#and i need to make more art so i can nestle deeper in the bushes to watch the wildlife from afar

[thiswasinevitableid]

“Listen you need to dance with me right now” pairing and scenario of your choice

Here you go! I went with Indruck and a college-ish AU

“Listen, you need to dance with me right now”

Duck turns around in the black pleather booth and finds a man about his age, silvery hair tousled out at odd angles and red glasses perched on his nose, smiling at him nervously. 

“Not beatin around the bush are you?” He smirks.

“Huh? Oh, ah, this is not a flirtation attempt, Ah, that is, not that you are unappealing, just, nevermind, this was foolish.”

He turns away, and Duck grabs his elbow, “whoah, hey, didn’t say I wasn’t interested. Not about to turn down a dance from a cute guy.”

Tension drains from the man’s shoulders as Duck stands leads them towards the strobing light of the dance floor, “Thank goodness. Wait, what did you say?”

“I said” Duck pulls him close as the current song winds down, “I think you’re cute, sugar.”

“There’s no need to pretend that’s true. As I said, this isn’t about flirtation.” 

“Then what is it about?”

His new friend thinks as the tempo grinds down to slow beat, couples flowing on and off the floor around them. It’s the kind of gay bar where anyone who falls under the rainbow banner can go to look for a partner. Duck himself is on the hunt for something to banish the taste of a bad break-up from his mouth. 

His original plan for the night involved sitting in the dark in his bedroom, watching nature documentaries until he no longer felt the dull heartbreak oozing in his chest. But Juno, his roommate, insisted he come with her for a night on the town.  So he’d settled on a new plan: get laid by someone who likes hairy guys with some fat on top of their muscle in hopes of not remembering all his insecurities, ones drilled deeper under his skin by his exes parting words. 

The man currently holding his hands with all the confidence of a freshman at their first homecoming dance hadn’t been on his radar until a minute ago. For the life of him, Duck can’t figure out why. Sure, he’s weird and messy, but he’s so singular looking Duck’s amazed everyone in the room isn’t trying to cut in.

“It’s about keeping you safe.” The man whispers, jarring him from his thoughts, their proximity the only reason Duck can hear him over the music. 

“Come again?”

“Do you see that gentleman who just walked in?”

Duck turns them in time to see a blonde man with the build of a water-polo player enter the bar.

“Mr. Salmon T-shirt?”

“Correct. Had you not danced with me, there was a high chance he would ask you instead. All would have gone well until you two decided to use the back alley for some, um, quick relief to the fact you were both very turned on. It would be at this point that he would try something you did not want, you’d push him away, and he would punch you before slinking back inside. I assumed you’d prefer not to end your night with a black eye.”

“Got that right. So if you’re dancin’ with me for my own good, what happens to him?” 

The man’s face goes worryingly blank, then he shakes his head as if clearing it, “he gets very drunk very quickly, starts spouting unkind words at Joseph over there and promptly gets bounced by the bartender.”

Duck snorts, “that’s what he gets for talkin shit near Barclay. Think the only thing that actually makes that man mad is when someone is rude about his boyfriend.”

“That’s my experience as well.”

“You know Barclay too? I mean, not just as a bartender?”

“Correct. You know how he has someone living in a trailer on his land?”

“Yeah? Wait, holy shit, you’re Indrid?”

A nod.

“I’ll be damned, Dani kept sayin she wanted to introduce us. I’m-”

“Duck Newton.” Indrid says along with him.

Okay, that was a little weird. 

“Y’know, s’okay if you actually hold onto me while you’re apparently savin me a fight.”

Indrid presses closer, but his hold on Duck is still light, as if he’s afraid of trapping him. A happy sigh drifts between them.

“You’re so warm. It’s very nice.” Indrid murmurs

Duck draws Indrid’s hand close to his mouth, blowing across the chilly fingers. Another sigh, Indrid actually curling his arm around Duck’s shoulders. He seems to relax when Duck talks, so he says the first thing he can think of.

“You’re in the art grad program, right?”

“Indeed. You’re in forestry, yes?”

“Yep.”

