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bloededhoine · 3 years

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world building cause twn doesn't part 8: nonhumans

this is easily the geekiest part of the series. and it's a Very geeky series. because sapkowski's worldbuilding is waaay more extensive than i have the time, ability, or desire to convey, i'm sticking with races both sentient and important

colour code cause i fucking love colour codes - already happened/introduced, probably s2, important background info, stuff that might be in the prequel, extras

series masterpost

dopplers

dopplers, also known as vexlings, shifters, mimics, doubles, imitators, or pavrats, are a nonhuman race that can take on the appearance of nearly anyone they encounter

before mass migrations of humans, dopplers primarily inhabited the forests and plateaus around the city of novigrad, where they would transform into wolves and pack animals to hunt

their abilities are pretty impressive, dopplers can not only mimic appearance but also voice, personality, skills, behaviours, and knowledge. dopplers can even turn parts of their bodies into pieces of clothing or other objects

however, there are some limitations

dopplers can't transform into someone/thing with dramatically more mass than they have, are burned by silver, and can't drop anything they created (if they did it would kind of turn into a fleshy goop)

we've already met a doppler in twn, this sexy sexy man

BUT

it is important to note that this doppler is a huge deviation from sapkowski's lore. dopplers are pretty much always exceptionally kind and gentle. a lot of times they use their abilities to appear threatening (big teeth, sharp claws etc) because they really don't want to hurt anyone.

when dopplers aren't mimicking another form, they aren't exactly pretty. they're bald, short, have beady yellow eyes, and kinda look like they're made from soft clay

here's the hexer doppler

the most notable doppler is dudu biberveldt, who i mentioned as the halfling dainty biberveldt's fake cousin. dudu's actual name is tellico lunngrevink letorte, but dainty decided to help dudu live in novigrad by adopting him as his fake cousin.

dragons

dragons are fucking awesome. you know it, i know it, and zerrikanians know it. witcher dragons are especially awesome

they are the only being, other than cats, that can naturally harness and absorb the force of chaos

there are multiple subtypes, but most dragons fall into one of four: black dragons, green dragons, red dragons, and white dragons.

black dragons are the largest, and primarily live in swamps and wetlands where they bathe in mud. they have extremely hard scales and don't breathe fire, but an acid that causes burns similar to those from mustard gas.

green dragons (right there) are the most prominent yet smallest species of dragon, mainly living in forested areas and breathe highly flammable chlorine gas.

red dragons mainly live in hills and mountain caves and can breathe fire hot enough to melt metal

white dragons are one of the rarest species and live in the far north, and can breathe frost

however, if you watched the witcher netflix as i assume you did, you may remember golden dragons. these dragons are so rare and exceptional that they are not usually included with other species. they breathe steam and fire and can shapeshift into any living being

all dragons communicate through telepathy, although golden dragons can speak when they are in the form of a species that can speak

humans are pretty divided on the topic of dragons, with zerrikanians worshiping them and nordlings hating them.

because they are incredibly intelligent and emotional, witchers (generally) refuse to hunt them

borkh three jackdaws, also known as villentrenmerth, is the only golden dragon we know. there he is right there.

ASSASSINS OF KINGS SPOILERS NEXT TWO BULLET POINTS

the other dragon from twn was a green dragon named myrgtabrakke, borkh's mate. their daughter is named saesenthessis, also known as saskia the dragonslayer (an alias she took to explain her extensive knowledge of dragons) and the virgin of aedirn

because saskia is part golden dragon, she can shapeshift, although is much more limited than her father. she can basically only be a human looking woman with blonde hair or a huge dragon.

cut because this part is getting REALLY long

godlings

ah godlings. i love them so much. they're adorable and precious. they usually look somewhat like a human child, but with blue skin and large amber or green eyes. they don't wear much clothes, their focus is in accessories like jewelry, flowers, or tattoos

that's johnny, a holding in wild hunt.

godlings are incredibly rare, and are easily confused with young goblins. they primarily live in swamps near drowners, but aren't afraid of them.

they're quite mischievous but kind hearted, many have happy go lucky personalities and love just having fun. i adore godlings. i've said it once and i'll say it again.

higher vampires

definitely the most important group on this list, higher vampires are incredibly powerful and intelligent. they can shapeshift within certain limits, generally either looking like a human or a large terrifying bat. they also have some telepathic abilities - they can basically make you fall asleep and forget stuff

scary wooo

higher vampires do not need to drink blood to survive. some don't drink blood at all. when they do, it's like a human drinking alcohol. on full moons, groups of higher vampires go out partying and get white girl wasted

although all higher vampires have the same basic abilities, each individual has one skill they are exceptional in.

most find humans harmless but annoying, like mosquitos. they don't really like interacting with humans, which works out pretty well as higher vampires can blend in very well, even a witcher's medallion can't detect one

higher vampires also have three distinct cultures, the tdet in the far east, the ammurun across the great sea, and the gharasham in the northern realms

they are really really hard (or impossible, depending on canon) to kill. based on the books, you basically need to disintegrate them. based on the games, only higher vampires can kill other higher vampires, but humans can get close

we only meet one in the books, emiel regis rohellec terzieff-godefroy. he goes by regis for short. regis was an "alcoholic" in his youth, and has since abstained from blood or any other substance. he's incredibly old, by the end of twn season 1 he'd be 425 years old. as for regis' "special ability", he's just kind. he's an incredibly gentle and loving person. that's it. i love him.

merpeople

probably one you're already familiar with! merpeople are intelligent humanoids that inhabit the great sea. mermaids are notably gorgeous, having green hair and tails, and their scales are prized alchemy ingredients

sapkowski's mermaids can breathe above water, but the sun burns their skin so they don't stay at the surface for very long.

merpeople are incredibly powerful, they can summon krakens and the sea-dragon like race of vodyanoy respect their authority

they use their own language that's quite similar to hen llinge, but more lyrical sounding.

nymphs

nymphs are a humanoid race primarily based around nature. they have 5 subspecies, dryads (including hamadryads), leimoniad, naiad, nereid, and oread.

dryads, called eerie wives by humans and aen woedbeanna by elves, are the most prevalent, primarily living in the brokilon forest. some have human skin with olive undertones, but others are green. they usually have dark brown or green hair which is usually worn in dreadlocks (breaking my promise of not being overtly and annoyingly political in this series yet again - the dryads, especially in the netflix adaptation, are classic magical n*gress stereotypes. but more on that later.)

this is a lore-accurate one that i LOVE

dryads have incredibly strong connections with nature and magic, although it is really rare for a dryad to be a source. dryads are able to draw energy from trees, but rarely do because they don't want to hurt the trees. support dryads and take the bus.

all dryads are women. all of them. they make babies by basically luring men into the forest and doing the adult hokey pokey. also why dryads aren't really a fan of witchers, who don't make the baby butter (i am so sorry)

however, dryads can also turn a girl of another race into one of their own through the use of magic. the water of brokilon has some mutating quality that makes young girls forget their human past and physically turn into dryads, although it is less effective as the girls are older. the dryads tried to do this to ciri, but given that she's a source, nothing happened. generally, this process is done to girls who wander into brokilon, but some dryads will abduct peasants from outside the forest if they need more dryads.

here's twn dryads... yikes

this is where i think the whole racism thing becomes a bit too obvious. "uncivilized" women who live in the forest and have dreadlocks and abduct young girls from "civilized" areas?? in twn they leaned even further into this, having one of the two black women they cast be a dryad and replacing the usual bows and arrows with spears, a less sophisticated weapon. again, this series is about the lore, not the political implications of it, but it is important to keep in mind

dryads are excellent at archery, shooting anyone who comes within 80 metres of the forest. through their connection with nature, they have highly advanced medicine and use glowing fungi as a source of light.

hamadryads are a specific type of dryad that is incredibly connected with her tree. because of this connection they have exceptionally strong magical and healing capabilities, but will also go insane and die if their tree dies.

like merpeople, dryads use a more melodic dialect of hen llinge

leimoniads are a type of nymph that lived exclusively in meadows, but are practically extinct due to wars with humans

naiads, also called rusalki, are nymphs that live in lakes and rivers, although a few live with the dryads in brokilon. naiads are very similar to dryads, although they tend to have very light skin with very dark hair, webbed hands, and can dry out on land

naiads rarely speak common, live in small groups, and have highly developed telepathic abilities

nereids are nymphs that inhabit the great sea, often living closely with merpeople. they usually have blueish skin with either blue or white hair and have some telepathic abilities, though not to the extent of naiads.

oreads are nymphs of the mountains, which, like leimoniads, are nearly extinct due to human conquests.

succubi/incubi

succubi (female) and incubi (male) are creatures which look like incredibly attractive humans but with horns and goat legs. they seduce humans, first in dreams and then physically, using their prey's energy to sustain themselves, often to the point of the human's exhaustion or death

our man eskel has a soft spot for them...

sylvans

sylvans, another race we already met, are exceptionally rare. like, practically extinct. they live mainly in the woodlands of the northern realms and have goat-like faces with yellow eyes, horns, cloven hooves, and tails

my man torque is quite possibly one of the last sylvans on the continent

they are distantly related to elves, and the two races tend to coexist quite well

generally quite mischievous and merry, highly enjoying pranks and parties. they can use simple spells and are mainly herbivores

sylvans live around 100 years and are highly sought after by dryads for their... ahem... reproductive capabilities

unicorns

yep, we got unicorns! i fucking love unicorns and still kinda think they're real. camels are real and those lumpy fuckers are way weirder than a horse with a spike on its head.

anyways

unicorns are highly advanced beings, they can travel between worlds and use telepathy. they don't really like the "less advanced" races, mostly staying around to observe them. they have distinct societies led by a council of elders and tend to avoid evil

these unicorns are badasses

unicorns strongly despise the use of the force but encourage the power of destiny. in the context of pavetta's betrothal feast, a unicorn would not be happy with pavetta's little source hurricane thing, but would encourage geralt to follow the law of surprise

in of the witcher, unicorns are very important because of their world-hopping capabilities. the aen elle, unfortunately, realized this and began enslaving unicorns to help them plunder other worlds. this turned into a massive conflict between the unicorns and elves.

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phantasmagoriaoriginals · 3 years

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Here There be Monsters: Mage Basic Intros (Part 1)

Hyousa

She/her, Red Mage.

Her history is fairly normal. While her mother died in Hyousa’s early childhood, she was close with her father and lived happily enough even after the loss. She joined the Organization willingly for the sake of making a difference in the world, even mostly unaware of how difficult that would be. Cream was given to her as a Familiar a couple years in.

Cheerful, energetic, and persistently optimistic, Hyousa is the kind of person who aggressively sees the best in the world and everyone in it. While some people consider her hopelessly naive, her determination can’t be beat. Hyousa is actively, willingly kind to everyone who crosses her path, whether they deserve it or not. She chooses to see the best.

Her magic is the typical Red— pure power made of her own magical energy. It’s completely suited for physical combat, but somehow, Hyousa manages not to make it violent. She fights to help people!

5′5, 19. Thin, girlish build which nonetheless carries quite a bit of lean muscle. Short, cinnamon brown hair worn mostly slicked back and out of her face, with only a few strands escaping to fall on her forehead. Wide, bright brown eyes, fair skin. She constantly fidgets around.

Sinclair

She/her, Purple Mage.

After growing up at an orphanage following the death of her parents in an unfortunate accident, Sinclair willingly joined the Organization as a way of making use of her magic. She’d mostly taught it to herself as a way of looking after the orphanage’s children, and once she had access to a real way to improve it, she wanted to learn how to use it properly.

Sinclair’s personality is best defined as motherly. She’s an incredibly kind, soft person who others feel innately comfortable around. However, she’s also strict on those who do wrong and wants to see people improve, not be coddled. Caretaking is in her nature. She looks after those around her and does her best to keep everyone happy and well.

Her magic primarily operates around charms imbued with curses and blessings. While she generally prefers to use the blessings to help her allies, when she sets her mind to a curse, it’s deadly.

5′6, early 30′s. Fat, with a pear-shaped, soft build. Wide through the hips and all-around soft. Black, frizzy hair worn around shoulder-length, with shorter-cut bangs. Black eyes, round glasses, and soft, sweet features. Moderately dark brown skin.

Livva

She/her, Yellow Mage.

Born with an innate magic known as the “human sealing container”, Livva was highly valued even from childhood. She spent her early years being passed between “homes” and different people who owned her— usually to use her for her magic or to own an expensive prize—, until the Organization took possession of her instead.

Serious, cold, and disinterested in the world, Livva is the kind of person who rarely shows fondness for anything. She’s seen some of the most selfish sides of humanity, so her worldview is quite corrupted. The things she does are only because she’s forced to, and she has no real attachment or loyalty to anyone or anything. She just exists.

Her magic, as mentioned above, is sealing-based. A seal on her tongue allowed her to hold “objects” inside of her body and release them at will. These things range from artifacts to spells, to even offensive energy.

5′10, mid 20′s. Tall, slightly pear-shaped build with notable curves. White, fluffy hair that falls to her shoulders and has considerably more volume towards the ends. Dark brown, somewhat lifeless eyes, fair skin. Posture is always stiff and near-perfect.

Madeleine

She/her, Orange Mage.

An amnesiac, she lacks any memories from what she assumes to be almost twenty years of life. She only remembers her time with the Organization, and is currently in the process of trying to discover more about her past— including a large, mysterious scar across her chest. However, she doesn’t necessarily want to look too deeply.

Madeleine is friendly, open, and upbeat. Despite her internal issues, she tries to make life better for herself and the people around her. She’s close friends with Sinclair, likes to use her magic for other people’s enjoyment, and is generally a very kind-hearted sort. However, when it comes to missions, she has a serious, brutal side that comes out.

Her magic is similar to Sinclair’s but involves food (specifically sweets) instead of handmade charms. Her desserts have a variety of effects and are more useful in a conflict situation than you’d expect.

5′9, early 30′s. Tall, athletic, curveless build with wide shoulders and strong legs. Dark brown, thigh-length hair worn in thick box braids and a high ponytail. Dark, warm-undertoned skin and sparkling brown eyes. Large, diagonal scar across her chest from collarbone to navel.

Aurora

She/her, Green Mage.

Born without her left leg from the knee down. It took a while to find her a suitable prosthetic, but after getting a highly functional one and practicing plenty, she’s completely adjusted to it. She’s always lived in the shadow of her older sister, Rosaria, who she both adores and resents thanks to a feeling of having to live up to her success.

Strict, intense, and serious, Aurora is the picture of ambition and hard work. She’s always felt a need to compensate for her self-perceived weaknesses and feeling of being “second best”. However, her cold exterior hides a warm heart and burning passion. She’s the type to never give up on anyone or anything when she sets her mind to them.

Aurora’s magic, as Green magic always is, is derived from the world around her. The main way she uses it is to increase her speed, agility, and mobility through absorbed energy from other moving objects.

5′7, early 20′s. Slim, straight build with long legs and a narrow shape. Long, hip-length, white hair worn loose and straight with bangs and shoulder-length sidelocks. Intense gray eyes with pale lashes. Black and silver, high-tech prosthetic from below the knee down on her left leg.

Ranisha

She/they, Blue Mage.

The oldest of many siblings, Ranisha had to grow up fast and take on a lot of responsibility. Developing excessive maturity so early gave her a jaded, logical outlook on the world, where she prioritizes what needs to be done instead of what she wants. She joined the Organization for money as well as something to do with herself that felt like success.

Ranisha is most notably aloof, cold, and efficient. She takes her work very seriously, places her job before any personal desires, and doesn’t make friends easily or well. Seemingly uninterested in anything but what’s assigned to her, many people feel intimidated by her strict nature and harsh standards. She butts heads with Vash quite a bit.

Her magic turns written symbols into weapons manifested solely from her energy. Ranisha favors guns over bladed weapons, can use anything from small pistols to larger rifles, and her accuracy is near-unmatched.

5′8, early-mid 20′s. Fairly average build with slight curves. Somehow petite despite her height. Black, thick hair styled in a short, natural faux hawk with close-cropped sides. Black eyes, dark, cool-toned skin, and pleasant features that are always set in a stern, neutral expression.

Katz

He/him, Brown Mage.

While he grew up as a relatively normal Mage, Katz considers getting involved with the Organization to be the worst mistake he ever made. The job is stable and suits his skills well, but the people he has to deal with drive him absolutely insane. He developed a stress-related drinking habit from a young age, which did nothing to help his nasty attitude.

Katz is the kind of person who’s hit his breaking point. He’s an angry, bitter man who’s perpetually exhausted, short-tempered with everyone around him, and a raging alcoholic on top of all of that. While he’s very good at what he does, Katz is the type who most want to stay far away from. His dead-eyed glare is incredibly intimidating.

His magic focuses on sealing. Specifically, sealing the powers of others. Katz creates items that, when placed on someone’s body, restrain some or all of their magic to whatever extent he crafted them to.

5′11, mid 30′s. Thicker build that’s on the stockier side of muscular. Reddish taupe-colored hair worn in a short style that falls about to his ears and is often slicked back. Fair skin, dark eyes, and a good amount of stubble on his upper lip, cheeks, and chin. Perpetual scowl.

Emilio

He/they, Purple Mage.

A lot of Emilio’s life has been spent wishing he was something other than himself. He grew up relatively average, but underwent a fair amount of bullying for being shy and reclusive. When he learned magic, his main goal was to change himself— and he did that completely. He’s always trying to hide from the person he used to be.

Emilio is best described as a charismatic jokester. Despite being very much a “class clown” type, he exudes so much pleasant, cheerful energy that people can’t help but be drawn to him. However, underneath his sunny disposition is a serious, capable man who wants to give his best to the people close to him... as well as something of a dark side.

The magic he uses revolves around shapeshifting. Emilio can change his own appearance at will and is known to constantly be doing so. No one is sure what his original appearance is, and Emilio isn’t telling.

Mid 20′s. Everything about Emilio’s appearance varies. He can change his height, hair color, eye color, features, build, and more with a simple spell, and he does that frequently. He seems to favor taller, more handsome looks, though, and usually retains bright hair and eye colors.

Vash

He/him, Orange Mage.

Trained in magic from a young age, Vash made it his mission to be as good at it as possible— and gather all the admiration and respect he can. He’s never experienced much in the means of personal hardship, but the standards he’s placed on himself do plenty of damage. He’s been in the organization since he was fifteen, thanks to his family’s choices.

Short-tempered, viciously ambitious, and high-strung to a fault, the main things in life that drive Vash are gaining the approval of everyone around him and making himself look as impressive as possible. He’s a hot-blooded teenager in every sense of the word, and painfully unaware of his own inexperience and how dangerously reckless he can be.

Vash’s magic is typical for the Orange kind. He uses elemental powers; in his case, fire. Despite being made of magic, this fire burns just like the real thing and is every bit as destructive and hard to control.

19, 5′8. Skinny, lanky build with less muscle than you’d expect. Straight, chin-length, black hair usually worn covering one eye. Pale skin, orange eyes, and numerous silver piercings all over his body. Extensive burn scars covering him from his magic going haywire.

Alexander

He/him, Brown Mage.

Born to a prestigious and high-class Mage family, Alexander grew up in the lap of luxury. He was spoiled to a fair extent, but the consequences are fortunately mild. Told from a young age that he’s destined for great things and incredibly capable, Alexander has always felt like he doesn’t have to do much of anything to be successful and loved.

Alexander is friendly, sociable, polite, and generally pleasant to be around. He’s the kind of charismatic person who draws others to him whether he tries to or not. However, he also has an unfortunate tendency of viewing people as lesser than him and expects things that he shouldn’t more often than not. He’s also worryingly naive.

The magic he uses relates to forcefields. Alexander can generate and manipulate forcefields out of his magical energy, and uses them for defense as well as offense. Their purposes are quite varied.

6′1, early 20′s. Tall, broad-shouldered, elegant build. Dark red, wavy hair worn in a short-ish cut and sometimes styled with a low ponytail or pins holding the side back. Dark hazel eyes, handsome features, and fair skin. A perpetually welcoming smile and the posture of a trained nobleman.

#Here There Be Monsters #Hyousa #Sinclair #Livva #Madeleine #Aurora #Ranisha #Katz #Emilio #Vash #Alexander #Character Info

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octupus-on-the-moon · 3 years

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I`m the favorite

Pairing: Non, just the Wilson family and Red Wing.

Wordcount: 2689

Warning: Non

Author´s note: This little story is based on this post of this super cool blog @justsamwilson, check it out too.

The moon stood high above a lake bathed in darkness; only a soft light, that emerged of a house near the shore, reflected on the water surface. The air was pleasantly warm and humid, around the double-gallery house, whose blue color almost seemed black between the shadows. Crickets were chirping and fireflies humming, only the subdued sound of conversation and laughter, coming from the residence, disrupted the almost complete silence.

The Wilson family was having dinner. James Barnes or ‘Bucky’ as everyone called him, came over to spend the weekend. The kids where specially excited about Uncle Bucky’s visit, he was the only one with enough time to play. Sam and Sarah were also glad that he came over every once in a while, to help out with whatever he could.

Now after a long day of fishing, cleaning and packing up deliveries all were enjoying Sarah’s gumbo.

“The soup is amazing Sarah” Bucky praised her with a warm smile, she blushed looking down at her half full plate.

“Thank you. It´s a family recipe. I can write it down for you if you want” Sarah replied, tucking a strain of hair behind her ear, earning an annoyed look from Sam who was sitting across from her.

“That won´t be necessary, if I want some I just need to come here. It´s really good so I’ll be around a lot” Bucky chuckled tilting his head and taking another spoon full of gumbo. The boys whispered at each other giggling.

Sam sighted irritated “Okey enough flir…”

A loud melody coming from his phone in the pocket of his jeans interrupted Sam.

“Oh it´s Torres” He said tapping on the screen “Hi, what’s up?”

A distorted voice, only understandable for Sam, came out of the phone as he stood up. “I’m with my four-favorite people in this world having dinner” He explained, walking out on the porch into the friendly night.

The scraping of spoons continued unaffected.

“Of course, I’m his number one favorite nephew and person” Stated Cass out of the blue, blowing at his glasses that tarnished under the steam of the hot soup.

“Ha. You can´t even eat a soup right” AJ opposed, whose glasses where perfectly clear “I´m older than you, so I´m his favorite”

“At least I can take my glasses off and stop seeing your ugly face” Cass snapped back sticking out his tongue.

Sarah took a deep breath “Stop it you two” she scolded both, clapping her hand gently against Cass´s head, who was sitting right next to her.

“Well, I´m his partner in crime and I saved the world with him, so I would be his favorite number one” Bucky added, innocently starring at an interesting spot on the wall, while Sarah glared at him.

“That’s not fair. Just because he didn’t let me go with him” Cass pouted “I could have saved the world too”

AJ rolled his eyes behind his glasses. “You couldn´t even walk back then, dummy”

Sarah quickly chewed her last bite “Hey, we don´t talk like that in this house” extending her right arm over to the front side of the table to clap softly AJ´s head, as she did before with Cass. “And you are all wrong. I’m his sister. I know him longer than any of you. So obviously I am his favorite” She taunted, challengingly looking towards Bucky now.

Turning their eyes into the same direction, the brothers waited expectantly a response; causing Bucky to clear his throat and shift his torso to sit up right. “Oh really” he said still searching for a quick answer.

Then his eyes lit up “IIIIIIII spent five years with him in a weird glitch reality. That” Bucky paused dramatically “Makes me his number one”

The mention of that unfortunate time stiffened Sarah´s shoulders, but went unnoticed by the boys who high fived, twisting around on their seat, to see their mother´s reaction.

“Aha. After a month you probably bored him to death” Sarah countered with a serious tone “I can cook him all his favorite meals, ergo I´m the favorite”

The brothers quietly glanced over to Bucky, who did not appear amused either. The last words altered the atmosphere. It was chilly in the room, yet the temperature had not changed.

