#formal clothes make me so so so self-conscious which in turn makes me do worse

[gingerthee]

whoever created professional dress codes me and my ill-fitting chinos and sweater need to have A Word with you

#me when i am trying to be bradbakshicore but it will not work bc i am unfortunately not a lanky flat-chested cis man #i have science fair regionals coming up and i am dreading it because even though i love science fair i HATE these dress codes so much #THEY DON'T LET US WEAR JEANS AT REGIONALS OR STATE #formal clothes make me so so so self-conscious which in turn makes me do worse #queer experiences #genderweird #etc

[fowl-fox]

I know I keep asking you all these random questions, but- in AF, it always irked me that we never learned about Fowl Sr.’s return to Fowl Manor, given that he was recovering from being in a coma (I know his amputation sight would have been healed by then, but I don’t think he would have been strong enough to walk on a prosthetic for a while- he probably used crutches for a bit). Like... what was that like for the Fowls. I know that the books never go into it, but I would have hoped that it was a brief period of the Fowl Family being just... happy to be together again, even as they were having to dramatically restructure their lives again to adjust to the head of the family being home again, especially for Tim and Angeline. Any thoughts or headcanons or what-not?

Ask as many questions as you like! (That goes for anyone else as well.) It gets my brain going and motivates me to start writing things. Also sorry this took a bit, I've got medical crap going on rn.

As usual, I'm gonna toss this under a Read More, because boy, did this get long, I apologize. And I'm going to warn you, a lot of this delves into how I feel about Artemis' relationship with Tim and Angeline overall. But it's those feelings that drive most of my headcanons, so I feel like it's best to talk about them.

Let's start with Artemis Sr. and his state of being after rescue. I'm gonna pull some quotes from my copies of The Arctic Incident and The Eternity Code throughout my pondering, please bear with me.

At the beginning of TAI, we're given a laundry list of ailments Fowl Sr. has when he's dragged out of the water in the beginning of the book:

"Though the man's clothes were relatively intact, his body had not fared so well. His bare hands were mottled with frostbite. One leg had been snapped below the knee, and his face was a horrific mask of burns."

"He'll lose that leg for sure, (...) A couple of fingers, too. That face doesn't look too good either."

When it's Holly's turn to drag Fowl Sr. out of the water, his heartbeat is dangerously low, due to deadly cold water. We know she kept him alive, healed the chest wound caused by the blunt force of the shell Butler shot him with, as well as a blinded eye that wasn't mentioned previously, but we're not really told anything else, which I suppose leaves it up to our imaginations as to what ailments he's left with.

We know he lost his leg, but did he lose some of those frostbitten fingers? Frostbite doesn't fuck around (Mayo Clinic link, if you'd like), and while it's not mentioned, it would be likely his captors would have had to amputate a few of those as well, to prevent the dead tissue from eventually killing their meal ticket. His face was severely burned from the explosion, how extensive was the scaring after everything was said and done? We know magic can heal scars if that's what the magic is told to do, but Holly probably wasn't worried about that in the moment, and she makes this statement:

"I got him," she gasped, "One live Mud Man. He's not pretty, but he's breathing."

So even with Holly doing what she could, it sounds like Fowl Sr.'s condition was still really rough. Rough enough to need prolonged medical attention. He'd spent nearly two years in a coma before waking up in Murmansk, and the ordeal of his rescue was enough to throw him back into a coma, as we're told in The Eternity Code.

Except wait a minute. In Artemis Jr.'s diary excerpt, we're given some information that contradicts the previous book.

"It had been over two months since Holly Short used her healing magic on his battered body, and still he lay in his Helsinki hospital bed. Immobile, unresponsive.

The doctor's could not understand it. He should be awake, they informed me. His brain waves are strong, exceptionally so. And his heart beats like a horse. It is incredible, this man should be at death's door, yet he has the muscle tone of a twenty-year old.

(…) Holly's magic has overhauled his entire being, with the exception of his left leg, (...) He has received an infusion of life, in body and mind."

(...) my father had no need of medical attention. He simply sat up, rubbed his eyes, and muttered one word: 'Angeline.'"

So now Holly's magic apparently healed everything but the lost leg? What?

I love the Artemis Fowl books, but I will always be a little frustrated with their inconsistencies. But you know what? It's great for giving yourself permission to play around with your headcanons. If Colfer changes what he wants when he wants, I certainly won't feel bad about doing it.

I'm going to go with the TAI and say that Tim was still in a really rough state after everything. Ignoring that supposedly his muscles were fine, he'd still have to learn how to walk on the prosthetic. And tbh, I'm just going to believe that his muscles weren't magically perfect. Maybe easier to build back than they would have been without the magical infusion, but there was definitely gonna be work involved. And that's ignoring probable mental trauma. He was in a coma for a large portion of his captivity, but there was a brief period of time where he was conscious, with captors that maybe couldn't kill him, but definitely didn't treat him well (though it sounds like he was being a difficult captive, but yeah, of course, he's a Fowl lol.)

(Detour Thought: My mental picture of Artemis Senior has always involved heavy facial scarring, especially on the side of his face where the damage was apparently bad enough to blind him.)

But to get back to your original inquiry (Jesus, Blue, I am so sorry at how badly I've dragged this out) I do like to think there would be a period of recovery and restructure that would involve the Fowls getting to be a happy family together. Great potential for a hurt/comfort fic, if you ask me.

--

I'm going to be frank, (and this opinion puts me at odds with the fandom at large, I know) - from my interpretations of the books overall, while Artemis certainly had a strict upbringing with parents who were usually busy and definitely irresponsible, I never got the sense that it was a loveless childhood. Nor did I ever get the sense that Artemis feared his father as a person, but rather that he feared disappointing him, which at no point are we told ever actually happened. I've read these books a million times, I've never found anything in them suggesting Artemis ever disappointed his father, nor that Tim was ever actually cruel to Artemis. Strict, yes. Overly formal? Definitely. But not cruel.

Now, the fact that he felt he had to jump through so many hoops to maintain his father's approval? Bad parenting, Tim. Also, don't encourage him to be a criminal mastermind, maybe. But also Artemis is an over-achiever by nature, which Tim just either didn't clue in on or more likely imo, thought it was in Artemis' best interests as an heir of a criminal empire to be that way.

Aside from Tim and Angeline later suggesting he try to be more 'normal' and let go of his criminal tendencies, and that one incident of Angeline pulling a guilt trip (all of which is a whole other thing I won't get into rn), Artemis' parents speak positively to and about him. I just honestly think they don't know how to be actual parents, which, being aristocrats, tracks. They function almost more like older siblings after TAI, really, which isn't exactly great, but it could be worse.

We know his father used to read to him regularly when he was little (ending with a kiss on the head, which I always thought was sweet) and we know that Angeline was always warm and available to him whenever possible (until her grief-stricken dementia set in.) Artemis has a moment of angst at how strict/formal his upbringing was compared to the twins, but overall he generally speaks positively of his parents, and he loved and missed them enough to risk his life several times for them. Even when he's frustrated by their joined presence making it harder for him to conduct criminal activities, he still misses them and thinks about them often when he's away from them.

--

Which yeah, that's what this all boils down to for me. Artemis just wants time with both of his parents, and Artemis Sr.'s recovery, in my headcannon, would absolutely allow for that time he so desperately wanted, deep down. Assisting in the physical recovery, using the down time to really talk and catch up (without mentioning his fairy adventures, of course.) It would be a drastic change and awkward to adjust to initially, but overall I think it would be good.

And as for Tim and Angeline? I think there would be of course the joy of being reunited with the love of your life, because Tim and Angeline are absolutely soul-mates. But I also imagine there were many, many conversations of regrets and questioning how to move forward as a family from this point. Angeline seems to defer to Tim as the one who makes decisions for the family as a whole, but she isn’t afraid to give her input. I bet they were scared, in a way, because not only has everything changed, but the future is uncertain. They have to restructure their whole life, and while overall the changes are positive, they’re not going to be easy.

I also feel like it would be difficult for Angeline in particular because while Tim returning is a joyful thing, she now probably has some self doubts. Why did she fall apart so tremendously, at the expense of not only her well being, but her son’s? While she isn’t the best parent, I imagine Angeline will always carry heartache about her time in the attic and how she forgot her own son. And to an extent I bet Tim does too, because it was his disappearance that triggered it.

And now I want to write a fic about all of this, which I guess I'll add to my pile of ideas I've been playing around with.

–

I'd definitely like to hear more thoughts on the matter from you if you have them!

#fowldom #artemis fowl #fowl senior #angeline #this is long #but i've put a lot of thought into this even before being asked #so here you go #headcanons

[whitecrowapothecary]

Bottled Delights (4)

This is the final chapters folks! In this, Jaskier makes good on a promise, and Geralt explores something new. 

Tag list: @love-more-today-than-yesterday

Read it on AO3 here!

Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

Geralt had a fascination with Jaskier’s mouth. He wasn’t sure if it was because they were together now or because he knew what Jaskier was, but he stared. He also didn’t know which would be worse. His lips were always moving, talking or smiling or singing, and Geralt got to see first hand how he did not hide those sharp teeth of his. Not in a way that affected Geralt anymore. Jaskier had dropped his glamour after Geralt had caught him a week ago and apologized. Jaskier was not amused when Geralt had called it an illusion, because he ‘wasn’t a mage’, and so Geralt had asked what he should call it. 

Geralt found himself watching Jaskier far more than was necessary, but he found Jaskier watching him nearly as much, eyes dark with hunger. The look made Geralt intimately aware of the blood rushing through him every time, as if it called to Jaskier as much as Jaskier called to him with a sly smile or crook of the finger. Geralt had just about had enough of it too- so that afternoon, Geralt told B.B. that under no circumstances was anyone to come into the house after lunch. B.B. had been a bit confused by the request, but did as he was instructed. Workers were cleared out quickly, and Geralt and Jaskier were the only ones around for dinner that night. 

Jaskier had quirked a brow when people had begun to clear out, but Geralt merely sipped his drink and shrugged. He was the one to take care of the dishes that night, and he was drying his hands, trying to figure out how to broach the subject when arms wrapped around his waist and a slim body pressed against his back. Lips press against the skin right behind his ear, and Jaskier’s voice is velvet. 

“Someone has plans.” Geralt hums, leaning back into Jaskier’s arms and delighting in the easy way that Jaskier’s arms tighten around him. “Are you that eager, darling? It’s hardly been a week.”

“I’ve been patient this long.” Geralt’s voice is scratchy, rough in his ears compared to Jaskier’s, but Jaskier chuckles, and his voice takes on a husky tone. 

“I would say so.” Jaskier grazes his teeth over Geralt’s neck, sending shivers down his spine, and he wordlessly takes Geralt's hand to lead him from the kitchen. Geralt hardly registers going through the main room to get to his bedroom, but he hears when the lock clicks, shutting the two of them in. Jaskier leans back against the door, eyes half lidded, and he nods toward the bed. “Undress.” 

This- isn’t quite how he was expecting things to start, but Jaskier’s voice is firm and Geralt does as he asks. He feigns calm indifference the best he can, tugging his shirt up and over his head and slipping out of his boots. He pauses for a moment when he gets to his pants, glancing up at Jaskier, and he smirks when he sees Jaskier watching, enraptured. The ties come undone easily, and Geralt lets them drop, stepping out and trying not to feel self conscious. Jaskier’s eyes roam over him, taking in the sight of Geralt undressed, and his brows raise.

“You aren’t done.” Warmth pools in Geralt’s stomach at Jaskier’s tone, and he hooks a thumb on either side of his smallclothes. They drop to the floor to join his other clothes, and now he’s truly bare. Jaskier huffs out a small breath, coming forward to smooth hands over Geralt’s chest. His fingers trace each scar, large or small, and something warm and flimsy takes residence in his chest. “On the bed, love.”

Geralt pushes the blankets down to the end of the bed, crawling into the middle and laying down on his back. He should feel vulnerable, exposed and on display like he is, but Jaskier stares at him like he’s been given a gift, shrugging off his doublet. It’s Geralt's turn to admire Jaskier as he strips, taking the time to pick his own clothes off the floor and tuck them somewhere safe. Jaskier digs through his things for a moment, looking for something, and comes back to Geralt quickly. He crowds into Geralt’s space, settling between his legs and humming when Geralt squeezes his thighs around Jaskier’s hips affectionately. Geralt props himself up on an elbow, admiring Jaskier between his legs and wondering aloud. “Have you done this before?”

“I’ve done many things in my life, love.” Jaskier leans down, kissing a trail from Geralt’s stomach up his chest, scraping his teeth over Geralt’s collarbone. His skin stings with the sharpness of Jaskier’s teeth, but he hasn’t drawn blood yet. “But never this.”

That pleases Geralt immensely for some reason. For Jaskier to trust him enough to even suggest, let alone go along with it? It makes heat boil through him, and he can feel his cock twitch against his hip. Jaskier notices immediately, and he brings a hand down to pet over the new scar on Geralt’s thigh. Shocks shoot through Geralt at the touch, and he gasps, thigh twitching madly the longer that Jaskier traces gentle fingers over it. None of his other scars are quite so sensitive, so new, and he reaches a hand up to draw Jaskier down. He kisses Jaskier to hide the noise he makes, and Jaskier laps greedily into his mouth, tasting them for himself and shuffling a bit closer. Geralt hears the soft pop of a cork, and he strains, listening closer. He doesn't smell anything out of the ordinary, but Jaskier has learned quickly that unless he wanted Geralt to have a sneezing fit their oil had to be relatively scentless. 

Still, he jumps at the first slick finger sliding over his hole, and he moans against Jaskier’s mouth. This is another thing they haven’t done yet- Jaskier was content to take, to rock in Geralt’s lap, but Jaskier had told him that wouldn’t happen if he drank. The thought had gotten Geralt half hard in an instant, and now as one warm finger circles his hole anticipation builds in his gut. Jaskier kisses him as he teases, pressing a finger in just to the first knuckle before slipping back out. Geralt groans against his mouth, disappointed, and his back arches against the bed when Jaskier slides a finger into him and crooks. He’s merciless immediately, and Geralt’s hips jerk when Jaskier’s finger rubs over that spot inside of him.

“Fuck, Jask-” Jaskier chuckles quietly, his other hand resting on the bed beside Geralt’s ribs. He keeps himself propped up, and the only point of contact they have is Geralt’s thighs around Jaskier and Jaskier’s finger working in and out of him slowly. Pleasure trickles through him in easy waves, washing over him and making his muscles relax. He tilts his head back, panting and groaning when a second finger prods at his rim. The second finger goes in as slowly as the first, and Geralt focuses on the feeling of being slowly and thoroughly stretched out. Jaskier spends his time trailing kisses across Geralt’s chest and collarbones, particularly taken by the juts of bone and fond of scraping his teeth over them. Geralt feels the moment that Jaskier finally breaks skin at the same time that a third finger presses up and into him, and Jaskier inhales sharply. 

He goes still over Geralt, fingers pressed deep as he inhales, breath hot against Geralt’s skin. Geralt’s hand comes up before he realizes what he’s doing, and he touches the back of Jaskier’s head lightly. “It’s okay.” 

Jaskier’s tongue flicks out, and he shudders at just the small taste, thrusting his fingers in and out roughly. Geralt moans, shifting his hips down and hand idly petting at the back of Jaskier’s head. Jaskier seems to tire of the teasing, and he pulls his fingers out, sitting back on his haunches and reaching for the oil. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright, and he still seems with it as far as Geralt can tell. Geralt watches as Jaskier slicks himself up, and Jaskier has Geralt scoot further up the bed. He’s close to the headboard now as opposed to in the middle, but that seems to be what Jaskier wants. He searches Geralt’s face for a moment, and his lips twitch in a private smile. 

“You’re sure about this? I’ll be near insatiable.”

“I can handle it.” Geralt promises, spreading his legs a bit wider and smirking at the way Jaskier’s breath catches in his throat. Jaskier crowds into his space, cock pressing insistently at Geralt’s hole while he tucks his face against Geralt’s neck.

“Let’s pray you can. Sing for me, love.” Geralt opens his mouth so say something cheeky, but Jaskier presses into him slowly and Geralt’s hips shift down of their own accord. He almost loses himself in that sensation alone, but teeth prick at his neck, razor sharp, and Geralt is caught between the instant of pain as Jaskier’s teeth sink in and the pleasure of Jaskier’s cock sliding deep inside him. Jaskier’s hips roll slowly as he takes his first mouthful of blood, and Geralt hears himself moan faintly over the sound of wood splintering. The drag of Jaskier’s mouth against his neck is an odd sensation, but he can’t feel Jaskier’s teeth anymore and sparks shoot over his neck and down his chest as Jaskier takes another long drink. Geralt hears wood crack again, but Jaskier’s hips pull back and snap forward and Geralt quickly stops caring about the sound. 

Geralt shifts in Jaskier’s grip, whining when Jaskier snarls against his neck and gathers him up. His head spins at the sudden change of position, and he’s seated firmly in Jaskier’s lap as Jaskier thrusts up into him. Geralt wraps an arm around Jaskier’s neck, fingers sliding into the bard’s hair to hold him close. Jaskier makes a pleased, throaty sound against Geralt’s neck, pulling back to lap lazily at the wound. Geralt can feel his flesh knitting back together faintly, but Jaskier’s cock is pressing against his sweet spot and he’s quickly losing any semblance of formal thought. Jaskier keeps himself seated deep, grinding his hips up, and he’s so, so hard inside of Geralt, body thrumming with energy. Geralt blinks his eyes open, panting and taking in the sight of Jaskier in all his glory. 