“Fascinating.”

“That ain’t the usual reaction.” Duck smiles up at him, “Once you start talking about tree taxonomy or forest health, people’s eyes start glazin over.”

Indrid cocks his head, “How does one measure the health of something as complex as a forest?”

And so Duck spends two songs explaining the answer, Indrid listening attentively and asking questions. Thank god the DJ is in a slow jam mood, so he doesn’t have to shout about pest control over some sort of horrible, rapid bass-line.  Not wanting to be rude, he spends song number three asking Indrid about how he chose illustration as his focus in his art program.

By the end of the song, Indrid’s left hand has slipped into Duck’s back pocket, and Duck knows he won’t be interested int dancing with anyone else for the rest of the night.

He gives his best sweet southern boy grin and nuzzles Indrid’s cheek. 

“Gotta say, think you win for creative excuses for askin a guy to dance.”

Indrid deflates and hunches in on himself, his hands dropping from Duck’s body, though he otherwise stays put.

“It’s not an excuse. I was just trying to help.”

“Indrid, how could you possibly know what was gonna happen?”

“I just can!” He snaps, recoiling instantly at the sound, “I can see the future. I’ve always been able to. Not that anyone, save for a few close friends, believes me when I tell them.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, “there are no longer futures where you get punched, so I will leave you alone.”

“Indrid, wait, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s alright, Duck, I’m not upset. Enjoy the rest of your night.” Indrid turns away.

“Do you wanna go grab something to eat?” He thought through the offer for exactly zero seconds, but he knows it’s what he wants the moment he says it. 

Indrid blinks at him, then smiles small and odd, “That was...unexpected.”

Duck holds his breath.

“I accept your offer.” The grin is wider now, to the point that it’s a bit unnerving. Indrid must notice, and forces the smile to a normal size, “where would you like to go?”

Duck takes his hand, leading him out into the night and down the street. There’s a Mel’s Diner standing mostly empty on the corner two blocks away, and they slip inside. Duck orders a burger and fries, Indrid an orange creamsicle shake. The taller man’s fingers drum on the Formica table top.

He waffles on what he wants to say, how much he wants to share.

“Sometimes a glowing blue woman appears in my room.” 

Indrid’s eyebrows shoot to the top of his head, “there was only one future where you admitted that.”

“You actually believe me?”

“Of course. Why would you lie about such a thing?”

“I….I dunno.” Duck shrugs, rubbing his forearm, “tried tellin one or two other people and they looked at me like I was losin it. Been happenin since I turned eighteen, along with these weird vision-y dreams. Gets kinda old.”

“And you’re telling me because you think the fact I see the future makes me more likely to believe you.”

“Yeah. Uh, did you see that comin or just connect the dots?”

“Both. I take it you believe me now?” Indrid fiddles with the drawstring on his sweatshirt.

“Did the second I saw how hurt you looked.  Know exactly what bein on the wrong side of disbelief feels like.” Duck pauses as the server sets down their food, “Let me buy you dinner as an apology?”

“Gladly.” Indrid sips his milkshake, and Duck freezes mid-bite at the way his cheeks hollow and the little sigh of pleasure he lets out.

Indrid catches him staring, and licks his lips with a smirk. Duck hides behind his burger. 

“So, uh, why were you at the bar?”

“Bear hunting.” Indrid deadpans. It’s only when a blush splashes up Duck’s cheeks that he breaks into a smile, “I’m kidding. Mostly. I’ve been trying to get out more. I can be a bit reclusive, as I like my privacy and my hobbies and coursework are all solitary. You?”

“Gettin over an ex.” He shoves fries into his mouth, not quite ready to say more. Somehow that topic is even more intimidating than revealing his weird powers. Indrid nods in understanding, polishing off the first half of his shake with terrifying speed. Roy Orbison wails “Only the Lonely” from the Jukebox.

“Hardly the music for it. Hmm” Indrid flips through the options on the table-side music selector. The pink and blue neon flashes through the window and along the angles of his face. He looks so ethereal.

Duck is so screwed.