Bucky lifted his chin pretentiously “Pff. That´s nothing. Sam went two years on the run for me” his voice had a harsh undertone, that was not there before “I am his favorite”. Sarah stared back at him with ice cold eyes and the brothers hold their breath.

The tense moment passed as soon, as Sam’s heavy steps entered the room “What did I miss?” he asked with the always welcoming warm tone he had.

Bucky relaxed, as far as he could, picking up his spoon pocking the remains of his soup.

Sarah turned her head, letting down her shoulders, with a bright beam “Not much. How´s Torres doing?”

The dinner went on as before, polite conversation and more gumbo, but something unkind lurked in the air among the plates.

A silent dare between Sarah and Bucky settled.

Prove each other who was the favorite.

***

The weekend passed under an invisible contest between Sarah and Bucky.

The kids thought it was a fun idea persuading uncle Sam to admit who was the favorite number one, by doing extra nice things for him. The brothers gifted Sam some self-painted comics, with their cool uncle Captain America saving their day and helped him cleaning his super suite, among other little chores; But quickly let go of it, when their uncle Bucky and Mom took it to the extreme.

Bucky was constantly around Sam asking him at any given moment if he could help him or do it all himself instead of Sam. From renovating the whole cabin of the boat, to just serve him a coffee. Always being polite, letting out any teasing or offensive joking, which rapidly irritated Sam.

Unlike Bucky, Sarah, worked in the background: Serving the meals he most liked, bringing a refreshing lemonade under the hot sun of July or checking on the boats motor, so it would not die while Sam was out fishing. Smiling and being nice, without drawing to much attention on herself.

Sam did not mind being so well attended by his loved ones the first hours of that Saturday morning. After lunch he started to feel that something was off, apart from Bucky´s suspicious behavior. On his way back to the boat after a little break he realized, that the Boys were quieter than usual around their mother and that Bucky had not flirted with Sarah in more than 12 hours, which was nearly a miracle.

As almost every Saturday, Bucky and Sam, kept working on the boat.

“Hey Buck, can you pass me that screwdriver?” Sam asked looking straight at the doorless frame in front of him.

“Yes of course. Do you need something else? Can I help you with that?” Bucky passed him the screwdriver, looking interested on the hinges Sam was exchanging.

“No, it´s fine, you check on that doors paint” Sam replied, signing towards a freshly painted door leaning against the rail of the boat.

"Just" he stopped for a moment turning around to see Bucky in the eyes. "One question"

Bucky nodded enthusiastically, unusual for his serious persona "Of course, what is it?"

"What the hell is going on with you all?" Sam asked leaning against the doorway, crossing both arms over his chest.

"Us? Nothing. We're just doing what we do every weekend?" Bucky’s enthusiastic face fell apart, making place for his familiar icy expression. Without awaiting another word from Sam, he turned around to keep working on the paint of the door.

Sam sighted. He knew that face far too well and now he was more than sure that something was up. But Sam never got far pressing Bucky to tell him what he knew, felt or thought.

He will need to ask the boys what is going on.

Sam pressed a button on what at first sight could be a wristwatch. It was actually a remote for Red Wing. Sam made a second one for daily use. Red Wing is not only a weapon for him; he could be quite useful for many things.

"Red Wing locate AJ and Cass, tell them they should come to the boat" Sam quietly order into the remote. "Then I want you to fly over my position and take pictures"

The roof of the cabin was leaking since Sam had memory. Bucky wanted to climb on the cabin earlier this morning, since Sarah lent their ladder to one of the neighbors. But with the boat slight movement and the wet surface of the cabin roof, Sam did not want him to get hurt. With a few good pictures of Red Wing, they could see what needed to be repaired and do it the next time both had a free weekend.

***

Almost an hour passed, till Red Wings hum, announced the arrival of the two brothers.

Sam did not worry; both often went down to the village to play soccer with the other kids.

"Hey uncle Bucky, hey uncle Sam. What's up?" AJ questioned tiredly climbing on to the boat. The two were covered in mud and Cass was holding a brown round mass of what must be a soccer ball.

"You two had fun I see" Bucky said smiling at them.

"Only your mom will not be pleased when she sees you two like that" Sam added, smirking towards Bucky, who nodded accordingly. "Anyway, you need to clean up and I need to talk to you. Dinner must be ready soon" Sam answered AJ's question.

"Buck, I'll be back in a second. Then we can hang in the door and finish up for today" Sam's bracelet remote beeped. Red Wing had sent the pictures to his phone.

***

"What's going on uncle Sam?" Cass asked after all three had left the boat and were slowly walking to the back of the house to clean up their mess, before their mother saw them.

"That's exactly what I wanted to ask you too" Sam replied.

"Nothing. What should be going on?" AJ eluded him, nervously side eyeing Cass.

Sam specified his question "Why are your uncle and your mom acting so strange?"

"Oh, about that..." Cass and AJ responded in unison, looking at each other. Then both giggled. And Sam's confusion grew even worse.

Then a high pitched and blurred voice, from inside the house, screamed at them.

It was Sarah. She opened the window "Look at you two. Who is going to wash that? And the grass stains on that jeans AJ?"

"I was goalkeeper" AJ said, loud enough so only his brother and uncle could hear it.

"You’re not going to enter my house like that! AJ I heard that. No talking back to me, you know that. You two are going to wash your own clothes, just so we are clear" Sarah's frustrated tone changed immediately as she saw Sam "Oh, hey Sam, are you done for today? Dinner is almost ready, but you can shower before that if you want"

The boys went around the house to follow their mothers request and get rid of the mud, while their mom was distracted; Sam´s question already forgotten.

It took him a beat too long to respond, but Sarah waited patiently “Yes we´re almost done. I’ll shower before dinner, but don´t wait for me. Bucky probably wants to…”

“Oh, don´t worry we can wait. It´s not like we’re starving to death” Sarah interrupted him with an exaggerated laugh.

Sam sighted again. The day was pretty busy, the sun hot and he was tired.

But curiosity killed the cat, right?

“Sarah” Sam voice now a little sharper “What is going on between you and Buck?”

***

With a frustrated huff Sam let the cold water run down his body.

Nobody knew anything, but everyone acted strange, he thought, massaging his temples enjoying the cool wet.

Sarah did not answer. She gave a short explanation about her relationship with Bucky, completely missing the point of his question. Then she vanished from the window, leaving Sam with his doubts.

Now he was trying to figure it out himself. What exactly he needed to figure out was unclear too. “What did I miss?” he questioned out loud in to the empty bathroom.

Everything was perfectly fine till today morning. They couldn´t have discussed in the morning, because he was always the first up on his feet.

Absentmindedly he soaped and rinsed his hair and body.

Then it struck him. Torres´s call. They must have discussed during his call. That would explain why the boys were so obediently quiet afterwards.

“But what could they have discussed about?” another question floating unanswered in the steamy air of the bathroom.

Sam stepped out of the shower, at the moment his Red Wing remote beeped. He sent the little drone out to look for bee nests around the house. They were pretty common around here, but for AJ deadly due to his allergy.

He must have found one somewhere.

Sam made a mental note to call the beekeeper, to remove the nest safely. But he dismissed the idea almost immediately.

Red wing.

Red wing was laying on the sofa last night, he probably recorded the whole evening. Bucky complained afterwards that Sam leaves Red Wing everywhere after repairing or upgrading him. He must have recorded the discussion between Sarah and Buck.

Without wasting much more time in the bathroom, Sam rushed over to his room, where Red Wing was patiently waiting for new orders on his bed.

“Red Wing, replay the audio footage of last night between” Sam rapidly took his phone out “7.35 and 7.40”

***

AJ and Cass looking shiny new in their fresh clothes, were nervously waiting for uncle Sam. Their Mother and Uncle were ignoring each other sipping on their glass of wine. The kitchen smelled amazing with the different pregnant spices of the casserole hanging in the air.

From the top they could hear Sam´s distinguished steps coming down the stair. At the sound of it, Bucky´s and Sarah´s posture changed immediately to warm smiles and relaxed shoulders.

Sam came down with a big grin on his face and Red Wing in his hands.

“Finally” Cass sighted, already grabbing the spoon to serve himself, just to get his hand clapped away by Sarah.

“Don´t be so impatient Cass, let your uncle take a seat first”

“Oh, don´t worry about me. Cass serve yourself; I still have something to say” Sam intervened his grin growing even bigger. Sarah and Bucky exchanged for the first time a glance.

“Red Wing, had been quite useful today” Sam said laying the drone on a little side table near the stairs. “Yes, quite useful” Sam repeated with a chuckle seating himself on his usual spot besides Bucky, who seemed really preoccupied over his strange behavior.

“I think if I ever stranded on a lone island, I would hope to have Red Wing with me” Sam kept on talking, taking the spoon from AJ, who already was pouncing his plate. “He could alarm me from any wild animals or even hunt something for me, without complaining or competing” he added savoring the confused expressions of his family “Yes, he truly is my favorite” Sam finished, passing the spoon to Bucky.

Sarah choked on her wine, looking over to Bucky, who couldn´t compute what was going on.

The boys bursted out in to a laugh, Sam gladly joined.

“How?” Buck asked knitting his brows, still holding the serving spoon, then his eyes shifted to the little red drone on the side table “Oh”

“Yes” was the only thing Sam managed to say between tears.

Sarah and Bucky looked at each other for another moment completely embarrassed. Then both grinned joining the others laughs.

After everyone caught their breath again, Cass broke the silence “But uncle Sam who´s your real favorite?”

Sam smiled at his little nephew “Red wing is real isn´t he?”

#tfatws #mcu fic #sam wilson #bucky barnes #wilson family #bucky fanfic #sam fanfic #marvel #mcu #captain america

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queenmylovely · 4 years

Text

The Best Things Ain’t Free

Summary: Roger Taylor x fem!reader. After meeting through friends, Roger is impressed with your lifestyle and you’re impressed with his prettiness.

Word Count: 10.9k listen... she’s long

Warnings: cussing, smut (oral sex, fingering, etc.) (18+!! marked with ***)

A/N: This idea has been on my mind for ages because I can’t look at certain pictures of Roger in a fur coat without this thot. PSA that the most fictional part of this fic is reader being rich bc your girl ain’t. Let’s all use our best imagination and enjoy the life of the wealthy for a minute. Please leave feedback in any form whether it be tags, replies, asks, or messages, because I really do love hearing from you!

Masterlist; BLM Resources, Register to Vote (U.S.)

(these are what inspired this entire thing bc look at them!!! pics edited by me)

☆☆☆

Normally, you wouldn’t be one to go to a dingy pub to watch some band play a set. If you wanted to hear good music, you’d go to a concert in a real venue, with box seats and catering. And if you wanted a drink you’d go to the Ivy, Grenadier, Star, or if you really wanted a nice time, the Ritz. But your friend, Kalaya, from your time at Oxford (she had attended on a merit-based scholarship, bless her heart), had insisted that you come.

“They’re one of the best bands I’ve ever heard!” Kalaya gushed, trying to convince you to go.

“Better than the Stones? The Supremes? Janis?” you asked, referencing all of the concerts you had taken her to in uni. “We saw Janis the one and only time she played solo in London, are you telling me this student band is going to match her?”

“I said one of the best bands I’ve ever heard. And it’s not like you’ve never been to the bar before, it’s Angel’s, I took you there after exams junior year, remember?” Kalaya prodded, hoping that since it was at least somewhat familiar, you might be more likely to go.

“Oh yeah, I remember. Someone spilt a drink on me and I stunk like cheap beer for the rest of the night,” you said, wrinkling your nose in annoyance.

“C’mon you can’t condemn a whole pub just because one drunk idiot made a mistake,” Kalaya reasoned.

“Never would’ve happened at the Ritz,” you said with a huff.

Lucky for her, Kalaya never took you as seriously as you wanted to be and she laughed, “Stop being so stuck up, it’s not flattering.”

You stuck your tongue out at her, and she just rolled her eyes.

“Please, I need you to go. I fancy the guitar player and I can’t show up alone, you know I get nervous in crowds on my own,” Kalaya reminded you with her best puppy-dog eyes.

Your face broke out in a grin, “You didn’t say you fancied someone, oh my gosh, of course I’ll go! Tell me more about this guitarist.”

_____

The one caveat you had made Kalaya agree to was new outfits for the show. You would go to a grungy student pub to support your friend, but like hell were you going to dress the same as everyone there. After a few hours traipsing around Oxford Street, you both had completely new, fabulous outfits that were sure to stun, on your dime of course.

When you had first met Kalaya, she hadn’t liked you paying for things for her, but when you insisted that it only made sense for you to do or else you would be doing everything alone, she began to accept it. Plus, you had told her, the money was doing a lot more good being spent on fancy dinners and trips to the sea than sitting in some bank account in Switzerland. Anyway, your parents owned the largest shipping company in England, or something, so it wasn’t like there wasn’t plenty to spare.

“It’ll take about an hour and ten minutes by car, so we should leave about two and a half hours before the concert so we can get there early,” you planned out two days before the concert, during dinner at your shared apartment with Kalaya.

“Car? We can just take the train, it’s practically the same amount of time,” Kalaya replied.

“And get our new outfits all dirty before the show? No way, Chay can take us. I already told him about it and he’s bringing Martie so they can go too,” you explained. Chay (short for Charlie, short for Charles) was your family’s driver and Martie was his wife. They were in their early thirties so they still appreciated new music.

“What if something happens with Brian and I want to stay? Won’t Martie and Chay want to come home?” Kalaya said sheepishly.

“When that happens, we’ll just get rooms at that Inn on the boulevard and wait until morning to bring you home,” you said with a smirk.

Kalaya got her own cheeky smile, “And what about when you inevitably sweep some unknowing pretty boy off his feet? Where will they go without you to get the rooms?”

You hummed, thinking about all the boys that might be at the concert, “They have their expense card, of course.”

_____

The afternoon before the concert, the four of you met at the drive of your parent's house, ready and dressed for the night. You’re in dark wash bell bottoms, an emerald green satin top, and black leather platform boots. Draped over one arm you had your favorite fur coat, a dark brown mink, because although it was August, it got cold late at night, especially in Oxford. Kalaya had chosen a black flowy dress that came to her mid-thigh and made her medium-brown skin richer in comparison, and black suede booties. It would’ve been boring except for the silver and gold thread embroidering it, making it look like a starry night sky. She had told you it would be perfect because Brian studied stars.

Martie and Chay were a little more understated, as was to be expected since they didn’t have to try to catch anyone’s eye. Martie was in an orange floral dress in a similar cut to Kalaya’s, but a few inches longer. The orange of the dress and the yellow and olive green flowers complimented her dark brown skin with its warm undertone. Chay was in black bell bottoms, a dark red button-down with a paisley print, and regular black boots. You told him that he was lucky his skin was still tanned from the summer holiday because his typical paper-white skin combined with the outfit would’ve made him look like a vampire. Chay laughed sarcastically and Martie changed the subject by complimenting you two girls and then turned back to Chay, noticing his large collar was a little crooked and fixing it.

Everyone, including their overnight bags just in case, got into the car and Chay immediately turned the radio up, the four of you singing along the whole way there.

Once you got to the bar, the four of you grabbed drinks and sat at a table near the back because it wasn’t crowded yet. The group chatted easily, laughing at each other’s jokes and stories. You were all more like family than anything because Chay’s father was the family driver before him and he and Martie had been together since they were teenagers. Since Kalaya always came to all the family vacations (that Martie and Chay also came to, as “employees;” their only duty being a designated driver), the four of you were used to hanging out and going to clubs and concerts together.

Slowly, the bar started filling up and you turned to Kalaya, “We should probably go to the front now so we can secure a spot.”

Kalaya nodded, “Are you guys coming?”

Martie and Chay looked at each other, communicating silently in that way couples do. Martie answered, “No, we’ll stay here. Don’t wanna be around a bunch of sweaty students.”

“My sentiments exactly,” you said with a roll of your eyes and Kalaya elbowed you. Then you looked at Chay with a sheepish smile, “Can I leave my coat with you?”

“Yes,” Chay huffed with his own eye roll, but he was still smiling. “Now go on, get up there.”

Kalaya and you laughed and waved, hurrying to get a good spot close to the stage. That was one positive of a small venue, being close enough to the band to do some serious damage to your hearing as well as being able to actually see the sweat dripping down their temples and chests once they really got into the music.

The crowd grew around you and you were jostled a couple of times, but once you glared at the people who did it, that seemed to stop. The energy of the crowd grew and grew in anticipation and you heard lots of chatter about how excited they were to see the band. Maybe Kalaya hadn’t oversold them.

It wasn’t long before all of the stage lights went out and a booming voice came from all around, announcing the arrival of, “Your entertainment tonight, Her Majesty, Queen!”

You laughed, appreciating the audacity of the name as someone who liked to be somewhat outrageous yourself. The lights flashed back on and you realized that the band was already onstage; they went right into the first song, drums, guitar, and bass starting strong. You listened to the music, enjoying it already, but were more focused on checking out the band, which was easy because you were only ten feet away from the stage.

The singer was a slim, elegant man with light brown skin and jet black hair. His eyes were a warm brown and when he looked out at the crowd it was as if he was connecting with every person. Round lips and large teeth caught your eye and as you watched them enunciate every syllable, you couldn’t help but think they must make a wonderful smile. He was wearing a black satin jumpsuit embroidered and embellished until it shone in the light. Cheekbones sharp enough to cut and eyeliner just the same kept him on the rock side of glam, any softer and he could’ve been considered disco. And even though the concert had only just started, he was already completely into it; the energy he gave off as he strode about the stage only adding to the crowd’s.

Next you looked at the guitarist, Brian, who Kalaya was already staring at, mouth hanging open in a way that told you she didn’t realize how obvious it was. You gently reached over and tapped her chin, bringing her out of her trance and her eyes widened as she realized what she was doing. She started swaying to the music and looked around the stage in a much more casual way.

Back to the guitarist, as Kalaya had told you he was extremely tall, with some of the longest legs you had ever seen on anyone. With velvet black pants and a flowing white blouse, he was as glam as the singer. He was even more slim than the singer, and with the mound of curls that made up his head he kinda looked like a lollipop, nothing you would ever tell Kalaya. He had pale white skin, a prominent nose, and otherwise delicate features, but your main attention was brought to his hazel eyes that looked at the crowd as if he was surveying them. Overall you were thoroughly impressed with Kalaya’s choice to fancy him.

On the opposite side of the singer was the bassist, made clear by the fact that his guitar only had four strings and a longer neck. His clothing was a little more reserved than the other two, simply a black satin suit with a white satin shirt underneath. His chestnut brown hair was long and wavy, and it framed his also pale white face well. He was pretty relaxed in his playing, like it wasn’t that hard, but watching his hands you could tell the skill it took to stay on beat through some of the most complex rhythms. A soft nose, green-grey eyes that seemed kind, full lips, and a familiar feeling endeared him to you instantly, a smile coming to your face as he smirked when the singer pressed up against him.

Lastly, you turned your attention to the drummer, and just about gasped. Yes, the other three had been beautiful, but none of them were as pretty as him. His hair was shaggy, wavy, and dirty blonde, and heaven knew you loved your blondes. His white skin was lightly tanned which just made his baby blue eyes stand out even more. He was wearing some sort of black blouse but it was completely unbuttoned, leaving his chest that was toned from drumming totally exposed. You couldn’t see much else because of his kit but what you could see, your eyes ate up. As he drummed, his lips stuck out in a pout and his hair swooshed, glinting gold as he played the cymbals.

Kalaya had only been half-joking when she talked about you finding your pretty boy and now you had, your sights completely set on this drummer. Plus you figured that if Kalaya knew Brian, you had an automatic in.

Suddenly, you were making eye contact with the drummer but instead of being surprised or flustered, you started your mission. Biting your lip in a smile, rocking your hips to the rhythm he was playing, and tilting your head to the side, you made it clear you were checking him out. That seemed to spur him on and the drums got louder as he played harder. If he was trying to impress you, it was working, but more because it was a testament to his stamina than to his skill. Besides, you could see that you had done plenty to impress him by subverting his expectations and staring him down instead of swooning as soon as he caught your eye with his.

Not that there was anything wrong with swooning, in fact Kalaya was swooning over Brian at this very second because he had smiled at her, but you liked being the one to cause the swoon. You knew you were attractive and knew other people knew it too. You were confident and knew what you wanted, an energy you liked to radiate when you were around pretty boys.

The drummer was the one to break eye contact first, looking around the room for a minute as if trying to distract himself. Then he looked back at you and you just smiled and waved at him. By the way his eyes widened and cheeks pinkened further than they already were, you could tell he was a little flustered, and laughed, something you were sure he could see as well. He didn’t seem to be looking away this time, so you did instead, turning your attention to Kalaya to make sure she was doing alright.

“How’s it going, babe? He in love with you yet?” you half-yelled into her ear because the music was so loud.

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, “More like I’ve just fallen further in love with him. But he has smiled and waved at me a couple times in between songs.”

“See? Don’t be all modest!” you urged.

“Well what about you? I see the eyes you’re making at that pretty boy drummer. He’s just the epitome of your type, huh?” Kalaya shot back.

You sighed happily, “He really is.”

About an hour later, the last encore was done and a cheap curtain had separated the band from the rest of the pub as they packed up their instruments. But apparently they would be joining the crowd later on, based on the talk of the people that had been standing around you up front. Not everyone seemed aware of this fact or maybe they just didn’t care, because the crowd thinned by half once the set was over. Quickly making a game plan, you and Kalaya decided to wait by the bar but not at the bar, in the path the band would most likely take from backstage to get a drink.

After waiting for only 10 minutes, you saw a curly head of hair bobbing through a doorway and realized they were on the move. You signaled to Kalaya with your eyes that they were appearing behind her (now out of their stage clothes), not interrupting what she was saying in an effort to remain casual. Once she had realized what you meant, she slowed her words, hoping to get interrupted. The blonde came into view and you flicked your eyes over to him just once, letting him know you knew he was there.

“Kalaya?” Brian asked, tapping her shoulder lightly.

Expertly, Kalaya turned like she was surprised, “Brian!”

They hugged quickly and she pulled back, “You all were amazing, just like last time.”

“Yes, well, I’m glad I actually have a chance to talk to you this time, instead of rushing off to deal with a flat tire on the van,” Brian smiled. Then he looked over to you and Kalaya jumped in.

“This is my friend,” she introduced you. “We went to Oxford together. She already knows all about you.”

Brian looked a little pleased at that, and Kalaya brought a hand to her mouth, realizing her faux pas.

“She means your band. She had to make a hard sell for me to come all the way back to Oxford to see the show,” you explained away what she said even though you all knew that wasn’t what she had meant.

“Well I’m glad you both made it,” Brian said with an easy smile. “Speaking of the band, I’d better introduce them all.”

Brian stepped back so he was in line with the other three and Kalaya turned so she was facing them next to you.

“This here is Freddie, our wonderful singer. Then we have John—”

“You can call me Deaky,” he interjected.

“Deaky then, our fantastic bassist. And finally our resident pretty boy himself, our drummer, Roger,” Brian finished with a bit of a smirk.

You all exchanged pleasantries and as Kalaya was drawn into a conversation with the rest of the band, Roger stepped closer to you.

“Pretty boy, huh?” You asked with a teasing smile. He nodded, about to say something in defense or make a jab at Brian, but you spoke first, “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

Roger flushed at that, a small smile coming to his face, but he changed the subject, “So you went to Oxford?”

“Yes,” you said slowly.

“Not a big fan?” he asked.

“No, I did really enjoy it here, just kind of small for my taste. I mean, over an hour to get to where anyone big’s playing and never having heard of fine dining? I suppose it was a good change of pace, or at least that’s what my parents say, but I’m glad to be back in the city,” you explained and Roger listened intently.

“So raised in London then?”

“Yes, except for the summers. Then it was Nice or Barcelona. Oh and one year New York,” you knew you were being a little overt with the flaunting of your upbringing, but you could tell that Roger was the type of person to enjoy the best things in life, and his eyes were as big as dinner plates as he listened to you, clearly impressed. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’m just from Truro, not quite as glamorous as all those,” Roger told you and while he wasn’t exactly embarrassed, you could tell he was waiting for your reaction.