His pupils are blown wide, overtaking the blue of his iris’ entirely, and there’s blood on his lips and smeared on his chin. Geralt dips to kiss him automatically, and the metallic copper taste of his own blood shouldn’t be nearly as attractive as it is. Jaskier seems to like Geralt lapping into his mouth for more of a taste, and he rocks up harder into Geralt. Geralt lifts and drops his hips in time with Jaskier’s thrusts, coming back together hard, and he gasps when a hand wraps firmly around his cock. He arches up into the touch immediately, grinding forward and moaning against Jaskier’s lips. His release builds rapidly as Jaskier strokes him in time with his thrusts and Geralt rocks between the two sensations, breathing raggedly. He doesn't think he could ever tire of the way Jaskier feels under him, muscles shifting with each strong, smooth thrust up into him.

“I’m- fuck, m’close, Jask.” He finds it difficult to talk, especially when Jaskier’s other hand grips his hip tight and he can imagine the bruise it'll leave. Jaskier growls softly, his hand speeding up just a bit as he thumbs the head of Geralt's cock, making the other man groan. He wants to give another warning, say something, but heat boils in his gut as Jaskier's hips stutter, a faint whine coming from Jaskier. He's close, just as desperate, and Geralt works his hips in time with Jaskier, kissing him as his release hits him. Jaskier follows a heartbeat after, snarling softly and burying himself deep, lapping into Geralt's mouth as Geralt pants, moaning and sagging in his lap.  His heartbeat thunders in his ears as he tucks his face into Jaskier’s neck, panting and moaning as Jaskier works him through his orgasm. His hand stills sooner than it usually would, and Geralt makes a soft little noise in his throat. 

“Sorry I-” Jaskier’s voice is muffled, and despite having just come he’s still achingly hard inside of Geralt. 

“Oh.” Geralt breathes, pulling back and looking closely at Jaskier. He looks- high for lack of a better word, cheeks flushed darkly and eyes half lidded. Geralt shifts in his lap, grinding down, and Jaskier moans, shuddering. “I don't want you to stop.”

Jaskier’s eyes meet his, and Geralt squeezes around Jaskier to goad him on. Jaskier snarls a warning, words scrambled in his throat, but Geralt is lifting up out of Jaskier’s lap and turning. He doesn’t get very far before Jaskier is crowding up against his back, a hand gripping the back of Geralt’s neck and pressing his chest down into the bed. Geralt goes without any resistance, trusting wholeheartedly in the man who’s got him pinned. The hand lingers for a moment, brushing Geralt’s hair out of the way before Jaskier kisses the spot. A hand guides Geralt’s hips a bit higher, and Geralt groans as Jaskier quickly seats himself back inside, teeth digging into the back of his neck without drawing blood. Geralt can feel his chest vibrate with the moan that falls from his lips, and Jaskier rumbles against his back, pleased. Jaskier’s hands are bruising on Geralt’s hips as he thrusts, fucking into Geralt with hardly a thought for anything else. The bed frame creaks perilously, protesting at Jaskier's strength, but Geralt pays it no mind, moaning as Jaskier angles his hips and slams very pointedly against his prostate. 

Geralt can feel Jaskier’s come on his thighs when Jaskier pulls back, and he has a very sudden thought that Jaskier is going to keep stuffing him fuller and fuller. One of Jaskier’s hands slides down, tracing over Geralt’s scar and tickling at the soft skin of Geralt’s inner thigh. Geralt isn’t sure what he’s doing until Jaskier’s fingers dig in a bit, spreading him a bit wider, and Geralt whines as Jaskier presses just a bit deeper. Geralt can feel himself growing closer and closer, and he’s floating pleasantly on the edge when Jaskier’s hips still and warmth floods him. He moans, tightening around Jaskier and squeaking rather unbecomingly when Jaskier snatches at his hips. 

“Sorry, you haven’t- I need-” Jaskier’s voice is deeper than Geralt has ever heard it, and Geralt shifts, arching his neck to the side. Jaskier’s nails dig into his skin, and his whole body goes still. He has the stillness of a predator, watching, waiting, and Geralt goes up onto his hands despite the way that Jaskier tries to press him back into the bed. It’s considerably harder to do now that Jaskier isn’t trying to hold back his own strength, but Geralt sits himself back in Jaskier’s lap and grinds down. His neck is still arched, and he eyes Jaskier, raising a brow as if to say what are you waiting for? “Geralt, you could-”

“Please.” Jaskier groans, the sound vibrating against Geralt’s back, and Jaskier doesn’t say anything else as he latches back onto Geralt’s neck. The witcher moans at the flash of pain that comes with the first draw, and he melts back against Jaskier as he drinks, hips grinding lazily up into Geralt. 

He doesn’t seem as frenzied, though with each mouthful he takes Geralt’s head spins more and more and Jaskier throbs inside him. He can feel himself faintly getting sore, but Jaskier is so gentle, sipping from him slowly and rolling his hips up softly. Jaskier doesn’t do much more than that, but Geralt tenses in his lap and comes, untouched. Geralt feels Jaskier huff out a hot breath, and he twitches as Jaskier drags his fingers through the mess Geralt has made of his stomach. Geralt's eyelids flutter as he leans heavily back against Jaskier, and Jaskier pulls back, licking the wounds closed and humming into Geralt’s ear. 

“You’re so good for me, love. You’ve taken me so well. Can you be good, just a little bit longer?” Geralt nods, but he’s drifting, head swimming, and Jaskier guides the both of them into a comfortable lying position on their sides. Geralt’s eyes close once his head hits the pillow, and he relaxes back into Jaskier’s chest when the man rolls his hips. Geralt’s cock gives a twitch, but he’s exhausted already from the blood loss and he isn’t going to get anywhere. Jaskier presses his face into Geralt’s shoulder, panting raggedly against his skin and whining when Geralt squeezes down around him. “So good, can you keep that up, darling?”

Geralt gives a tired little hum but does as Jaskier asks, tightening around Jaskier and moaning softly when Jaskier shudders. Jaskier drapes an arm around Geralt, tugging him so they’re flush together, and Geralt very nearly falls asleep then and there. He feels Jaskiers teeth in his skin, little dots of pain, but he isn’t drinking, merely leaving marks that heal quickly without Jaskier needing to do anything. The backs of his shoulders are quickly covered in the marks, and each tiny taste of blood has Jaskier’s hips rutting into him a little bit harder. Geralt slides a leg forward  just a bit and Jaskier cries out against his back, hips snapping up at the way Geralt squeezes around him from the movement. Geralt smiles when Jaskier whimpers his name, hips rolling up and stuttering messily as he comes, filling Geralt up even more. 

Jaskier pulls out of him slowly, as if unwilling to do so, but Geralt sighs at the reprieve, relaxing into the mattress as Jaskier pets his stomach. Geralt falls asleep to Jaskier murmuring sweet nothings against his shoulder, drifting in and out of consciousness. Jaskier slips away from him at some point in the night, and he’s woken briefly to drink a tea that frankly, tastes awful. He feels much better after drinking it, and Jaskier smiles, telling him it helps with blood loss. His pupils are still blown wide and his hands shake when he takes the cup, but he’s gentle and refuses to let Geralt do anything when he smells Jaskier’s arousal. Geralt falls back asleep and doesn’t wake until he hears a soft growl and senses Jaskier leave the bed. 

He sits up in bed quickly at the noise, a hand shooting out to keep himself from falling over again when his head goes fuzzy at the sudden motion. The candles have burnt low, but Geralt sees Jaskier immediately, standing by the window and letting an early morning breeze blow across his skin. Geralt slips from bed, ignoring the way his hips twinge as he pads up behind Jaskier and wraps his arms around him. Jaskier freezes for an instant before he relaxes, sighing softly. “Can’t sleep?”

“Still coming down.” Geralt hums in surprise at that, and he holds Jaskier close with one hand, wrapping the other around Jaskier’s still-hard cock. Jaskier jerks in his arms, swearing, and Geralt strokes him slowly, nuzzling against Jaskier’s neck as he shudders. “Geralt…”

“Hmm?”

“If you don’t go back to sleep, you aren’t going to.” Jaskier warns, voice rough, and Geralt laughs softly. Jaskier’s hips jerk again as Geralt’s hand disappears briefly, coming back much slicker than before. Jaskier growls at the sensation and Geralt nips at his neck, smiling when Jaskier snarls dangerously. Geralt does it again, twisting his wrist at the same time, and Jaskier dissipates into smoke. It disorients Geralt for a second, but Jaskier reappears and grabs roughly at Geralt’s thighs. Geralt goes up into Jaskier’s arms easily, ankles locking behind Jaskier’s back as Jaskier lines up and lowers Geralt down onto his cock. Geralt gasps at the instant fullness, moaning when Jaskier’s teeth dig into his neck, anchoring him. 

Jaskier takes him twice up against the wall, not actively drinking but driven by the taste of Geralt in his mouth. Geralt’s thighs cramp at holding his own weight, but Jaskier keeps him up when Geralt’s own strength fails, hips pinning him back against the wall and dragging moan after moan out of him. He’s sore in ways he’s never been before, but the pain lets him drift, mind hazy, and an orgasm rocks through him when Jaskier presses up into him and bites down harder, making Geralt’s hand tighten in his hair. Jaskier’s got him back in bed when he finally begins to come down, and Geralt watches the process with sleepy eyes. Jaskier sways, pupils constricting to pinpoints and something human coming back to his eyes slowly. His hands tremble when he gets a towel to wipe Geralt up, and Geralt draws him in to kiss him gently. His mouth tastes like blood, new and old, but Geralt has quickly grown used to the taste and he holds his love close until his body finally slows. Jaskier goes boneless in his arms all at once, exhausted, and Geralt hugs him close as the two of them drift off. 

-*- 

Geralt hears a crow cawing outside when he wakes up, the sun low in the sky. They’ve been locked away for more than a day, based upon the sunlight rapidly leaving them, and Geralt twitches his fingers to light the candles in the room. They’re practically nubs by now, but they’ll do as Geralt rises from bed. His knees give out briefly when he first stands, back protesting, but he gives himself a moment and then rises again. Jaskier is curled up on the bed, a hand idly searching for Geralt. He doesn’t find him, but he does grab a pillow and clutch it close, appeased by the scent Geralt has left on it. Geralt peers out the window at the crows lining the stone wall outside his house, and as soon as the first crow spots him the rest of them alight, flying off into the night. Regis must be checking in on them. 

Geralt goes about drawing a bath, needing one desperately. He’s sticky from at least three different substances, and Jaskier is no better. There’s blood crusted around the corners of his mouth and smeared down the left side of his jaw and Geralt shakes his head fondly. Leave it to Jaskier to clean him up but not himself. Geralt’s back tries to protest any kind of movement, but the warm water will do wonders, and he shakes Jaskier’s shoulder gently. Jaskier blinks sleepily, and his eyes are bloodshot when he looks up at Geralt. He groans softly, burying his face back in the pillow, and Geralt coaxes his face back out. Geralt kisses him gently, and when he pulls away Jaskier chases him, not done with the kiss. Geralt uses this to get him up and out of bed, and the two of them climb into the tub, Jaskier settling in Geralt’s lap. He’s still half asleep, swaying back and forth with his eyes closed, but that’s fine with Geralt. 

Geralt takes this time to wash Jaskier up, gently scrubbing the blood from Jaskier’s cheek and laughing when Jaskier grumbles. “Lemme help….”

Jaskier tries his best to wake up, but between Geralt’s scent and the warmth of the water Jaskier drifts off again. Geralt keeps him awake enough not to drown while he washes himself up, and he’s got Jaskier bundled against his chest, fast asleep when he smells a familiar mix of herbs and cologne. 

“There is something known as knocking.” Geralt says in greeting, Regis laughing softly and padding over. His gaze is polite as he looks the two of them over, and he raises his brows at the state Jaskier is in. 

“If it worked my friend, I think we would both do it much more often.” Regis’ gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the scene before him. There’s old blood on the sheets and the bed frame itself is in pieces. Hand sized chunks have been gouged into the wood of the headboard, and Geralt is rather proud of the destruction. Regis seems less so, but he shakes his head fondly. “You let him imbibe rather heartily.”

“That I did.”

“You two seem no worse for wear thankfully, though you’ve driven your majordomo half to worry. He knocked twice on the door before Jaskier scared him off.”

“How so?” Geralt has no doubt that Jaskier had a crow watching them for Regis when they began, not trusting himself fully. Regis perches on the chest against the far wall, resting his hands in his lap. 

“A rather spectacular growl, I was told. Rumors have spread that you took the poor lad hostage, brute that you are.” 

Geralt laughs- it should worry him more, but this is his home, and they can make whatever rumors they’d like. “So long as no one tries to burn me at the stake, I think I can live with it.” 

“If that’s Regis, tell him to fuck off.” Jaskier mumbles suddenly, shifting in Geralt’s lap and sinking a bit deeper into the warm water. “My head is killing me.” 

“With how much you drank, I’ve no doubt of that. Here.” Regis tosses a flask over to them, Geralt catching it nimbly and twisting the cap off. Whatever is inside is pungent and sharp, but Jaskier perks up and downs the flask quickly. He seems much, much better having drank whatever concoction Regis brewed up, and though his eyes are still bloodshot they’re clear and happy. 

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” Jaskier turns to look at Regis over his shoulder, and the older man laughs, standing to take the flask back and tuck it into his belt. 

“It would serve you well to be nice to me before I bring you gifts, Jaskier.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Geralt rolls his eyes at Jaskier's cheeky grin, but Regis shakes his head, ruffling Jaskier’s hair fondly and heading for the door. The lock clicks open easily, and he pauses in the doorway. 

“I shall have to come back another night, when your staff has not been run off.”

“Tomorrow night, then.” Regis nods, ducking out of the room as Jaskier turns back to Geralt. His eyes linger on the bed for a moment, brows twitching into a momentary frown, but Geralt’s hands pet over Jaskier’s back, drawing his attention back. Jaskier’s gaze softens, and he tips forward, kissing Geralt softly and pressing their foreheads together. “You’re okay?”

“Sore. But good.” Jaskier leans back, tracing the small rings of teeth marks that trail down Geralt’s chest. There are identical ones on his back, but they aren’t bad enough to scar, and they’ll fade in time. Geralt’s neck is another matter in itself. There are at least four new scars on his neck alone, deep bites that overlap, but Geralt is moving his head just fine and he shivers when Jaskier traces each of them. Jaskier opens his mouth to apologize, but Geralt leans up and kisses him firmly on the lips, only pulling back when Jaskier keeps his mouth shut. “I like them.”

“Are you sure you didn’t lose too much blood? You aren’t hallucinating?”

“Fuck off.” Geralt’s tone is affectionate, and Jaskier laughs. He pulls the two of them from the rapidly cooling bathwater, steadying Geralt as they dry off. Geralt gets rid of the bathwater while Jaskier tidies their things, and Geralt’s brows go up when Jaskier comes out of the room carrying their clothes. Jaskier’s smile is sheepish, and he waves for Geralt to head up to the guest bedroom. Geralt does so with minimal protest, and only once Jaskier has deposited their clothes does he explain. Neither of them has bothered to get dressed, intent to spend the evening in bed.

“I- broke the bed, rather wonderfully. We’ll want to stay up here until they can deliver another one.” 

“When was that again?”

“The first time I bit you. And the second. And the third.” Geralt laughs as Jaskier scowls, cheeks pink. “I told you it was hard to control myself like that!”

“You did fine. You didn’t break me at all.” 

“Not for lack of trying.” Jaskier’s fingers trace over the dark hand shaped bruises running over Geralt’s hips and thighs, but Geralt shrugs, tugging Jaskier closer and kissing him softly. He recoils when he tastes the bitter, acrid tang of whatever hangover cure Jaskier was given, and it’s Jaskier’s turn to laugh. 

“No kissing until you rinse your mouth out.” Jaskier pouts, leaning closer, but Geralt places a finger on Jaskier’s lips, pushing him back. “Go, and bring back something to snack on.”

“Pushy pushy.” Jaskier chides, disappearing down the stairs again. Geralt gets himself comfortable on the bed, idly tracing at the scars on his neck and shivering at the memory. He hears Jaskier coming up the stairs, footsteps intentionally heavy, and turns onto his side to watch him come in, carrying a tray laden with food. Geralt watches, humming as Jaskier comes over and rather elegantly crawls into bed, holding the tray in one hand and slipping under the covers to settle down beside Geralt. “Figured you might be hungry after not eating for a day.”

Geralt's stomach grumbles loudly in reply, and Jaskier laughs. Geralt tries to take something from the tray, but Jaskier tuts and seems intent to feed him. Geralt allows it after a moment, and Jaskier relaxes once Geralt’s gotten something of substance in him. Geralt’s voice is amused when he lays back among the pillows, Jaskier disposing of the tray and coming back to lay against Geralt’s side. “You like to take care of me.” 

“Geralt, I drained you nearly dry and fucked you half to death.”

“At my insistence.” Jaskier rolls his eyes, but it’s obvious he would no matter what, and Geralt feels safer and happier than he has in a while. “Would you do it again?”

“You really don’t like your blood in your body, do you?”

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #higher vampire jaskier #major sluttiness #this is all smut guys #please be forewarned #blood drinking

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Hello! I have a request to make. Can you write Arthur flirting with a very shy reader who ends up hiding and avoiding him but loves it deep down throughout the day? He's being no help though, finding her demeanor adorable and goes after her to see her blush some more by teasing.

Hello Anon! Sorry for how long this has taken! Anywhere, here’s this fun one shot for ya, I hope it isn’t too bad. 

You finish hanging up the shirt you’d just washed so it can dry in the early afternoon sun. It’s a beautiful day at Horseshoe Overlook. The sun’s been out all day but it’s not too hot. You’ll take this any day over the frozen misery of Colter. You’ll be happy if you don’t have to see the snow again for a long time. 

Just as you head over to Pearson’s wagon to get a drink, Arthur trots up on his horse. Your eyes find him instantly and he beams at you, waving. He’s done that every time he returns since Colter. You blush and return the wave quickly before scurrying off. Something about Arthur gives you butterflies. 