“Ah, here we are.” Indrid digs into his pocket, pulling out a quarter and dropping it into the machine. 

After a few moments, a voice croons from the speakers.

Love me tender, love me sweet

“Fan of the classics, huh?” Duck rests his elbow on the table and his cheek in his palm.

“I find Elvis and his contemporaries pleasant to draw to.”

“Know what else they’re good for?” Duck bounces his eyebrows. 

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it anyway.”

Duck slides out of the booth, holds out his hand, “Dance with me?”

Indrid takes it, and this time he doesn’t hesitate. His arms drape around Duck, and his head nestles onto his shoulder.

Duck sways them in time with the song, arms around Indrid’s waist. 

“Indrid?”

“Hmm?”

“I meant what I said earlier. About you bein cute. And I really like talkin with you. Would you, uh, wanna go on a date sometime?”

Chapped lips find the base of his neck, and Indrid kisses a slow line up until they’re gazing at each other. 

“Nothing would make me happier, Duck.”

Duck draws his fingers along Indrid’s face, leans in and kisses him in time with the fading melody.

“In that case, sugar, how about you and I go dancing tomorrow night?”

#reader request #Indruck #indrid cold/duck newton #duck x indrid

[tsunderin]

Getting Pounded In The Ass By My Inability To Express Emotional Intimacy [A Dungeoning Ficlet]

((Warning for discussion of NSFW topics. The story itself is not NSFW.))

“I wonder,” he spoke coyly, knowing too well the answer to this riddle that stood before him, “what you would do in my situation. To be tempted as such. Knowing the sweetness of honey nestled within your comb...”

A breath left me like an arrow, futilely plunging itself within the air surrounding us--thick with desire--leaving no puncture with which to relieve the mood. “I can have no other.” Ain growled, the raspiness returning to his voice, instinct taking over as he cornered me against the stone wall. I knew I couldn’t escape him--he had my scent. I knew I didn’t want to escape him. I wanted him to take me here just as he had done during Lady Nesterly’s hunt.

My voice came out low, the words leaving like syrup from my lips, hoping to push him over the edge. “Say please.”

His gratitudes were not so verbose; a boon onto itself. Where once I complained of the sensation of stubble against my skin, I now found the prickles enticing, for what lay beyond them was a ruthless barrage of heat and tongue drawing me ever deeper into him and his ken. Forest, sweat, and dusk swirled around me, not even the moon daring to shed her light on our tryst. The dark can spawn such sweet secrets.

The gentleness with which Ain moved my dressings aside cooled my flame. The beast--my beast--content enough to light it once more with a mere meeting of eyes. “I can bear it no longer.” He spoke the words not to the air around him nor himself, but to me this time. A gasp of pleasure escaped me as the head of his… of his…

“What’s another word for ‘cock’?” The light clicking of heels against wood abruptly stopped, the train of thought likewise stopping as though it’d hit a brick wall.

A sigh came from the nearby desk, stacked moderately with papers and various other knicknacks. “I already told you all the ones I knew. What’s wrong with ‘cock’, anyways? ‘Cock’s fine. ‘Cock’s’ reliable.”

“Yes, darling, but I’ve already used it. I’m bored with it and everyone else is too,” the pale slim eclipse of a woman motioned to all the non-existent people standing beside them in their hovel of an inn room. Turning on the ball of her foot, she returned to pacing, this time lacking the staccato beat keeping her narrative flowing. Through all the humming, her companion--lanky and roguish--kept his eyes on the ceiling, more interested in keeping the quill balanced in the space between his nose and upper lip than the seeming issue at hand. “What about….” she drew out the vowels longer than necessary, “meat staff?”

“Don’t use that. Nothin’s sexy about meat.”

She huffed. “Then stinger.”

A soft clatter echoed behind him, the pen finally taking its inevitable plunge. “Isn’t that a little too on the nose? You know, honey, bee, stinger?”

“That’s! The! Point! We’re keeping on brand.”

“Uh huh,” Tom sounded less than impressed. “Noticed you used ‘bear’ earlier too. Hate to say it, but it sounds a lil’ cheesy, Syne.”