“Truro’s in Cornwall, right?” you asked and Roger confirmed with a nod. “Then I’ve been there! Yeah a couple years ago Kalaya and I went on a trip to the sea and took a little detour to Truro, we loved it! Perfect for a little weekend getaway.”

Roger smiled big, your praising of his hometown charming him, “But how is Truro on the way to the sea? Wouldn’t you just go to Brighton or Southend?”

You smiled, laughing at yourself, “Well I got it in my head that I wanted to go to the very western tip of the country, and luckily Kalaya is a good enough sport to go along with my whims.”

“Do you often have these types of whims?” Roger asked and there was more cheek behind the words than in their meanings.

“Well I adore travelling,” you said, a little smirk coming to your face. Then you fixed your gaze to Roger’s eyes, “And my personal philosophy is to do whatever I want, whenever I want, with whoever I want.”

Roger swallowed, his mouth parted, and he blinked a couple times before responding, trying a laugh to cover for his reaction to your words, “A bit hedonistic, no?”

“Hmm, a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, no?” you responded quickly. Not that you actually knew that Roger was similar to you in that way, but watching how he reacted to everything you said made you sure enough to say that.

Scoffing as if that weren’t true, all he could say was, “What?--who?”

“How are the two of you getting on?” the bassist, John-- Deaky, interjected, coming to stand so the three of you made a triangle.

“Well Roger here just called me hedonistic,” you said matter-of-factly, looking at Deaky with wide eyes.

“Ha! You’re one to talk, Rog,” Deaky told him, clapping him on the shoulder and laughing.

Roger just looked at you, surprised that you would’ve brought it up to Deaky. You just stuck your tongue between your teeth and smiled victoriously; you loved to keep boys on their toes, especially ones that looked so cute when they were surprised.

Deaky turned to you, “You look really familiar, have we met before?”

“You know, I was thinking the same thing, but you had shorter hair, right?” you looked at him more closely.

He laughed and nodded, “Yeah, this is pretty new.”

“What university did you go to?” you asked.

“Chelsea college in London, I was in electrical engineering,” Deaky replied.

You exclaimed in recognition, “The scholarship dinner! You got my family’s engineering scholarship, that was like five years ago.”

“That’s right! We hung out during that tour of one of the facilities when our parents were talking endlessly,” he remembered and you laughed along with him.

“Wait, I thought the only private scholarship you got was from that family with the shipping business that are, like, filthy rich,” Roger said and you and John just looked at each other and then at Roger, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Then his eyes went wide, “That’s your family?!”

“Might wanna close your mouth Rog,” Deaky said with a laugh, tapping Roger’s chin as you had Kalaya’s.

A voice came from the bar and you looked to see Brian waving the three of you over. Deaky immediately started walking but you hung back next to Roger.

He seemed to be walking slowly because he was still processing the information, “I kinda thought you were exaggerating about the summer trips. And you weren’t kidding when you said whatever you want whenever you want, were you?”

You reached over and tucked a stray strand of hair away from his face and Roger looked at your hand as it dropped back to your side, “Mm-mm, wasn’t kidding about the whoever, either.”

Roger looked back up at you and you winked before turning to the others and gladly accepting the drink held out to you by Brian.

Chatting in a little group with Brian, Kalaya, and Deaky, you noticed that Freddie and Roger were off to the side but didn’t pay it too much mind. You were more focused on whether this Brian liked your Kalaya as much as she did he, and judging by the way he stared at her with adoration in his eyes as she talked, he did.

Standing apart from the rest of you with Freddie, Roger took a gulp of his drink as he looked at you laughing with the others.

“Fred, man, I can hardly keep up with this girl. We’ve only been talking for like ten minutes and all the things she says! I hardly know whether I wanna be with her or be her,” Roger told Freddie.

“What do you mean?” Freddie said with a confused laugh.

“Well she’s beautiful and funny and smart, sophisticated, has great taste--” “I think you’re confusing her with me,” Freddie interrupted with a sly smile.

“Ha-ha, Fred. Did I mention she’s also loaded?” Roger deadpanned.

“She’s got me there,” Freddie admitted. “Well are you going to do anything about it?

“I would, but she’s kinda intimidating,” Roger said and when Freddie looked confused he elaborated. “Like, she’s been flirting more than me tonight, even when we were onstage.”

“That’s saying something,” Freddie agreed.

“Exactly, so I feel like she’s someone who would want to make the first move,” Roger pointed out. And then a little quieter, “which you know I have absolutely no problem with.”

Freddie laughed loudly, “Well if things don’t work out between you two, I might just have to make her my best friend.”

“Hey, that’s me,” Roger said with a frown.

Patting Roger’s arm, Freddie rolled his eyes and told him, “I know darling, it was a joke.”

Deaky, Kalaya, Brian, and you got up from your seats at the bar, catching their attention, so they walked over to where you were.

“We’re walking the girls out,” Deaky explained because Brian was too busy chatting with Kalaya. Freddie and Roger nodded and then Deaky led the way, cutting through the crowd to the exit. Brian and Kalaya were lock-step behind him, and Freddie, Roger, and you followed up last, in that order.

“Leaving already?” Freddie asked you.

“Yeah, well if we want to get rooms for the night we better head over,” you explained.

“Oh are you staying at the Inn too?” Roger asked, his ears pricking up.

You nodded with a little laugh, “Seeing as it’s the only lodging in town, yes.”

Freddie laughed and Roger smiled sheepishly, thinking of something to say when you put your hand on his arm.

“Hold on a second, I gotta grab our ride,” you said quickly before heading towards the tables in the back.

Freddie and Roger shared a confused look, having assumed that the two of you would call a cab. You were walking back only twenty seconds later, slipping on your fur coat.

Roger gasped softly and gripped Freddie’s arm, “Fuck Fred, I’m in love.”

Freddie laughed, but his surprise-widened eyes were on the coat too, “With her or the coat?”

“Both,” he whispered back as you came up next to them, joined by a man and woman.

“Okay, quick introductions,” you said, realizing that you were standing halfway obstructing the doors. “Freddie, Roger, this is Chay and Martie. Technically Chay’s my family’s driver, but they’re both more like my siblings that I drag along to things like these. Chay and Martie, this is Freddie and Roger, of the band.”

“Yes, we assumed,” Martie said with a laugh, shaking Freddie’s hand first and then switching with her husband.

“Looks like we should head outside,” Chay pointed out, and the five of you exited into the cool night air. “We loved the set, you all were fantastic. And by the way, she did not have to drag us here, we were rather excited to see you guys ourselves.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind,” Freddie said with a warm smile and it was infectious enough that everyone smiled as well.

“Well, shall we go bring ‘round the car, babe?” Martie asked, always good at keeping Chay from getting too distracted.

“Yes, right, nice to meet you,” Chay said, and they all did their goodbyes.

You turned to Freddie and Roger, “Guess I’ll be leaving in a minute. I’m sorry we didn’t get to talk more, Freddie, I feel like we’d have a lot to talk about.”

“Me too dear,” Freddie said warmly. Then he gave you a pointed look, “But don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

You both knew what he meant, and by the looks of Roger’s flushed face, he did too although he pretended not to hear. It was hard to help the pleased smile that came to your face when you realized Roger must have talked about you to Freddie.

Freddie took a look at Roger and then said to both of you, “I’ll just go say goodbye to Kalaya then.”

He walked away and you took a couple steps toward Roger, until you were only about a foot apart. Roger wasn’t much taller than you, especially in your platforms, but from that distance you had to look up to look him in the eyes. You didn’t say anything, just looked at him and waited until he blushed again and looked down for a second, eyes landing on your coat.

“That coat looks great on you,” he rushed out, tucking a piece of hair behind his hair, which did nothing to calm him as it just reminded him of when you did earlier.

You looked down at your coat too, hands brushing over the soft, brown fur, “You like it?”

“Who wouldn’t?” he said quickly and you chuckled.

“You know Roger,” you stepped closer and put a hand on his arm. “I think we’d have a lot to talk about too. Probably have lots in common. You should call me sometime to figure out all what that is.”

With that, you reached into the inside pocket of your coat and pulled out one of your cards that you always kept handy ‘cause you never knew when a networking opportunity would present itself. You held the card up between your index and middle finger before reaching behind Roger and tucking it into the back pocket of his jeans. You let yourself linger that close to him and drank in his wide eyes, the way his mouth parted and how he seemed to be leaning down closer and closer to you.

“The car’s here y/n!” Kalaya called out to you, pulling both you and Roger out of the moment.

You looked at him once more, touching his arm again and then walking away. Throwing him a smile over your shoulder, you called, “See you later, pretty boy!”

Kalaya and you got into the back of the car and waved through the window to the four boys that were watching you leave. Once they were out of sight you turned to her.

“Good catch interrupting me and Roger then,” you told her.

“Always leave ‘em wanting more, right?” Kalaya said with a grin.

You laughed, “Right, exactly. By the way, things with Brian seemed to be going good.”

“They were, we had a lot of fun talking tonight. I think he likes me,” she said with a hopeful smile.

You nudged her, “I know he likes you. He couldn’t keep his eyes off you all night.”

“Same with Roger and you,” she pointed out.

“Well, I know he likes me too,” you said with a smirk and the whole car laughed. “You know if I were the type of person to get embarrassed, that’d do it.”

_____

A week later, during a giant heat wave that left no one able to do anything but sit inside and swelter, Roger called you around 7:00pm. Because you were lying on your bed with a fan pointed directly at you and you had a phone right next to your bed, it only took one ring for you to answer.

“Hello?”

“Hi, y/n?” you could tell by his voice it was Roger, but you kept that to yourself.

“Yep, who’s this?” you asked pleasantly.

“Roger from, um, Queen,” he said hesitantly.

“Oh, Roger, hello! You don’t have to say ‘from Queen,’ you know, I remember you perfectly,” you told him, sitting up so you were leaning back on your arm. Before he could say something in response, you started again, “So how are you, how are you doing? Have you had any more shows?”

“Good, I’m great. We had two more shows last weekend further north and we’ll have more next week around town--”

“Oh really? I think Kalaya and I would really love to go to another show, we so enjoyed the last,” you interrupted.

“Brilliant, you should definitely come, both of you, I can get you the details,” he returned and you interjected with a quick thanks. “But, what about you? How are you?”

“Ugh I’d be better, but it’s just so hot today,” you complained, flopping back onto the mattress.

“Well what are you wearing?” Roger asked and you grinned.

“Oh, getting a little cheeky are we, pretty boy? Haven’t even gone out and you’re asking what I’m wearing?” you asked mock-incredulously just to make him flustered.

“No--no, I just meant like if you’re hot, like maybe,” Roger was babbling, trying to find the best way to explain what he meant. “Just if you’re wearing layers or something thick or something I just--”

“It’s okay, I’ll tell you,” you said with a giggle. “Let’s see, I’m wearing satin running shorts, that to be honest are too short to run in, and one of those little strappy halter crop tops, you know the kind?”

“Y-yeah,” was all Roger could muster.

“So nothing that’s making me hot. And I’m not even wearing a bra so that’s not making me uncomfortable,” you reasoned as if this were a reasonable conversation.

You could hear his breath quicken over the phone and there was a pause where neither of you said anything.

“Maybe I should just go nude.”

You knew what you were doing, practically torturing the poor boy, but he had been the one to bring up what you were wearing, and it was the truth. But if you were simply answering his question with no impure intentions you would’ve been a lot less descriptive.

Roger made a sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh and then that was it so you sat up and kept going, “That reminds me, I’ve just had an idea. Today seems like a write off because it’s too hot to function, but it’s supposed to be cooler tomorrow, are you doing anything?”

He cleared his throat before he answered, “Um, no, I’m not busy.”

“Great! Kalaya and I were going to go shopping but I guess she’s hanging out with Brian instead. You can come with me and offer advice,” you told him.

“You’d want my advice?” Roger asked, confused.

“Yeah, I’ve seen your clothes both onstage and off. You have great style, Roger,” you affirmed and he smiled at the praise.

“Thanks, so do you. Um, that sounds great,” he replied.

“Okay, do you know the boutique on the corner of 10th and Wilder?” Roger hummed yes. “Good, let’s meet there at 11:30?”

“Perfect, looking forward to it,” he said flirtily.

You smiled, “Me too. Well, I should probably go, Kalaya and I are going swimming tonight at my parents’ to make up for her flaking out tomorrow. I’d invite you along, but even though my parents are out of town, they’d definitely hear about their daughter skinny dipping with some random pretty boy they don’t know. See you tomorrow!”

“I… bye,” Roger said, sounding incredibly sad that he couldn’t stay on or go swimming.

You hung up and then immediately rushed to Kalaya’s room to tell her all about the conversation.

_____

When you walked into the boutique at 11:25am, the clerk, Ayan, waved to you, as you were a frequent patron of the store. You had probably already seen all that there was to see, but thought that Roger’s fresh eyes might see something you hadn’t given much thought to before. There were a couple other customers around, but it was a little slow for a Saturday morning so you went to chat with Ayan about any new arrivals while you waited for Roger to arrive.

They were explaining that the boutique had gotten some fur coats from an estate that were in impeccable condition. The boutique was one of your favorites because it stocked mainly independent designers, consignment, and didn’t turn up its nose at thrifted finds of luxury items. In fact, it was where you had gotten your fur coat a few years before from the estate of a well known West End actress from the forties.

“There’s this one really lovely coyote--” Ayan cut themself off, eyes widening as they looked towards the door. “Don’t look now, but some special type of pretty boy is just about to walk in.”

Thinking only one person could fit that description, you looked, smiling as Roger walked in, scanning the store for you.

“You looked!” Ayan whisper-yelled and you couldn’t help but laugh. The sound drew Roger’s eyes over to you and you waved before turning back to them.

“Don’t worry, he’s meeting me. See you in a while with loads to buy under your commission,” you told them, winking.

“That’s why you’re my favorite customer,” they joked and you chuckled as you walked away.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you said cheerfully as you reached him before leaning in for a kiss on the cheek. He kissed you back and when you pulled back his cheeks were the cute pink that you were getting used to seeing.

“Hey, nice shirt,” he complimented.

You looked down at yourself. You were wearing high waisted medium wash denim shorts and a Hendrix t-shirt tied to the side at your waist.

“Thanks, I got it at his concert I went to,” you explained, smoothing it out.

“Where’d you see him?” Roger asked curiously.

“Royal Albert Hall, in ‘69. Me and Kalaya went together, it was a great show,” you said, remembering how it felt to see him perform.

“No way, I went to that concert too!” Roger exclaimed and you laughed excitedly.

“I wonder if we saw each other at all,” you said, smiling at the thought.

“Uh-uh, I would’ve remembered you perfectly,” Roger told you with a bold smile and this time, you were the one that was flustered.

“Should we start? I’m counting on you to find whatever I’ve overlooked in this store,” you said, changing the subject as you turned towards a rack of clothes.

“Do you have anything specific that you need?” Roger asked distractedly as he flicked through the hangers.

“The only need I have is to have all the best things this store has to offer,” you said airily.

Roger laughed and turned to you, saying teasingly, “Anyone ever tell you that you’re spoilt?”

“They usually stop when I pay them not to,” you said straight-faced, but Roger’s laugh made you break and you laughed together, leaning closer until you were sharing the same air and you placed a hand on his arm to steady yourself.

You were just wearing sandals, so Roger was taller to you than the week before and you actually had to tilt your head up to make eye contact this close. Roger’s laughter-brightened eyes looked at your still smiling lips and you noticed, the shift in mood making your breath quicken and your heart race. Under your fingers, the warm skin of his arm made you want to feel that warmth all over, and you wondered how long it would be until you could.

Then another customer brushed by, mumbling an “excuse me” awkwardly and the two of you were pulled away from a moment yet again. Your hand dropped from his arm and he turned back to the rack. It wasn’t long before your chatter started up again, especially as Roger found things that he liked for you to try on.

When he had made his way through the entire store, he had six things for you. He would have had a lot more but most of what he liked you already had.

First up was a black mesh long sleeve shirt that Roger told you to try on underneath your band shirt. It was longer than your t-shirt and you tucked it into your shorts, so your midriff that was exposed by the gap in between your clothes was covered by the mesh.

You came out of the dressing room, holding your arms out for Roger to see and doing a twirl, smiling widely.

“Do you like it?” he asked, smiling to match.

You nodded enthusiastically, “You know, when I saw this weeks ago I had no idea how to style it, but I love this! Very punk, street fashion, I’m a woman of the people.”

“Oh my gosh, never mind, I’m not sure you deserve to wear that,” Roger reached out and grabbed the sleeve, acting like he was going to pull it off.

“Stop!” you said through laughter. “You’ll stretch it out!”

He let you go and you went back in to try on more. There ended up being two dresses that you didn’t like because of color for one and the sheer amount of ruffles for the other. Then a shirt you realized you had in another color at home and a skirt that was itchy. Finally, there was a denim shirt that you didn’t really like because it was so plain. But you put it on anyway, figuring you’d humor him.

It was medium wash, the same color as your shorts, and it had some flowers embroidered in colorful thread which you supposed were nice, but overall it looked blah.

You stepped out of the dressing room again and Roger saw your not-so-happy face.

“What’s wrong?”

You scrunched up your face, “Don’t like it, it looks weird.”

Roger rolled his eyes with a smile, “That’s because you’re wearing it wrong. C’mere.”

You stepped close to him and he said a soft “may I” to which you nodded. His long fingers unbuttoned the bottom two buttons of the shirt. Then he tied it in a knot, fixing the ends so they laid correctly. His fingers brushed your skin and though they were warm, the feeling made you shiver. Roger was moving his hands so delicately, precisely, and you felt a rush of want go through you.

“And since you’re wearing a t-shirt,” even more carefully, he undid the upper buttons, leaving only the middle two done. Then he turned you around to look in the mirror and immediately your mind was changed. The way Roger styled it emphasized your waist instead of hiding it and now the monotone look worked instead of looking drab.

“How do you feel about it now?” Roger asked with a proud little smile.

“I love it, thank you,” you said, looking at him through the mirror.

Roger stepped past you into the dressing room and grabbed the mesh shirt, “Well here are your two finds.”

He handed the shirt to you, but before he could return his hands to his sides, you grabbed one of them, sliding your fingers along his to his palm and feeling the calluses there from drumming.

Roger watched your hand on his and only looked up when you started talking.

“Did you see anything else you liked?”

“Oh, do you want more than these two things? I can look again,” Roger suggested.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand, “No, I mean did you see anything you liked for yourself? So I can thank you for helping me with these.”

“You don’t have to,” Roger protested.

“I might be spoiled, but I like to do some spoiling myself. I want to get you something, and this shop is too good for nothing to catch your eye. Anything you liked, nothing’s too much,” you told him, thumb rubbing over the back of his hand.

“Anything?” Roger hesitated.

“Anything, Roger,” you said, using your free hand to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. That seemed to reassure him.

“I did see this display with this really gorgeous…” he trailed off, still uncertain, looking down.

“Really gorgeous… what?” you prompted.

“… fur coat,” he looked up to see your reaction. You were beaming.

“That’s the one Ayan was telling me about, the coyote one, right? It is gorgeous, they'll be so happy that it’s gonna sell already!” you exclaimed, using your hold on his hand to pull him over to that part of the store.

Roger followed you, a little confused about what you said, but glad that you seemed so happy. You let go of Roger’s hand, set your clothes on the corner of a nearby table, and pulled the coat off the mannequin, handing it to Roger. He pulled it on carefully, pulling the sides so they were equal.

“Here,” you put your hands behind his neck and then collected the hair that had gotten trapped underneath the coat and moved it to where it should be. He smiled his thanks and you smiled back, before turning him around to face the mirror he was standing in front of.

You stepped a little to the side of him and watched him look at himself. He let out a little laugh, the kind that meant “damn, I didn’t think I’d look this good,” and you had to agree.

Then he turned back around to you, “Whaddya think?”

You looked him up and down, the desire you felt earlier only growing, “You look… hot.”

Roger was a little surprised at your outright statement, but that was nothing compared to the surprise he felt when you grabbed the lapels of the coat and used them to pull him to you, kissing him full on the lips without hesitation.

As shocked as he was at the spontaneity, kissing you was something he had been thinking about for a while, so he recovered quickly, kissing you back. He put one hand just above your waist and the other on one of your hands, keeping it there.

But before either of you could deepen the kiss, you heard the sound of heels clacking and pulled back. Roger’s lips followed yours, and you giggled, leaning back towards him. You only planned to give him another peck but his soft lips distracted you for another five seconds or so before you remembered what you were doing.

You pulled back, dropping your hands, except Roger kept the one he had been holding and linked his fingers with yours, smiling at you. He still looked clear-eyed and focused after the kiss, so you decided that you had to get him home quickly so you could remedy that.

“So I was thinking we should go ring up and then go to my place. To drop off my new clothes and… stuff,” you said, a bit of a suggestive emphasis on the last word.

“Let’s,” Roger said, picking your shirt up off the table.

The two of you ended up taking off your new finds, figuring it’d be too hot outside for a fur coat and denim shirt, and then headed to the checkout. Ayan was pleased, but not all too surprised that you were taking home the new fur, even if it was technically going to Roger’s home. Roger, to his credit, didn’t have any more trouble with you paying, but insisted that he carry back all the bags. You agreed with the stipulation that he would still hold your hand, which he did.

You only lived a ten minute walk away, and Roger had taken the underground, so you walked the way home. There was chatting along the way, but it was hard to get too deep into any one topic with the feeling of each other’s hands and the anticipation of what was to come distracting you.

Once you got to your building, you were ushered in by the doorman that tipped his hat and wished you both a good day. Then the lobby manager told you a package had arrived and gave you a little thin rectangular box the size of a book. Finally you got into the elevator and the attendant hit the button for the highest floor, yours.

“It’s from my parents,” you told Roger about the box.

“Are they still travelling?”

“Yeah, they should be in Barcelona right about now,” you replied.

“Must be beautiful there,” Roger mused and you hummed in agreement. Then the elevator dinged and the two of you got off, waving to the attendant as the doors closed. You unlocked one of the two doors that were in the hallway (the other was the stairs), and opened the door, ushering Roger in first since he was carrying things.

You took off your shoes to the right of the entryway, next to a pile of other shoes and Roger did the same. Then you grabbed the garment bag that held Roger’s fur coat and hung it on the coat stand. You also took the paper bag with your shirts and put it on your dining table with the package as Roger followed you the rest of the way into your apartment. As you walked about, putting things where they went, Roger was looking around at your place. You had a dining area that turned into a living room with giant floor to ceiling windows on the walls that looked out over the city. Roger was absorbed by trying to see if he could see his building from here when he heard you calling him.

It took him a minute to figure out where you were; there was a long hallway that led to many doors. But it turned out you were in the first off of the dining room which was the kitchen.

As he came into the room, you looked up at him with a smile, “Here, wash up, I cut us up some peaches, if you like them.”

“Love ‘em,” he replied sweetly as he headed to the sink.

“Do you want anything to drink? I have water, soda, tea…”

“Water’s great,” Roger answered and you got two glasses. “I was looking out the windows, you have quite the view.”

“We’ll have to eat this in my bedroom, you can see Hyde Park from there,” you told him and he grinned excitedly, grabbing the bowl of peaches and then walking behind you, nudging you forward with his knee and you laughed.

“Right so, what are all these doors then? Seems like an awful lot for one flat,” Roger teased and you chuckled.

So you pointed to each as you came to it, “Bathroom, office, guest bedroom that Kalaya uses as a closet, Kalaya’s bedroom with an ensuite, closet that also leads to my room--”

“Wait, like a walk-in closet? Oh I have to see this,” Roger said, heading for the door.

“Later, later, I promise,” you said, grabbing his sleeve to pull him back. “We still have the pièce de résistance, my bedroom.”