Out of all the gang members, Arthur’s the man you’re closest too. It probably has something to do with that event in Colter, but you only dare remember that in your dreams. It’d been too perfect, but Arthur changed towards you after that, for the better. Before, he’d been just as friendly with you as he was with the other girls, but now he’s… no, you sternly say to yourself. He’s not flirting with you. No way in hell is Arthur Morgan flirting with you. 

Throughout the day while he’s in camp though, he seems to pop up whenever you move from one area of camp to the next. When you went from Pearson’s wagon to your own tent to get something, he’d been at Dutch’s tent, talking to him. He’d tipped his hat to you and smiled, again making you blush. When you went to the main campfire, he walked past you and it seemed like he purposely bumped into your shoulder. Not hard, but enough to gently push you. “Sorry, Y/N,” he said, catching your arm. “Gotta watch where I’m walkin’.” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze before walking off. 

By afternoon, you’re helping Pearson make dinner. Arthur and John walk past. They stop a few feet from the wagon and you can hear them talking. They seem to be deciding the best way to rob a stage with some wealthy people riding up from Blackwater. 

“I say we just do the usual approach, Arthur,” John says, his back to you. “Just point some guns at ‘em, they’ll throw all their money our way. These soft city people ain’t got much spunk.” 

“Yeah, but then they’ll talk,” Arthur counters. “I’ve robbed enough rich folk to know that merely scarin’ ‘em ain’t gonna keep them off your back long. I suggest we take one of the girls, have her put on an act. Make the stage stop, distract ‘em while we rob ‘em blind.”

“Well which one of the girls?” John asks. “Mary-Beth is always a good choice, but there ain’t no one who plays the lost little girl like Karen.” 

Arthur’s eyes brush over to you briefly. He’s got one hand on his gun belt. He couldn’t look more attractive if he tried. “I say Y/N. I bet she knows how to do the act just fine. Y/N!” he calls you over. 

You blush again and walk over, feeling quite small to the men. “Yes?” 

John looks at you, almost as though wondering if you’ll do, but Arthur smiles softly at you. “You wanna help us on a job?” he asks.

“Sure. Is it that stage you’ve been talking about the last two days?” 

“Sure is,” John says, walking over to the horses. “Come on you two, mount up and let’s go rob these bastards.” 

Just as you’re about to hop onto your horse, Arthur stops you. “I was thinkin’... you should put on the injured woman act on the trail. Best way to pull it off is if you ride my horse.” 

You can feel your cheeks burning. “O-oh, that’s okay, Mr. Morgan. I’d hate to be a burden.” 

“Ain’t a burden, miss, I’m the one offerin’. Come on, it’ll be fine.” He hops into his saddle and then offers his arm expectantly. You’re not sure how to tell him no so you just grab his arm and he swings you up behind him. Hesitating a bit, you wrap your arms around his body. Damn, he’s firm but warm. He turns his horse with a soft click and then canters up to meet John. You bury your face in his back to keep the wind out of your face. Little do you know he’s swimming in the joys of having your arms around him. There isn’t a thing he wouldn’t give to put his arms around you too. 

The trip is relatively short as the men take the horses just south of Flatneck Station. There, Arthur helps you dismount. He and John give you instructions on how to stop the stage and then they disappear into the trees. Feeling inspired and determined to do this job properly to impress Arthur, you sit down and roll around in the dirt a bit to make your clothes dirty to make it look like you’ve fallen from your horse. 

Not long after, a stage approaches from the south end of the trail. You hold your arm up and wave to the driver. 

“Oh please sir, could you help me?” you say from the ground. “My horse got spooked by a snake and threw me.” 

The stage miraculously stops. “Anything broken, ma’am?” the driver asks as his two passengers peak out. They’re both women, finely dressed with broad hats on their heads, colorful plumes waving lazily in the breeze. 

“I don’t think so, but my leg’s numb. I know Flatneck ain’t too far from here, could you give me a ride there and I can grab a train home?” 

The driver looks back at his passengers, who nod. He gets down and helps you up, although you put on quite the show of having an injured leg. You see John and Arthur quietly approaching the back of the stage where the luggage is. You’re almost standing and the driver’s about to turn and see them, so you pretend to take a bad step and fall to the ground again, knowing how ridiculous you must look. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. Guess my leg’s worse than I thought. This is real embarassin’.”  

“That’s alright, ma’am. Come on, let’s get you up.” Arthur gives you the thumbs up and then he and John run off the trail and out of sight. You stop putting on nearly as strong of an act and let the driver guide you into the stage. Inside, you thank the two women and the stage goes down the road. After only a few moments, it stops and the driver helps you onto the platform of Flatneck Station. Arthur and John walk up on their horses, acting like two innocent travellers. 

You thank the driver. “Oh I wish I could pay you somehow for your kindness, but I’ve only enough money for a ticket home. Perhaps this will suffice?” you reach up and kiss his cheek. The man smiles. 

“That’ll do, ma’am, you stay safe ya hear?” He climbs back up onto the stage and whips the horses, riding off down the trail. You make a show of waving the two women off. Once they’re out of sight, you run over to Arthur and John, beaming. “Did you get it?”

Arthur grins. “That we did. That was one hell of a show.” He slides off his horse and walks over to you. 

“I’ll see you two in camp,” John says heavily. “I promised Abigail I’d go into town, pick something up. That woman…” He rides off before finishing, leaving you alone with Arthur. 

“So, should we actually get a train home?” you ask Arthur, feeling quite self conscious. You’ve never fully appreciated just how big Arthur really is. 

He smiles. “Nah, I’s thinkin’ we could just ride back on home. That’s if you don’t need nothin’ else? We could go somewhere if ya want.” 

Is Arthur really offering to take you somewhere? He’s never offered this to any of the other girls, even when he heard them complaining about being stuck in camp. 

“I… only if you don’t mind, Arthur, I know you got a lot going on.” 

“Ah, that stuff can wait. I got time to spend on ya.” He hides his eyes beneath his hat, a soft pink touching his cheeks. You’re blushing too of course. You know exactly how rough and even scary Arthur can be, you’ve seen it. You never knew he could be so sweet and generous though. 

“Okay. I wouldn’t mind seeing that moving picture in Valentine. Heard some folks talkin’ about it the other day,” you say. “Only if you don’t mind, of course.” 

“Nah, I won’t mind as long as you don’t mind ridin’ on my horse again.” 

Your face must look sunburned at this point, you’ve no doubt. “I don’t mind in the slightest.” 

He nods and mounts up again, lifting you up behind him. He doesn’t gallop to Valentine like you expected he would. Instead, he walks his horse there. When you point out it’ll take a lot longer, he doesn’t seem to mind. “Unless you’re in a rush,” he adds. 

“Of course not, Mr. Morgan.” 

“Arthur. Call me Arthur, miss. You been runnin’ with us long enough, ya can drop the formalities.” 

“Okay, but only as long as you stop callin’ me miss.” 

He chuckles. Along the way, you both talk. You’re finding it incredibly easy to be open with him, you tell him things you haven’t told another person before. He doesn’t judge you though, and he tells you about his own past as well and how he feels about things. You can’t help but trust him. 

When you finally get to Valentine, he helps you off his horse again and then leads you up to the ticket vendor. The boy there charges him fifty cents for two tickets. 

“Oh no, I can pay for my own seat, Arthur,” you say but he slams down the money and winks at you.

“Arthur, you really shouldn’t have paid for me,” you say as he walks you over to the tent. Just before reaching the entrance, he stops you. 

“I wanted to, Y/N. But… well, there is a way you can repay me for this.” 

“How’s that?” 

His cheeks are red and he smiles a bit. “Same way you paid the stage driver.” 

Your heart skips a beat. Kissing the stage driver had been nothing, he was just a stranger. But this is Arthur Morgan. You’ve only had a crush on him for weeks now. How you imagined it would feel to have his hands on yours, to feel his lips caress your skin. You blink, you’re getting ahead of yourself. He’s just merely asking for a kiss on the cheek, it’s not like he’s asking you to strip down or touch him inappropriately. 

You smile, trying to calm yourself down. “I can do that.” You reach up, but just as you’re about to kiss his cheek, he turns his head and his lips meet yours. You freeze at the contact and then quickly pull away. “S-sorry! I must have twitched!” you say. You must have.

He chuckles, his whole face red. “Did that feel like a twitch? Nah, sorry. I been wantin’ to do that for some time now. Hope… hope you don’t mind.” 

You smile at him. “Not as much as you think. Should we go see this motion picture?” 

He gestures for you to go in front of him. Once seated, you make sure to stay close to him. He seems stiff, like he feels bad about the kiss. You’re desperate for another one though, but it seems like he won’t make a move first this time. When the movie starts, you ignore it. You grab his arm and wind it behind you. He looks at you curiously in the darkness. Before he can whisper anything, you kiss him on the lips again. You’re glad it’s dark, he can’t see how much your entire face is burning. You hesitate in the kiss and then dive back into it with much more enthusiasm. His arms wrap around you, his hands tangling into your hair. You’re practically on top of him, but you don’t care. 

“Shhhhh!” a voice suddenly hisses from two rows up. You break apart and look, but whoever shushed you is staring at the screen again. You’re quite embarrassed now. Arthur’s hand rubs up your back. 

“Come on, darlin’,” he whispers in your ear. “How about we go somewhere we won’t be a distraction?” 

You bite your lip and smile before standing up, his hand in yours. You lead him towards the bright opening. Lord only knows where this encounter with Arthur Morgan will lead, but you’re excited to find out.

#rdr2 fanfic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #awkward asks #he's too handsome in this photo!

[mister-lady]

I did fic gmkfkdkfr. And it what, only took me several weeks to write a fic for Dice? Mvgkdkkf. This was still fun and I liked it :3 and sorry if ttheres a lot of typos, I only seemed to be able to write this before I went to bed or before I woke up so it might be a little sloppy fkdkdkdk this was also a lot longer than I intended so ubm,, sorry about that

AU: uhh.. I dont know if theres a proper au name? Store clerk au? Idk but you'll get it cjfms

TW: talk about food, mention of blood, mention of looking like someone got murdered, talk about sharks eating someone

----------

Matt had a party he was invited too, and for Matt this was a special occasion, so he decided to go out and get some formal wear! He had a few dresses and such at home, but he wanted something with a newer and fresher feeling. Lucky for him, there was a nearby tailor shop that he knew about. He's never been to the tailor shop because he's never really needed anything from the place, so he was a mixture of excitement and nervousness at going. Thankfully for him, the nervousness wasn't too overwhelming this time.

As Matt stepped into the tailor shop, he was quickly hit with the smell of strong perfume- or was it cologne? Either way it was powerful enough to give him a small headache the second he walked it. He couldn't help but notice the small bell that jingled as he walked in, and smiled at the noise. Matt decided to look around, and caught a glimpse of a perfume stand that had it's own counter and shelf to it. Matt could only guess that's what was causing his headache. He couldn't help but also notice how big the store was too. He expected it to be some small tailor shop like the stores you would find inside a mall, but this once mind as well be the mall. He could only imagine how much money this place was gaining to be so big, and the concerned him because that normally ment it was pricey, and Matt wasn't really in the mood to go 50 miles elsewhere because he was a broke sucker. The interior had bright white walls and white floor tiles too, and the lights made the whole place seem to glow, only contributing to his minor headache. Though, it did make sense that they would need good lighting if it was a tailor shop, which seemed to have mini stands inside that sold other stuff, like the perfume one he had spotted earlier. Matt walked further in to get a better look and saw some other people that were presumably with store clerks that were taking their measurements or picking out clothing that would work with them. Matt also noticed that the majority of customers were females, which made him grow a little self conscious and contrary to what the website said, he almost started to doubt if this place had items for more masculine customers like himself. Matt hadn't gotten too far into the store before being abruptly stopped by someone. Matt shrunk a little, the person that stopped him looked rather intimidating, they were wearing mostly black clothing that hugged his body and had a scarf wrapped around his neck even while indoors, and also had a pair of shaded circle glasses that made it harder to see his eyes, again, while also indoors. 

"And what brings you here?" The mystery person had asked.

Matt quickly scanned the person for a nametag, and found one on his chest with his name written on it. "Uhmm… I came here to maybe find an outfit for a party I need to go to later?" Matt was debating if he should bother using the person's name, as he wasn't ready to potentially butcher it.

"A party? Tacky; but fine. Come with me I'll help you pick out something." The man waved his hand, signaling Matt to follow him.

"T-tacky??" Matt blurted out before wishing he hadn't spoken up.

"Uhm, yeah. Tacky. We sell things like dresses and suits, not poorly colored and terrible silk clothing for a party no one is going to remember." The person didn't even turn around to face Matt while speaking, and kept walking.

Matt was left speachless, he didn't even know how to respond to that, especially because it was a slightly true statement. After a few minutes of Matt not knowing what to say, and feeling stupidly shy, he decided to at least look around and see if anything caught his eye. Matt didn't realize that the person he was following had stopped, and almost bumped into him. 

"Here, stand on this stool." The guy pointed to a small stool that was set infront of a mirror against a wall. 

Matt obeyed and stepped onto the stool. He looked at himself in the mirror before quickly looking away for several reasons.

"Stand up straight." The idiot wearing glasses indoors ordered.

Matt quickly shot up and fixed his posture and stretched his arms out straight and was quickly filled with embarrassment. The worker pulled out a tape measurement and quickly started taking Matt's measurements. Matt, like the dork he is, felt his cheeks flush at someones hands being so close to his body, especially when taking measurements for clothing, which that normally required waist and bust measurements. Matt looked away, avoiding eye contact like it would kill him. He was probably making the situation seem worse that it probably was. The worker stood up and put the tape measurement back into his pocket before seeming to think about something.

"Don't you need to write the measurements down?" Matt shyly asked.

"I do this every day as a job, I have it in my head." The worker spoke with a tinge of sass in his voice. "What are you particularly looking for, anyways?" 

"Uhm.. well, I was mostly looking for a suit, though I normally don't wear the overcoat with it so maybe just a fine button-up shirt with a tie?" Matt had subconsciously reverted back to being slightly hunched over and his hands were fiddling around with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

"I'm sure I can find something for that. Any particular color you're looking for? And what type of tie? Are you allergic to any fabrics? I need all the details." 

Matt was overwhelmed by the sudden burst of so many questions and almost immediately blanked on anything he was just asked. "Oh I uh.. I'm not allergic to anything, uhm.. I'm not too picky about color, and I'd prefer a bowtie." 

"Very specific, aren't we?" The worker teased.

"Well I don't want to seem too picky, I mean I don't want anything too expensive." Matt stumbled over his words.

"Darling, being picky here is what we need. Lucky for you I'm not someone that just throws anything on you for money." 

"Ah yes, how lucky I am." Matt muttered sarcastically.

"So, are you sure you don't have a preference? Becuase I don't want to pick soemthing for you and you go complaining." 

"I won't complain!" Matt stubbornly said.

"Fine, fine. You're words not mine." Then he walked off, probably to go and find something for Matt.

Matt couldn't help but think how oddly the place was ran. Matt didn't expect it to be that they pick something for you, he thought it'd be like any normal clothing store, where he could pick out what he wanted to wear. Of course, if a customer pointed out something they liked then the worker would probably get it for them or allow them to look around, but Matt would rather die than speak up like a normal person. Plus, this guy seemed to know what he was doing anyways, so Matt didn't mind too hard. While Matt was thinking about looking around he decided to see what was around him anyways. There was a small jewelry section nearby which probably had necklaces and earrings and chains and bracelets. There were also shelves on either side of Matt, not too close to him, but if he stretched out both of his arms fully, he could probably touch the two shelves. They looked like they would be shoe wrecks, but actually had folded clothing on them. Matt noticed an orange Hawaiian shirt with pineapple print all over it and three white buttons extending down from the collar of the shirt. He couldn't help but giggle as he picked it up, but made sure to not unfold it in the process. I mean, it was a party after all, right? Not some elegant ball. And it's not like a silly pineapple shirt hurt anyone anyways, right? He carefully set it back where he had grabbed it from, and eagerly scanned the shelves for anything else that might catch his interest. Most of the things on the shelves, as for the rest of the store, were all silky material stuff or fancy and were probably meant for more special occasions rather than a party that Matt was going to sit out in the bathroom all night. Yet… something felt different about the clothing on these shelves. Most of the shelves were a beaming white, and only had three or four shelves near the bottom for shoes and some folded pants or socks and stockings, and had hangers at the top for skirts and dresses and shirts and gowns and such. The shelves near Matt were brown and only had folded clothing on it. And Matt just noticed the prices were a lot cheaper too. It was like he found the discount regect section of the store. Though, Matt didn't mind it too much because he found a shirt he liked.

Matt was so lost in thought, he didn't realize his "buddy" had already came back. Matt actually didn't even know until a shirt got tossed at him, causing him to almost drop it. Matt held it up and examined it. It was a green button-up shirt with black buttons. Matt glanced up at the worker, like he was expecting him to say something, which just lead to them kinda blankly looking at eachother for a little bit.

"Well?" The worker prompted.

"Well what?" Matt echoed.

"Do you like it? I found a pastel purple one too, and you could maybe wear brown slacks with them, but I think black would better suit you." 

"Well I don't mind it, than sounds fine." 

"Don't mind it? We need something you'll love, not just feel neutral towards." The worker said it as if he was offended. "Did anything catch your eye maybe while I was gone?"

Matt hesitated for a moment, and shyly glanced at the pineapple shirt and pointed at it as if he wasn't allowed to touch it. 

"Really? That?" The worker questioned and furrowed his brows.

"W-well you did ask…" 

"Yeah it's just… theres a reason it's in a separated section from everything else." 

"I assumed so, but it's pineapples.." 

"But you'll look like a a torrist that got lost."

