exposed. You got up and grabbed the nail clippers from a drawer under the table. As soon as you grabbed a paw, the dog began to growl and scream as if you were sawing its foot off.

“You good?” You said, looking at Annie. The small ones were always the hardest to hold; they could wriggle out of a steel trap if they needed to.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You made quick work of it, trying to avoid cutting to the quick.

“You’re coming to the BBQ tonight, right?” Annie asked.

“I don’t know Annie; I don’t know everybody well enough.”

“Oh whatever. You’re coming.” You guessed that was that. Alice began to exclaim from her perch opposite of you.

“There will be plenty of beer to go around Y/n. Plus, Holly’s husband is great with the grill. Its free food!”

“Fine. But I doubt I’ll stay for long.” Alice hopped up and took the chihuahua from Annie.

“Here I’ll take her up front.” As she left, Annie turned to you.

“Dr. Azriel will be there you know.” Annie whispered, waggling her eyebrows. She gave you a smirk. You could not deny he was extremely handsome. He was tall with broad shoulders, dark hazel eyes and deep brown skin. It hadn’t escaped your notice though, that his hands were terribly scarred. You had noticed as he scrubbed in for a spay earlier this week. You had been openly staring as he began to dry them off. He gave you a slight scowl before turning away. If the earth had opened to swallow you whole right then, you’d have been forever grateful. But it hadn’t.

“Do you know what happened to his hands?”

“Not really. He keeps to himself about that stuff. Only thing I really know about him is he has two younger brothers, Rhys, and Cass. He’ll tell stories about them on occasion. Or his latest womanly conquest.” Annie snorted. Your heart fell a little bit at that. You weren’t a fan of players. Annie seemed to watch you closely. “Don’t worry about it, Y/n. You’re too good for him anyway.” Now it was your turn to snort. You doubted being “too good” was the case, but you definitely weren’t in the mood to have your heartbroken again. Love was for the birds.

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Later that evening, you got dressed in your favorite worn pair of jeans and a simple short sleeve. You pretended there was no reason that the shirt you chose showed a little bit of cleavage. You left your hair down but brought a hair tie just in case it got too hot, which you noticed it tended to do down here. Feeling satisfied with your outfit and makeup, you grabbed your keys and headed for the door. “You be a good girl Freyja. I’ll be back soon.” You gave her a kiss and a scratch behind the ears then went out and locked the door behind you.

It didn’t take long to get to Holly’s house. It seemed nowhere took any longer than 10 to 15 minutes to get to around here. It was a relief after the clogged Austin traffic. Holly’s house was a nice place. A cute little white house with a manicured lawn and a big white tin barn in the back. You pulled next to the other cars and got out, following the voices around the corner of the barn. There was a nice open space with a firepit in the center and a massive grill and smoker to the left. An older white guy was flipping burgers and wings. There was a white table off to the side that had various sides like fresh salsa, chips, guacamole, potato salad, coleslaw, and plates and cups.

Alice didn’t seem to be around but you spotted Annie off in a corner talking to Cacy and a few others. She looked up and waved you over.

“Hey Y/n!” She exclaimed. She gave you a hug and then went back to their conversation. It was her way of trying to get you involved, but it felt more like being ignored. Cacy, you realized, was leaving for vet school. You hadn’t really asked before. As they continued to chat, you were feeling extremely awkward, wishing you had stayed at home curled on the couch with Freyja and a good book. Suddenly you felt a presence at your back and you whipped around to see Azriel standing right behind you.

“Would you like a beer?” he asked. He was dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans looking devilishly handsome. He held a beer in his hands already, looking more relaxed here than he did at the clinic.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” You stammered. He gestured to a large white cooler behind him. It took every effort not to lunge at it, just to have something in your hand to make you look and feel less out of place. You grabbed the first thing that was at the top, a Bud Light. Not your favorite, but you were past the point of caring. You popped it open a took a sip and noticed Azriel watching you intently.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes. He had not been outright rude to you, but he definitely hadn’t been pleasant either this first week.

“Nothing. Glad I could help.” he gave a small smirk.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were looking uncomfortable. Thought you could use a drink.” His voice was low and smooth. You fought the urge to be attracted to it, to him. There was something about his energy, even with his brooding that seemed to draw you in. Something you did not need.

“Yeah well, thanks.”

“How are you liking it so far?” You eyed him curiously. He was being much more friendly than you anticipated and it was unsettling. Though it could be the alcohol.

“It’s good. I like the variety.” He nodded. “To be honest, you’ve been the most difficult part for me.” Azriel raised an eyebrow at that.

“How so?”

“You have literally second guessed and questioned everything I have done this week. I graduated vet school, same as you.” Azriel’s eyes seemed to bore into yours, but his expression was unreadable.

“Look, you’re new. I don’t know you. You sweep in from a big city with your know-it-all attitude and expect me to hand you the reins? No, sweetheart. These are my techs, my people. Family. And I am gonna make damn sure they’re taken care of.” He’d gotten very close, it would take only a deep breath to touch. You were not going to back down to this man. You were tired, and uncomfortable and he was not going to make it worse.

“I may be new here, you may even have a few years on me, but I know what I am doing. I don’t need you to hand me the reins. I’ll take them for myself.” You wanted to be angry, but you could not blame him for wanting to protect his people. You, in his place, would do the same. Truly, you never had liked outsiders, people who disrupted the flow and established patterns. He hummed and backed away. “Plus, you’re not my boss. Dr. Gary is.”

“Enjoy the party Y/n.” With that he walked away to join some of the other guys.

As the evening wore on, you began to feel more comfortable. You were sad that you had just started to get to know Cacy and she was leaving. She was quiet but really kind. You tried to not look at Azriel the rest of the evening but it wasn’t easy. Occasionally, you would look over and hear a dark cool laugh, felt it down to your bones. Once you even noticed him looking at you from across the fire, but he quickly looked away. Finally, it seemed to be time for everyone to head off. You looked around, you wanted to thank Azriel for the beer, even if he was a territorial twat; but he was nowhere to be found. It saddened you but you pushed the feeling down, said goodbye and good luck to Cacy, and left for home.

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #azriel x reader #azriel x oc #sarah j maas #sjm fandom #fanfiction #acowar #acomaf #acofas

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