With that, you pushed open the door and nudged Roger to walk in. He did, eyes quickly taking in your four-poster bed, vanity, bookshelves, record player and collection, chaise lounge, and finally matching windows to the ones in the living room. He walked over to the chaise which was in front of the windows and set down the bowl on the little side table, looking out the windows. You set down the glasses and stood next to him.

“Do you spend a lot of time here?” he gestured to the chaise.

“Yeah, when I’m home alone. I’ll just sit and watch the city live its life for awhile. It’s like people-watching but on a bigger scale,” you explained and he nodded.

So Roger sat down on the chaise, back against the raised end and legs spread out in front of him. He smiled at you and patted the space between his legs. You sat there, your back against his front, but you tilted yourself to the side so you could face each other more easily.

Roger grabbed the peaches and the two of you fed each other slices as you watched the city. It was a quiet and lovely moment with a growing underpinning of desire as the juices dripped down your chins and you kissed away the excess. Once the peaches were gone, you turned more towards him, catching his lips with yours fully once again. The taste of peach lingered on both of your lips, and the kisses were just as sweet as the fruit, just as soft as its skin.

Bringing your hands to Roger’s face, you swiped your tongue along his lower lip, moving it inside when he opened his mouth. Roger made a soft sound and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer until your chests were flush. Your breaths pushed you even closer and the feeling was intoxicating, all your senses consumed by the warmth of the moment. You tried adjusting to straddle Roger’s legs, but the angle of the chaise wasn’t very easy for that, so you pulled back, laughing lightly.

Roger had been even further into the kiss than you were so he wasn’t exactly sure why you were laughing but smiled all the same. This time, you saw his unfocused eyes and the tilted grin on his face and felt very proud of your work. Standing up, you brought Roger with you, grabbing the belt loops of his jeans to pull him with you as you walked backward towards your bed. Then you spun him around, pulling open one side of the gauzy curtains that were draped over the frame of your bed, and pushing Roger onto the bed. He laughed as he landed, scooting back so you could get on as well, letting the curtain fall back to its original place.

The light filtering through the curtains was hazy and soft, painting both you and Roger in amber light. Roger sat so his back was against your pillows and you made your way up his body, straddling his hips. His hands tentatively rested on your thighs, but he looked around your room once more.

“If this wasn’t already obvious, I really like your-- your decor,” Roger’s voice faltered as you took off your shirt, leaving you only in your bra.

You smiled mischievously, “I thought you would, pretty boy.”

***

Then you reached for his shirt’s hem, pulling it over his head. It left his waves a bit of a mess, so you combed your fingers through his hair. He hummed and closed his eyes as you did. When you were done, you threaded your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and leaned in for another kiss. The two of you already had a rhythm of push and pull that made it easy to get lost in the kiss. Your free hand smoothed over the tan skin of Roger’s torso, sliding across his pecs and down to his waist, and you felt goosebumps erupt over his skin, smiling into the kiss.

Roger’s hands moved from your thighs, up your torso to your breasts, feeling your nipples harden through your bra and when you moaned as Roger thumbed them, he smiled as well. Your hands went down to Roger’s waistband and you unbuttoned his jeans, pulling down the zipper and starting to shift them down his body. But his hand over one of yours stopped you and you both pulled back from the kiss.

“Can I… eat you out first?” his request wasn’t what you were expecting, but the look of desire in his eyes and the slout pout of his lips sent a bolt of heat to your core and you nodded quickly, switching places with him.

He did take off his pants, tossing them aside, left only in his boxer-briefs. You could see his hard-on, but he was focused on you. Roger unbuttoned and unzipped your shorts, slower than you had his, and pushed them down your legs with your underwear.

Spreading your legs gently, Roger laid between them, turning his head to kiss up the inner thigh of your left leg. His mouth pressed wet kisses into the skin, making your tummy flip and just when he got to the top of that thigh, he switched to the other. Once he was done with both, he pressed kisses over your slit before dragging his tongue up through your folds. You let out a shaky breath as his tongue pressed on your clit, and you tangled your fingers in the hair at the crown of his head.

Roger formed his mouth around your clit and sucked softly, making you moan lowly. He pressed a kiss to your clit then looked up to you with wide eyes and asked, “Is that good?”

The way he asked wasn’t condescending like he already knew the answer, but more eager like he wanted to make sure it was.

So you hummed and nodded, “Yes, Roger, you’re so good, keep going.”

His mouth returned to your clit and he swirled his tongue around it, making you gasp out, “Oh-- yes, Roger, just like that, fuck.”

The praise made him even more set on making you feel good, so he brought a finger to your entrance, and pushed it in slowly. His mouth didn’t slow on your clit, but he was searching with his finger to find your g-spot, knowing he did when your legs twitched. Roger slipped in another finger with the first, immediately working on your g-spot and the feeling was so strong and so good that it was almost too much and your legs tried to close around him.

But Roger just used his free arm to hold you in place. He kept the same rhythm with his fingers and mouth and the pleasure within you just grew and grew. You could feel the tension in your lower stomach tightening with every brush of his fingers inside of you and every circle of his tongue on your clit.

“Oh, I’m close, Roger, fuck,” you managed to get out and Roger moaned against you, making your breathing uneven. “You’re such-- such a, fuck, a good, oh, such a good boy.”

Roger whined against you and you immediately came, the vibrations spreading hot pleasure all over your body as your back arched and you moaned loudly, tightening your grip in Roger’s hair. He kept going, wanting to make you feel as good as possible, partly because he couldn’t believe how hot it was to see you like that.

You were breathing like you had run a mile, but slowly coming down and you loosened your hold on Roger’s hair, combing through it again. Roger’s hum on your clit made you jump a little so you touched the side of his face to get him to stop; he propped himself on his elbows to look at you.

With a playful smileful you asked, “Did you like that, pretty boy?”

He just looked at you confusedly, so you explained, “Well you’re grinding into the mattress so I thought it must’ve been good.”

Roger’s eyes widened as he realized what he had been doing. He stopped, sitting up quickly.

“It’s okay. No need to be embarrassed,” you told him, sitting up and running a thumb over his pink cheek. “I’m glad you felt good too. Now, why don’t you let me make you feel even better, huh?”

He nodded and swallowed, “Yeah.”

You switched spots with him and leaned down for a kiss, running your tongue into Roger’s parted mouth and getting a taste of yourself in return. Reaching behind you, you undid your bra and took it off. Roger’s hands went to your breasts and you bit his lip when he pinched your nipples, moaning together.

You kissed from his lips to his jaw then down his neck, nipping again on his pulse point and where his neck met his shoulder. As you made your way down his chest, you pressed soft kisses basically wherever you could reach, and Roger squirmed a little underneath you, bright blue eyes watching your actions closely. A few kisses to his tummy and above his waistband and then you took off his underwear with his help, his cock hard and flushed red against his stomach.

Settled on your knees between his legs, and putting one hand on his thigh to steady yourself, you grabbed his dick in your other hand and bent down, pressing kisses along the shaft and then peppering them on the head. Roger moaned softly and you started pumping him and tongued his slit.

You sucked on his head, using your tongue to swirl around it and he groaned, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. Pulling off, you pressed a couple more kisses to this head and stroked him, “Such a pretty boy and such a pretty cock.”

Roger’s hips bucked and you hid your smile by going down on him again, not giving him any break. You worked your mouth down along with your hand, building a rhythm that was making precum bead on his head, which you happily sucked off.

Looking up at Roger, you saw that his head was tossed back, eyes closed with his lip between his teeth. You lifted your hand from his thigh up, brushing your thumb along his lower lip so he would let it go. As he did, he looked at you, tilting his head forward. His pupils were blown and he looked desperate as he watched you. You got an idea and a shiver ran across your body. You stuck your first two fingers out and slowly pushed them into his mouth, Roger’s lips immediately closing around them and starting to suck.

Both of you moaned; him around your fingers and you around his cock, making his hips buck again. You took him deeper in your mouth, as deep as you could go, gagging twice around his cock before pulling off again. You let the excess spit in your mouth fall onto his dick and used your hand to spread it around, jerking him off faster than before.

Roger was watching you intently, moaning whenever you twisted your wrist. You licked your lips and swallowed, “Your lips look so good around my fingers, Roger. You’re such a pretty boy, all desperate for me.”

He tried to say something that you could barely make out as “please.”

“Shhh, I got you. Do you wanna be a good boy and come for me?” you asked sweetly, lowering your head back towards his cock.

Roger nodded, keeping your fingers in his mouth, so you brought his head back into your mouth and sucked in time with your hand. You could tell Roger was getting close with the way his hips were shifting and you could feel the vibrations of his moans on your fingers stronger. His thighs were tensing so you pulled your fingers from his mouth, gripping his thigh with your wet fingers, and the slight dig of your nails into his skin set him off as he warned you hoarsely, “I’m gonna come-- fuck.”

He came as you jacked his dick off into your mouth, swallowing his cum as quickly as you could. His high moans of your name ignited a burn between your thighs but you focused on the task at hand. You pulled off, stroking him slowly now and using your tongue to lick any leftover spots of cum off his head. As his breath evened, you pressed one more kiss to his head and then sat up and moved to lay next to him.

***

Roger turned towards you and you kissed him quickly. You tangled one leg between his and started brushing his hair away from his still flushed face. One of his hands rested on your waist, tapping out a simple rhythm.

“You’re-- you’re good at that,” he told you with a little smile.

“Thanks, so are you, pretty boy,” you said, smiling when he flushed. “Are you ever not going to blush when I call you that?”

He looked away, then looked back, an unbelieving laugh escaping him, “Probably not.”

“Good,” you laughed, bringing him in for another kiss.

Later, after cleaning up, as the two of you were redressing, Roger remembered that he had yet to see your closet.

“You promised,” he reminded teasingly.

“I remember,” you rolled your eyes, but opened the door and led him in. He stepped in slowly, taking in every inch of very organized racks of clothes, shoes, and accessories with his eyes, which was a lot of inches.

“This closet is literally the size of my living room. My clothes would only fill one rack. Oh, I want this amount of nice clothes,” Roger said wistfully, running his hands across the racks.

“You know, I could help with that, for a small price,” you said with a smile.

“Are you thinking… sex? Because I’m already feeling like your sugar baby with the coat immediately turning into us hooking up,” Roger said and you could not tell if he was joking.

A look of amused shock took over your face as your eyes went wide and your jaw dropped, “I was thinking more like you keep helping me with my own shopping so I focus on finding the best things instead of buying everything in the store, thank you very much.”

“Oh,” Roger said with a sheepish smile.

“And excuse you, ‘immediately turning into us hooking up?’ it’s not like I jumped you in the store!” you said, pushing his shoulder.

“Well, you kind of did jump me,” he countered, stepping in front of you and placing his hands on your waist. You scoffed, not touching him. So he took your hands and put them on his shoulders, placing his back on your waist. You pretended to be mad and looked away, not making any move to separate yourself from him.

Roger leaned closer, only a few inches from your face, “I was gonna say that I wouldn't mind being your sugar baby, it’s a pretty sweet deal.”

“Shut up,” you said with a laugh, looking at him, and he did. “It’s a sweet deal for you because you get stuff and sex. I can get sex from anyone, the only payment worth it from you is your sense of style.”

“Well then I’ll happily pay with that,” Roger nodded. He smiled and you rolled your eyes at his absurdity, but let him press his lips to yours in a kiss that made up for it.

★★★

permanent taglist: @riseetothesun @caborhapch @drowseoftaylor @queenlover05 @johndeaconshands @stardust-galaxies @madamsledge

If you would like to be added to my permanent taglist, just send me a message or ask!

#so they hook up instead of sleeping together bc I couldn't do 11k I just couldn't #anyway sub!rog is the best and I had so much fun writing him #hope y'all enjoy!!!!#queen #roger taylor #fic #oneshot #the best things ain't free #queenmylovely #smut #roger taylor x reader #queen x reader #roger meddows taylor #roger meddows taylor x reader #rog #sub!rog

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nadiaportia · 3 years

Text

Ximena Rubalcaba

art by magician-of-the-lantern

The disgraced exile with a past she’d rather keep hidden.

Other bios: Sayelle | Deirdra | Heloisa | Cibela

Full name: Ximena María Magdalena de Rubalcaba y Saavedra

Meaning of name:

Ximena: Basque variant of Simone, meaning “one who has heard”

María Magdalena: Spanish variant of Mary Magdalene, derived of “of Magdala”, a village whose name means “tower” in Old Hebrew

Family:

Heloisa and Cibela de Rubalcaba: Ximena’s elder sisters, Heloisa by 6 and Cibela by 12 years. In her youth and early adulthood, due to being closer in age she spent more time with Heloisa than with Cibela, to whom she did look up though as a role model as well as Cibela being more introverted like her in contrast to the very extroverted Heloisa. Cibela was mostly absent during her childhood, whereas she and Heloisa spent most of their free time, and tutor-free time together.

Marisol de Rubalcaba (deceased): Her mother and the former Marquesa de Rubalcaba. Having immense favouritism for her firstborn, Marisol was rather distant towards her younger daughters but would try to be an affectionate mother towards them.

Valentín Saavedra (deceased): Ximena’s late father and a sea-faring merchant prince from the higher Cartagense bourgeoisie. Like his wife, Valentín favored his eldest daughter yet tried to encourage all of his daughters’ ambitions and work. Ximena is said to be similar to him in terms of personality.

Esmerelda de Rubalcaba: The matriarch in-all-but-name of the Rubalcaba family, Marisol’s older sister and Ximena’s aunt. Esmerelda is arguably the most central maternal figure in her life, even more than her own mother, and her primary tutor. She was the one who recognized Ximena’s affinity for magic and gave her vital support when she entered the Magician’s Guild.

Agustín de Rubalcaba: Esmerelda’s only son and Ximena’s cousin. A diplomat that wasn’t under his mother’s wing unlike his cousins, he is very affectionate towards Ximena and fulfills the role of an older brother for her as well as being her only connection to her family after her exile.

Segismundo: Ximena’s familiar whom she found in the rainforests of Northern Calpacia sometime after her exile as a hatchling and nursed him back to health. Their connection is deep and he is both trusting and protective of her.

Others: Constanza de Rubalcaba (maternal grand-mother, deceased), Cristobal de Rubalcaba (maternal uncle, deceased), Máximo de Otxoa (maternal grand-father, deceased), Jaime Saavedra (paternal uncle), Genoveva Saavedra (paternal aunt), Dulcinea Saavedra (paternal grand-mother, deceased), Leonardo Buendía (paternal grand-father), Catalina Saavedra (paternal grand-aunt), Aníbal Heßling de Cordovero (brother-in-law)

Nicknames: Xime (used by both friends and lovers), Ximenita (used by family, especially since she is the youngest among her generation), Marilena (exclusively used by her mother and her aunt)

Favourite meal: Tamales de pollo

Favourite drink: Cartagense liquor

Favourite flower: White Plumeria

Favourite color: Cerulean

Birthday: 20th of November

Age: 37 during the events of the game

Zodiac: Scorpio

MBTI: INTP

Patron Arcana: Death and the King of Cups

Upright: Death reaps that which has run its course, allowing new life to grow in the space left behind.

Reversed: Death turns his back on his duty, allowing things to fester and rot in his negligence.

Upright: The King of Cups is generous and compassionate, yet never allows his emotions to overwhelm his sense.

Reversed: The King of Cups manipulates the emotions of others callously, twisting them to fit his own agenda.

Gender: Cis female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Height: 1,65 m // 5′4″

Appearance:

Ximena is of rather slender build. Her skin is medium brown with a warm undertone and she has a round face with a rounded chin. She has a beauty mark underneath the outer corner of her left eye and an upturned nose with a low bridge. Her eyes are a color similar to dark honey and she has full lips. Her eyebrows are thick and dark, groomed but not thinned, and she has bags underneath her eyes. Her black hair is long and curly with the occasional grey hair, especially near her temples.

She usually wears golden hoop earrings and several golden rings on her fingers. She wears a bit of eyeliner and darkened lipstick.

She gives off the impression of being rather serene and after her exile purposely tries to change the way she spoke and held herself in order to appear less like an aristocrat and more like a commoner.

Visual Inspirations: Tessa Thompson and America Ferrera

Languages spoken: Calpacian, Prakran, Firenti, Karnasso, Galbradan, Hjallen, Nopali, Nevivish, Venterran, Oriolà, Zadithi and the Common Tongue

Magical abilities:

due to the Cartagense Magician’s Guild being rather pragmatic, she is not as versatile in her skills but honed those that she is good at so well that it makes her a master in the area

high intuition and good knowledge of people, to the point that she can feel when someone is lying to her

very perceptive and aware of her surroundings

fire-based offensive magic; used to replace her profound lack of physical combat skills

Love interests:

Out of the Main 6, while I mostly ship her with Lucio (since I am rewriting his route with her as the primary main character) and Asra (her ex), her dynamics with Nadia and Portia could leave the possibility for romance open.

Isidora: An OC of mine who was once very close friends with Xime as well as colleagues on whom she had eventually not unrequited feelings.

In general, like with most of my characters; if they’re compatible sexuality- as well as personality-wise, feel free to ship them with your OCs or MCs! Hit me up with a message and we can discuss the details!

Backstory:

Born into the influential aristocratic Rubalcaba family based in Cartagenth, the capital of the Calpacian Empire in the West, Ximena received an extensive education and since she had the most affinity to magic within her family, a vast tutoring in magic while her sisters were put on other carreer tracks. The Rubalcabas have had a presence ever since the founding of Cartagenth thanks to Fairuza, one of the city’s original founders, and then with Xochitl I., who was rumored to be the primary force behind the union of various kingdoms into what became Calpacia. They have centuries long history of being close to Calpacia’s sovereign, the Zaan, and involvement in politics, the military and on very rare occasions the Magician’s Guild of Cartagenth, where Ximena was meant to eventually become Head of the Guild and a vital instrument in the plans her aunt Esmerelda had for her, her sisters and the fate of all of Calpacia.

Mostly due to their riches, privilege and upbringing, the climate in Ximena’s family was a rather toxic one, with a centuries-old legacy hanging over them like a Damocles sword and envy, entitlement, jealously, sabotage and power struggles running rampant among them. Esmerelda’s desire to cement her family’s position and ensure their survival in the cut-throat environment in the Cartagense court as well as wanting to function as the driving force behind the pillars of powers saw her mercilessly using her family and to see them as little more than pawns to be utilized to achieve the desired goal.

Being maneuvered like a puppet made Ximena resent her family; her sisters for refusing to lean against it or even relishing in it, her parents for tolerating this and her aunt for being a manipulative force of nature. The straw that broke the camel’s back occurred weeks before her coronation as Head of the Guild where a vision came to her during a reading and showed how she would use her magic and that of the Guild to help in fighting a total war against everyone who refused to kneel to Cartagense’s power, resulting in the deaths of countless people - and herself as one of those who were supposed to carry on this blood-stained legacy. The refusal to partake in such future atrocities and the secret reveal of plans by the War Council to actually provoke a conflict and throw the country into total warfare caused Ximena to have her status as noblewoman taken from her and be banished from Cartagenth… or clean up her act, beg for forgiveness and mercy from her family and have the chance to correct her mistakes. That choice presented by her aunt in a final confrontation was refused and so Ximena, once a lady, now a nobody, fled Cartagenth.

Having to pretend to be a commoner was difficult at first but soon became a necessity, as well as having to adopt a different identity to make it beyond the Calpacian borders. Meeting her familiar and having someone in whom to confide absolutely everything was a much needed outlet for her, and some years her only constant companions were Segismundo, for whom she would’ve laid down her life, and the fear of being discovered by Calpacian spies even outside of the empire. She met Asra when contemplating to escape to Hjalle and from there on to the eastern countries beyond Nevivon and continue to live her life in anonymity, but decided to return with him to Vesuvia, a city of which she knew Calpacia fostered no diplomatic relations with. Her relationship with Asra at some point transcended mere friendship but even when that ended, they always remained amicable with each other and arguably the most important person in each other’s lives. The building in which Asra and she eventually opened as their ship was a gift from Agustín who was the only person from her old life Ximena ever contacted through magical and untraceable means. In Vesuvia, she also met magician and professional medium Sayelle bint Zahir from the city state of Bizatena at the Eastern Coast, and another exile from their respective home country, Deirdra Margalit of Calpacia’s neighboring kingdom Oriol.

She died from the Red Plague at the age of 34 while trying help Julian, with whom she had common friends, to find a cure for the illness that had already claimed thousands within the city. The efforts of those close to her did little in preventing her passing, and yet she woke up a year later with no memory of her previous life, her friends and the bond to her familiar being severed beyond repair.

More art:

feat. Heloisa by @missrabbitart | full post

feat. Lucio by @cherrygirl666 | full post including the uncut nsfw version

#the arcana #the arcana fan apprentice #the arcana oc #other people's ocs #ximena rubalcaba #i heard from multiple people that they couldn't assess the other bio since it was a subpage on my blog and mobile doesnt fuck w that #so there we gooooo... repolished and with an actual structure LOL

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mellifluoushood · 4 years

Note

okay since you said someone (I forget the tag, my apologies!) bought you edibles, I’m assuming you have some sort of experience with them, so would you ever be willing to write about getting high/doing edibles with Calum or better yet Cashton? I love your writing so much! xx

ah yes, @calumscalm bought me edibles because she is a doll and i love nadya

i have experience smoking, but i don’t have any experience with edibles, that’s why nadya decided to order some for me lol. but, i have several fics about getting stoned with calum, but i don’t have any with both calum and ashton. so, here you go my dear! i hope smoking with the both of them will do! if not, send in another request about edibles specifically and i’ll write it after i’ve tried them!

here are the calum fics i was talking about: (thin white lies) and today, i saw the whole world, and it was right in front of me (this contains smut!)

A/N: also, warning, this got a lot smuttier than i intended, but hey uh, here we are. there’s no sex but there’s sexual imagery.

“Why are we listening to Kid Cudi?” Ashton asks, his nimble fingers taking the joint from his mate’s grasp. Calum rolls his eyes, resting his head on the back of the sofa, looking at the dark, curly haired man with absolute annoyance.

“Because why not?” He scoffs, letting his eyes flutter shut as he listens to the remix she had gotten him hooked on.

“There’s two types of music you listen to when you’re stoned,” Ashton comments, wrapping his lips around the roach and inhaling. He feels the smooth smoke coat his mouth and throat, dissipating into his bloodstream before he inhales again, bringing the smoke into his lungs. He sits, holding in the breath before exhaling slowly, feeling the warmth of the buzz weaving into his brain and his eyelids. He repeats his motions, each time experimenting with the way he exhales: the first was through his nose, then letting it drift out his mouth and inhaling the smoke through his nose before letting it out again, then through circular rings. She watches with curiosity, surprised that he was able to French inhale.

“You guys and me,” he finishes his thoughts from minutes before. Calum rolls his eyes again,

“You’re telling me smooth rap with a strong beat that hits your chest is not the music to listen to when you’re stoned?” Calum asks. She stands up from the couch, stretching slightly. Ashton uses his free hand to tap his friend’s ass. She whips her head around, narrowing her eyes at him before smiling,

“Cheeky bastard,” her accent is thick and wraps around the words like Ashton’s lips continue to wrap around the joint. She pushes the coffee table in front of the sofa to the side so she can lay on the plush carpet of Calum’s living room. It’s soft to the touch, caressing the skin of her midsection that her crop top and gym shorts didn’t cover. Her eyes are hazy, looking up at the two men on the sofa in front of her. Ashton’s thighs are covered in gym shorts whilst Calum sports grey sweatpants. Both opt to remain shirtless, the heat of the summer seeping through each crack and crevice of Calum’s house.