"Ouch, thanks."

"Look, I'm trying to say it nicely, but you'll look like a complete dork."

"No dorkier than your name." 

"Hey! My name is not bad, if anything it's plenty better than whatver yours is."

"I didn't say it was bad! I said it was just dorky." Matt said defensively. "I like dorky things. I am a dork." Matt added.

"Yeah, uh, you do realize normally dork isn't a compliment, right?"

"Emphasis on normally."

"Look, if you like my name I'm not going to complain, alright?"

Matt huffed out a sigh. "I just wanted a shirt how do these situations happen to me." 

"Here, I found this too." The worker said and tossed another shirt into Matt's arms.

"Jesus christ." Matt muttered.

"What?" 

"Dice- can I call you that? I mean it's your name but..- Anyways, this shirt stinks."

"How? I mean if you think it's bad you don't have a sense of fashion." 

"I mean, I don't but…anyone looking at me far away will think I got stabbed." 

"And then they come up, see what it really is, and want to try it themselves. It's perfect."

Matt shook his head in silence. The skirt was white, but it had big flowers on it that were a deep red color, making Matt look like someone tried to shank him all over. Matt loved flowers but this was just asking to mess something up.

"If it helps, it's better than your pineapple shirt that you wanted." Dice said, like that was supposed to help somehow.

"If you don't like the pineapple shirt so much, cant I just buy it then?"

"No, I'm trying to save you."

"Save me? The only saving I'll need is from when someone calls the paramedics cause I look like I swam with some sharks." 

"Oh yes, because being dressed like a fruit helps. It's not even a floral print it's a pineapple. I don't even need to explain what's wrong with that."

"Do you do this with every customer or?.."

"No, just you." 

"Wow"

"Theres so much good clothing in here like suits and dresses and better patterns and nicer clothes and things that compliment you, than some pineapple shirt you can get at a Dollar Tree store."

"Y'know, you almost make me want to thank you."

"Well, you should be thanking me." 

"I'm not going to." Matt made sure to say this in a rather playful tone, even though most their conversation had been teasing banter.

"Here, how about we just find something we can both settle on?"

"You're best idea yet. That sounds fine."

"Good." Dice walked off to go and look for something for Matt, but this time Matt decided to follow him as well.

It didn't take long for Dice to spot something and show it to Matt. "Here, how about this?" Dice offered.

Matt recoiled a little bit when it saw it. "It's not bad but..-" 

"But?" Dice cut off Matt.

"Well.. it's so scratchy looking!" 

Dice looked over Matt as if he was trying to check if Matt was being genuine or not. "You haven't even tried it on yet!!"

Matt timidly reach out a hand and rubbed it across the shirt before cringing back a little bit. "No."

Dice sighed before putting the shirt back and going off the hunt for something else suitable for Matt. Matt glanced around, he felt a little bad and a little afraid that he was being annoying, but he tried to push it away. Matt let in an excited gasp as he spotted something, before scampering off to go and pick it up. 

Matt picked it up with a wide grin and held it up to show Dice like he discovered something new.

"That one?" Dice questioned.

"I am not letting you talk me out of this one! It has a space theme and that is final." Matt pointed at the shirt he was holding up, which had stars and planets all over it.

Dice held up a hand to his chin and looked over the shirt like he was considering it. He ended up giving in. "Okay, it's not too bad and I suppose it's better than that pineapple shirt…"

"I don't know what's with you and pineapples but I'll take it!" Matt was beaming and was bouncing on his heels from happiness. 

Dice gently took the shirt from Matt's hands and checked for a price tag. Matt frowned a little, he completely forgot that prices were a thing since he was so caught up in his excitement. Dice glanced around and snagged a pair of long purple jeans and handed the clothing to Matt. 

"How much will it cost?" Matt asked, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

"....I'll just say fifteen dollars." Dice responded.

"For both?" Matt asked, surprised.

"I want to help you pay for it." 

Matt was surprised by the answer. "Are you sure?" 

"Mhm." 

"Isn't that illegal in a way though?.." 

"Maybe if you want to look at it like that, but you're cute so I'm letting it slide."

Matt felt himself get flustered at the comment, whether it was supposed to be flirtatious or not. He decided to not respond and just shake his head in response, though he was pretty sure Dice had noticed anyways.

As Matt ran up to the nearest counter to pay, he couldn't help but feel the need to Wave goodbye to Dice. Things like that happen when you become attached to people after five minutes. Matt was oddly surprised to see Dice wave back but was warmed by the feeling. As Matt ran off to his car so he could try on his clothes sooner, he noticed a small paper hanging out the pocket of the shirt he had just picked out. He grabbed the paper before it could fall out and got deeply flustered and joyous at what was written on it. There was a small drawing of a single die cube, and a phone number written next to it. It didn't take long for Matt to quickly punch the number into his phone and pray it wasn't some rouse. He decided to just send one small message saying "hi :D". Right as Matt went to put his phone back into his pocket, it buzzed signaling he got a new notification. Matt checked it and tensely checked if it was what he was truly hoping for. He read the message so fast he had to read it a second time after not picking up what it had said. It read:

Already texting me right as you just left? Someone's clingy and in love.

Matt sighed and smiled and stuffed his phone back into his pocket. He had a feeling this was going to end up being something he needed to buckle in for, but whether that was necessarily a bad thing? He didn't think it was.

#geez what is wrong with my TW section for a store au- JDJGKFKG #future edit: i scanned over it and my gosh its littered with typos hhh #im too lazy to fix it sorry gkkgkg #:||D #decided to show a bit of my saltiness which u might not see a lot of gngjfjffk #yyeyeyee :D!!!!!💖💖💖

[raineydaywrites]

Nesting Chapter 13

on ao3 (x)

Fic Summary: Taako and Lup are determined to kick ass at going to university, even though their childhood education was anything but traditional.

Then, Taako finds himself in a situation that threatens to undermine all their hard work.

But there's plenty of university students that have kids! Really, this is just another chance to show how much better they are at everything they do- they can definitely manage to graduate and raise a kid at the same time.

Chapter summary: The IPRE crew is starting to come together!! This is pure fluff.

Chapter: Once he'd started showing, it didn't take long for stretchy and flowy clothing choices to be his only real options. He wasn't yet stuck with only pregnancy clothes, would be able to fit into some of the stuff he'd already owned for a little while yet, but he was getting there.

By now he'd basically stolen a good percent of Lup's stretchy and flowy clothes as well, finding himself frustrated with the decrease in his wardrobe options. She'd let him for the most part, with only the occasional annoyed look instead of any confrontations about the matter, which he was very grateful for. He didn't want to feel self-conscious about the way he looked now, but every once in a while the thoughts popped up and being able to wear mostly clothing that he'd already liked instead of generic pregnancy clothes all the time was helping with that.

Random people around him were starting to notice. He could tell. Very few of them had said anything quite yet, because it was rude to assume and all that, but he noticed the way that people's eyes would catch briefly on his stomach, or they would offer him a seat or whatever without saying anything.

He appreciated the seat thing, honestly. His feet and legs had hurt a lot recently, which he hadn't expected so early in. He still had so much time to go; both he and the baby still had a lot of growing to do, so the discomfort was sure to only get worse from here. Sitting down as much as possible made that a lot better.

Being clocked as a pregnant person by strangers wasn't making him as dysphoric as he'd feared. It happened sometimes, but he could handle it for the most part. He could accept being seen as feminine at times, as long as it wasn't the only thing people saw him as ever. So he was getting by.

No, for the most part, it was just weird. This whole thing was so personal and private, and yet so many people knew about it without knowing a single other thing about him. Taako had always been a bit showy, but that didn't mean that he wasn't also a very private person. He liked being the center of attention when he was in control of it.

He wasn't in control of almost any of this.

Wasn't all bad though. Kiddo had started moving around a lot more- they weren't really kicking yet, which Lup was incredibly disappointed about, but Taako appreciated the fact that the movements weren't hurting him, so as far as he was concerned, baby could wait on that as long as they liked.

It was weird to feel someone moving inside of him like this, but it was nice too. A reminder that he hadn't messed them up. They were here, they were alive, and they were active.

The morning sickness wasn't completely gone, but it had diminished severely and now his biggest appetite problem had jumped to the opposite side of the spectrum. He was hungry all the time, and sometimes for really weird stuff, but at least that problem was one he was more comfortable handling. Now that he could cook again without fearing that he'd quickly lose anything he got down, he had this shit taken care of. And if he didn't have whatever he was craving, he could just transmute it from something else. He pitied the poor fools who couldn't, who just had to deal with it some other way.

He and Lup had turned in their applications for the planar exploration expedition a little bit ago, and now the only thing to do was wait. Taako had wondered if he should disclose his pregnancy in the application. The only thing worse than getting turned down for the expedition would be to be accepted, only to be told that they wouldn't send someone pregnant on a mission like this.

But in the end, he decided not to. There wasn't a set date for the mission yet, at least, not one that they'd revealed to the applicants or the public, so it might not even be an issue by then. It would definitely take months for them to make their selections, and probably a fair amount of training time after that, so there was no point in giving them a reason to doubt his capabilities before they even really considered him.

He really hoped that Lup would get the opportunity at least. If he couldn't go, the next best thing was for his sister to get the chance. She had insisted that she wouldn't go without him, but he refused to be the reason that she missed out on an opportunity like this.

But Lup had equally refused to leave him alone when he was heavily pregnant and soon to give birth.

They'd ended up managing to compromise that she would stay if the mission date would overlap his due date, because he didn't exactly love the idea of going through those experiences alone either. He'd really been trying to avoid thinking about the entire idea of labor, because he knew it would be one of the most painful experiences of his life, and that was both terrifying and unavoidable.

"The shit I'm gonna go through for you..." Taako mumbled to himself- mumbled to the parasite, more specifically, because he wasn't normally the type of guy to talk to himself when no one else was around. If only because he had very rarely been in a situation where he had no one else around.

He was sure he'd heard somewhere that babies could hear stuff at some point, but he had no idea when. He'd thought about looking up stuff like that, but it kept slipping his mind.

He'd only ended up looking up one of those 'how big is my baby' sites once, because it had made his hormones go absolutely wild and he'd turned into an absolute mess, crying about how tiny the little guy was. He had been very glad that Lup had not been in the room with him, because even though he knew she wasn't going to judge him, especially right now, she still would have found it very funny, and he'd have felt embarrassed about it.

He was a stone-cold bitch, not a sap who cried over cute things!

It was different though, when his hormones were acting different than usual,- when it was his cute thing.

He was allowed to think his own child was cute! He just didn't want anyone to think that he couldn't still be a badass while also loving his kid! He's a multidimensional being, he's allowed to feel both things!

He let one hand rest on his stomach over where the baby was fluttering around while he checked the mailbox.

He hadn't expected anything interesting, so he went still with surprise when he pulled out two envelopes from the Institute- one bearing his name and the other with Lup's.

He would wait for Lup to get back before he opened them. They should do this together- he didn't want to do it without her anyway, no matter what the results were. If they were good or if they were bad, he would figure it out with his sister by his side- as they always had been.

Still, despite his determination not to open the letters without Lup, he couldn't stop his mind from thinking about it.

The envelopes were rather thin. Was that a bad sign? Would they have sent more information if they'd been accepted? The two envelopes were about the same width, which could either mean that they'd both gotten the same results or that there was no extra info for people who had been accepted to the next phase.

Which basically meant, he still had absolutely no idea of what the results were, just as he always had. The only difference now was that he couldn't stop thinking about it.

He tried to get some homework done, but it quickly became clear that that was a lost cause. But he couldn't seem to get invested in anything else either- nothing fun, nothing productive- he just sat at the kitchen table, one leg bouncing anxiously as he waited for his sister to get home.

Her class should be done by now, what the hell was she doing?

When the front door finally opened, he shot Lup an exasperated look, and asked exactly that.

"I went for coffee with Lucretia," Lup said, frowning in mild confusion.

"Ugh, gods, of course you pick the absolute worst time to go on your first date with her," Taako groaned. He may have been low-key encouraging them to spend time together, but he hadn't expected it to backfire on him like this.

Lup blushed at his words, and Taako rolled his eyes as she sputtered, "It's not like that! We're friends!"

So apparently, even the silver lining he'd thought he spotted for a second there was taken from him.

"Did something happen?" Lup asked, putting away her bags without even looking at him. She had gotten used to the fact that Taako could be extra irritable than usual with his mood swings, and since he didn't look hurt or sad or scared or anything, she figured it was probably no big deal.

"We got the results from the Institute!" Taako announced, and Lup spun to face him, her eyes going wide.

"What? Oh my gods, gimme!" she said, reaching grabby hands out towards her brother.

Taako handed it over to her, already ripping open his own, finally.

His eyes quickly skimmed the letter, past the formal niceties to figure out what he actually wanted to know.

 You are invited to the next round of selections. An interview-

Having parsed the relevant part, he looked up to Lup with a huge grin on his face, and felt it grow bigger when he realized that she was giving him the same smile.

"You got into round two, right?" he asked anyway, needing to make sure.

"You know it!" Lup said, delighted, holding up a hand for a high five that Taako immediately returned.

"Me too, natch," Taako said, casual, as if he'd never doubted it for a second. He pulled Lup into a hug, even though that had been getting harder to do recently.

Gods he hoped they'd planned this thing for a time when he could actually go. He was already starting to show by now, and it would only get more obvious as the interview date neared, so he could hardly hide it from them.

Not that he'd ever try to keep it from them completely. He couldn't hide it forever, and it would only piss them off if they found out after they'd actually offered him a spot. And for all he knew, it could be hella risky for the baby to leave the planar system, and he really ought to ask the experts first instead of crossing his fingers and hoping for the best. He couldn't risk hurting the kid for an opportunity that he knew he was good enough to get again in the future. Going on the very first expedition would be a dream, but it would still be amazing to go on any expedition.. It would be a disappointment if he had to wait, but not one worth hurting his kid over.

Still, he'd have preferred to get in at least a good first impression before breaking that bit of news to his hopefully future employers. He knew that he could be a bit of an acquired taste, but he could do a good first impression when he tried. This wasn't going to help with that. They probably had a tone of applicants who weren't PR nightmares in the making. Taako was good, but he wasn't sure he was good enough to convince them to risk the press tearing them apart over sending a pregnant person on a potentially dangerous mission.

Nothing to do about it now though. He'd go, and he'd make his best case for himself, and they'd make a decision. All he could do was try his best to convince them that he was absolutely irreplaceable.

-

Lucretia had asked to come visit the weekend before their interviews were scheduled. She'd seemed really excited about something over the call, and Lup and Taako had news to share as well, so Lup told her she could come over now if she wanted to.

Taako had rolled his eyes at that, as if he wasn't also excited to boast about being invited to the next round, just as much as she was.

Even if Lup had admitted to herself that okay, maybe she had a bit of a crush of Lucretia, that didn't meant that everything she did around the other girl was a sign of that! She wanted to hang out with a friend and get praised for what a good job she and her brother had done! That's it! She just liked having friends and being complimented!

When Lucretia arrived, she was wearing a bright yellow sundress, and Lup couldn't quite take her eyes off of her. She looked really good in it.

See, now that was the kind of thing that Taako had a right to tease her about- even if she really hoped he'd ignore it instead of tormenting her with it.

Didn't seem like that was all that likely though, given the shit-eating grin he gave her at the look on her face, before greeting Lucretia with, "Looking good, Creesh!"

"Thanks!" Lucretia smiled at him, tossing her hair a bit and posing cutely, which was absolutely unfair. "It's finally getting warmer out so I couldn't resist."

"Hey, when you look that good in something, why try to resist at all, right?" Lup said. That was probably too strong a compliment. "That's my attitude, at least," she added. It was true- Lup knew she was hot and she enjoyed showing that off- and hopefully it would make the first thing she said less incriminating.

A slight blush had taken over Lucretia's face at the continuing compliments, and considering how hard it was for a blush to show on her dark skin, she must have been pretty affected by it.

Gods, Lup had to do something about that. It was weird how Lucretia could be so confident in some ways and so insecure and withdrawn in others. She was clearly proud of her work and her skills, but in social situation, she turned into a nervous mess. Lup found it equal parts endearing and exasperating.

"So what's this big news?" Taako asked, breaking the silence and prompting Lucretia to perk up in excitement, back to confident once again.

"I've ghost-written a few biographies before- I don't think I told you guys that, but anyway- and so I earned a reputation, of sorts and I was invited to apply as a chronicler for a really interesting project soon, and I just got the news that I've been officially chosen!" Lucretia announced, giddy with excitement.

"That's awesome!" Lup said, high-fiving Lucretia, and Taako echoed the sentiment and offered a thumbs up from his position on the couch. "What the project?"

"I'm not supposed to give out too many details, but it's a kind of exploratory mission for the Institute," Lucretia explained.

"Wait- you mean the one to explore other planes, yeah?" Taako asked.

"Yes- how you do you know about that?" Lucretia asked, tilting her head like a curious bird.

"We applied as arcanists for the mission," Taako said, voice trying to project 'casual and sure of himself,' but slowly getting more and more excited too. "Got past the first round of approval and we're going in to interview next week."

Lucretia's mouth popped open in surprise, before splitting into another wide grin. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nah, babe, totally serious," Lup said, bouncing on her toes eagerly. "They haven't made final selections for arcanists yet- obviously- but it would be so cool to go on the mission with you!"

Lucretia nodded eagerly. "Of course. I hope you get it!"

Taako stood up from the couch with a tiny bit of difficulty that Lup and Lucretia pointedly didn't comment on to give Lucretia another high five, and then offering another to Lup as well, just for the hell of it.

"How come you get to know already?" he asked, mock annoyed. "Must be saving the best for last."