“He is a bear, Tom. It’s a very clever and well-thought out callback to his mythical roots. Frankly I’m disappointed that you don’t understand that.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“And I am “just sayin’”. Who’s the expert here?” The pause that followed after filled with nothing but silence, long enough that if anyone else had happened to be in the room they may have believed that writer and transcriber were competing who could be silent the longest. The battle ended with a sound not unlike steam leaving a teapot. “Fffffffffine. Fine! We’ll take it out!” Syne threw her hands up, stomping back the three steps it took to be as opposite as Tom as she could be. “Does the greatest author of our time of mythical and otherwordly romance have any further knowledge to bestow upon me?”

“Ignoring that I did technically write those books… yeah, I do.” The expression Syne shot him was inscrutable. Mostly because her eyes were covered by her hair. “Writing dirty books is all well ‘n good, but we’re trying to get this out for The Feast of Cups. Don’t you think something more, I ‘unno, romantic would sell better?”

“Oh, Tom. Oh sweet, darling Tom.” She sauntered over to his desk bending slightly potentially looking at him eye-to-eye. “It is a shortsighted folly to aim for one day of glory. Certainly we could entice all lovers and those seeking the fantasy of love with a tale of two hearts overcoming their differences and learning to grow in their affection. But what then?” Her mouth waxed into a crescent moon of a smile. “Remain forgotten on the shelf as another, less worthy tale of princes and bodyguards or some such drivel takes our place? No!” Tom barely flinched as Syne’s palm slammed against the desk.

“We push the envelope of mortal desire not because we want to, but because it. Is. Necessary! ….And also because I want to, yes I’m not denying that, but this is also what the people want. Their underlying promiscuity laid naked and writhing in front of them! Romance is, after all, temporary, while scandal--”

“Lives forever,” Tom finished in a flat tone, all too familiar with this speech. A scrape droned against the floor as Tom pushed out his chair, his knuckles cracking like the spine of a freshly printed book while he stretched. “I’m not invested in it either way. Just thought it’d be fun to shake things up a bit. Like a limited edition kind of deal.”

She watched him curiously for a moment before turning her attention to her own fingers, examining them, moving them around in lieu of anything else to fidget with. “I didn’t realize you were such a romantic, Tom.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for happy endings.” He grinned at nothing in particular before moving towards the door. “I’m going out for a bit. You need anything from… uh, the woods, I guess?”

“Find me the smoothest stone from the bottom of the river, and perhaps I’ll forgive you for your slight against my brilliance.” It took only moments for Tom’s chuckle to dissipate into the air around her, leaving Syne alone with only her thoughts. It’d been a bad year for writing, but a good year for selling. And an all around good-bad year for ghost hunting. As much as she hated to admit it, there was a nugget of sense in what Tom had proposed. The only problem was that the dear fool didn’t realize it was impossible. Not impossible for her, of course. Nothing was impossible for she who had molded her own space in mortal society with the help of no one else. It would be impossible for her audience to fully comprehend the depth and beauty of a tapestry of romance woven from her lips. There would be an epidemic of wailing across the land. Businesses would be closed! Crops would not be harvested! ...Frankly, it would be annoying and Syne would not stand for it.

Yet Tom remained a much valued companion. It wouldn’t hurt to gently show him how much of a failure his idea would be. Holding more intelligence than the average mortal, he would catch on soon enough. Once reaching her conclusion, they would speak on such things no longer, and would return to more important topics of conversation like why mortals had no appealing dirty words for vagina. Or why candle wax was apparently a proper tool to use in the bedroom.

Night had remained firmly settled when Tom returned to the small room finding Syne lying backwards across the meager mattress, her body half on the floor as if she had melted and a low groan emanating from her as though she were still in the middle of the process. She all but jolted up--rather, rolled over on her side and pushed herself to a standing position pretending that her elegance had remained in tact during his absence--the moment the thumping of produce hit the wooden surface. “Ah! Tom. How good of you to return.”

A strange, uncomfortable quiet fell over them as Syne had no other comment to add. “...If you have something to say to me, say it.”