“You enjoy it,” Ashton muses, taking one last, long toke before passing the woman on the floor the joint. She sits up, aware of their gazes as she takes the first hit off this specific joint. This one was Calum’s, both Ashton and her’s had already made it around the small group. She tilts her head back, basking in the feeling of warmth that hits the back of her head, heating her cheeks and fading her inhibitions. They watch her throat as it bobs around the breath of smoke, bringing it into her lungs. She opens her mouth, not necessarily exhaling, but letting the smoke escape through her parted lips.

“Eh,” the pitch of her voices raises and Ashton can’t help a deep chuckle that escapes his chest. She lays back again, taking another hit off the spliff in between her fingers. Her chest expands and she knows that they’re shamelessly staring at the movement of her breasts.

“Dogs,” she mutters with a small smile on her face. This catches their attention and their eyes land on her’s. Each set of eyes is ringed with red, glazing over as each and every molecule of THC makes a home in their blood cells. She almost laughs at how stereotypically stoned they look, but laughing takes too much effort, and she’s too stoned to give a shit. She sticks the joint in between her lips before mumbling around it, “If I were to take off my shirt and just lay here in my bralette, would you care?”

The men share a look, as if to say to the other, since when would we ever care and shrug their shoulders in response. Her head lulls to the side, looking at them head on, “Good enough for me.” The joint sits on her lips as she fumbles with the bottom of her shirt, pulling the material over her chest and over her shoulders. She’s careful to not bump the lit end and spill ash over herself. She lifts her back and shoulders to rid herself of the shirt and she lays back down, only clad in small shorts and a PINK bralette.

“Why are you lying on the floor?” Calum asks and she rolls her eyes,

“Why aren’t you lying on the floor?” She challenges. Calum shrugs, again, as if it’s the only response he’s capable to giving to other people’s questions. He slides off the couch, joining her and laying on her right side. He admires the soft tickle of the carpet against his sweat licked skin. He turns his head to Ashton,

“Now, you’re the odd one out, again,” he jokes, referencing Ashton’s music comment from earlier. It’s Ashton turn to roll his eyes, before getting up from the couch and occupying her left side. The three of them lay on the floor, height differences between the men and the woman quite humourous. They lay shirtless, skin damp with perspiration as their heads float away. She takes another hit, inhaling into her lungs nearly straight away with another breath. She holds it again for a few seconds before blowing it out.

“Post Malone?” Ashton nearly groans, his voice a near whine when the music switches.

“Oh my god, mate,” Calum groans in return, “shut up and stop fucking complaining.” Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Ashton mimicking Calum’s mouth movements with a scowl. She just chuckles to herself, inhaling again. The room starts to tilt a little, so she takes another hit and passes it to Calum. Calum grabs it with his right hand, clasping onto her thigh with his left in gratitude. His skin his hot but his rings are ice cold, the platinum freezing marks into her skin, causing the flesh of her thighs to erupt in goosebumps. The heat of her high carries towards her centre as she acknowledges the height of Calum’s hand on her leg. His fingers tickle her inner thigh, barely pressing into the skin. She swallows, closing her eyes and tilting her head back, trying to forget the heat of his touch. She exhales, focusing on the sensations that run through her system.

For a while, the only thing she could smell was the weed, but as Ashton and Calum lay close to her, she can smell their cologne sticking to their skin. Ashton’s cologne is bright, refreshing, contrasting to the heavy smell of the weed. Calum’s cologne seems to mix just right, the smell of cigarettes lingering on his fingers adding to the heaviness and woodsiness of his fragrance. She had laid on the ground, hoping to cool down, but the men’s bodies are almost touching her’s, heating radiating off them like they were on fire. She can feel sweat starting to lick the crevice of her breasts and behind her knees at the sudden increase in body heat. The carpet starts to warm up the longer they lay there, but all of a sudden, she’s too tired to move.

Her mind begins to float, listening to some ‘Rockstar’ remix that Calum had put on the queue after her remix of Kid Cudi’s ‘Day ‘N Nite’. The beat of the song thumps through her chest, off rhythm with the beat of her own heart. Her heart is racing, both with the high and the proximity of the two men. She swallows, letting her eyes flutter open at their silence. She turns to look at Calum, to see if he was still puffing on his joint, which he was. He looks down at her, his brown eyes hazy, pupils blown. She smiles up at him and he doesn’t hesitate to respond. He brings the joint to his lips again, the bracelet around his wrist moving and twinkling in the dim light. The chain matches the longer one that dangles around his neck, laying on top of his tattoos. Her eyes cast down to the black ink etched into his skin, admiring the way the black contrasts, yet blends with his brown skin. The sun had tinted it even darker, the melanin casting his complexion the true brown it was when it was tanned by the sun, almost like the Australian sun he had grown up with.

He notices her zoning out and takes the second to tap her inner thigh, she jumps slightly, the sudden pressure dragging her out of her thoughts. She doesn’t bother to apologise, knowing that Calum had seen her admiring him on multiple occasions, and him returning the favour on more than one occasion as well. He hands her the joint, hearing Ashton huff next to her,

“Greedy prick,” Calum mutters as she just laughs, shaking her head and inhaling again. Her gaze turns to Ashton next, who’s already gazing at her. His green eyes are electric, sharply contrasted against the red staining the whites of his eyes. The dark dye of his hair only adds to the contrast, the green and hazel flecks popping. His complexion doesn’t have the same brown undertone to Calum, but he’s tan just the same. Hairs tickle his broad chest, his arms thick as they cross over his chest, in a relaxed manner. He gives her an earth shattering smile, the scruff forming on his cheeks and jaw only emphasising the whiteness of his teeth.

“No, you just suck at sharing,” Ashton comments, eyes never leaving the woman next to him. If both men were to say they hadn’t at least admired her shape at least once that night, they would’ve been caught in a dead lie. They couldn’t help but notice the curve of her breasts, covered with a lacey patterned bralette. The shade of the fabric went nicely with her skin tone. The black gym shorts she had on left little to the imagination, the curvature and girth of her hips stretching the material. A matching lace print could be seen peeking out the top of her shorts. Her legs looked heavenly, moisturised with lotion and absolutely shining luxuriously under the light. Her hair was splayed out beneath her head, leaving her shoulders and collarbones fully exposed. She hadn’t bothered to take out her hoops before laying down. The light bounces off the reflective metal. Her eyes are the most fucked out of the three of them even though her tolerance was better. When Ashton had gone to pick her up from her apartment, her eyes were already burning with red, glassy to soothe the irritation.

“You done?” She asks, taking one last hit of the joint and passing it to Ashton.

“Hm, not yet.” She feels Calum’s hand trail even further up her thigh and she has to resist coughing out her last toke. She manages to swallow down the cough, keeping the smoke in her lungs and exhaling when she was ready. Ashton’s eyes notice Calum’s hand. He places his own hand on her left thigh and she lets out a shaky breath. Their proximity allows to hear the exhalation over the music still playing from the speaker.

“Definitely, not yet,” Calum murmurs turning on his side. Ashton repeats his motions, reaching above his head and stubbing out the joint that wasn’t nearly finished, but something had caught his attention instead.

And she didn’t mind one fucking bit.

taglist: @gigglyirwin @loveroflrh @ammwritings @calumscalm @dukehoods @toofadedtofight @babylon-corgis @talkfastromance4 @thesubtweeter

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kathyprior4200 · 4 years

Text

Alastor: Unofficial Character Profile and Timeline

Character profile

Name: Alastor (meaning Greek spirit of vengeance/tormentor)

Birth: January 24th 1896, New Orleans, Louisiana (VA Edward Bosco’s birthday is January 24, 1986)

Human name: Alastor Roscoe Duvalier Cajun (Roscoe means deer forest and is also an old term for a handgun. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Race: Part White (French-American from his father) part Creole (Native American and African-American from his mother).

Hair color: Brown (red and black in Hell) usually short, sometimes in a small ponytail or brown ends reaching slightly past his ears

Eye color: Brown (red in Hell)

Skin color: Light brown (pale gray in Hell) thin pointed chin, lanky agile body

Clothing: brown/white nice shirts with bow ties, dress coats, hunting boots, wine colored pants, the occasional top hat with voodoo pins sticking from the top.

Items: Hunting rifle given to him by his father, sharp knives, a staff with a microphone on it decorated with small golden antlers curved near the top. (The staff became a red vintage microphone with an eye and magic powers in Hell that became part of him as per the deal he took)

Date of death: 1933

Cause of death: Bitten by dog with rabies, experienced hallucinations, inflamed brain, strange excitement and paranoia. When he sees water, it’s nothing but alligators, leeches and the darkness of an ocean. He ran from police and into the woods at night. The police sent several police dogs after him, appearing to Alastor as werewolves. He encounters Hustle, a deer hunter, yelling in agony, almost caught by police. Hustle alerts the police to his location, saying “Target criminal’s over here!” Alastor grabs the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between the eyes. His body is mauled by the police dogs and the hunter sinks down to his knees in shock and fear.

Demonic life: deer demon, overlord, radio host. His deer-like shadow has a mind of its own and reveals his true feelings.

Likes: cooking, singing, dancing, electro swing, Rosie, Mimzy, Charlie (as a friend), his mother, hunting and skinning deer, being out in nature, people failing, dark coffee, the Picture Show, the Stock Market Crash of 1929, theater, liquor, dad jokes, Jambalaya, epicurean food, making voodoo dolls of the Hazbin characters

Dislikes: being touched, strawberries, post 30’s technology, dogs, anything sweet, frowning, Vox, his father, Angel’s sexual remarks, tea, spray can foods, ketchup

Abilities: supernatural powers, voodoo, radio broadcasting, shadow manipulation, warping space, singing, charm

Kalfu is Alastor’s main voodoo deity, as both are destroyers and dark sorcerers.

Mother:

Loretta Marie Duvalier (last name became Cajun): (named after Loretta Petit, real life American radio personality born in New Orleans. Duvalier is last name of Voodoo genocidal dictator of Haiti.)

Speaks French. As a human, she had dark skin, thick black short hair and often wore bonnets, dresses, and on occasion, charms around her neck. She went to Heaven for her selfless actions in comforting Alastor when he was bullied and abused. She was the only source of light in his life before he snapped.

Her voodoo deity is Erzulie, the goddess of beauty, love, femininity and motherhood.

Alastor secretly cuddles with a voodoo doll of his mother every night.

Father:

Louis Francois Cajun: White man and Christian French immigrant, descendant of two French Canadians. He fell in love with Loretta, but bi-racial marriage was frowned upon, so they held it in secret. He is a skilled hunter and taught Alastor to hunt deer and game at a young age. When Alastor was younger, he told him to “beware the gators” in the nearby swamp. As Alastor grew older, he became more abusive to him, even molested him after sleeping with another woman on a Friday the 13th. He died brutally by Alastor in the 1920s/30s.

Louis became an oppressive black deer overlord but was defeated by Alastor a second time.

In Alastor’s vision, Louis is represented by Ogun, god associated with dogs, warriors, hunters, conflict. He’s symbolized by an iron knife and has fondness for pretty women and rum.

Samuel Cajun – Grandfather

Antoinette – Grandmother – Voodoo Priestess and Hoodoo oral practitioner

Racheil: Alastor’s friend and love interest (though he doesn’t want sex or serious romance.) She has short blonde hair and looks similar to Charlie in dapper clothes. She, like Charlie, is nice to him and loves to dance and sing. She tries to help him become a better person but after he snapped, she broke up with him and left him to solve his own problems. She almost got stabbed b him but managed to escape with her wife Agatha (whom she had married in private).

In Alastor’s dream, she appears as Oshun, a goddess connected to beauty, sexuality, wealth, pleasure, and rivers.

Alastor later makes a voodoo doll of Racheil’s similar counterpart, Charlie along with dolls representing the other characters.

Mimzy: Alastor’s friend and temporary love interest (Alastor liked to flirt with her but didn’t want to get intimate nor be tied down). Mimzy likes singing, jazz, desserts and doughnuts. She doesn’t like rock. Confident in her singing, she is the owner of a jazz club, both on Earth and in Hell. She is a short, chubby woman who wears pink/purple flapper dresses, a headband with pink feathers and short blonde hair. Her eyes were blue and her skin white as a human, in Hell her eyes were black with hot pink pupils.

Mimzy and Alastor sing several duets together on stage in both realms and even share a kiss much to the disgust of a jealous (human) Husk. As time went on however, Mimzy started falling head over heels for him, while Alastor wanted to stay friends. (She heard about his radio shows but didn’t suspect he was the killer until later). One night, a love crazed Mimzy (who had also had several drinks) tried to undress him and even reached for his private parts. He shoved her off and threatened to kill her if she assaulted him again. Then she realized in shock that he was the serial killer when he defended himself with a bloodstained knife. She tried to call for help, but he choked her with an insane look in his eyes.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Mimzy in his lair with the straw arms missing.

Rosie: Alastor’s friend, fellow overlord, and associate. Rosie wears dark pink dresses, and a large pink hat with skulls, pink feathers, and black flowers on it in Hell. She has black eyes and sharp teeth. She is the owner of her emporium, after Franklin got eaten by demons.

As a human, Rosie looked similar to Mary Poppins: black hair, white skin, elegant dresses and an umbrella in her hands. She owned an emporium on Earth. Alastor used to sing with her and help her out like a gentleman. However, this was before he became insane. Rosie went to Hell after forcing her employees to work long hours with hardly any breaks (It was during a time where people worked their lives away). Like in Hell, she was self-centered and didn’t hesitate to overpower others to fulfill her ends. Hence, she became an overlord due to the impact of her evil actions.

According to Vivziepop, their relationship is similar to Jack and Mary’s relationship from Mary Poppins: both Jack and Alastor help out their lady friends and are polite to them. Like Mary, Rosie is stern, sophisticated, elegant, and a perfectionist. She’s “practically perfect in every way” at least in her opinion. Both Rosie and Alastor love singing, dancing, performing, and killing people. The three of them met up with Mimzy and all sang together.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Rosie in his lair.

However, Rosie, like nearly everyone in Hell, has an agenda of her own: using Alastor to further her status. In fact, she often views those around her as mere friends and servants who purpose is to make her life easy and orderly. She, along with Vox, Valentino, Katie, and Sir Pentious are listed as antagonists.

Niffty: A small cyclops demon with a hot pink skirt and short pink hair with a yellow undertone. She is the maid for the Hazbin Hotel: she cleans the rooms, cooks meals and likes to sew, read and write. She is obsessed with men and was summoned by Alastor. She died in the 1950s as a Japanese-American woman at age 22. She is hyperactive and fast…and also a hopeless romantic who indulges in her own fantasies. Niffty isn’t afraid to use manipulation to get her way. Alastor summoned her from the fireplace but before that, he had charmed her into making a deal with him shortly after she arrived in Hell.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Niffty in his lair.

Husk: A black and white cat demon with red wings with card suits on them. He has long red eyebrows, wears a black hat and wears a large red bow tie. Husk loves drinking, gambling, cards and magic shows. As a human, Husk interacted with Alastor as a broad man with short black hair. He went off to serve in the Vietnam War, gambling and drinking his problems away. He died in the 1970s.

In Hell, Alastor summons the grumpy bad-mouthed Husk to help man the front desk of the hotel for “charity work” and transports him there. Alastor got Husk to make a deal with him by promising him booze, cigars, and drinks spiked with catnip. Husk can speak many languages and is good with children.

Alastor keeps a voodoo doll of Husk in his lair.

Alastor’s ancestor from his father’s side: Marie LaLaurie, (1787-1849) real life New Orleans serial killer, cruel to Creole slaves

Dr. Facilier: distant relative

Alastor’s cousin from his mother’s side: Clementine Barnabet: (1894-1923) real life Louisiana voodoo priestess and serial killer, killed families with an axe.

Real life Axeman of New Orleans serial killer 1918-1919

Killed women and primarily used an axe. Spared those who played jazz in their homes

Albert Fish: serial killer, child rapist and cannibal 1924-1932 crimes, died in 1936

Alastor "Hazbin" Roscoe Cajun/Duvalier born January 24th, 1896 (Edward Bosco's b day Jan 24th 1986) to Francois and Loretta Cajun, born at 3:00AM; Loretta gave birth in the woods on the way to the hospital (born 3 weeks early). Light brown skin, brown eyes, round glasses, short brown hair with reddish tint, pointed chin, thin agile body

1897: Age 1 Things start off normal in New Orleans, infant Alastor plays in his crib and loves the music on the radio.

1898: Age 2 Alastor meets his uncle and aunt and discovers the marvelous outside world

1899: Age 3 Alastor watches musicals on the picture show and falls in love with them. His mother makes him Jambalaya, his favorite food of comfort

1900: Age 4 Reading and preschool, Sunday church goings which Alastor finds boring

1901: Age 5 Kindergarten: Alastor is teased for his freckles and whenever his hair glows a reddish tint in the sunlight

1902: Age 6 First grade: Alastor learns reading, writing, math, and art. He hates gym and loves music and art.

1903: Age 7 Second grade: Alastor's parents get into a fight for the first time in a while; Alastor is sent to his room whenever it happens. After he comes back upset, both his parents say that frowning is weakness. Loretta says "Remember to smile, Alastor, it shows dominance and confidence. You're never fully dressed without one." He takes that lesson to heart for the rest of his life.

Vision 1: Alastor dreams he is a young red deer who performs onstage and receives a standing ovation, representing childhood innocence.

1904: Age 8 Third grade: Alastor discovers his love of theater. He finds joy in attending and watching Mardi Gras parades and the costumes. He says 'Throw me something, mista!" during the parade but the other kids got to get the prizes thrown from the parade instead.

1905: Age 9 Fourth grade: A group of boys start to bully him and even punch him badly. Alastor smiles through it all. He tells his father and mother. While his mother comforts him, his father scolds him for not fighting back.

1906: Age 10 Fifth grade: Alastor gets his brutal revenge by daring the boys to enter into a nearby swamp. One of the bullies gets eaten by a crocodile while Alastor just watches. Alastor gets nicknamed by his father and bullies as "Alastor Hazbin."

1907: Age 11 Sixth grade: Alastor goes hunting with his father and his father shows him how to hunt and skin deer and other game. He becomes skilled over time and loves the meat. He also learns how to cook from his mother...Jambalaya being his favorite to make.

1908: Age 12 Seventh grade: Alastor gets slapped by his father for not participating in sports. Other kids make fun of him for being of mixed race. Loretta begins teaching him about Voodoo and Hoodoo. Alastor connects with Kalfu the deity and learns of his heritage as part French and part Creole. His grandmother was a powerful priestess and was believed to orally pass on stories and display feats of magic. His Grandmother was born in Haiti, moved to France and then to the U.S. His Uncle, Father, and Grandfather were Canadian/French Christians. His aunt was conflict avoidant, unlike his uncle and father. Loretta tells him (though he soon doesn't listen) that Voodoo is not to be used for evil, sacrifices, nor cannibalism and to only resort to cannibalism for survival.

1909: Age 13 Eighth grade: Alastor's father yells at him for not showing interest in girls. One fateful night, his father sleeps with another woman and Alastor notices. A helpless Loretta watches as Francois whips, humiliates and molests him in his room, warning him not to tell or "he'd kill (them) both." Loretta comforts him with hugs and Jambalaya. As he eats, Alastor imagines eating off his father's fingers.

Alastor is diagnosed with anxiety, narcissism and psychopathic tendencies. He is bullied in middle school and is not interested in sex and girls like the other boys. He finds it gross and pointless.

Loretta's Jambalaya nearly kills her when a drunk Loretta (too much Scottish Comfort) puts gunpowder and wasabi into it. Alastor's father makes him memorize Bible passages.

1910: Age 14 Ninth grade: Many girls both in school and outside fall in love, but Alastor isn't interested. A Satanic Ritual book appears after it was dropped by accident by imps. He looks through it with great interest and makes a deal with dark Loas: gain near unlimited power in the afterlife in exchange for his soul and the soul of a loved one.

1911: Age 15 Tenth grade: High school was a nightmare. The bullying was worse and Alastor became more and more withdrawn. During this time, Alastor becomes interested in being a radio host and also reads books on weapons and cannibalism.

Vision 2: Alastor dreams he is a red buck, who runs from hunters representing the elite white people. He evades a crocodile, resembling his father and his mother appears as the Voodoo goddess of beauty and motherhood.

1912: Age 16 Eleventh grade: Alastor applies to be an apprentice for a local radio station several times, but doesn't get in. His father and uncle berate him everyday and his mother is busy at secretary work, and Voodoo rituals every month.

1913: Age 17 Grade 12 Alastor graduates and applies again. He starts at the bottom, but rapidly moves his way up. He starts by telling dad jokes, then wants to talk about murder and crimes "far more interesting than the weather and social events."

1914: Age 18 After experiencing harsh critiques from mainstream stations, Alastor is fired. However, he soon decides to pursue his goals on his own. His makes radios from scratch and starts his own shows, with a few private listeners at first.

World War One begins! Alastor uses this opportunity to broadcast on a private station news of deaths in the war in graphic detail. More people start listening and his soon starts making money. Alastor makes his first kill when a man assaulted him and beat him up for him being "Black and outspoken." He was able to get away and he wondered what it'd be like to do it again on the ignorant folks.

1915: Age 19 Alastor promotes war efforts through announcements and songs, including his ending song "You're Never Fully Dressed." However, he still describes brutal murders for the sinister folks.

1916: Age 20 Alastor meets Husk and Mimzy at a jazz bar and club for the first time. He dances and sings with Mimzy, loving her confidence and sexy looks. (Though he doesn't like to be touched by anyone other than his mother, due to fatherly past trauma).

1917: Age 21 Alastor meets Racheil (alternate form of Charlie) and they become fast friends. He learns of the Axeman, a fellow serial killer and learns to be careful.

1918: Age 22 Spanish Flu Pandemic occurs! Sadly, Alastor's mother becomes gravely ill and passes away. Alastor smiles even as he cries. Alastor's father doesn't seem to care. Alastor gets raped again and his father abandons him. Alastor's mother goes to Heaven and Alastor, not knowing what else to do, eats her remains.

1919: Age 23 Alastor becomes depressed (and even suicidal for a while). He doesn't eat much. Alastor eventually snaps and begins his life as a serial killer. After his mother’s death, Alastor lost his remaining traits of humanity…succumbing to his demonic nature. At that point, he didn’t care who he ate and/or killed…it was the last think he could do to keep himself sane along with drinking liquor, coffee, sewing voodoo dolls, and broadcasting the murders by himself.

1920: Age 24 Roaring Twenties and Jazz Age. Alastor becomes known (though no one suspected it was him) by several names "Bayou Butcher," "Deer Devil" "Louisiana Lunatic" among others. Alastor revels in his fame and becomes richer and more materialistic. He buys himself suits, and a cane with deer antlers on it. One of his disturbing hobbies was using his gentleman charm to lure women into his home where he would lie them in the basement and kill them while broadcasting their screams.

Alastor plays in a jazz band and enjoys watching musicians play while smoking and drinking liquor. He often cries in private and makes straw dolls. He drinks dark coffee every morning.

1921: Age 25 Mimzy falls in love with Alastor and touches him inappropriately. He threatens her with a knife and she discovers he's the serial killer. She rushes to call for help but Alastor takes her into an alleyway and stabs and chokes her to death. Feeling slight remorse, he takes her home for his meal.

1922: Age 26 Racheil breaks up with him after being concerned about his sanity. Worried he might be caught, Alastor lays low for a while before starting up again. After Alastor's father comes back, he decides to get his revenge. He ties him to a tree and tortures him during the night. The predator becomes the prey. Alastor tracks him down to a local bar. (Although he usually doesn’t stalk or chase his victims as it breaks his moral code, but his dad is an exception. Also following others/sneaking toward them are often required to kill others.) His father had been secretly afraid that Alastor would be stronger and would want to kill him, thus proving his son more dominant than himself. He had weapons ready, but Alastor had set up several traps in advance. Though Alastor was physically weaker than his father, he was very clever. He had packed a backpack of all his weapons, rope and essential tools. His father says “You and your heathen mother deserve to die” only for Alastor to respond, “Nobody talks about my mama that way.” Seeing his father knocked out, Alastor raises his knife to kill him but stops. That would merely be too easy. He supports him by the shoulders, pretending to be concerned for him as onlookers watched in shock, “It’s okay sir, you just fainted from the heat. Let’s go for a walk in the woods.” He takes him deep in the forest and chuckles darkly.