Lucretia just giggled, too happy to take any offense to that. "I think probably there are fewer writers who even applied than there are arcanists. Like, a lot of writers are probably much happier not going out on brand new ships with experimental technology into places we've never been to before. Not that I can understand that at all. So it's easier to narrow us down than the narrow down all the people who have literally been studying to do exactly this."

"Okay, we have to get chosen now, Ko. This whole setup is just getting better and better," Lup said.

"For sure. I am not going a couple months without either of my best babysitters," Taako said.

"You think I'm gonna be super good at babysitting, Koko?" Lup raised an eyebrow. "You realize I know jackshit about babies, right?"

"My cheapest babysitters," Taako amended.

"I am not watching your kid for free, even if they are my nibling," Lucretia immediately denied, shaking her head. "Knowing you, they're going to be a handful, and I demand payment in food, at least."

"Yeah, my cheapest babysitters, like I said," Taako insisted. He paused a moment, as another thought occurred to him. "You think they'll let us bring the kiddo if we promise not to let 'em bother everybody else? Like, they'd have three separate family members to wrangle them; I'm sure we could work something out."

"No?" Lucretia said. "I mean, like, that would be ideal, I admit, but I don't think the people arranging this mission are insane. No offense."

"I mean, totally worth a shot though, right?" Taako turned to Lup. "Worst they could say is no! You miss 100% of the shots you never take!"

"That is never gonna happen, but yeah, we can ask," Lup said. "You never know. I mean, Creesh, you say they're not insane, but isn't this whole concept a tiny bit insane? If you think about it?"

Lucretia shrugged, grinning, not letting any worries that this wouldn't work out dampen her excitement. "You know, I suppose you have a point. Ideally, this mission isn't being led by people with such poor decision making skills, but if it is- hey, silver lining, we all get to go together!"

"Yeah!" Taako cheered at her willingness to go along with the goof. "That's the spirit!"

Lup laughed so hard she thought she might fall over. Gods, as much as she loved Taako, she was realizing that having more people than just him around was even better. She hadn't realized how isolated they were until recently. She didn't actually need anybody but Taako, but it was kind of nice to have them anyway. Her family was getting bigger with at least the addition of the baby, and maybe she could even count Lucretia as family too, indirectly at least.

It had always been her and Taako against everyone else, and they could handle that. But getting a few more people on their side wasn't a bad thing. Far from it. It was the best thing.

#taako adventurezone #lup adventurezone #lucretia adventurezone #taz balance #my writing

[tss-grimmverse]

Chapter 2: Gloxinia

it doesn’t mean much

it doesn’t mean anything at all

the life i’ve left behind me is a cold room

Virgil stirred to wide-eyed awareness twice in the night, both times because he thought he heard doors opening. But he was too exhausted to get up and check, and reluctantly settled down after the adrenaline wore off.

The third time he opened his eyes, the sky outside his bedroom window glowed an early morning blue and he desperately needed the restroom.

Groaning, he grabbed his hoodie from where he’d slung it over the headboard the night before, pulled it securely around him, and padded across the hallway. Once finished, he tiptoed cautiously into the main room, finding it exactly as he had left it the night before.

Was he still alone? If the sounds he’d heard were Logan coming in super late, at best the dude was probably still asleep.

Hell, I should still be asleep, Virgil thought, wandering blearily into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator, more out of curiosity than actual hunger, and let out a surprised laugh.

“Holy troll shit, that is a lot of jelly,” he murmured, pulling out a jar to read the label. Crofters Organic.

Oh.

That explained the postscript.

The sound of front door opening and closing startled him to his feet. Virgil hastily replaced the jar, lining it back up next to its dozen or so neighbors.

Closing the fridge door, he looked over the counter and found himself face to face with the most gorgeous person he’d ever laid eyes on. His heart stuttered. The newcomer dumped a keyring on the counter…shit, this was Logan?…and adjusted a pair of half-moon glasses.

“You must be Virgil,” he said in a deep, tranquil voice, stepping out of a pair of worn athletic shoes.

Virgil made a croaking noise that tried to become a greeting before getting stuck halfway down his throat.

Logan swept through the apartment, disappearing into the furthest room and reemerging with a towel. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, bark dark and beech smooth, and sparkled in black hair braided into a dozen wavy rows against his scalp. The guy had one of those sculpted, solid builds, all broad, lean planes and bold, sensual lines. An artist’s dream to shade; a little awkward to hug.

Virgil swallowed hard, forcing his poor gay eyes away.

Somehow between the normalcy of the apartment and the weirdly formal note, he had forgotten that Logan was half faery; half Court Fae, in fact, if his looks were any clue. Such faeries were, as a rule, heartbreakingly beautiful.

Upon closer examination, his non-human heritage was obvious. Ears that swept up and back to points on either side of his head, clearly visible to Virgil’s changeling gaze. Frost white streaks that twined through his braids. And those fae, prismatic eyes: the irises an explosion of frost and indigo and smoke that coalesced into a deep slate gray.

Eyes that gazed a little too deep, burned a little too wild behind his glasses.

Virgil knew he ought to say something, but his addled brain had forgotten how to operate his mouth.

“Apologies for my unkempt state,” Logan said as he patted himself down. “I always do my running in the morning before it gets too hot.”

“Uh…yeah,” Virgil muttered, wrenching his gaze from smooth muscles and a graceful sweeping collarbone to Logan’s stormy eyes, so striking in that dark face. “No, I mean…that’s cool.”

Eloquent, Virgil.

Logan eyed him impassively.

Virgil became abruptly and painfully ashamed to be dressed in nothing but ratty boxers and a faded hoodie. Maybe he could just escape into my room and put pants on or would Logan hate me for being rude but maybe he already hates me for being half naked in the living room what the hell is wrong with me…

“Do you drink coffee?”

Logan hung the towel over one of the dining room chairs and swept past Virgil into the kitchen. A trace of that elusive teal scent from the night before followed in his wake, nearly making Virgil swoon. Even his voice was sexy: dark and ocean blue, pleasantly filling the room without being loud.

Kelpie’s mane, Virgil, get your shit together. It’s not like you’ve never seen a hot black dude before.

He pulled his hoodie more tightly around himself.

“Uh, yeah,” he belatedly answered Logan’s question. “Coffee’s great.”

“Personally I like tea.”

Oh. Well, Virgil did usually manage to say the wrong thing.

Logan pulled a Keurig machine from a bottom cabinet and set it up on the counter.

“Herbal, preferably,” he added, “though I have been known to enjoy a good Earl Gray from time to time.”

“Earl Gray.” Virgil forced a chuckle. “You Captain Picard or something?”

His Rennie family had all been very fond of Star Trek, which was the only reason Virgil knew anything about it.

Logan, however, frowned.

“I am Logan Ursae.” He adjusted his glasses. “I assumed the Youngstown Grimms would have at least informed you of my name before sending you here?”

Virgil wasn’t sure if he was being mocked or if the guy was just that literal.

“I meant, like, the Star Trek character, dude. Obviously I know who you are.”

Logan’s mouth twisted and he turned back to the Keurig.

“I’m afraid I am not at all knowledgable about popular human entertainment. I find most of it trite and shallow.”

Virgil scuffed his bare foot uneasily over the carpet. Usually he preferred people to speak their minds instead of fucking around…but this guy took that philosophy a bit far.

He did write that stick-up-the-ass note.

“Do you know that proper peppermint can be frustratingly difficult to procure unless one grows it themselves?” Logan said, once again ignoring the awkward silence that had fallen.

Or maybe Virgil was the only awkward one, as usual.

“And it cannot be grown from seed, only cuttings.”

Virgil made a noncommittal noise, unsure if Logan was even expecting a response at this point.

Logan held out a box of flavored coffees, packed side by side and seemingly organized by color.

“Um…hazelnut if you’ve got it,” Virgil muttered. “Should I, like, help or whatever?”

“Nonsense, you are my guest. Plus my kitchen is not large enough to accommodate two people comfortably.” Logan waved a graceful hand as he filled a copper kettle. “I will start our drinks, and then perhaps we should both get dressed for the day.”

Virgil flushed and pulled his hoodie closer, aware once again that he’d galavanted out here in his underwear and worse, Logan had noticed. Had he seen Virgil ogling his bare chest?

Was that why he kept prattling on about tea?

He’s probably already decided I’m weird and creepy, he’s just waiting for the right moment to call me out…

“Why even have a coffee maker if you don’t drink coffee?” Virgil asked, and then flinched. He had a bad habit of masking his anxiety with belligerence.

It was why people tended not to like him.

Logan’s mouth quirked as he centered a mug under the Keurig. “You are not the first changeling I’ve taken in.”

He brushed past Virgil again (that scent, gods, Virgil’s brain swooned again), heading towards the back bedroom.

“Go and change while I shower,” he threw over his shoulder. “Then we can properly acquaint ourselves with one another.”

With that, the door clicked shut, leaving Virgil alone with a gaping mouth.

“Bloody redcaps,” he muttered, yanking a handful of his faded purple hair. ‘Acquaint ourselves’, my gay ass. Said with a straight face. How the fuck is anyone that oblivious?

“Naughty, naughty thoughts, changeling.” Remy’s amused smirk and sunglasses were just visible from his cabinet’s half-open door. “You’re lucky the Bear’s not a telepath.”

Virgil, flushing, made a rude gesture in the brownie’s direction and stalked to his own room, slamming the door. He then leaned against it and exhaled, his heart still throbbing unsteadily in his chest.

Logan was…not what he had expected.

Virgil wasn’t sure what he had expected, after reading that note from last night. Certainly not some hot nerd with a gorgeous runner’s body and a quiet, self-assured aura, plus a bit bossy, and damn, why do I find that kinda hot?

Remy’s taunt came back to him and he groaned, covering his face. They were naughty thoughts; thoughts a changeling like himself had no business entertaining. A beautiful half-faery deserved far better than a former thrall who’d done the sorts of things Virgil had done…

Plus you haven’t made the best first impression, have you?

Virgil thunked his head against the door, realized he’d been wool-gathering like a moron for several minutes, and went to change clothes. He took a little time to comb his hair and rub a little patchouli oil behind his ears. He wished he owned something nicer than ripped black jeans, faded band t-shirts (mostly metal), and one bulky, black plaid hoodie.

He hated that it suddenly mattered.

When Virgil emerged, Logan had already returned to the kitchen, dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a plain black polo that clung rather unfairly to his arms and torso, and…Virgil almost chuckled at the sight…a blue striped necktie.

Somehow, he made it work.

“Sit where you’d like.” Logan poured hot water into a galaxy mug without turning around. The Keurig spat the last of its sweet smelling contents into a second mug, and Logan carried both to the table.

Virgil sat, feeling self-conscious as Logan passed him his coffee.

Because now the half faery clearly expected them to talk about things.

Virgil hated talking about things.

“I imagine you have questions,” Logan stated without preamble.

“I…guess?” Virgil took a shy sip and winced as it burned his tongue.. “I mean…they didn’t tell me much about you back in Ohio,” he admitted. “Only that you have some ability to hide changelings from other Fae, and that’s why I’d be safe here.”

Logan stirred a generous dollop of honey into his tea, tasted it, grimaced, and added another spoonful. Virgil stared, morbidly fascinated that anyone so doggedly serious would want their drink that sweet.

“My ability to hide you is actually a byproduct of what I am, rather than anything I do.” Logan explained. “Simply put, even as a half-blood, my Court magic burns strong enough to mask yours. A proper Court faery could hide you far better, but finding one who wouldn’t immediately turn you back over to your master would be…”

“Impossible?” Virgil shivered.

“Improbable.”

There were a million questions Virgil probably needed to ask, since he was stuck here. But as usual, his mouth refused to cooperate.

Logan eventually got up to fry a couple eggs and fix some toast, prompting Virgil to ask about the fridge full of jam, which sparked a passionate one-sided rant about fruit spreads, organics, ethics, and the superiority of Crofters that spared Virgil the need to do anything except nod with wide eyes until breakfast was over.

(He was permitted to taste the sacred jam, and had to admit that it was pretty good).

“We will need to pick up Nicodemus this morning,” Logan stated once they’d finished eating and carried their plates to the sink.

“We?” Virgil echoed, choosing to focus on that rather than on who or what a ‘Nicodemus’ might be. He slid his plate into the soapy water as Logan washed, almost dropping it when he accidentally brushed Logan’s forearm. The half-faery’s skin was smooth and pleasantly cool.

“I do not think it safe for you to be left here alone for long periods of time, at least not at first. Therefore you will need to accompany me on errands. I suggest we take thirty minutes to digest and then be on our way.” Logan paused, and turned to properly face Virgil. “If…that is agreeable to you?”

Virgil’s dislike of being ordered around must have been visible on his face. He schooled it to neutrality and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Good impression, Virgil, come on.

“I mean, I don’t have anything going on until classes start in two weeks, so…you know, whatever you need to do is cool with me.”

Great. Now stop rambling, idiot.

Logan nodded and swept past again, down the hall, and then his bedroom door was closing firmly behind him again. Virgil huffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Definitely not a man of excess words.

Or, and I’m just spitballing here, he thought wryly as he meandered back to his own room. Maybe he hates you already.

Gloxinia: love at first sight

#sanders sides fanfiction #ts fanfic #virgil sanders #ts virgil #fae #logan sanders #ts logan #sanders sides #mahoganyandteakwood

[bohrapbois]

You look good in it

After going through the archives, I found this small piece from awhile back, and I remembered that whump!prompts always rule my heart.

Summary - Although Ben looks hot as hell in the get-up, he couldn’t stop the anxiety of being dressed in such a way from taking over. He had been objectified by his body before, so it’s only likely that he will be again.

Pairings - None. Pure friendship.

Word Count- 1342

Looking at himself in the mirror, Ben had to admit that he looked pretty decent in the makeup. The wig was just being put into place, and suddenly he looked like Rogerina’s half-sister. They looked similar enough that you could definitely see a resemblance, but obviously Ben wasn’t going to look exactly like Roger. But still, he looked alright.

The wig was finally secured to his head, and the very formal test of shaking his head showed that it stayed on pretty well, and should last with minimal adjusting for the 8 hours scheduled. Getting up from the chair in the beauty department trailer, Ben cautiously pulled down the obscenely short skirt before grabbing his robe from the hook on the door, shrugging it on and tying it tight at the waist. The robe fell to his knees, covering most of the dark tights, and should protect him from the chilly October winds.

Ben stepped out, his cheap gym pumps hitting the cold tarmac as he quickly made his way from the trailer park to set, ducking his head down from getting any eye contact. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, he was just a bit self-conscious in this get-up. Rami seemed to love showing off his tiny legs, and had great joy in his wig, but even though he wasn’t wearing fake tits and had on fishnet stockings, Ben still felt more exposed. Further up his thigh was a hidden garter belt, which Roger insisted he had to wear although there was no video evidence of it in the video. Not wanting to insult the rock legend, Ben just grabbed the white, lace garter belt offered to him, and had slid in on without outwards protest. But knowing it was there made Ben flush with embarrassment.

“Benjamina!” Gwilym cheered in joy as Ben walked onto set, followed by Joe wolf whistling from the sofa set up in the middle of the room. Both men were already in full costume, not showing nearly as much skin as their castmates. Gwil’s nightdress only showed his arms and a peep of his calphs, but as Gwil often wears t-shirts and slightly too short trousers, Ben didn’t see any different. Joe was sat there, a thick layer of pale makeup and roughly drawn eyebrows on his face. He was even more covered than Gwil, with his granny get-up covering near enough his entire frame, just leaving his face exposed. Even the wig was covered by a hat.

“Alright granny?” Ben flipped off Joe, who was making crude jokes about his getup.

“Show us your legs, Benny-boy!” Joe, looking somewhat petrifying as he stood, started pulling at Ben’s robe. Ben laughed, pulling the robe tighter and attempting to run off. Gwil got in the way, managing to undo the knot. Ben’s hands were the only thing keeping his somewhat dignity in tact, and he held tighter.  

At that point, Rami walked in, and truly staying in character, called them all “darlings” as he made his way on-to set. This managed to get Joe and Gwil’s attention, who now moved onto poking the plastic breast cones attached to Rami’s chest. Seeing his change to escape, Ben got off set and went behind the cameras. One of the assistants stood there waiting, and took the robe from Ben. “Thanks,” he mumbled, once again pulling down the skirt whilst also trying to make sure the horrid yellow and pink tie wasn’t crinkled.

Now he was un-robed, Ben’s anxieties from before came rushing back. He was going to be standing under bright lights, being stared at by expensive cameras, and had to impress the unloving titan of a director, Bryan Singer. So, Ben stayed back, hidden in the shadows as the camera crew did the last needed checks before the actors would be told to get in place and the blocking test could be done one final time. In the precious few minutes Ben had left, he avoided all contact with anyone. Well, at least he attempted too.

The one and only Roger Taylor was on set, and noticed the blond trying to hide behind the refreshments stand. The drummer excused himself from conversation with one of the sound techs, and picked his way through the bustling crew to stand by Ben. “It’s like looking in one of those carnival mirrors”.

Ben grinned tightly, eyes still scanning his surroundings. “It’s just as weird for me as it is for you, mate”.

Roger laughed, but stepped to the side to block Ben from the rest of the room. “It’s alright, son. I felt the same way when we did it,” glancing over his shoulder, he looked at the rest of the cast with a fond smile, “Freddie actually did the same thing,” he gestured as Rami pulled his skirt up even higher to show how the stockings were indeed clipped to his underwear.

“But wasn’t it your idea?” Keeping his voice low, Ben rubbed his sweaty palms over his tight cladded thighs.

“Yeah,” Roger laughed, “but even I wasn’t expecting to be dressed in such a slutty school girl outfit!”

“It’s stupid,” Ben bulldozed over Rogers words, trapped in his own mind, “I’ve appeared naked on stage before, but somehow I feel more exposed when fully clothed”.