“Patience!” Syne hissed. That non-combatant tone of Tom’s almost made this whole thing worse. Her hair fanned out behind her, unable to maintain eye contact with her friend. “I have decided that this year, we will scandalize our readers in another way! We will boil their hearts into a paste and watch as the remains ooze out onto the grounds below.” Tom’s nose wrinkled in disgust, but he remained quiet. “It’s a brilliant idea, I know. There’s no need for adulations.”

Taking one final satisfying stretch, Tom slid back into the seat and resumed his writing position. “So once more from the top?”

“Yes, yes! Exactly! ...Where were we again?”

“Let’s start from that I wonder speech.”

“Very well. Please steel yourself, darling. I’d hate to find you a quivering mass of feelings, unable to even hold your pen.” Several times Syne opened her mouth to start, and several times no words came to aid her. Yet just as soon as one may have worried, her pacing began and finally words hit the air once more.

“I wonder,” he spoke coyly, knowing too well the answer to this riddle that stood before him, “what you would do in my situation.”

Syne stole a look at Tom. So digilant. Ever focused on the page in front of him. Oh. Oh, she had to keep going before-- 

He, uh, gently grabbed a lock of my hair between his fingers, inspecting the strands as if scrutinizing a masterwork of art. “Do you know how I yearn for you? How I have yearned for you?” Without warning his lips crashed against-- “No, no. Forget that last part.” Syne’s thoughts felt as unorganized as Tom’s scratches on the paper.

“How I have yearned for you?” I leaned into his warmth as his finger ghosted across my collar bone, aching for his lips to grace more than just my hair. “Hyacinth… you have undone me. I fear… no… I regret… no! ...I remember that night beside the raspberry bush as if I were reliving it each time my mind wanders. I could live without you, b-but the thought of it makes... Makes me…”

“...Are you okay?” Tom looked up, faced with the image of Syne’s forehead pressed against the adjacent wall, arms bracing herself for what looked like a good vomit.

A weak reply barely reached his ears: “I want to die.” She hadn’t even been able to make it through an entire paragraph’s worth of content! These characters weren’t even real! What care did she have that they were exceptionally sappy and in love?! All mortals were that way! Foolish and open with their feelings, ready to be destroyed by their wayward emotions and then having the audacity to be surprised when it was used against them! It was terrible. How were they alive?! Syne could hear her blood pounding in her ears, feel the heat radiating off her face like a stovetop. Nerves clenched her throat shut as she heard Tom’s heavy footsteps draw ever closer and she desperately wished she could phase through the wall and away from him.

Her shoulder blades tensed as his hand heartily landed on the horizon of her shoulder. “I’m starving. We should eat somethin’ before we head out tomorrow morning.”

An off-kilter laugh was too easily managed, and barely shoved aside by Syne clearing her throat and saying actual words. “Yes. Yes, that is a marvelous idea. We shouldn’t rush the muse, after all.” Steadying herself with a breath, Syne’s eyes widened seeing Tom holding not food out to her, but a pale grey thing.

Catching a whiff of her confusion despite the inaccessibility to half of her facial features, Tom again shrugged. “Doubt it’s the smoothest, but it’s pretty smooth. The rock. From the river. Like you asked.”

Long fingers wrapped around the small, oblong stone, running up and down its sides. ...It was pretty smooth. A genuine smile flickered across her mouth--a shooting star for a wish to be made upon. “Such a devoted one you are,” Syne mused quietly before returning to her more typical bombastic mannerisms. “You are forgiven, Tom! Remember my kindness fondly!”

“Yeah, yeah,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Anyways, got an orange and a pear. What do you want.”

“I’ll--” she stopped herself. “You may choose first.”

The look of surprise on Tom’s face was just as fleeting and just as precious. “Suit yourself.”

A romance novel to shake the ages may have been off the table for an indefinite amount of time, but what was such a thing compared to watching Syne eat a mortal orange for the first time, peel and all.

#Rin's Magenta Prose #OC Parade #The Ferryman's Toll #The Dungeoning