Alastor knocks him out and ties him to a tree in a forest, waiting until he wakes up. He starts (smiling the whole time) by slicing off his father’s dick among his father’s cussing (“when you screwed me once”), inserting a hot knife inside his father’s privates (“when you screwed me again”) then slicing off his ears (“this is for all the times when you wouldn’t listen to me”), shoving his own severed penis down his throat (“When you shoved your macho beliefs down my throat”) he whips him, then slowly cuts deep down his chest with a chainsaw, organs revealed (“this is for mama”) and finally shots him in the heart (“and this is for me, you heartless bastard.”) He eats his father’s flesh over jambalaya and it’s the best meal he’s ever had.

1923: Age 27 He kills his victims in various ways: some hanging from trees with their organs spilled out, some buttered and eaten, others buried alive, some people shot and stabbed when he doesn’t feel like dragging it out. He’ll often poison other’s food/drinks and watch their reactions with a grin on his face. He enjoys tricking others into corners/tight spots so he doesn’t have to run after them. He’s found of pranks, especially deadly ones done on others. He saves brutal killings for racist men and women and those who think ill of him and his show. He becomes known as the “Deer Devil Dealer of New Orleans.” He only started killing people and animals at random after his mother died and he lost his mind.

1924: Age 28 Vision 3: : He has nightmares about a demonic skeletal deer covered with maggots and sores with chunks of meat over bone and one eye hanging loose running after him. He finds himself in a dark snowy forest, a fierce biting wind. After it seemed like he had been defeated by the monster, Alastor looks into a puddle and sees another, far worse monster, a demonic wendigo reflection staring back at him…Alastor sees a horned face and malnourished skeletal body, ripped red pinstriped dress coat, four clawed hands, red and black hair and red eyes, sharp teeth, large black antlers…the wendigo form resembling his current demonic form in Hell. After killing the alligator representing his father, the wendigo Alastor look-alike shadow appears and says “This is who you really are,” before Alastor wakes up.

1925: Age 29

1926: Age 30

1927: Age 31

1928: Age 32

1929: Age 33 Alastor enjoys the Stock Market Crash and uses the opportunity to enjoy watching orphans suffer. It helps remind him that he's far better off than many, besides the fact that kids were annoying to him. Alastor makes an "Axeman letter:"

"Hell, 1929 Stock Market Crash Esteemed Mortal of New Orleans: The Deer Devil/Bayous Butcher/Louisiana Lunatic/Hazbin of Hell

They have never caught me and they never will. They have never seen me, for I am invisible, even as the sound waves that surround your earth. I am not a human being, but a demon and overlord from the hottest hell. I am what you Orleanians call the Deer Devil. Down here, I’m the inevitable Radio Demon.

When I see fit, I shall appear and claim other victims as I see fit. I alone know whom they shall be. No clues will be left behind, save for what you might hear on the next broadcast. Tell the police and the racist, elite scum of the world to beware. Let them try not to discover who I am, for it’d be better for them not to have been born than to incur the wrath of the Deer Devil. You’ll have a deer in the headlights look and won’t have any idea what hit you until after it’s too late. Undoubtedly, you Orleanians think of me as a monster and murderer. But if I wanted to hurt anyone else here, I would have done so already. If I wished, I could pay a visit to your city every night. I could kill every one of your best and worst citizens, for I am in a close relationship with the Shadows of the Other Side. At 6:06 pm next Friday night, I am going to pass over New Orleans and then visit those in Hell. I am going to make a little proposition to you people. Here it is: I am very fond of jazz music, electro swing, and jambalaya. I swear by all the Loas and deities that I will spare those who can provide me with some great entertainment when I visit. Word of warning, I can read you people like a book, and see into your very souls. Anyone foolish enough to challenge me will have their corpses consumed and their screams muffled by the lovely sound of jazz bands jamming the night away. I have been, am, and will be, the worst spirit that ever existed in fact, fantasy, or realm of Hazbins. Smile and stay tuned! ~Deer Devil (Alastor)"

1930: Age 34 Great Depression occurs!

The event hits Alastor and many others hard...he runs low on food so he eats others and hunts more and more to survive. Now Alastor kills at random instead of focusing on the racist mean people.

1931: Age 35

1932: Age 36

1933: Age 37 Alastor's Death

The police eventually track Alastor down with the help of Racheil and Chasseur, a fellow deer hunter whose daughter had been killed by Alastor. Not too long before the police discover where he is, Alastor gets bitten by a rabies infested dog. For the next several hours, Alastor experiences hallucinations, paranoia, brain inflammation and a fear of water. In water, all he sees is leeches and alligators. In his hallucinations, he is being watched by a wendigo. The police chase Alastor though the dark woods, police dogs hot on the trail. A local deer hunter, Hustle, joins in on the chase. Alastor navigates the woods, trying to find a place to hide. The hunter accidentally shoots him in the back as he ran, thinking Alastor was a deer.

Alastor experiences extreme agony when the deer hunter spots him, pointing a rifle at him. The hunter announces his location to the police. Seeing no other way out other than pain and imprisonment, Alastor takes the gun from the hunter and shoots himself between his eyes. The police dogs maul his dead body and the hunter sinks to his knees in shock and terror. Strangely enough, Alastor dies with a creepy smile on his face, the mark of Kalfu appearing behind his cold neck, unnoticed by anyone.

1933: After death: Alastor's old body falls away as the deal with the Loas takes fruit. The shadows give him his immense powers in the shadow world and he transforms into his demon form in Hell. He gets his microphone staff, which enables him to broadcast his murders and victories. He is known as the Radio Demon. He conquers several areas of Hell, eventually getting the attention of the overlords who know to stay wary of him.

Alastor befriends Mimzy and overlord Rosie and they sing, dance, talk and murder other demons for fun. Alastor treats them both with respect and knows not to piss off Rosie as she's stern, violent, and "practically perfect in every way."

Every year when the Exterminators appear, Alastor broadcasts the chaos during the 24 hour period, and will go out and kill the angels too.

1950s: Alastor makes a deal with Niffty who becomes obsessed with him and men. She becomes his servant/slave/associate and cooks and cleans for him.

1970s: Alastor makes a deal with Husk and Husk becomes his servant/slave/associate after Alastor promised him a better life with money and booze and the promise of " finding love."

2019: Alastor sees Charlie on TV and decides to help her with the hotel (for his own enjoyment, of course.) He dances and befriends Charlie, forming plans to use her to dig deeper into the royal family and eventually take the throne and rule Hell. He hopes that with a shadow army and more possessed members, he can invade Hell, Heaven and even Earth to spread his chaos. He defeats Sir Pentious and changes the name to Hazbin Hotel, his formerly mocking nickname he embraced.

Future: Alastor helps Charlie and the others protect the hotel from Sir Pentious, Vox, Valentino, Velvet and other villains.

Other non canon versions of Alastor:

Stalaros (commonly known as 2p Alastor). Alastor with opposite colors and personality: he wears white and blue and cries a lot. He is one of the clients at the Haven Hotel run by Caoline Egnam, Heaven's princess. Stalaros is gay and horny like Angel Dust.

Lavender/Purple Alastor: Peaceful and confident, an OC made by fans.

Radiodust Alastor: An Alastor that loves Angel Dust. Popular with fans.

Charlastor Alastor: An Alastor that loves Charlie romantically. Popular with fans.

Redeemed Alastor: Appears as a man with a deer head and human-like traits in Heaven. In this universe, he reunites with his mother.

FHE (“For His Entertainment”) Alastor: Alastor in his truly evil form: he takes over all of Hell and possesses the demons. His shadow can turn into a monster wendigo. This Alastor has a hole between his eyes from a bullet wound, and antlers stained with blood.

#hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel theory #alastor #human alastor #alastor lair

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spiralingsights · 3 years

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A Monster in the Dark - Chapter 4

[ self ship fanfic about Nightmare Bonnie and my insomniac s/i :) ]

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Spade was the biggest of the four animatronics housed in the Diner.

He was a bat with striking grey eyes and one of the longer snouts. Like the other three, he wasn’t even close to anatomically correct. His wings were short and pointed, but attached to his arms for easier mobility.

The outer metal that made up his exoskeleton was a shiny midnight black with purple undertones, and the insides of his ears were a dark shade of the grey that coloured his eyes. He wasn't sure when Scrap decided to change his eye colour from the brilliant red they used to be, but he didn’t mind. The only thing that bothered him is how similar they were to the teenager he remembered.

He didn’t pay the eyes too much attention, instead popping open Spade’s chest to get to work. At this point, the animatronics only needed some slight tweaking, and one hundred percent insurance that their waterproofing would work.

Not that Cane himself would be testing that, Scrap assured him that all he needed to do was secure it as much as possible and leave the testing up to Azriel.

“Howdy!” Speak of the devil once again. Cane turned to greet Azriel with a small smile, the bright grin on the other’s face near blinding.

Azriel was Scrap’s twin, and you could tell they were identical. They had the same facial shape, same crystal blue eyes, and the same tanned skin. The main difference really was Azriel’s short, and bright white, hair. He wore it in an undercut that never seemed to grow out, and managed to keep his hair so perfectly dyed that his roots never showed.

He also smiled a lot more than his brother, the grin practically never dropping from his face. “Testing’s scheduled for today, so uh, just finish up here and head over to Sage.”

Cane gave the co-owner a short nod, turning back to Spade to finish the wiring he had been working on before the cheerful male had dropped in. “Alright,” he said after a few minutes, stepping back and brushing his hands off. He closed up the animatronic before turning back to Azriel.

“I knew it was a good idea to hire you,” Az told him, giving him a light clap on the shoulder before sending him off to Sage.

Sage was the exact opposite of Spade. The seven foot animatronic was a barn owl, and honestly one of the absolute best as far as looks went. Xir exoskeleton was just barely cream, leaning more toward an off-white. Xir wings were also on xir arms, like Spade’s, but more detailed. Sure the feathers were just engraved on, but they were still beautiful.

As far as Cane knew, both Sage and Spade were programmed to perform for adults, rather than children. According to Scrap, the Diner was supposed to be a place that catered to both age groups, so parents could drop their kids off in one half of the building and still be close by while getting some entertainment as well.

It meant that Spade and Sage ended up getting programmed with very different songs than Sequin and Salem, the two children’s performers. Cane had been meaning to ask Oliver, the programmer and adopted sibling of the Arrowoods, what songs they’d used, but they were rarely ever on site.

Not that it really mattered, since Cane was there for the mechanical focus rather than the programming.

“I can’t wait to see all of you on stage,” he admitted to the owl with a sigh, sitting on the edge of the platform xey were standing on. “We’ve been working for months now and it’s not like they can put off opening forever.”

Obviously, the animatronic didn’t reply, but Cane thought he saw xir brown eyes turn towards him. After a moment of staring, he blamed it on the sleep deprivation.

“I dunno. Maybe I’m just getting impatient. I’ve never been good at the waiting game, and there’s really not much more I can do. Spade is as perfect as I can get him, and I know Sequin and Salem are ready for the stage.”

He looked up at his only company for the moment, a small smile gracing his lips. “I’m sure you’re ready too. You’re Scrap’s favourite, after all, and I know he never leaves a job half done. Hell, you’re probably the most perfect one here.”

Silence reigned for a moment after that, before Azriel’s voice broke the silence. “Talking to the animatronics now, are we?” he teased, chuckling at the side eye Cane gave him. “Yeah, yeah, I know I do it too. Anyway, your boy’s working perfectly. Not even a single spark.”

Cane let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding, a relieved smile making its way onto his face. “Was there ever any doubt?”

Azriel’s laugh was more of a bark this time, but it was still better than nothing. “No there was not. Now move along freeloader, there’s plenty more for you to do around the diner.” That was basically code for ‘Spade may be done, but it wouldn’t hurt to check’.

The rest of the day moved along quickly, mostly because Cane checked as much as he could one Spade and spent the rest of his shift cleaning up the mess the three usually left. Scrap would never admit to it, but he knew the man definitely appreciated it (it certainly showed with the “overtime” bonus he got).

“Come on, you’re still refusing to change your mind? It’s just a night shift.” Convincing Scrap that he should be given the nightguard job was still the challenge Cane remembered it to be, even when he offered to work the day and the night.

Scrap simply sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes. “Mr. Freeman, I know you have an odd sleep schedule but I am trying to promote the growth of a better one. And you know I need you at full energy when working on the animatronics.”

“The animatronics are done!” Cane countered, throwing his hands up in frustration. “There’s nothing left to be done! You’re acting like those things aren’t already perfect!”

“They aren’t,” Scrap replied, quirking an eyebrow at the implication that there wasn’t any more work to be done. “Canetheus, you aren’t getting the night shift. Please stop asking. You are a mechanic, and that is what you’ll stay.”

With that, Scrap turned away from him and got back to work. Cane stood there, shocked and annoyed at the same time, before letting out a huff and finally heading home.

“Does he think I can’t handle it?? It’s just a damn night shift!” he ranted as he fed Cheesy her dinner, collapsing into one of the chairs at the kitchen island when he was done. “It’s not like it’s fucking dangerous. No one’s breaking into a fucking diner with a GUN. This is bullshit.”

Finally, he let out a sigh and gave up, resting his forehead on the cool surface of the island. At least he didn’t have to worry about falling asleep with the good hours he’d gotten the day before.

“Maybe he just doesn’t trust me,” he decided, hoping it would make himself feel better about it. It kinda worked, but he was still mostly pissed.

“Would you trust yourself?” The sound of a deep, and near demonic voice behind him made Cane sit up instantly, spinning around quickly to see who was in his home, only to find nothing.

He opened his mouth to say something about it being a hallucination, probably, only to catch sight of that damned bunny out of the corner of his eye. It was sitting on his couch now, flicking through the channels on the TV.

It seemed to be waiting for him to look at it head on before speaking again, which took a minute but eventually happened. “Cause I wouldn’t. Is there anything good running these days?”

Cane stared at it wide eyed. There was silence for a moment until it opened it’s maw to speak again, only to be cut off by a scream.

The last thing Cane heard it say was “Rude,” before the world went dark.

What the fuck.

#self ship fic #self shipping #scrap.writing #s/i: canetheus freeman #canetheus freeman #scrap arrowood #azriel arrowood #spade the bat #sage the owl #nightmare bonnie #maybe if you whack me in the head i'll pass out (nightmare bonnie self ship tag)

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jasperwhitcock · 4 years

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05. FAMILY FEUD

surprise, bitches. bet you thought you’d seen the last of me. why do i update my fic always a month apart. sorry!! i’m always working on it, i just write really long chapters... anyways, here is chapter five of my bella as a vampire and edward as a human fanfic inspired by an au that @bellasredchevy posted. you can read the new chapter on AO3 or here. i post updates on AO3 or on tumblr using the #equinoxjw tag.

i've incorporated some quotes from midnight sun because obviously this is still something of a parallel to midnight sun & i wanted to stay true to some of the reactions. also, you may recognize a little blurb imbedded here that i've written before about the bookshelf hehe. hope yall enjoy ♡♡♡

The weight of the battle I was fighting within myself was beginning to surpass the previous toll it’d taken on me. Every moment since I met Edward, it seemed I was falling further down into an abyss that I couldn’t climb out of, and every time I felt like maybe I’d found my grip, I only fell further. Again, I was frustrated as I sat outside Edward’s house in Carlisle’s Mercedes, watching the hazy, obscure sun slip further away behind the blackened clouds, leaving me shrouded in the darkness of a midday storm and the cover of pouring rain. I felt partially guilty for not returning Carlisle’s car. He wouldn’t mind running home, but Esme might not be too pleased about the puddles his drenched clothing would leave on her newly installed flooring. Although after today, it might not matter anymore.

I wondered what I’d return home to. Would they have already finished packing up our belongings? Would they be waiting to confront me about the consequences of my actions? Carlisle was forgiving, but would the rest of my family be?

For those reasons, I wasn’t ready to return home yet. But mostly, I was hesitant to drive away because I knew the moment my tires left Edward’s street would be the moment I’d be leaving him behind in Forks. I felt unprepared for the finality of such a moment.

When I heard the soft purr of an engine turning onto the street around one in the afternoon, I sighed, shifting the car into drive and moving forward to the end of the road in case it was Edward’s father returning home. I watched in my rearview mirror as the silver vehicle confirmed my suspicions by pulling into Edward’s driveway. Although the darkness of the thunderstorm’s gloom brewing in the clouds did little to obscure my eyesight, the torrent of rain pounding down relentlessly onto the green earth was too thick for even my eyes to catch a good glimpse of his face.

I could stay and listen – hear the voice of his father and compare it to the quality of Edward’s low, soft timbre, see if Edward’s sincerity in sticking to my version of events was genuine, check if he was truly as alright as he insisted – but maybe I was only looking for reasons to avoid heading home. Or maybe I was just being unforgivably invasive.

I glanced at the digital clock. 1:05. If they had stayed in their classes after the accident, there was still another hour and forty minutes before my siblings would be released from school. If they went home early, then Carlisle still wouldn’t be home for another two hours and twenty five minutes. I decided I’d rather not be there without Carlisle, so I lifted my foot off the break, slammed on the gas, and headed for Port Angeles before I realized where I was going.

As I left Forks behind me, the rain softened to a more consoling pitter patter on the roof of the car, and the clouds, although still grey, were lighter, hinting at the hidden sun. I made it to Port Angeles in under half an hour, luckily finding the roads to be mostly empty.

I drove at an appropriate speed once I reached the city. It was surprisingly beautiful scenery for such a disastrous day. It had snowed the night before here as well, but the melted snow hadn’t refrozen into ice. Instead, the tops of the buildings were covered in a thin layer of fluffy white snowflakes. The clouds above were thick enough to conceal me from the sun but held no implications of oncoming rain.

I located a parking spot near my favorite old brick building and paid the meter for the next few hours. The air was even more wintry here than in Forks as the harbor air brought in fresh, freezing ocean spray. There was a bookstore I liked to go to here in Port Angeles. Even as a child, Forks didn’t have an adequate library or bookstore to satiate my needs. My previous grievances with the rainforest of a city aside, there was always the silver lining of the bookstore.

If there was one thing that I looked forward to when arriving in the otherwise detestable small town of Forks in the rainy state of Washington, it was returning to the familiar mahogany of the sturdy bookshelf in the tiny living room of Charlie’s small, two-story house. It had been a gift – a homecoming gesture – in hopes to put me in better spirits when I was forced to spend my summers with my father. He knew how I had disliked his gloomy town just as my mother had. A friend from the reservation, Billy Black’s, young, cheerful son built the bookshelf himself. Billy had dismissed Charlie’s offers to pay his son for the service, insisting he accept it as a present in return for all the nights Billy stole away to the Swan Residence (Swan, the last name I held as a human) to watch the game on Charlie’s much larger – though not by much – television screen. When he hadn’t been looking, Charlie slipped a small wad of cash to Billy’s kid who excitedly accepted it, eager to save for some other projects.

Over time, the book shelf became a home for some of my favorite classic novels. On his days off, when his friend Harry Clearwater was unavailable for a fishing trip, he’d picked up books of all kinds, hoping I would find at least one I liked in the overflowing collection. The bookshelf was stuffed with paperbacks and hardbacks, lining each ledge edge to edge with books piling horizontally on top of the other books as space began to run out. It was a gesture that moved me in ways I was unused to and ways I couldn’t find the words to express.

When I was in town, Charlie drove me to some of the larger cities surrounding his small town and waited patiently as I perused the shelves of second-hand book stores. Smart as he was, he wasn’t a very articulate man, struggling to convey the depth of his emotions through words. But something in his eyes betrayed the way his heart overflowed with pride and adoration watching his small, gangly daughter enter into a world of her own as she searched for her next favorite story to add to their beloved bookshelf. It was a look I caught that sometimes made me feel embarrassed and shy by the profundity of the love in it, but now a look that I’d always remember. A look that would always make my unbeating heart feel somehow full and empty at the same time. Intense feelings of love and sadness for what I’d once had and since lost. This bookstore was our favorite, and therefore, it would always be my favorite. It still held the aged charm of the past, but they made some modern improvements in desperation for relevance today. I’d made sure to keep the store open with anonymous donations. Too many independent bookstores suffered in such a competitive, unfair market full of large online distributors.

I listened to the familiar hum of the glowing red neon sign in the window as I reached for the door. A bell above let out a peal of rings as I entered, and the clerk behind the wooden counter looked up beneath her large glasses. Her skin was deeply tan with olive undertones and her dark hair was cropped in a perfect line above her shoulders. Her eyes registered shock upon seeing my face, her heart rate picked up, and she stuttered over her words. “W-welcome!”

“Thank you,” I smiled softly, though finding the politeness to be difficult today. I didn’t want to come across rude or threatening, but feigning anything resembling joy was especially exhausting. I kept my voice gentle and even so as not to alarm the woman.

“Let me know if you need any help!” She called after me as I passed the counter, heading deeper into the store.

The shop was unpopulated at this time of day. Only a few people loitered here and there examining the shelves or curled up on loveseats with hot coffee cups to recover from the chill of the outdoors.

I crossed over the entirety of the first floor, finding the concealed narrow staircase that led to the upstairs. Tasting the air, I could tell there was nobody immediately near me, so I flew up the staircase at a more reasonable speed though I was in no hurry. The second floor was a brown labyrinth, the bookshelves placed in a way to create an intimate maze with countless little crevices to slip into and hide away from the rest of the world. Hardbacks and paperbacks piled the shelves and walls from the floor to the ceiling. The air was filled with the scents of crispy paper, aged ink, and the sweet, musky smell of older books. The lighting was warm reddish-orange, dull, and not ideal for reading despite the setting, but a miscellaneous mélange of lamps in all shapes and sizes embellished the spaces tucked between the bookcases, generating enough brightness to read in tiny, personal pools of light.

I weaved a path through the maze until I reached a dead-end corner with a single, wine-colored armchair in a faded leather. An ornate wooden plaque spray painted gold with eroded edges was drilled into the shelf behind the chair, the words “For Charlie” engraved into the pallet. Well, my donations were mostly anonymous.

No matter how many times I rounded this corner, every time my eyes fell on the empty chair hit me like a wrecking ball with nearly unmanageable grief. Any attempt to decipher the thoughts that came with this always led me to simplistic statements because that was all that I could ever handle. It was too much emptiness, too much numbness, too much complexity. It was always simply too much. And that was about all the conclusions I could come to no matter how much gentleness and coaxing Esme, Rosalie, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Carlisle comforted me with. It was always easier to push away the thought, to avoid thinking too much than to acknowledge the hole in my chest. Some days I almost forget, and some days it becomes seemingly ever present. It was always easier to ignore the gravity of the grief.

But in this life with the absoluteness of what we are, all we can do is to go on. One next step at a time. As much as I felt so much stronger and accustomed to this life, there was no denying the simple truth – there is so much loss in immortality.

I sighed. Even with all of our physical resilience, the extremities of our emotions in this form was enough to be tiring. I took steps forward and turned to sink into the chair, feeling very small. Looking out at the warmth of the bookcases and the endless array of novels, I thought of what it would be like to be Charlie sitting here, watching his awkward daughter run her finger along all the spines or disappear into the maze only to be found on the floor somewhere surrounded by piles of books.

Sometimes being here I could feel the ghost of Charlie’s love. The intensity that he couldn’t quite always communicate and that I didn’t always understand the extent of. But here, I could feel it. And I felt the same love for him in return. I missed him. His thick mustache, the sudden youthfulness in his warm, brown eyes when he smiled, the endearing crinkles that reminded me of his age. The coffee rings on the table, and the snow chains on my tires. The flush of red under his translucent skin when he was angry or embarrassed. Just like how my skin had been. Like father, like daughter.