“It’s because societies standards are fucked up, and tell men that dressing up and putting on makeup is wrong.” Ben glanced up and could hear the venom dripping from Roger’s tongue. “If Freddie taught you anything,” Roger continued, taking a deep breath as not to sound as if he was scoulding. He saw Ben as one of his kids (although  he would never admit it, thank you Brian) and didn’t want the poor lad to feel anxious and scared for just having a skirt on, “you should know that as long as your true to yourself, fuck everyone else”.

Ben felt the words sink deep and undo a bit of the anxiety coiled around his heart. Looking down, Ben could still see his fear, but he could also feel Freddies presence wrapping him in a hug. “Thanks, Rog. Means a lot”.

“No problem boy,” Roger could see Ben standing that bit straighter, and although still panicked, his eyes seemed more focused and in the moment. “Now go out there and shake your arse”. And with a quick pat on the shoulder, Roger turned and disappeared back in the crew.

The bell for the cast to get in places ran, and with a shaky breath, Ben moved forward and stepped into the light. He smiled at Gwils cat calls, and did a short turn when Rami demanded one, but couldn’t help but tug at his skirt one more time before sitting down at the table. His legs tapped at their own will, and he tugged on the wig as he could feel his fears creeping up silently. He tried to hold Rogers thoughts at the front of his mind, but his own intrusive words was battering poor Roger.

Ben practically jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked over, eyes wide and mouth ready to apologise or shout or curse or do whatever, only to find a soft looking Joe under all that horrid makeup. He must’ve left his mark, which he’ll definitely hear about from Singer, but Joe could see Ben spiralling and stepped in before it got worse.

“Hey,” he didn’t speak much louder than a whisper, but didn’t need too. He was kneeled by the chair, using his body to stop the cameras from seeing Ben, “I think you look good in it”. He used his free hand to tug the tie in place, and his eyes were full of comfort that he knew Ben needed. “You look hot as hell, and no one is gonna judge you, okay?”

Ben only nodded, and grabbed onto Joe’s hand which was still on his shoulder, taking a moment to ensure he was fully grounded before grinning, properly this time, to let Joe know he was okay.

He could get through this.

#ben hardy #my fic #my work #fic #bohrap cast #rogerina #roger taylor #joe mazzello #gwilym lee #rami malek #queen cast #queen #bohemian rapsody movie

[goodnightkisseu]

kang daniel _ fancy fridays

Drabble: Kang Daniel, Fluff, Childhood Friends, “you look like an egg”

anonny “ Im so happy you opened a drabble game! I like the way you write and I always find myself tearing up at all your angst stories! I want to request for a Kang Daniel fluff with sentences 19 or 61 and au 4.. i LOLed at 19 and 61!! I cant choose just one! Thanks in adv! <3 love you! ”

Genre: Fluff

Note: So I decided to go with the first prompt because I love writing banter for characters ;A; I live for it ;; This also reminded me about how much I love writing for Daniel. I just... it comes so naturally OTL This is a cute little piece that hints at a little more, and I hope that everyone enjoys it. As always, feel free to let me know what you think!

Enjoy~

Also, because of the situation with tumblr links, please check my bio for links to my masterlist~

Drabble requests are open! You can also find the link to the drabble prompts in my bio ^^

- goodnightkisseu’s admin / ashley <3

'Daniel, I need you to come over ASAP. It's an emergency ;A;'

Daniel reread the message as he stood in front of your apartment. He had known you for years, knew of your dramatic tendencies, but still, he rushed over. He was sure it wasn't life-threatening, but he wasn't going to risk it either. Daniel dug through his pocket, looking for his keys and plucked the one to your place from the bunch of them, holding the electronic key to the pad. Instantly he heard the mechanical whirl as it unlocked itself and he stepped inside.

"Okay, what's the 'emergency' this time," he stated, looking around your apartment for any sign of you. Well, this time it wasn't a cooking accident. If anything your kitchen was pristine. It wasn't a computer or television crisis. Your living room looked untouched. For a moment he had considered it was the bathroom, that you couldn't shut off the water like at your last apartment, but everything seemed relatively dry. So what the hell-

"Daniel you're here!" you exclaimed, running up to him, the male opening his arms on instinct as you fell right into them. You usually weren't this comfortable around people. But Daniel, your childhood friend, was an exception. He was an exception to a lot of things, you noticed.

He couldn't help the chuckle that erupted within him, arms firmly holding you up as you came flying at him. "I am. So what's this problem that you were referring to?" he asked. "Your apartment seems fine. Nothing is on fire, so why am I here?"

"Ah," came your light sound of realization as you pulled yourself out of his arms. You stood before him, now slightly embarrassed before you spoke again. "This dress... do you think it's too much for a Fancy Friday at work?" you asked. Daniel fell silent, the expression from his face disappearing. You grew a bit concerned, self-conscious of standing before him like this, so you called his name, trying to bring his attention back.

Daniel's eyes scanned your form, taking in the midnight blue dress. It was sleeveless but modestly covered you, gently sinching just below your chest before flowing against the rest of your form. He found it very pretty on you, though, there were very few things he felt like he didn't like on you. Honestly, for as long as you had known each other, Daniel always thought you looked lovely. Even if a simple t-shirt and jeans, he felt you shined in a sea of women. He just... never had the heart to tell you.

"Um...Daniel?" you called out again, watching as he snapped from his dazed state. "How does it look?"

"Honestly?" he asked, watching as you cutely nodded at him. "Really, you look terrible." He watched as that eager look at your features was replaced by glaring eyes and a pout. It was too cute.

"You look like an egg," you countered haughtily. You were hoping to get an honest answer out of Daniel, not this childish teasing. Even if his giggles warmed your heart.

"Your comebacks are getting worse, and worse, you know that right?" he teased through his chuckles, making you hit him in response. "Why are you even getting so dressed up? I feel like you're usual wardrobe is already far dressier than your co-workers. Just wear what you usually wear," he pointed out.

Daniel... wasn't wrong. Your usual attire was skirts and cute tops, which wasn't exactly the dress code where you worked. "But I wear that every day. I feel like for our first official Fancy Friday, I should wear something different you know? So I wanted your opinion. But if you're just going to tease me, then I don't want it," you huffed.

Your childhood friend watched as you turned your back to him, walking back into your room and he was quick to follow, eyes landing on the mess that was your room. Clothes were thrown everywhere. From extremely formal dresses that he had only noticed you in for work events, to the familiar articles of clothing he would see on you whenever the two of you met for lunch. This was obviously important to you. So gently, Daniel reached out for your hand, gently tugging on it. The action, as it always did, stopped you in your tracks as you turned to face him.

Gingerly, Daniel grabbed your other hand, holding onto both of them tenderly. "I'm sorry I teased you," he apologized, watching as your pout started to form into a smile. He knew you forgave him. You always did.

"So, you ready to give an honest opinion about this dress?" you stated, watching as Daniel vehemently nodded, the cutest grin forming on his lips. Unexpectedly, Daniel pulled your closer to him, arms slipping around your waist, surprising you. Your friend had never held you like this before, and you couldn't help the way your heart sped up at the closeness. It felt different this time.

"I think you look absolutely lovely," he told you genuinely, his deep voice resonating through your very being. "You'll definitely be the most beautiful person at work tomorrow."

Your face felt warm, your entire being felt like it was on fire, but you dared to look up at Daniel at that moment. Your eyes met. No words were spoken, but all of the words that were left unsaid were the important ones. A cheesy confession didn't have to be made. Because truthfully, you both knew that your relationship changed, right then and there...

#kang daniel #wanna one #wanna one imagines #wanna one scenarios #kpop scenarios #kang daniel scenarios #kang daniel imagines #drabblegame2

[queencatherynerhys]

Alone - Part 4 TRR AU Speak Now

A/N: I’m back!!! Sorry for my long hiatus. I was dealing with a lot with school and my husband leaving for boot camp for the Army and transitioning from a civilian to a military life. Anyway. There isn’t a lot of dialogue in this chapter, but I still hope I capture your attention. Shout-out to the wonderful @katurrade who brought me out of my hiatus and inspiring me with her work to continue my own.

Summary: The aftermath of Liam’s decision of marrying for his country. How will he deal with this? How will it affect him?

Tag List: @kinkykingliam @devineinterventions2 @madaraism @theroyalweisme @drakewalkerwhipped @laniquelove @drakesfiance @hhiggs @hellospunkiebrewster @alicars @mrswalkerreynolds @mfackenthal @simplyaiden-blog @hopefulmoonobject @blackcatkita @cocomaxley @boneandfur @lizeboredom @crayziimaginations @umccall71 @zarina-x-zig @writtenbycandy @ranishajay @heatherfilliez @flyawayblue56 @drakelover78 @indiacater @pens-girl-87 @waitingforsuperman25 @katurrade @speedyoperarascalparty

Previous Parts:

Speak Now

Too Good at Goodbyes

My Immortal

Liam couldn’t fathom himself for being able to say “I do” while Catheryne watches him. How could he have been so cruel to her when all she has ever done is love him and give him the world? She was his world and his everything, yet there they were. His entire being loathes himself for doing this to her. He knows for as long as he lives that he will never be able to forgive himself. He can only pray and hope that one day Catheryne will.

He watches as she walks away from his sight and the agonizing pain is replaced with numbness. The rest of the ceremony passes in a blink of an eye and he had to resist the feeling of vomiting when he had to kiss Madeleine.

The guests’ applause as they walk down the aisle toward the motorcade that is awaiting them in the front. As they glide along, Liam tries to catch a glimpse of where Catheryne could be but to no avail. When they approach the exit, he hears the cheers of his people and he feigns a smile. He always thought this day would be a happy day. He would marry the queen Cordonia needs and satisfy his people just as he was born to do, but now here he stands hating this wretched day.

He should be celebrating along with his citizens but he’s forced to plaster a smile on his face and continue on with a lady beside him that he dislikes. He waves meaninglessly at the crowd that has gathered in front of the cathedral. The sound of flashing cameras and screaming people mixed with the awful feeling of holding Madeleine’s hand become too much for Liam and he starts to feel nauseous. He hurries to the limo that it to carry him to the reception.

Once inside and safe from prying eyes, he lets go of his grasp of Madeleine’s hands almost rudely. He sits as far as he can from her and stares at the window. As the car drives away, Liam catches the most heartbreaking picture of Catheryne alone in a secluded alley. If he wasn’t so focused on her, he would have never seen her there. His heart screams for her and he wishes he can bring himself to stop the car and go after her, but he lets it speed away and take him to an event he has to suffer through.

As one of the dukes of the most prestigious houses, Bertrand had the honor of announcing the arrival of the couple to their reception. “Please, join me in welcoming for the very first time our King and Queen.”

In cue, Liam walks through the archway to a stunning ballroom adorned in exquisite blue and white arrangement of bouquets as centerpieces and white banners and twinkle lights hangs from the ceiling. It was a sight to see, but Liam’s spirit is just not in this moment right now. They slowly stride into the full room and he feels self-conscious of the crowd. He just wants to run as far away as he can from where he is right now. He doesn’t care where he ends up, just not there, but his duty carries him through it.

He arrives at the front and makes his way to Bertrand stands. He takes the microphone and propose a toast, “Nobles and esteemed guests Madeleine and I want to extend our most gratitude for sharing this special experience with us. A marriage is a joining of two houses, but two hearts. With our marriage, we will also strive to join and unite Cordonia to a better future. Thank you and enjoy the party.”

The crowd applauses and Liam make his way to the wedding party table where Madeleine already sits. He finds his seat beside her and to his left is Drake with a disapproving and almost disgusted look for him. He shakes his head silently and doesn’t open his mouth for the rest of the dinner which he is relieved for. He can’t handle another person to deal with at the moment. It is taking his whole willpower to keep upright and smiling.

After the meal, Madeleine turns to him and flashes a smile at him. Through her grin, she speaks with the least emotion, “we need to make our rounds and please wipe the puppy dog eyes you’re embarrassing us both.” She pats his arm and laugh as if they just shared an inside joke, “Oh, Liam, please.”

He sighs. How has is life turned to this? He once thought that love didn’t matter. It was never a factor for previous regents. All married for one purpose: the good of the country. Now, here he is. Lost and lonely. His mind and heart at war with each other. Could it get any worse?

As if life just wanted to toy with him and his fragile heart, he is approached by a reporter and he asks, “King Liam, we couldn’t help but notice that our favorite Everywoman isn’t in attendance at your wedding? Did she decide that court was too much for her and left to become a waitress again?” He flashes a condescending, mocking smile and it sends Liam into a flurry of emotions, one of anger, annoyance and rage but he hides it all with a tiny grin.

“Thank you for your keen observance. Lady Catheryne is indeed not in attendance of the ceremony today. As for an answer to your question, my wife would be able to give you a clearer answer,” he struggles to speak with calmness.

The reporter walks away with disappointment from his dismissal. He guesses that he was looking for a scandal but it would to take a lot more than that for Liam to lose control. Just as he is about to walk away, Bertrand’s voice comes again through the system and announces the first dance.

Before he could slip away, the spotlight finds him. He feigns a smile and walks to the middle of the dance floor meeting his new bride for the traditional dance. As a skillful diplomat and an experienced dancer, he is able to fake a happy dance. To a regular person it would look as if they are a happy couple gliding mindlessly, lost in their fairytale, but to anyone who has known them and is a seasoned court attendee they are as rigid and emotionless in the inside. The last string of the waltz fade and Liam guides them out of the spotlight and loses himself in the gathered crowd.

He tires of this occasion and slips out of the grand ballroom of the palace. His feet set him on a path that even he doesn’t know. A few minutes pass and somehow, he manages to find himself in the middle of the maze. One of the few places in the palace that he knows guarantees him a bit of privacy. The privacy he is grateful for soon turns into a sorrowful moment when memories of what had transpired in this very place comes rushing to him like a bullet train.

He remembers the very first time he was in here with Catheryne on the night of the masquerade and her whimsical persona allowed him to be a child once more and play maze-tag. He remembers taking her here and confessing his love for her, verbally and physically, on the night of his Coronation and promising to choose her only for it to be yanked away from underneath him. All these memories, pleasant yet so painful. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

All the emotions he has been expertly pushing away are now uncontrollable and he collapses on the grass and sobs. He lets it all flow. The loss of his hope and his love. The pain of seeing the woman he loves crush by so much pain and seeing her stand alone in an empty alley when she should have been the one shrouded by the spotlight and the many congratulations that were said since the ceremony.

Tears flow down his face and he put his head down in his hands, gripping his hair. Pain very much stirs his heart, but there is guilt mixed with it. Against his better judgment he gets a horrible idea formed in his head.

He stands and pats his clothes for clinging leaves and dirt and heads up to his room. He changes from his formal wedding attire and throws it away, refusing to have any kind of memento from this horrible day aside from photos from the press has taken. He replaces his clothes with some of his most casual clothing. He dons a pair of blue jeans, a dark blue half sleeve shirt and his only black leather jacket. An inconspicuous attire to be able to sneak away from his home and his guards. Thankfully most of his security is busy with the party so it shouldn’t be too much of a problem to get away. Fortunately for him he grew up mischievously with a rebellious brother around and a rugged best friend who taught him the ins and outs of the palace.

After checking how he looked in the mirror for about the twentieth time, he heads out the door of his quarters. The hallways are clear of staff member, most of them being employed for the grand party being held downstairs for his honor. His thought begins to wander about people worrying of his disappearance, but he quickly swats it away concentrating on the stupid mission he has sent his mind to.

He quickly maneuvers through the palace corridors and uses the staff entrances to make his getaway. He emerges from the door of the kitchen and sneaks and pass the one guard on the way to the royal’s garage. When Leo was going through his teenage years he had accumulated many motorcycles and bikes. Unbeknownst to his father, Leo had taught him how to ride one.

Liam picks a black motorcycle from the collection sitting in the corner of the garage. Leo couldn’t take them all when he moved to America after he got married. He walks it out through the spacious side door and climbs on the saddle. The loud roar of the motor fills the air and before the guard can respond Liam speeds away leaving the palace in his rearview mirror.

He puts quite a bit of distance between the court and the palace and himself. He can never and will never be able to stand courtly functions again. Not without her. Not without always expecting to see her radiant smile and beautiful brown eyes through the crowd. Life would never be the same, he knew this the moment he realized who she was at the masquerade ball.

Buildings and views fly by him and the wind rushes his face. He opts out for wearing a helmet. He just wants to enjoy the freedom he has before he truly shackled to his post as king and to his wife and duty. Finally, he arrives at his destination, a tiny bar that has the best view of the country he so loves…loved? Could he really look at this place without reminding himself of what he had to do Catheryne for the sake of his country?

He settles into a secluded table. Thankfully, he isn’t recognized maybe due to his attire or maybe people just simply didn’t care who he is, but either way he is grateful for it. He is pretty sure he will never hear the end of this from his security detail, Madeleine and his parents. He is simply couldn’t care less. He orders a whole bottle of whiskey and in a few short minutes it arrives with a glass to accompany the bottle with the dark liquid.

Tonight, he just wants to drown his sorrows away. and in the spot, he knows no one would find him. He has downed three glasses of whiskey and starting to feel the effect. He looks out the view of the twinkling lights of Cordonia and wonders how his life turned out to be so miserable. What has he done to deserve so much pain? All he wanted was to do right by his country and now here he is wishing he could just run away from it all. Jealousy for what his life could have been if Leo had never abdicated starts to drown his mind and scenarios of maybe’s and ifs overwhelm him.

In all of the scenes that flow through his head a one constant is always there: Catheryne. She is always the front and center. He knows that will always be the case. He will never stop loving her. His heart aches and longs for her company. He wanted to take her here and to a few places that he was fond of that was around the area, sort of a personal tour of Liam’s upbringing and what shaped him to the man he is. So much for that idea.