I wondered what he’d think of my life now, and what he’d think of what I’d done today. Knowing the circumstances of the secrets I was meant to keep, would he have thought I’d done the right thing as Carlisle had? Or would he have thought I interfered and placed my siblings at risk like the rest of my family might think? I think that despite the consequences, he would have said something like, “you did the right thing, kid.” And maybe he’d even uncomfortably ask me about whether or not this boy was someone he should be keeping his eye on and would be immensely relieved when I reassured him that the answer was no. The thought almost made me smile. So then, I couldn’t bring myself to regret my decisions, and I wouldn’t allow myself to.

I sat there in the weathered leather of the chair for some time, listening to the subtle dragging of pages sliding off of shelves, the whoosh of air and the crispy rustle of paper as someone turned a page, the heaviness of footsteps on dead pieces of floorboard, the twinkle of the bell above the front door, and the whisper of the frozen wind rushing inside. After an hour, I stirred, rising from Charlie’s chair to trace my finger along the edges of the shelves, the action stirring up some dust particles to leap into the air like dandelion seeds, the warm light catching them in astonishing ways as they floated along. I left my little nook briefly to find the right section that would hold the book I was suddenly searching for.

When I located it, I plucked the gently used novel off the shelf, vowing to officially mend my own copy at home since it was the same story that Emmett had destroyed the morning of the first day I saw Edward.

I returned to the armchair, once again sinking down into the burgundy, and flipped through the aged pages until I found the place I left off at.

I’d have read until closing time, but eventually something in the unreliability of initial appearances in Pride and Prejudice began to bother me in a way that it never had before. I gave up on the book and instead sat unthinking – or attempting to, at least– quietly for a few hours.

Again, I longed to sleep. I’d never needed an escape as much as I did now as my mind was becoming too tiring a place to consciously be.

After some time, I heard creaky footsteps on the ancient wood up the stairs and the jingling sound of keys hitting each other. I waited patiently as they approached, imagining where exactly they may be in the labyrinth as they turned corners and hesitated to quietly shove stray books back onto shelves. They drew closer, closing in the distance between them and my little nook, finally rounding the corner.

“Oh!” The clerk from downstairs gasped in surprise, dropping the book in her hand. I stopped myself from saving it to not startle her any further with sudden movements, allowing it to clatter noisily to the floor.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, only then rising from the chair to lean down and collect the novel after an appropriate amount of reaction time. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

The clerk’s heart boomed loudly in her chest. “No, no, it’s alright!” She laughed breathlessly, a hand fluttering to her heart. “I just didn’t think anyone else was here... We’re, uh, sorry, we’re closed!”

“Oh, I’m sorry again,” I laughed softly as well to relax her, extending my hand to offer her the book she’d dropped. “I must have lost track of time.”

“That’s okay! It happens more often than you think...” she laughed again, her heart rate slowing down to a more regular place, though now that she recovered from the shock, her face was mesmerized by the oddness of my jarringly perfect appearance.

“I’ll leave now,” I smiled politely, pushing the book forward to her hand, careful not to touch her skin. Without processing, she took hold of the book. As I began to pass her, she clumsily turned.

“Oh, uh, wait! I’ll unlock the door to let you out!”

I allowed her to pass me up and leisurely followed her through the maze down the stairs. Her blood had a sweet smell, but it was still unappealing in comparison to Edward’s.

Once we’d reached the door, I could see how much time had passed whilst I hadn’t been paying attention. Through the large windows, night had fallen in a blackened cloak over the port city.

“Here we are,” she shyly chirped in a very intentionally favorable tone – something she probably reserved for customer service – and fiddled with the keys. Her hands shook slightly, and I felt guilty for how it must feel to have her back turned to a predator. Of course, she couldn’t know the difference, but her body recognized the threat. Finally, once she’d found the right key, she jimmied the rusty metal into the lock – missing the narrow fissure twice at first – and opened the door.

“Sorry about that. Thank you so much for coming,” she turned, gesturing with a shaky hand towards the outside world. The bitter wind blew in through the opening, making her shiver.

“Thank you,” I smiled again for her sake. Her eyes were peculiarly light compared to the rest of her features, making them extremely prominent. They were lighter and more hazel, yet the shade of green made me think of Edward again. I sighed. “Have a good night.”

I stepped out into the darkened street, looking down at the strange way the red light from the neon sign in the window washed over and illuminated my skin. Tiny bugs flew around the street lamps up above, casting irregularly moving shadows on the frozen sidewalk.

The heavy door shut loudly behind me, and she clicked the lock. It was unusually quiet, though that could be due to it being a weeknight. The bulbs in the streetlamps hummed and the bugs buzzed in response.

I strolled along the sidewalk, taking my time before returning to Carlisle’s car. I should have paid the meter more generously. It expired two hours ago. I’d received a parking ticket. Oops.

I removed the frozen slip of paper and unlocked the car, sliding into the driver’s seat. I had no desire to drive fast at first, deciding to return home at the speed limit. After about forty minutes, suddenly the anticipation to get the confrontation out of the way overcame me, and I drove 200 miles per hour the rest of the way home. Within minutes, I was turning onto the miles-long driveway.

As I raced for the garage, I listened for any movement from the bright house. There was none. I wondered how long they’d been sitting still, waiting for me. I groaned aloud in greeting.

The garage door was open so I pulled into the blue fluorescence and parked beside Rosalie’s day car. I sighed once before determinedly exiting the vehicle.

I slammed the door a little too hard before catching the handle before it hit the body. Perhaps I’d reached my quota this morning when it came to destroying car doors.

I ran through the small section of woods separating the garage from the house and braced myself for the impact of the meeting.

“Hello,” I said sheepishly. I wanted to sound stronger and more confident, but my nerve wavered as I entered the dining room to see everyone waiting for me at the long oval table. At the eastern head of the table, Carlisle and Esme sat side by side, their hands resting together atop the mahogany. I felt some of the resilience I’d mustered in the last few seconds return upon seeing the intensity of Esme’s golden eyes. They were full of concern and overwhelmingly forgiving. It was reassuring.

Rosalie sat directly opposite from Carlisle, very intentionally avoiding eye contact with me, her arms crossed firmly across her chest. I could feel the tension and coldness emanating from her. I was unused to feeling spurned by Rosalie. She always tenderly cared for me, always taking my side… My actions must have truly offended her today. A twinge of guilt twisted my abdomen.

It was unfair to feel any sense of betrayal considering the danger I’d placed my family in, but still with Emmett wrly seated beside Rosalie, and Jasper standing behind them, leaning against the wall mirroring Rose’s crossed arms, I felt some irrational anger at the lines being drawn. Of course, I should have known better than to think Emmett would have my back as if he wouldn’t undoubtedly support Rosalie.

Alice sat beside Esme, her eyes focused on something other than the room. I wondered if her visions made her support waver, if in all the hours I’d been gone, she’d been moving back and forth on either side of the room. She always chose the winning side.

“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “First, for this,” I crossed to the other side of the table to sit beside Carlisle, placing the parking ticket on the wood and sliding it over towards him. His lips curved into an amused smirk, and I felt encouraged by the expression.

“And more importantly,” I turned to face Rosalie, Emmett, and Jasper. “I’m very, very sorry for this morning. It was incredibly selfish, irresponsible, and stupid of me to put any of you at risk. It’s all my fault… I take full responsibility for my actions.”

Rosalie’s exquisite face finally looked up at me, her expression full of hurt. “And what does that mean, Bella? Are you planning on fixing this?”

The implication behind her words filled me with sudden indignation, and before I could calm myself down, I snapped, “not in the way that you mean.”

Of course, something had to be done about the accident, but what was the point of going to such idiotic lengths to save his life only to end it later? Didn’t she realize I’ve been fighting to keep him alive since the very moment I’d met him?

Rosalie took offense to the harsh accusation of my words. “You say that as if I’d advocate for this under normal circumstances.”

“I had planned on leaving before, and I will leave now if it makes things easier.” Rather than keeping my voice calm and even, the words again came out in ways I didn’t intend. Unnecessarily punitive. I knew it was ridiculous to be so angry with Rosalie’s anger towards me when she was entirely right, but I couldn’t tame my passion in defense of Edward’s silly little life.

“Oh, no, Bella,” Esme murmured. “Please, you can’t leave.”

I reached to squeeze my mother’s hand.

“It’d have been helpful prior to this morning,” Jasper spoke up. “Now, it’s irrelevant.”

“Jazz is right,” Emmett agreed. “There’s no point in leaving now. If anything, that’d look more suspicious.”

“I agree with Emmett, Bella,” Carlisle nodded. “For you to disappear, perhaps it’d make the boy more inclined to talk. Either all of us leave or none.”

“Edward won’t say anything,” I insisted.

“You can’t know that,” Rosalie argued.

“I trust him,” I disagreed, surprising myself at how true the statement was. I thought back to the biology lab when he’d jokingly asked if I trusted him. It was in response to his identification of the stages of mitosis, and I had said no. Now, I suddenly entrusted him with the secrecy of my vampire abilities. I was really unintelligent. She scoffed at my words. “Alice, back me up.”

“I can’t see what will happen if we just ignore this,” Alice rubbed her temples before shooting an accusatory glance in Jasper and Rosalie’s direction.

“We can’t ignore this. Bella, I have always supported you, and of course I love you dearly. But clearly, this isn’t some minor mistake. You were right – it was incredibly selfish and irresponsible and stupid! And it’d be even more irresponsible and stupid for us to allow the human the chance to say anything about it. Carlisle, you must see that,” Rosalie turned her attention to our adopted father.

“It’s not like we haven’t left rumors behind before,” I reminded her. “And I don’t recall anyone else’s first offense putting them on trial like this.”

She ignored the second part of my statement. “Rumors, Bella. Today, you’ve provided eyewitnesses and evidence! It’s not enough that you were perfect prior to today. You’re no more a saint than the rest of us! We have to be perfect always! This was a massive mistake!” Rosalie stood up from her chair. “And I know that!” I stood up as well.

“Then you should agree with what’s the right course of action! It doesn’t have to be a big production. So he seemed alright after the accident. Every mortal goes to sleep with the chance of never waking up. Say Carlisle missed something far more serious than it looked. I don’t delight in this, Bella, but the rest of our kind would expect us to take care of this. Technically, you should be the one to clean up after yourself.”

“Rosalie, the Masen boy is completely innocent,” Carlisle gently disapproved.

Rosalie frowned. “It’s an unfortunate consequence to Bella’s mistake in favor of protecting us all, but a consequence nonetheless”

“Rose, I am sorry-”

“Sorry doesn’t matter anymore, Bella!” She interrupted.

“I never wanted this. I never wanted to place you or Emmett or any of us in this position. I know my actions have affected you. But I couldn’t just let him die that way!” My chest sunk at the thought.

“But it wasn’t your place to meddle with fate. You’ve already interrupted his life with your existence alone. Why let him survive? So that you could slaughter him later?”

I winced at her words, but a low hiss escaped my throat as well.

“Rose...” Emmett reached up for her hand to placate her, but she pulled away.

“No, it’s the truth. Our existence and your fixation on his scent posed a threat to the boy. His time came, but you interfered. Now he poses a greater threat to us. So what was the point of that then? You couldn’t help yourself from cutting into his life? It seems the universe provided you with an easy way out, and you went out of your way to make things not only more difficult for yourself but for us as well. I don’t always love this life, but excuse me for taking it personally when you’ve threatened the tiniest piece of happiness I have here! You should have just let him die! It seems you’ll end up killing him anyways!”

The room shifted completely. Suddenly, everyone was on their feet, Rosalie leaned towards me in defense, Emmett uncomfortably but faithfully crouched by her side, Jasper’s stance was more confident and relaxed but poised to strike as well. Carlisle and Esme were both by my sides, holding me in place by my arms. Only Alice remained in her seat, not at all concerned by the change in atmosphere. It took me half a second to realize what had triggered everyone’s response – to process the vicious growl that erupted from my throat and the tenseness of my body as it coiled to spring at my own sister. I was too stubborn and furious to feel any shame yet. I scowled but eased my stance, allowing Carlisle and Esme to gently coax me back to my chair. Everyone else loosened their defensive posture. Emmett made Rosalie sit down, her golden eyes narrowed in a harsh glare of which I was the recipient. Jasper stood straight again but remained stiff. Once we’d all relaxed, Carlisle began speaking again.

“Rosalie, I know you mean well, but every life is precious. To murder a blameless child poses an even greater risk to us. The occasional accident or lapse in control is a regrettable part of who we are, but to bring harm to the boy would make ourselves unworthy of the protection you so lovingly wish to give us. If we make exceptions to protect ourselves, we risk something much more important. We risk losing the essence of who we are.”

I couldn’t help the tiny smile that pulled at the corner of my lips.

“Carlisle, it’s about being responsible when Bella was so horribly irresponsible.”

Being on the receiving end of Rosalie’s inflexibility and anger was not at all pleasant.

"It's being callous," Carlisle corrected softly before repeating himself. “Every human life is precious.”

Rosalie sighed heavily and turned her head to again avoid looking at me, making it very apparent where the two of us stood.

“The question is whether or not we should move on,” he continued.

“The last thing I want is to unroot any of you. I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Carlisle. I feel confident about Edward’s silence,” I insisted again.

Rosalie huffed loudly, and I turned just in time to catch her rolling her eyes.

“Well, we certainly don't have to decide now. Perhaps we wait then,” Carlisle nodded.

I turned to face Alice, searching for some reassurance about the future but instead following her accusatory gaze to where Jasper stood leaning against the wall again. They were having another one of those silent conversations they shared that the rest of us were lost to. It was almost as if they could read each other’s minds.

“What?” I asked.

“Jazz seems to feel he’s above this conversation,” Alice gritted her teeth. “He seems to think he should set things right.”

My eyes flashed between her and Jasper, whose face was expressionless and unmoved. It took me a moment to piece it together.

“Jazz,” I warned as I began to feel irrationally overprotective again. “I won’t let you punish him for my mistake.”

“So he benefits from it then?” He raised his eyebrows.

“I won’t allow it,” I repeated.

“And I won’t allow Alice to live in danger. You can’t understand, Bella. You don’t feel about anyone the way I feel towards her.”

“That’s irrelevant. I’m not just going to stand aside as you murder him,” I hissed. “I will not let you hurt Edward Masen.”

We stared at each other. I knew he was measuring the opposition and sampling the depth of my determination.

“Jazz,” Alice interrupted us, cutting through the tension in the air.

“Don’t bother telling me you can protect yourself, Alice. I already know that, but-”

“That’s not what I was going to say, but thank you for the assumption,” she rolled her eyes. “And it’s true, I can. I don’t need the backup, you overprotective fool.”

She said the last words playfully, her voice full of affection, as she stuck her tongue out. The action was out of sync with the mood of the room. “What I was going to ask for was a favor.”

Jasper’s eyebrows raised at what was seemingly an inappropriate time to make any requests. My eyebrows knitted in confusion at where the conversation was heading.

“I know you love me, but I would really appreciate it if you didn’t try to kill Edward. First, we all know how headstrong Bella is, so you shouldn’t doubt how serious she’s being right now. I don’t want the two of you to fight. Seriously. Secondly, Edward is my friend. Yours too. At least, he’s going to be.”

“What?” Jasper gasped. Even though we were all very much accustomed to Alice’s ambiguity and the bizarre certainty she spoke with about things only she had seen, this was not a statement that could so easily be digested. I couldn’t tear my attention from Alice, staring intently at her face as if the meaning behind her words would suddenly be written on her forehead. What had she seen in that little odd head of hers?

“I’m going to love him–” as she said this, I nearly choked on the air whistling down my throat “–someday, Jazz. I’d be very put out with you if you don’t leave him be.”

I was locked into place, my eyes still boring deeply into my sister’s face. I could feel the pucker on my forehead etched into my expression as I tried to make sense of what she was saying. I kept expecting Alice to explain, but every time she opened her mouth she only confounded me more.

“Ahh!” Alice sighed, smiling brightly. “See, there’s nothing to worry about! Edward won’t say anything at all.”

I could not see.

“Alice,” I whined impatiently. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know, Bella. I told you something was changing in your future.”

“In my future? What did you see?”

“Hmm… I don’t think I should share quite yet,” Alice locked her jaw, and I growled, exasperated.

“Oh, clearly, Bella can’t be trusted lately to not act on her impulses! You should give her whatever warning you’re hiding,” Rosalie sighed, annoyed.

I was still feeling illogically irritated with Rose’s resentment, but I couldn’t disagree with her. “She’s right, Alice.”

“I really don’t think-”

“Who votes that Alice shares what she knows?” I asked restlessly. “Raise your hand.”

It was juvenile, and this was not how we came to decisions ever. Of course we’d discuss differing opinions, but never so bluntly did we vote in this manner. The way I approached the subject was rude, but still unanimously, six hands shot into the air including mine.

“Fine,” Alice huffed, scowling. “But I’m not obligated to share anything just because the rest of you voted. That’s silly. I’m only sharing because I can see that Bella won’t let this go.”

She paused and we waited, staring. It was as if we were awaiting the results of a reading from some fortune teller at a carnival, anxious to see which tarot cards she had pulled. Anxious to see what this would mean for my life.

“My vision keeps becoming clearer. At first, it was just hazy, and I couldn’t make sense of it or of who I was seeing. Every minute it’s like Bella’s more decided,” Alice began. Six pairs of eyes flickered to me, but I had no idea what she was referring to, nor did I know how this related to the boy. Alice frowned a little as if she knew what she was about to say wouldn’t be received well. “It seems there’s only two ways left for Edward now. Either Bella will… end his life or… he’ll join us.”

Esme gasped as my mouth dropped open.

“Join us?!” I choked out once I recovered. “I…. I have not made a decision anywhere in that realm at all. That has never ever crossed my mind. Why in the world would I turn him?”

“Maybe you don’t. Maybe I do it because I love him too or at least, I will. I don’t know.”

“Love him, too?” I gaped, convinced Alice’s abilities were broken somehow. “What does that even mean? Who else are you talking about?”

“Who do you think, Bella?” Alice rolled her eyes again, impatient at my lack of clairvoyance. “Clearly not Rosalie.”

“Love him!?” Rosalie questioned incredulously, eyeing me as if I’d completely lost my mind. Maybe I had.

I then realized what Alice meant as I watched Rosalie’s face and processed the other baffled pairs of eyes.

“You mean me!?” I gasped.

“Woah! What the hell...” Emmett almost laughed in surprise, then decided it was indeed actually funny and broke out into real, booming laughter. “Damn! That’s rough. Of course, Bella would fall for a human!”

“Fall for a human?” Esme asked, completely astonished. “Fall in love? With the boy she saved today?”

“Nobody is in love with anybody,” I stood up. “That’s completely absurd!”

“Ooh, touchy subject,” Emmett snickered. I glared daggers at him.

“What exactly do you see, Alice?” Jasper asked.

“I already told you. It depends on Bella’s strength. Either she’ll kill him herself which would really destroy you, Bella, not to mention how very irritated I’d be with you–” she gave me a stern look through narrowed eyes as if I’d already committed the murder then returned her attention to the rest of our family “–or he’ll be one of us someday. There’s not much else to say; the visions are finite but not detailed. It will require a great deal of self control…”

As she continued to muse, I was still frozen in place on my feet, completely numb and completely bewildered.

“...Greater than even Carlisle’s capability maybe. I wouldn’t have put it past her prior to this, but now… It’ll be extremely close as to whether or not she kills him. The only thing she’s not strong enough to do is stay away from him. That’s a completely lost cause.”

The room was entirely quiet.

“Well, this complicates things greatly,” Carlisle murmured.

After another moment of silence, Rosalie piped up. “I can’t believe it. In love with a human-”

“Oh, you’re one to talk, Rosalie!” I snarled, returning to some clarity.

“Girls, please-” Esme began to plead.

“Ooh, she got you there, babe,” Emmett interrupted, chuckling as Rose growled at him.

“Emmett,” Esme warned sternly. He held up his hands in surrender but winked at me, grinning widely.

I couldn’t even appreciate the realliance. I was still too lost in the sudden upheaval of my entire life.

“I suppose the plans remain the same, though," Carlisle said thoughtfully. "We'll stay and watch. Obviously, no one will...hurt the boy.”

“Of course not,” Jasper agreed, nodding his head once. “If Alice only sees two ways, then it’s unnecessary to take matters into-”

“Shut up, Jazz,” I said numbly.

Everyone’s eyes flickered over to me.

I was just loving being the center of attention these days.

If Alice only sees two ways...

“You’re wrong,” I whispered. For the first time in my life, I was betting against Alice.

My psychic sister opened her mouth to protest but stopped after seeing either in her head or on my face that I wasn’t finished.

“I hardly know Edward. I don’t see how it could be possible for me to… develop any kind of… feelings for him. That’s entirely ridiculous. I mean, he’s… human! The only scenario that could potentially ever happen – which again, it’s absolutely implausible – would be if I were to accidentally change him. And even then, I mean, why would I-... He’s so… Ugh, just nevermind! That would be a complete mistake. A mistake greater than the one I made today. And I’m very sorry to you all for how I’ve mutilated the future with my actions, but I’m going to fix it. I’ll leave-”

“You can’t,” Alice and Esme interrupted at the same time. My sister’s tone was one of annoyance while my mother’s was one of concern.

“You’re right,” I nodded, but my agreement wasn’t for the reasons Alice meant. I wasn’t considering my capability to leave based on my own will power against leaving the boy behind. That was something too complicated to unpack here in front of my family. Something that’d be better dealt with on the floor with my arms wrapped around my knees. I wouldn’t leave because it’d be more crucial for me to stay now. The responsible thing to do. “But I’ll try to...I will stay away from Edward–” suddenly, I felt a desire to begin to distance myself from him and referring to him by his name felt too deeply personal, so I corrected myself, “–from the boy, I mean. It’s not right to condemn him to either fate. I won’t allow that to happen.”

As I spoke, Rosalie’s face softened and she materialized by my side, taking my hand.

“I’m sorry for how I’ve behaved today, Bella. I only spoke out of love for our family. But you’re right. It’s not right. And I’m glad you’re choosing to do the right thing by staying away. I still don’t feel as though trusting him is responsible, but if what Alice has said is true-”

“I’m sorry, too,” I cut her off quietly, not wanting to hear the rest. I was feeling sorry for so much more than just how I spoke to Rose.

Esme appeared behind me as well, placing her hand encouragingly on my shoulder. “We are here to support you, Bella.”

“Thanks,” I murmured unenthusiastically.

Nobody moved again as they waited to see what I’d do next. I felt like a zoo animal.

I sighed, releasing Rose’s hand and shaking off Esme.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’d like to be by myself.”

“Of course,” Carlisle responded.

I crossed behind the west side of the table. Emmett let out a low, cartoony whistle of relief to break the tension, and I punched him on the arm as I passed. As I exited the room, Alice called, “wait!”

She was by my side in an instant.

“This is from the accident. It’s Edward’s. I thought maybe you’d want to return it to him.”

I looked down as she pulled my unresponsive hand away from my body to place the thick, chestnut journal I’d seen Edward reach for in his backseat right before the accident. I stared at her, impassive, so she sighed and wrapped my fingers around the worn leather to force it into my grip.

“Thanks,” I mumbled, turning and disappearing out of the house into the forest.

As I ran, I felt the weight of their eyes on me.