After the fifth glass, he leaves. His head spins and he decide to cruise on his motorcycle and lets himself be led without thought. The only thing he knows is that he doesn’t want to be home in his own prison. Mindlessly being guided by instinct and alcohol he loses himself in the cool, night air.

Twenty minutes later he arrives on the circular driveway of a familiar home. If he wasn’t intoxicated he would have thought clearly and steer clear away from this place, but that is not the case at the moment. Right now, he is about to do something he might regret tomorrow morning. He dismounts his ride and treads carefully up the staircase leading to the door. He knocks quite loudly, and it startles him. He waits several minutes and pounds on the door again. He hears a muffled voice from the other side and within the blink of an eye the door opens revealing Catheryne and rendering him speechless.

“Liam…”

#trr #trr liam #choices trr #liam x mc #playchoices #choices #choices the royal romance #trr au #trr3 #angst

[drunkdragondoes]

Prompt: mCorrin x Caeldori, sorta teacher-student-y.

Fandom: Fire Emblem

@esauwest

We were supposed to be playing chess. More specifically, I was teaching Caeldori how to get better at chess. She already knew the basics and a few strategies, so it was really just brushing up on what she already knew.

Somewhere down the line, though, I realized that we weren’t really playing chess anymore. I think things started to get a little out of hand once we were a few classes in. She suggested sitting at my side while we played instead of across from me. We were halfway through our second game that day when it hit me that she was pretty.

Very pretty. I had to take off my glasses and polish them to make it look like I wasn’t trying to look at her from the corner of my eye. I think she still noticed though, but I didn’t see her do anything different. We just continued our game.

But I think she noticed because the next time she came into my treehouse for our session, she didn’t even ask if I was okay with the seat change. She just sat down and we started playing. I decided not to dwell on it. Maybe this spark of emotion would die within me and I’d continue on with my life.

And then at the next session, her hand brushed up against mine. I felt my mind lurch and I nearly drew back, but instead I found myself stock still. She had to have noticed, though, because her hand was drifting over mine little by little as our game went on.

It didn’t help that the only thing that could fit us sitting side by side was my bed.

But nothing else happened. We played a few more games. I talked her through some more strategies. She went on her way back after that.

I laid on my back all night, staring into the wooden ceiling and wondering if she liked me. She wouldn’t have done all that if she didn’t… would she?

It’s our twelfth session now and we still haven’t talked about it. We meet once a week, and Caeldori and I play until one of us loses interest in the game. I think we’re a little too nervous to actually say something, so we just keep playing. We’ve taken to holding hands now and we really need to talk about it.

What’s worse is that Lilith seems to have taken a notice of our inability to do just that. It’s been really warm these past few days and while it’s nice outside, my room can get a bit hot from the insulation. I think she’s trying to get one of us to take our shirts off, but it hasn’t worked and all it does is just make the whole day annoying. Sweat beads a bit near my head and makes my curly dark hair an ugly mess.

But I think today takes the cake. It’s cooled down, so that means she’s stopped trying to get us naked. It was overcast today, but not long after our first game begins, there’s a crack of lightning. And then there’s the pitter patter of a shower and it just gets louder and louder.

I venture to look out the window after the fourth checkmate and it’s just rain. She lives at the other side of this planespace. We still have one more game in us, but it would be rude to send her back through the downpour.

When I sit down, my hand falls into hers and she grasps it. As we set up the board again, I finally speak, before my nerves can light up and stop me.

“Say… do you like me?”

She doesn’t say anything, not yet at least. But I feel her hand squeeze just a little tighter. When she gently places the king piece in its starting spot, she looks up briefly. I see the smallest of smiles trickling up her cheeks, and there’s a faint dusting of pink on her skin, a fitting compliment against her red hair. Caeldori turns back to the board, helping put the rest of my pawns in order.

“You know, I was worried that I might have been a little too subtle at first.”

Lilith seemed to be all-knowing, because not long after the fifth game ended, the rain finally stopped. It was still a bit muddy in the grass, but it was clear enough for her to head back. But before she left, she pressed a kiss onto my cheek.

I was stunned. Almost too stunned to realize that she was already retreating into the night and I was just standing there like an idiot.

I think chess is just a formality by now. Sure, we still play, and I try to share more about the game with her, teaching what else I can find in my books. But sometimes we just flop back in bed and just lay there. We talk a lot, and sometimes we just forget whose turn it is.

Her hands are warm, and I’m okay with just holding that at first. But sometimes I just turn my head over and look at her when she talks. She’s not even looking at me, so engrossed in our subject. But suddenly she stops and pulls back a little, shooting me a surprised gaze, fingers over her lips and cheeks matching her hair.

“Is something wrong?”

“You just kissed me.”

“I did?”

“You did.”

I don’t even remember moving in to do it. My first kiss and don’t even remember getting it. But my cheeks heat up all the same and I turn away.

She must have seen my anguish though. A gentle hand cups my cheek and brings me back to her. There’s a light smile on her face. “You don’t even recall coming closer?”

“No, I-” it’s hard to talk to her without feeling self-conscious. My eyes fall away, but she’s patient and I’m looking up at her again. “No.”

“Well, if you don’t recall it happening… maybe you can still have a first kiss.”

This time, she leans in towards me. Her lips softly plant against mine. I’m dumbstruck when she looks up at me, but she goes in again, and I work up enough courage to try and kiss back. It’s clumsy. I think I missed the first time I tried and got more of her upper lip than I intended. She just giggles and leans in against me, bringing her head against my neck.

There’s a soft brushing feeling - her eyelashes, I realize - and her body gently rises and falls. I’m too afraid to move, heart pounding away. But I am able to link my hands with hers, and for now that’s all we need. My hand finds its way into her red hair and gently runs down its side, over and over again.

We don’t move, we don’t say anything. We just stay in that position until Caeldori decides that it is time for her to leave, but not before she gives me another.

We’re really not playing chess at all anymore. Maybe we set up the board. Maybe we open up with pawns or a knight jumps over. Maybe we get to the tenth move and start looking to trade pieces. I think chess has become just a catchword for the both of us.

In fact, I don’t think we’ve actually played chess with the intent to play chess since that moment.

These sessions are more about exploring now. It’s unfamiliar territory for the both of us. We’ve both seen diagrams, we’ve been taught about ourselves and our bodies, we’ve seen and touched a little bit of each other’s skin, but in this case clothes are a barrier that we’re not sure what to do with. We’ve never actually done away with them, but we’ve gone under it a few times.

But like many things, she’s the one that makes the first move. We’re on the bed again, her tongue brushing against mine. But before either of us starts anything more, she pulls away a bit and puts her hands on my shoulders.

“Do you want to do more?”

Her tongue might have been wrapped around mine a second ago, but my throat goes dry nonetheless. I nod, hardly able to say anything besides a simple “Yeah.” As soon as I do so, the weight on her hands grow and I’m pushed onto my back.

I feel more exposed and vulnerable than I ever knew I could be. My face is as red as her hair as she climbs over my waist and looks down at my form. She drinks me in and sits on her knees above my waist. Fingers trace down my chest, and they rest on the belts and folds of cloth.

Caeldori doesn’t ask. She just looks at me to see if I say no, but my hands stay at my sides. She blinks, leans in for a kiss, and then pulls away to start undressing me. Belts click, clothes rustle, buttons are picked apart. It the sudden gust of cool air that lets me know she’s done. The front is pulled to the side and my bare chest is laid open before her.

There’s a small moment before she begins doing anything. But the first thing she goes for is my chest. I wasn’t always well-cut, but the recent times of swinging my sword has added some definition to my body. Her thumb brushes against my nipple and I make the barest of hisses. She pauses, as if contemplating, but she does it again. And while I don’t make a noise this time, my body stiffens just the tiniest bit.

She doesn’t revisit the spot, but I let her finish. As she leans back, though, she rests herself against my waist. The sudden weight against my hardened flesh makes me jolt and let out a low groan that I fail to cut short. Now she becomes bright red, and we just stare at each other.

I work up the courage to speak. “Do… Do you want to continue?”

She responds in equal force. “What do you want to see?”

I take a deep breath, I swallow back my anxiousness. My eyes almost gloss over her body before focusing on the skin of her thighs. My mouth opens and closes before looking back up at her. “Everything.”

I didn’t think we could turn any redder, but we did. “Everything?”

“… I-If that’s okay.”

There’s the briefest look of hesitation on her face. Her lips fold upon themselves, thinning until the pink of her lips is almost gone. I might have asked for too much, but she nods and her hands reach towards her top. “Okay, then. Everything.”

Her hands began to undo countless knots and straps. I would have been lost if I was tasked to the job myself, and yet she was able to undo my top effortlessly. Slowly the tension across her clothes fall apart and she takes one final breath. Unlike my coat, which opened at the front, hers comes apart from the side, and it’s like cracking open a book.

Her creamy skin is beautiful. My hands drift up from the bed and begin to trail up her sides, stopping at the cloth bands holding in her breasts. She tries to keep a straight face but giggles just the tiniest bit. My eyes turn down though, settling at the reddish garter belt and undergarments hanging at her hips. There’s not much separating us from the other. I told myself we would get to that later, and my hands graze over the cloth on her chest. I can feel them rise and fall with each breath.

With sudden bravery, a thumb slips beneath the strips of cloth, seeking and wriggling. Soon it reaches its prize of smooth flesh and pushes upward, revealing the smallest patches of skin to me. Caeldori trembles, and I remember that I am allowed to explore only by her grace. I look up at her and try to speak, but my mouth goes dry. Her hands have already folded behind her back, and the rest of the cloth falls away.

Gods, they’re beautiful.

I lean in. I felt ashamed that I dreamt of and desired her on prior nights, just the two of us. But here, where she’s willingly letting it down, I want them. I grasp one of them in my mouth, rolling the bit of flesh on my tongue. I can feel it becoming firm, and I push harder against it. Her breath becomes a little heavy, but she gives a tiny squeak when I suck and pull away. But as I go repeat the process on the other, her hands find purchase in my hair. And when I finish, her body shivering from the suction, she gently tilts my head back.

When she comes down to kiss me, it’s nothing like the chaste ones we’ve had. It’s nothing like the ones where we maybe sorta touch tongues and explore. This one is hungry - and I’m overwhelmed. My cock twitches, and I can feel that familiar feeling going through me, when it’s just my hands grasped around it. I try to push back, try to not let myself fall over the edge. Finally my hands reach her shoulders and I try to push back gently, letting myself fall onto my bed, closing my eyes.

I breathe. I take big and heavy gulps of air. But finally it’s calmer. I open my eyes and see that she’s looking into me, concerned.

“Was it too much?”

“A little,” I sheepishly admit, trying to laugh. “Did.. did you wanna continue?”

“Yeah.”

We look down the other’s body, seeing just the lower half of ourselves. A beat, and then we both start moving. I go for hers, she goes for mine, and we bump hands like clumsy fools. We laugh, and then this time we go for our own clothes. I undo the buttons and belt and push down. It’s easier for me to stay in bed, I just have to raise my knees and my pants and small clothes are thrown to the side. But she has to stand up to get everything off.

I must have been staring because midway through she pauses. When she continues, though, it’s slow. Impossibly slow. I look up at her and she has a smug smile and winks. She finally removes the last piece of clothing, unveiling herself to me. It’s a crude term, but I want to eat her. I want to dive my tongue in and-

“Then do it.”

My eyes snap up to her bright red face. “H-Huh?”

“You’re rather forgetful around me,” she said, chuckling. “You said you wanted to eat me, with the tongue and everything.” She steps closer and kneels, legs at the sides of my chest. Her pink folds are right in front of me, shadowed by a bit of red hair. “S-So do it.”

I didn’t know where to start. But she’s dripping wet, and feeling it plop onto my skin gets me started. My hands travel up her thighs to her hips, and I lean in. The first brush is just a taste. But I try again, and then again, and soon I’m exploring every bit of the outside. Her hips flex at every push, every lap, and soon her body leans back as she moans into the air. Her fingers find my hair again, gripping tightly.

Her taste is divine.

I find a spot and she lets out a squeak. I lick it again, and again and again and again. She doesn’t stop me, but right before I get another one in she pushes me back against the sheets. Her body is trembling.

“Too much?” I venture.

She lets go of my hair and pulls her body back. “It was good, but…” she takes a breath, steadies herself, and I feel her fingers grasping at my stiff member, making me hiss. “I-I want this right now.”

This is it. She angles me so that the tip is right between the folds. I try to lay still, fingers still gripping her hips. Slowly, she starts to push down. My eyes close and head goes back against the bed. But soon our bodies meet, and she lets out a grunt of pain.

“Are… will you-”

“I’ll be fine,” she cuts me off. “But thank you.” Her hands fall onto mine, fingers threading with each other.

We just stay like that for a while. She tries to move, even just a little bit, but she frowns and remains still. I take one of my hands and brush it over her breasts again. I try to be gentle, to put more effort onto my side of the act, but it just frustrates her. With a growl, she grabs my hand and holds it still again.

“Forget the pain. I-I just want it.”

She starts to move and I let out a short but sharp cry. It’s slow and steady, up and down, and I bite my lip, trying to hang on and remain calm. But just when I think I’m doing okay she picks up speed and lets out a low moan. Whatever pain was bothering her must be small enough to be ignored by now and I’m at her mercy.

Her body leans over and her tongue finds mine again. Her fingers become free and instead brace against my shoulders as the angle changes. I try to push, to give back as much as she can handle, trying to not aggravate anything. But as my hands circle around her back, pulling her in, I know it won’t be long.

I focus on numbers. On the chessboard long forgotten. A1. C7. G2. White rook. Black Pawn. White Pawn. There’s a long, staggered shrill from her, she tenses in my arms for a tiniest of moments, and then her hips crash against me one last time. My entire member is engulfed in wet heat and tightening walls.

The buildup stops whatever counting I could do. I pull her closer against me and my mind tells me to keep thrusting, to keep-

A white hot pulse runs through my body, down to the tip of my length. All I feel is pleasure, all I know is to keep moving, to draw out the feeling as much as I can. I keep going until Caeldori collapses onto me, and even then I make one last push, one last twitch, one last spasm of cum into her wet folds before falling still.

There’s a clumsy brush against my open mouth. I try to respond, but it’s overtaken completely by abrupt, uncoordinated strokes pushing in. I let it run its course, let it wreck whatever is left of me.

It’s only after maybe a minute of sloppy kissing and heavy breaths that I regain a sense of awareness. I’ve gone soft, and I’ve slipped out of her, the white seed spilling onto my waist. I break off the kiss and let my head go back. Finally getting the feeling that I’m catching my breath.

“Wow.” That’s all I can say.

“Y-Yeah,” her breathing is just as ragged as mine. Her head flops onto my chest, messy red hair splaying everywhere. “Wow.”

We don’t even try to cover ourselves with the sheets. My limbs and eyelids are heavy - it’s a miracle that I can take my glasses off. One last look at her face tells me she’s no better, and we drift off in each other’s arms.

A/N: Woo! finally done with all the smut prompts from when the ask was initially made. There were a total of 7 prompts at the time, and I think the problem was that I couldn’t keep it at PWP levels where the first line has them already kissing. So it took a while to actually come up with a decent setting for all of them. 4 of the 7 I had were for Qrowin. I expect that I will be putting the Fire Emblem smut up on AO3 soon, so stuff is easier to find.

Now technically I did receive 1 more Qrowin smut prompt late down the road, but I did tell the person I needed a small break of sorts. For now, though, I will be taking a bit of a well-deserved break and get around to my multi-chapter fics for now.

#fire emblem #fire emblem: fates #fe14 #caeldori #matoi #male corrin #mcorrin #smut #prompts

[punk-in-docs]

You Were Always Mine, Chapter 15

AU Tom Hiddleston - Romantic, Historical Romance, Victorian Fic. 
Based off the imagine; ‘Thomas spying on you after your divorce and doing anything to get you back. Including threatening your new beau.’ credits go to the lovely ladies at Tom-Hiddleston-Imagine.Tumblr.com. Link to the imagine here…. http://tom-hiddleston-imagines.tumblr.com/post/158156795440/gif-lokihiddleston-imagine-thomas-spying-on-you
 Chapter number: Chapter 15 Author: Punk-in-doc Triggers/warnings: Angst. Wounds, graphic mentions of past abuse. poor Vianne, she’s really having a rough time of it. Thomas, as ever, is lovely. And Dr. Erik Harriden proves himself a worthy ally.

Dr. Harriden stalked, in long strides, along the hotel corridors. His mood was somber, and his temper was shadowed with both concern and rage in equal measure. His arm was braced tightly downwards with the heavy weight of his medical bag. His rude awakening he had considered slightly less so, when the messenger told him that Sir Thomas Sharpe had sent the missive. The frown was wiped off his face completely when they mentioned it said Vianne was in dire trouble. Suddenly, he didn’t care that it was quarter past two in the morning. He was awake now. Riddled with a dark, sickening black worry for his work colleague.

When he comes to the prince of wales suite, he stands, rigid, and knocks sharply on the door. Even the unmusical, impatient tones of his knock sounded rich with strife.

Almost instantly, the door is wrenched open from the other side, and the dire face of the man who summoned him appears. It was a handsome face, he thought. Ravens hair, stark white skin, and the garish vermillion of a tear stain of a scar. Made all the more careworn by the black bags of anguish sitting heavily under his eyes.

“Doctor…” Comes the dulcet, somber tone from between the mans thin lips. This man looks as if death it’s very frightening self, was looking over his shoulder. Harriden can see, plain as day, the mans suffering was all due to the incertitude of Viannes current condition.

He widens the door, and the doctor sweeps silently inside. In the wake of the shutting door, Harriden turns as they are enclosed in the half dark, half candlelit extravagance of a formal sitting room. Decorated flawlessly. Huge, arched windows, framed with honey gold light from candelabras. This was the room of not only a man whose pockets were plentiful and deep. But a man who oozed wealth from every pore of his being. Comforts to make up for the fact his life before had been ripe with penury, scrounging about for capital, and debt wherever he could struggle for it.

Harriden could see this man, only in breeches, boots and a white shirt. His dark waistcoat hung at his sides. Smeared with blood. Smudges of it on his pale upper arms, exposed by the rolled sleeves. He stood wearily. Near exhausted by worry.

“I’m sorry to have called you out at such an ungodly, unsocial hour Doctor. But you are the only one I’ll trust to.. Tend to her.” He speaks lowly. Harriden nods in complete understanding. In this dark, odd mixture of half light and murky darkness that crept in at the edges of the room. Harriden can also sense a strange aura of guilt radiating from the man before him.

“How was she harmed? Mr. Sharpe? Who by? Who would wish her harm?” Harriden asks her gravely.

“I don’t know… And that terrifies me.” Sharpe answered in a angered growl. Clearly shaken. Harriden could see his pale hands trembling.

“This way…” He explains, leading the good doctor quickly through the large suite. Pressing open the bedchamber door. Harridens eyes go instantly to the figure prostrate on the large bed. Bundled under the bedcovers. One oil light casts honeyed light from the corner. But save for that, the room was unlit.

Thomas had covered her up so she wouldn’t get cold. And placed a moistened cloth on her arm, he had been burned numerous times before from his many inventions. He knew what the stinging burn could feel like, but hers looked a thousand times worse than any wound he’d suffered. The raw, weeping wound nearly covered the entire lower half along her left arm. Just below the elbow, and ending at the wrist. She was barely conscious, ebbing in and out. And when she did wake, she only made whimpering sounds of pain.

Harriden got to work immediately. Shedding his jacket, he sat on the side of the bed, and gave her a preliminary examination. She was very clammy, and he was worried about the state of the wound. Whatever caused it hasn’t been sterilised and he would have to bathe, and disinfect it. With regular injections to keep infection at bay.

“Fetch a cool cloth for her head. She’s very warm. If this wound is infected, I don’t want her to start presenting a fever.” He instructed Thomas. “Give her as much fluid as she can manage. Keep her cooled, she needs as much medicine as she can take for the pain and that nasty burn.” He tells. Thomas nods, scattering for the en-suite. He wrings a wet cloth under the ice cold tap. It was then he noticed how hard his hands were shaking. Fumbling all the more in the cold. And his reflection awaiting him in the mirror is a frightful one. His face was stark, sallow, pitted and he recognised that feral look of deep rooted sorrow, and fear in his eyes. Lingering, simmering in his chest ready to pounce and choke him if he was weak enough to let it.

He wrings out the ice cool cloth, and paced back through. Harriden was leaning over Vianne, her slim arm in his hand as he bathed the wound in something, getting the foreign dirt out of it so it could heal safely. He watched the water drop and twist down off her arm, into the excess bowl below. All the while she just lay there. Her breathing shallow and uneven. That’s what pains him most. The mere fact she was only just conscious, dipping in and out, able to just feel the pain. Not unconscious enough to allow her to feel nothing. It was torturing him.

He walks back across, and puts the cloth on her forehead. Watching her frown, clearly wincing in her drugged daze at the wound being cleaned. Thomas twines his fingers in her hair. Stroking it as he cups her clammy cheek in his hand and crouched by the head of the bed. His free hand clutching her right arm. Linking through her pale fingers. He can do nothing. Nothing, but paltry pastimes to try and ease her agony. And that hits him the hardest of all. Worst if all was that it makes him feel so horribly inadequate.

“Hold her tight. Mr. Sharpe. She may squirm.“ He forewarned him.

She thrashed all the more when Harriden applied said salve to the wound. She cried out.

“Don’t take them. Don’t let them take them away from me. Don’t…I love them. They’re mine! They should be with me! Please!” She cries. Thomas frowns over at Harriden in confusion. Begging for an explanation.

“She’s been drugged. She could be hallucinating…” Harriden explained.

Her body writhing around under the sheets. She fought, struggling against the source of the pain. Thomas clutched her close. Soothing her with gentle, calming words. Stroking her hair and holding her near. Clutching her close to his chest. Looking across anxiously to Harriden. Who gave him, in return, an empathetic look.

Harriden angrily grit his teeth. Dabbing still at her arm. Thomas saw the angered profile of his incensed expression. His dark eyes somber.

“Who could do this? She’ll be scarred with this injury for the rest of her life… The pain will have been… Unimaginable. Unbearable. What kind of man could do this? cause this amount of harm to someone as kind and sweet as her?” He asked Thomas.

He looked down at her, tenderly stroking her face before he answered the man.

“They were Monsters. Not men.” Thomas tells him.

He then gently lifted her good hand to his lips and kissed it. He watched her face all the while, before reaching back for the cloth and dabbing at her head once more. Her head lolled back into the pillows. That pale throat, stretched back, beaded in sweat. As was her forehead. Catching in the sparse gaslight there was to be had in the room.

“She spoke of you, you know…” Harriden spoke up. After Thomas finished watching him bathe, dress and pin the white bandage securely around her wrist. The immaculate dressing reached from elbow to palm. He was carefully laying her arm down straight when he spoke up.

Thomas blinked, startled, across at him. The revelation slowly dawning on him. Harriden saw it was the look of a man caught unawares. As if he didn’t deserve such a nice thing. Which the Doctor couldn’t believe for a second. Most married couples he attended on home calls, the husband waited outside the room, with cold indifference. And didn’t want to hear any singular intimate detail of his spouses condition. And the women were very uneasy, mortified, over having their anatomy discussed with a man who was not their husband. But this man, he hadn’t left her side. He mopped her brow, he calmed her down. He held her close, loved her. Kissed her hand. Looked as if he was being driven out of his sane mind with worry for her.

“She did?” He asks quietly. Still unbelieving. Harriden nodded a kind smile. His warm brown eyes melted, crinkling at the corners.

“More than St. Clair. Often. She told me about, your inventions, how you liked Bach, William Blake poetry, Rodin’s sculptures. How she met you at a Ball like it was any other night… But how she felt, so enraptured. How she joined you, on a picnic, when it rained afterward. To museums. To Guy Fawkes night, just for a stroll in regents park. She told me once that the scent of roast chestnuts, and bonfire smoke on cold, November air, would always remind her of you.” He told. Smiling as he sorted his various medical vials and bottles back into his monogrammed, cracked, leather case.

Thomas looked down at her, squeezing her hands.

“… Of course. When she spoke of Henry St. Clair, there was, some, affection. But it was… Colder. Words and memories of you fell freely, and fondly. I could see it, Mr. Sharpe, she had to force herself to smile when she thought of him.” He explained profoundly.

“… And then that night.” He paused. Angrily exhaling, shaking his head. Sharply rolling down his sleeves after having scrubbed his hands harshly, with a nail brush, in the enamel bowl of clean, warm water on the other bedside. The severe, hiss and scratch of tough bristles against skin made Thomas's teeth set on edge and his skin crawl.

“The night?” Thomas asks.

“Do you, know about… How he used to…treat her?” He asked carefully. Treading on eggshells.

Thomas’s heart was in his mouth. So he nods. An odd mixture of rage, guilt and sadness churning around in his stomach.

“I was the one who stitch her up. That night. Tell me, Mr. Sharpe, have you ever dislocated your shoulder?” He asks kindly.

“I have been blessed never to have gone through such a pain.” Thomas told.

“There’s no pain like it. It’s the most intense agony of any injury there is. He threw her down those stairs. And even with a separated shoulder, she caught a hackney cab halfway across London, to the royal. All the while she was loosing blood fast from the cuts in her back. I can’t pretend to know how excruciating those injuries were. She climbed five flights of stairs with a sprained ankle, to get to my office. Lord help me, I’ll never forget the sight that greeted me that night…” He told truthfully. Because he never would.

The lecture theatre doors had burst open, whining, shrieking, and Vianne tore through them. Limping, making her hobbling way through the seats. Sobbing Harriden’s name. But not his surname. His doctors title. No. She cried out his first name. Erik. He had burst out his office to get to her, and she collapsed in his arms. Weeping. Her eyes tear stained, makeup seeping down in dark trails over her cheeks. Her eyes red raw, and he could see blood dripping down her shoulder. Blossoming through the back of her dress. Her hands cut to ribbons, and a bruise flowering over her eye. She scrambled for his arms. Pleading, crying through the agony, meeting his eyes. Making him swear, on his life, that he wouldn’t let anyone know she was here because a man had beaten her. He agrees. And then he can tend to her wounds. Biting his tongue. Not able to say what he truly wanted too.

Thomas sat, enraptured, eyes glistening tears as he listened through his story. Clutching her hand.

“Mr. Sharpe. I’ve stitched her up, over six times. I can recall every injury. Every black eye. Bruises on her neck, her back and shoulders that she didn’t let out a word about. I will not stay silent and let another man torture her. She has been through hell because of that, savage. If I can avoid any more harm coming to her, I will do it with all the might, fury, and every fibre of my being.” He promises the man.

“I assure you, Dr. If any harm comes to her, it most certainly shall not originate from me. I would give my life in defence of her well-being. I adore her. I love her. Love is my religion and I could die for that.” He speaks clearly.

Harriden crooked a smile. “Keats. Very noble.” He smiles.

“But… Your gallantry is wasted. Sharpe. No man gets a wound like the ones slashed across your stomach, and bashed across your knuckles, if not in defence of someone else’s life and safety.” He told him, with easy, well learned, medical confidence.

Thomas looked down his front, dismayed to see his wound from the alley altercation was seeping through the bandages he’d wound across his torso that very morning before getting dressed. His shredded, black and blue, sore, swollen knuckles grated with white pain when he moved his hand to pluck at his shirt front. He smiled wryly.

“I wasn’t trying to insinuate you are under any sort of blame… But, you find out who did this, to her. You find them, and make them pay for the both of us. For doing this to someone whom we clearly both care a great deal about…” Harriden pressed. Thomas could see the affection he had for his colleague. On the serious gleam in his eyes, that had previously been so soft, and welcoming. The hard, unamused lines on his face that belied his bone deep anger, rage, at seeing her in such a state of agony once again.

Thomas smiled. Safe in the knowledge that apart from the ugliness of their separation, and Henry abusing her, she had found some good people to align herself with in this world. People to keep her smiling, to keep the pain, and darkness at bay.

“She told me how when she started at the Royal, you took her under your wing from her first day. She was terrified of making a mistake, or hurting someone. And she said you came in, all smiles, jokes and put everyone at ease. She wasn’t so scared after that. She deserves that… She deserved someone good, like you.” He complimented.

Harriden smiled at the jerking of that memory. He remembers her first day too. Her eyes full of wonder, her longing thirst for knowledge. "You know she pointed out early signs of gangrene in a patients foot ulcer. Not even matron, or the other surgeons had picked up on that. Her observations were remarkable… She is a nurse down in the very marrow of her bones.“ Harriden told him. Thomas smiled warmly. It was the first time all evening the Doctor had seen Sharpe’s frosty blue eyes thaw. In fond recalled memories of his Vianne.

"That sounds like her… She told me as a girl and was always the one taking in wounded birds and healing them, setting them free again. She has a nurturing touch… Everyone who knows her, knows how caring she is.” Thomas told him. Harriden beamed, nodding in agreement. That was Vianne all over.

“Anyway. I’d best be going… It’s late and the both of you need your rest. She must keep the dressing clean, and dry. And apply salve before any sterile bandages to stop the wound sticking. She’ll know the rest when she wakes… But she should be alright for now. She’ll sleep. And she may take whatever she needs for pain relief when she wakes…” He tells the man. Moving to the end of the bed. Shirt righted once more. Neat as a pin. Standing proud, imposing, with his arm taut holding his heavy medical bag. The professional, smart doctor once again.

“Thankyou. Again, Doctor. So much, for attending her.” Thomas speaks warmly. Reaching across to shake his hand. Thomas fingers were cold, and rigid. And Harriden felt his hands jolt, too swollen to properly grip back.

“Did I need to see to those hands?” Harriden asks. “You must be in pain. Sir..” He asks. Eyeing him, scrutinising for the obvious symptoms.

“I’ll heal fine. I just wish the same could be said for her arm…” Thomas spoke in perceptible distress. Going back to Vianme, holding her pale hand in his again. Re-wringing out the cloth to make it cooler. Placing it back on her heated forehead.

“Give it time.” Harriden said. “I know it's…horrible. But it will fade. Eventually.” He sighs. Thomas nods. And in that nod, Harriden could see his determination. If he needed too. He’d sit up all night, by her bed. Attending her every need. Easing her pain.

“I’ll see myself out. And you write me personally, again, if you need any shred of help. I am a friend to her, and to you. If you need one.” He explained nicely. Disappearing around the doorframe. Out of sight.

Thomas nodded. Retaking his seat. Listening as the Doctors footfalls grow hushed, then quiet. The noise of the door shutting in his wake echoes through the dead silence of the hotel room. All he could hear now, was the spit and crackle of the fire, the the noises of gaiety outside on the pavements, feet clacking, carriage wheels and hooves rattling, drifting up to the window.

He looks down over her. Watching her chest rise and fall. He toys with a lock of curled red hair. Winding it round his finger. Looking with anger on the bruise that had been bashed on her temple. Now turning a violent purple. A crescent shaped dent in the centre a stark shade of vermillion where it had broken the skin. He pulled the covers up to her chest, making sure she kept warm. His cool, swelling fingers reached around the back of her neck, cupping her slender nape, feeling her temperature that was just above normal. Her hot skin branded his icy fingers.

In the silence, his tiredness suddenly creeps in. Now he can feel the grating bones of his hands, swelling painfully. The strain of his hunched shoulders, aching cheeks from blows in the fight. And the wound on his torso was starting to sting. His eyes feel incredibly heavy, and he is fighting just to keep them focused and alert.

He stifles a yawn. And after reaching for the heavy eiderdown pushed to the foot of the bed, he ensures she is covered, content, and happy. Before pouring himself a small, stiff drink from the crystal cut decanter in the parlour area, crossing back to the bedchamber, he chucks the drink back. Crosses to the short settee, and reclines his legs on it. Stretching out. His long limbs uncurling out, finally able to relax. The door he’d bolted. The windows were all locked. For tonight, they were safe.

He watched her, feeling the firelight taint the side of his face. Warming him. His eyes go fuzzy, the rooms blurs. And he falls asleep by the time the whiskey hits his stomach.

~

It’s the coolness that wakes her, she shuffled, moving her head. Her eyes stir. And when she peeks them open, she feels that it actually wasn’t her moving her head, but a calloused palm pressing down a cool, wet cloth to her head is what rouses her in the end.

“Thomas?” She asks, letting her eyes adjust to the cold blue light of the ceiling up ahead. She didn’t recognise the room before her. The unfamiliar bed, window and decor. She whimpers his name.

When her hooded eyes slither open, she squints, before the blurry focus of him comes into view. Those piercing eyes the same shade as the midnight blue room about them, that dark hair swinging in his face. He soothes her, smiling down at her, stroking her soft, cold forehead.

“I’m here. Vianne. My love. I’m here…” He tells her.

“Have they gone?” She rasps. His heart breaks for her. He nods.

“They’ve gone. They won’t come back. They won’t get to you, or us, anymore. I promise.” He assures her.

She shifts over in bed, trying sitting up, hissing at the splintering pain shooting through her eye sockets. She feels him startle as she moves so vigorously. He places a hand over her good one.

“Easy. Slowly, darling…” He tells her. “You’ve been through a lot tonight.” He adds. She was caring, but she was headstrong.

“Where are we?” She asks, hoarsely. Frowning bewilderedly at the unfamiliar place. He scatters from his chair. Making a beeline for the side table. He pours her a cup of slightly cooled tea, stirs in milk. And walked it back over to her. He held it close, helping her with her good hand to drink it. She’d been asleep for hours, she was bound to feel parched.

“The Ritz. My suite. I didn’t want to take you back home. Just in case it wasn’t safe. They knew where you worked. I didn’t wish to take the risk.” He explains.

She nods, sipping the tea. The wet heat of it was bliss. It may have been the worlds best cup of tea. It certainly tasted like it. It stung her teeth, and branded her throat. But it was heaven to the sticky, dry chasm of her parched lips. She moans gratefully. Draining the cup dry in one quick gulp.

He smiles at her ravenous appetite. Glad to see she was getting better already. It had scared him earlier. Her writhing and twisting in agony and in a drugged haze.

“Harriden said you should drink as much as possible. And, get to your feet again slowly. When you want too. Not to overwhelm you with strain.” He tells. After getting her another cup of tea, handing it to her good hand. She took it gratefully.

“You must be getting tired of saving my skin.” She tells him. Her eyes having swept over the swelling in his hands. The new bruises by his eye, and on his knuckles.

He smiles. Patting her knee softly under the covers.

“The lovely skin is more than worth saving.” He awards her. She is sure she blushes. Then she asks the question that had been echoing in her head all night. Rattling back and forth like ball bearings in a tin can.

“How did you know where to find me? How did you… Get there before they managed to do something worse than this…?” She asks. Lifting her poorly arm to show him what she meant.

His face fell. And she watches his jaw grit together. He averts his eyes. Wets his lips. And then he meets her eyeline once again. Looking apprehensive.

“Your not going to like it…” He tells her in a quiet hush.

“Thomas, who was it? Who told you?” She asks keenly.

He didn’t want to tell her. But he had too. He owes her that much. However strange and frightening her evening had been. It was all the more terrifying hearing the following name sail out of his lovely lips.

“Rosamund Price.” He says stiffly.

 ~

#victorian era #historical fiction #historical romance #original story #original character #tom hiddleston #thomas sharpe #Vianne James #OC #angst #seperation #divorce #wounds #past abuse #love #man and wife #marriages #caring #london #burns #doctors #hotels #rooms