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youngbloodbuzz · 4 years

Note

7 for all of them then

lmao thank you once again for indulging me

7. Describe your character’s current appearance: clothes, armor, scars they’ve picked up along the journey, etc.

venia: ven’s a human, sitting pretty at 5′7 and 21 years old. she has brown skin, shoulder length slightly wavy black hair that seemed like it was roughly and quickly chopped with some dull scissors, and bright green eyes. ethnicity wise, she’d look like she’d come from islamic spain. with a penchant for jewelry, she wears multiple: bracelets, earrings, necklaces, and occasionally a nose ring. she generally wears long and light robes of dark blue with a shawl-like scarf over her shoulders that she’ll sometimes wear over her head to protect her face from the environment or to hide. but underneath that she’d wear more practical traveling trousers and shirt with boots in case of emergencies. while she barely has any idea of how to use it, she’s started carrying around a sickle at her side now for a while. she’s still slightly paranoid about using her magic, even so far away from home, but she still needs a way to protect herself. she also has...interesting small scars in a few places. burn scars in particular, for when she still didn’t know how to control the fire she was born with. and her most essential accessory, is a red tailed hawk familiar named atticus who likes to sit on her shoulder or scout ahead for her.

andromeda: your quintessential gentle giant. andy is 6′1 and as far as she knows, somewhere in her 20s (although, i myself know that she’s about 27 years old). her skin is stone grey with purple undertones, her eyes a bright gold, and her black hair long and always in a braid that turns messy no matter how often she fiddles with it. she has horns that go above and to the back of her head, pointing back and slightly up, scared in places but more particularly on her left horn where about near half of it has completely broken off at some point in the past. she has small scars scattered across her body from a rough two years, many on her hands and arms. speaking of her hands, if you’d look closely, they occasionally look red and raw as if she’d been scrubbing them hard to clean them; she’s a little obsessed with staying clean to a germaphobic degree. a lot of her gear and clothes are hand-me-downs from the temple where she volunteered. leather boots, black traveling trousers, a dark grey tunic, and black cloak. it’s all worn and old, but softened with wear and washed clean when it was first given to her so she can’t complain. at all times she carries with her a symbol of pelor and a book of his teachings, given to her by one of the men who rescued her, a worn greatsword (another hand-me-down), and her two most prized possessions: her journal filled with her thoughts and things she doesn’t want to forget, and a strange pocket watch given to her by the man who died to save her.

theodora: for a half-elf so young at 22 years old, theo looks...rough around the edges. in more ways than one. at 5′6, she appears wafer thin and lanky, even months later after surviving the trek to her new home, like she still hasn’t been able to recover from it. loose and messy black hair she wears down to just below her shoulders, pale skin, and unnerving pale blue eyes, she always appears stoic and stern but always seamlessly manages to turn on the charm when she needs to. while she prefers to wear practical traveling clothes of muted colours of blue and purple, she never turns down the opportunity to dress up or treat herself to something extravagant or shiny. she generally prefers to travel light but she definitely carries around a light crossbow and a few daggers, but her preferred weapon comes from the magic in her hands and from the heavy spellbook tomb she carries around, a gift from her mysterious benefactor.

#asks #flyingflesheater #yeeeeeeehaw #dnd ocs #venia albright #andromeda lovejoy #theodora cane

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gvnbreaker · 5 years

Text

CHARACTER SURVEY || Aja Hyskaris

@yascaret edited/removed some of the questions to make this more FFXIV-friendly. I made a few of my own changes as well.

RULES. Repost, don’t reblog! Tag 10! Good luck!

TAGGED BY. @yascaret and @wood-warder

TAGGING. If you’re reading this, you’re tagged!

BASICS. FULL NAME : Aja Hyskaris

NICKNAME : None (yet?)

AGE : Appears around late 20s/30 by hyur standards

BIRTHDAY : Midsummer

GENDER : Non-binary; she/they

ETHNIC GROUP : Viera (Rava)

NATIONALITY : Ivalician (?)

LANGUAGE / S : Common

SEXUAL ORIENTATION : Homosexual

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : Homoromantic

RELATIONSHIP STATUS : In a relationship with Lofn Yascaret & Pjel Qoet

HOME TOWN / AREA : The Hyskarian Deepwood, Golmore

CURRENT HOME : A small house in Shirogane.

PROFESSION : Mercenary. Bounty/monster hunter & occasional bodyguard.

PHYSICAL. HAIR : Vibrant red, wild, curly, falling to mid-back; undercut. Sideburns and widow’s peak.

EYES : Amber.

FACE : Square with a sharp jawline. High cheekbones, thick, arched eyebrows, and a prominent, aquiline nose. Often smirking insufferably or flirtatiously, prone to great expressiveness and wide smiles but just as easily brooding. Sharp teeth.

LIPS : Full. Her smiles are crooked to begin with and deadened nerves on the left side of her mouth add to the effect.

COMPLEXION : Deep brown with warm undertones, lighter palms and soles of her feet, a lighter smudge underneath her nose and around her nostrils. Freckling around her shoulders, arm, the tops of her thighs and her lower back.

BLEMISHES : None of note.

SCARS : Covered in scattered scars of varying age, depth, and severity, particularly on her left side and near her prosthetic arm. Ceruleum burns on torso; old, ringed scar around throat; vertical scar on left corner of mouth; small scar across nose; edge of left eyebrow; three scars beneath right eye.

TATTOOS & PIERCINGS : Blackwork tattoos around forearm and legs, among others (design with art to come); white tattoos (curve, three dots) beneath eyes; Several gold rings along outer shells of ears; gold septum ring

HEIGHT : Just under six fulms, not counting her ears.

WEIGHT : Average.

BUILD : Muscular and stocky, with broad shoulders tapering to a strong waist and thighs. [body type reference]

FEATURES : Her left arm, from the start of the bicep, is a mechanical prosthetic, appearing to be of magitek-or-close make.

ALLERGIES : None that she knows of.

USUAL HAIR STYLE : Worn loose and wild, not so much a style as a thick mane.

USUAL FACE LOOK : Bare-faced, wearing tinted red pince nez. Smirking, grinning, flirting--generally looking like a complete asshole.

USUAL CLOTHING : Loose, open shirts, trousers, long coats, heavy, knee-high boots, leather jackets.

PSYCHOLOGY. FEAR / S : Imprisonment, isolation, drowning, Garlean war machina.

ASPIRATION / S : Stability, helping others, belonging. In her younger years, she had romantic visions of knighthood, but those have since quieted with the years.

POSITIVE TRAITS : Adventurous, Passionate, Brave, Charismatic, Strong, Empathic

NEGATIVE TRAITS : Cocky, Bull-headed, Self-destructive, Reckless, Impulsive

MBTI : ESFP

ZODIAC : Leo

TEMPERAMENT : Sanguine

SOUL TYPE / S : Warrior

ANIMALS : Wolf

VICE HABIT / S : Brooding, drinking to excess, recklessness, impulsive decisions, using sex as validation.

FAITH : She spares it little thought.

GHOSTS ? : Yes.

AFTERLIFE ? : Maybe.

REINCARNATION ? : Hopefully.

ALIENS ? : When she met her first hyur man, she knew aliens were real.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : Garlemald bad, fuck cops.

EDUCATION LEVEL : Average for a viera of her village. She's taught herself to read between the lines better after being conned out of a full hunt reward once or twice in her early days in Rabanastre.

FAMILY. FATHER : Fleeting contact a lifetime ago.

MOTHERS : Still in the Wood.

SIBLINGS : Several, no contact. She was close with one, but has made peace with never seeing any of them again.

EXTENDED FAMILY : Still in the Wood--as far as she knows.

NAME MEANING / S : Aja, from the Hyskarian Deepwood

HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : She was born in Golmore, but as far as she knows her name has little meaning.

FAVORITES. BOOK : Adventure stories and romance novels. She’d never admit it, but they can be found hidden in her satchel or underneath or inside other things.

DEITY : She tries not to think about them.

HOLIDAY : Moonfire Faire, ????

MONTH : Summer

SEASON : Summer & Fall

PLACE : A grassy field. The back of a cycle. On top of someone or between someone's legs.

WEATHER : Thunderstorms, rain showers, clear skies and bright sun overhead.

SOUND / S: Rain, thunder in the distance, the soft breathing of a woman asleep.

SCENT / S : Metal, cedar, rain, leather, girlfriend ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

TASTE / S : Meat, whiskey, curry, girlfriend ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

FEEL / S : Furs, leather, grass, rain, girlfriend ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

ANIMAL / S : Cats, coeurls, dogs.

NUMBER : 7

COLORS : Red, browns, black, gunmetal

EXTRA. TALENTS : She's a blunt instrument, so beating the shit out of things. Flirting. Fixing things, usually the mechanical variety. Making friends. Diffusing social conflicts as often as she creates them. She's a good cook, but it's suitable really nowhere else but over a fire with a beast's flank in one hand and a metal spit in the other.

BAD AT : Love. Understanding and accepting her feelings. Has a chronic case of Foot-in-Mouth Disease. Has a long fuse, but her temper can spin out of control when pressed. Terrible at restraint and not being reckless and impulsive.

TURN ONS : Stockings, especially with the seam up the back. The nape of a woman's neck. Banter. Compliments. Smiles. Give her a smile and a coquettish eyelash flutter or make her feel strong and she's useless putty in your hands.

TURN OFFS : Flirtatious men, cowards, cruelty, Garleans.

HOBBIES : Fishing, tinkering, gambling, trying new foods, sparring and training, exercise.

TROPES : You Can’t Go Home Again, Badass Longcoat, Dark-Skinned Readhead, Cannot Spit It Out, Hot-Blooded, Scars Are Forever, Everyone Can See It, Artificial Limbs, Berserk Button, Unusual Eyebrows, Dark and Troubled Past, Rage Breaking Point, Cool Bike, Hot-Blooded Sideburns, Fiery Redhead, Red Oni Blue Oni, Gun Blade, La Résistance, Spell Blade, Love Epiphany, Bruiser with a Soft Center, Didn’t Think This Through (Gonna stop now or I’ll be here all night)

QUOTES : “Ah, fuck.”

MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie, what would it be called, what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about?

A1 : John Wick mixed with Final Fantasy VIII mixed with Drive but with Garlean soldiers, turncoats, gay bro content, a sorceress, and also heaps of gay in general.

Q2 : What would their soundtrack/score sound like?

A2 : Chromatic rock, Nightrun, hair metal, a lot of Deftones, Tool, the Weeknd, indie and acoustic rock for angst.

Q3 : Why did you start writing this character?

A3 : When viera were teased at Fanfest, I lost my mind and have been unable to concentrate on any other character since. Aja was actually going to be a hrothgar, but when they genderlocked them and the model and general design didn’t fit her body type, well… plans changed.

Q4 : What first attracted you to this character?

A4 : Much like @yascaret’s answer, getting my gay hands on viera in FFTA and being obsessed since then. I wanted to write a warrior, a little battered but unbroken despite everything. She came out differently than originally planned, but in a good way. She’s just an even bigger himbo now.

Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse.

A5 : I worry about Flanderizing her too hard, because while she is a big flirtatious himbo idiot I also want it to come across that she has depth.

Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse?

A6 : Not a lot. I guess we're both stubborn idiots with very long fuses that nonetheless eventually explode and/or destroy whatever is on the receiving end. Also what's gender precious

Q7 : How does your muse feel about you?

A7 : She probably wouldn’t acknowledge me at all, but we might bond over spicy noodles.

Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ?

A8 : Lofn and Pjel are the obvious choice, but… Lofn and Pjel. I really love writing her alongside and against them because their personality traits both complement and chafe against one another, often in the same scene. Also I love their chemistry and look forward to how that plays out. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ?

A9 : B u n y d e a t h s q u a d. Just in general seeing my RP partners and roleplayers I haven’t interacted with yet writing and posting content for their characters really inspires me. As far as writing Aja, I take a handful of aesthetics, design elements, and themes and smash them together until something clicks. Listening to music and rolling through a prompt generator usually kick starts me into writing a drabble or developing something, and the FFXIV Write challenge has been great for that this month.

Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ?

A10 : About an afternoon and part of an evening. I fell into TV Tropes a little too hard near the end.

#about #character building #memes #ffxiv crystal #ffxiv rp #balmung #furiously formatting this before the oncoming storm knocks out our power and yeets my draft into oblivion #rava viera #viera

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jtoddstrangersfic-blog · 5 years

Text

Strangers (Jason Todd x Female OC): Chapter 1

Trigger warning: Cursing, mentions of yelling/domestic arguing

Author’s Note: Hi! I started working on this story after a conversation I had with my friend. Enjoy! Also please ignore any areas with rough writing; I’m trying to juggle online classes and a full-time job and this is just for fun/anyone interested in reading this! I’m going to try to update every Monday, and this is going to be at least six or seven chapters, so enjoy!

1,927 words

Masterlist

Jason

It was the second week of the new semester. A fresh start for some, like Jason Todd, who welcomed the opportunity for a change.

He sat at his desk in the front row of the bustling classroom buried deep within the Writing and English Literature building at Gotham Community College, absentmindedly twirling a pencil between his fingers as his classmates slowly filed in to fill the seats around him. A few smiled at him, mostly girls, probably hoping to catch his attention and strike up a conversation. He politely flashed them a quick smirk, choosing instead to focus on his pencil twirling.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to socialize with his classmates, maybe get to know them on a more intimate level. He wished he could join their study groups; go out late with them to the bars; hang around at someone’s apartment until early morning watching movies. Hell, he would even go to football games if he found the right group of people, and that was saying a lot. But considering his nightly actives as the Red Hood and his uncanny ability to get himself and those around him into dangerous (sometimes fatal), situations, he couldn’t risk it.

Protecting the city he grew up in was a full-time job. It didn’t allow for study groups, intimate friendships, or relationships. He needed to be ready at a moment’s notice to help his family keep Gotham safe (as safe as it could be, it was still Gotham after all). And he loved this responsibility, he loved catching criminals and keeping the streets clean. He loved the adrenaline rush every time he put on his helmet, and was able to make a real difference in someone’s life. He just wished he could live in both worlds; one as a vigilante, and the other as a normal college student.

He was so lost in thought he barely noticed the slight click-clack of heels against the thinly-carpeted floor passing behind him to one of the empty seats to his left, directly next to the wall. She was conventionally attractive, with short black hair and a radiant glow. She was always dressed immaculately, her hair and makeup nearly perfect. She turned heads anywhere she went, or she would have if she ever bothered to interact with anyone. She was quiet and kept to herself. Answered questions for the teacher when asked, but otherwise didn’t socialize with the other students. She was like Jason in that sense, but he doubted she shared the same reasoning.

He glanced at her for a moment as she removed a notebook and several pens from her black fringe bag. She wore a long-sleeved jacket, despite August’s lingering warmth. She sat against the wall on the first day of class, keeping one seat vacant between herself and Jason, almost like a buffer. He contemplated moving over to sit beside her, strike up a conversation like everyone else in the room. But she always put your bag on the seat, a definitive barrier against unwelcome conversations. So he kept his distance, and so did everyone else.

The teacher entered the classroom, one of Jason’s favorites. Dr. Cortez was a short man with dark skin and greying hair. He was always very calm, very personable. He commanded a room with his lectures, and possessed the uncanny ability to guide conversations without controlling them. He was well-liked and very respected around the campus, and Jason was thrilled when he discovered Dr. Cortez would be teaching the Underlying Themes of Modern World Literature course for the semester.

The class settled in as Dr. Cortez began his lecture. Today, he informed them, would be mostly note-taking. That was fine, Jason didn’t mind writing. It gave him something to do with his hands, and he genuinely enjoyed the topic. He loved literature, and he loved reading.

The two hour course flew by, the only sound in the classroom was Dr. Cortez’s booming voice and the sound of pens scribbling against paper or fingers frantically typing away on laptop keys.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Dr. Cortez closed the binder containing his own notes for the lecture, smiling at the students shaking out their sore hands from all the writing. “A bit of a cliffhanger we have, but always leave them wanting more.” A few students chuckled, Jason included. “Remember, we won’t be meeting on Wednesday, I have a conference in Metropolis. But I hope you’ll use the time to brainstorm some ideas for your first big research project. I already handed out the list of authors for you to choose from, and if you have any questions I’m just an e-mail away. See you all Friday.” He smiled widely as the students began gathering their belongings, already conversing about their plans for Wednesday.

“Jason, right?” The girl to Jason’s right asked, tucking a strand of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear. She smiled shyly at him as he stuffed his red notebook into his black backpack.

“Rachel, right?” He responded, a bemused expression crossing his face. Rachel was a nice girl, pretty quiet considering she hung around with one of the more boisterous groups on campus. She had made conversation with him several times since the class started, and seemed like a very warm and welcoming girl.

“That’s me.” She laughed lightly, gazing at him through her brown eyelashes. “A few of us are gonna meet up and share notes on Wednesday, seeing as class is canceled and all. Do you want to join us?” She tried to mask the hopefulness in her voice, but Jason could sense she was eager for him to accept her invitation.

“Yeah, that would be cool.” Jason nodded slowly, mulling over the suggestion. “I can’t stay too late.” He warned, but couldn’t help the smile fighting against his lips at the way Rachel’s eyes lit up.

“No problem, you can leave whenever you need to.” She ripped a piece of paper from her notebook, quickly scribbling her number on the paper. “Here’s my number. We’ll probably meet in the library around three, like when class is supposed to start. Second floor, usually at one of the big tables near the couches. Text me and I’ll let you know for sure.”

Jason smiled at her, folding the piece of paper into his pocket as he stood.

Jason smiled the entire way back to his apartment, stopping only to grab a coffee from his favorite coffee shop on the corner a block from his building. He sent Rachel a quick message, something short but with a flirtatious undertone. Maybe he could have friends and still be a vigilante, granted he didn’t let any of them get too close to him.

He took every step to the twelfth floor of his apartment building two at a time as he gripped the hot styrofoam cup, eager to start working on his paper. He already knew which author he would research, and wanted to solidify some of his ideas before he would be pulled from his work to patrol with Tim or Dick.

Several hours passed as Jason typed away on his laptop, almost finished with his five-page outline when he heard a knock on his window. It wasn’t a rhythmic tapping, so he knew it must be Dick. Jason typed faster, glancing at the window to confirm his belief.

Dick gave a small salute as Jason hurriedly finished, closing his laptop and jogging to open the window for his older brother.

“Jay-bird, please tell me you’re still coming tonight.” Dick hopped into the apartment, already in his Nightwing outfit; a black spandex suit with a blue bird on his chest. “Damien’s already bailed to take care of a sick dog or something, and Bruce has Tim tracking some drug lords in East Gotham. That leaves the entire West side vulnerable.”

“Relax, I just had to finish something.” Jason shrugged off Dick’s complaining, taking long strides to his bedroom to fish the Red Hood uniform from his closet. “I need to change real quick. Can you look for my helmet? I think I left it in the kitchen somewhere.”

“The kitchen?” Dick raised an eyebrow and sighed before strutting to the kitchen to search for his brother’s mask. “What if someone sees it?”

“The only people I have over are you and Tim, Dickhead. Nothing to worry about.” Jason called from the bedroom, quickly pulling on his black cargo pants and lacing up his black combat boots.

“I don’t see it out here.”

“Fuck, well it isn’t in here and I had it last night when I came home.”

Dick opened the refrigerator in search of a soda, and was met with Jason’s Red Hood helmet sitting on the bottom shelf. He smirked, clutching the helmet in his gloved hand before turning in the direction of Jason’s room.

“Found it! Did you leave it in the refrigerator?”

“Did I?” Jason questioned, squinting his eyes as he recalled the events from last night. “I did need an ice pack, maybe I put it there for a second.” He emerged from his bedroom fully dressed and ready to kick some ass. “Whatever.”

Jason took the helmet from Dick, ignoring the smirk etched onto the blonde’s face.

“Don’t fucking start with me.” Jason warned, eyes narrowing as he slipped the helmet on.

Dick opened his mouth, as though he were about to say something, but stopped.

“Do you hear that?” He asked, throwing Jason off guard.

“What?”

“Do you hear that?” Dick repeated. Jason rolled his eyes.

“Do I hear what, Dickhead?”

“Yelling. Crying. Fighting?” Dick listened intently on the two voices rising from the apartment beneath Jason’s.

Jason rolled his eyes again, already knowing what Dick was referring to. There was a couple that lived below him, a man and a woman. He never saw them, but he heard them. They would yell at each other at night sometimes, and a few times he heard breaking glass. He debated going downstairs to investigate on more than one occasion, but ultimately decided against it. It wasn’t his business, and no one else seemed to care. It was easier to tune out the noise.

“It’s just the people downstairs. 11F. They’re always loud.” Jason shrugged, heading toward the window as he slipped the helmet over his head. “Coming, Dickwing?”

“Hey!” Dick scowled, hesitantly following Jason out the window. “Do you think they’re okay?”

“I’m sure they’re fine.” Jason assured him half-heartedly as they began jumping across the roofs of Gotham. “Besides, we don’t make house calls, right? Batman would go ballistic if he found out we broke into someone’s apartment to give them fucking relationship counseling.”

“I don’t know, Red.” Dick looked back in the direction of Jason’s apartment building. “I thought I heard crying…”

Jason didn’t answer. He didn’t want to think about it. Meddling with his neighbors as the Red Hood wasn’t an option, and meddling with his neighbors as Jason would be even worse. It wasn’t his business to question their relationship, and he wasn’t even sure if they were arguing or having aggressive sex. Besides, anyone could easily start prying into his own life; questioning why he was always on the fire escape, why he left his apartment at weird hours, the strange bruises and cuts that sometimes marred his skin. He would risk drawing more attention to himself than he could risk.

Jason shook his head, erasing the concern from his mind. It was going to be a long night.

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screensirenfic · 5 years

Text

Black Leather - Chapter 12

Warnings: Mentions of Sexual Assault

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

I never actually told Steve what happened that night. I don’t think I had to; the mascara stains on my cheeks and the bruises on my neck spoke volumes.

The fact that Billy was the cause didn’t require any mind games to work out; everyone knew we’d been alone together, even Steve, and it didn’t take much to bridge the gaps.

Still; Steve never asked questions. I was thankful for that; didn’t need to know details, just knew his friend needed him right now and that was enough.

I hardly ever cried. I only think Steve had actually witnessed it once since we met; and that was when dad stopped taking his meds, the first anniversary of when Sara died and everything seemed to be falling apart around us.

He’d held me then; thirteen years old with death a foreign concept reserved for long forgotten grandparents and fish you won at the fair.

He didn’t know what to say to me back then; didn’t even understand why I was so upset.

So he just sat there with me behind the dumpsters in middle school, petting my hair and telling me that everything was gonna be alright; even though he was in no position to be making those sorts of promises.

I guess he did the same now; cradling me close to him like I was fragile like glass, lips braced on my hair to try and kiss away the worry and regret.

I knew Steve assumed the worse.

That what Billy had done to me hadn’t been reciprocated; that somehow his actions had been forced upon me.

The word ‘rape’ swam around both our heads; the word tasting dirty in my mouth, not quite fitting what had happened between me and Billy.

Was he pushy? Yes.

And did I regret what happened? Yes.

But I’d enjoyed it. I’d begged for it at the time, and somehow that felt worse than if I hadn’t wanted it at all.

I felt dirty; like I was lying to my closest friend, luxuriating in his sympathy whilst the evidence of my sin still left my thighs tacky beneath my skirt.

Fifteen minutes later; Steve had dropped me home in near silence, worry still there on his face, but no where as near as prominent as before.

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright?” He asked; taking note of the absence of my dad’s truck.

“I’m sure.” I responded; undoing my seatbelt and picking up my discarded leather jacket from the floor.

“Are you sure? Because you could always come back to mine tonight and drive home tomorrow.” He offered; no implication or undertone in his petition, just a warm desire to see me safe.

“I’ll be fine; Steve.” I insisted with a half hearted smile, staring into those worry filled doe eyes.

“Okay.” He relented with a sigh, running a hand through his thick hair as I began to climb out of the car.

“But if you need to talk or anything; just call me, alright?” Steve continued to press, those deep brown eyes still staring at me as I shrugged my jacket on in a vain attempt to hide the purpling marks on my neck and chest.

“I know; Steve.” I replied, leaning across the passenger seat to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

“Thank you.” I said, and for once, I was sincere. Steve had been a sweetheart; no bones about it, and I was grateful for that.

I left him in the car then, slamming the door shut behind me before I made my way up the porch steps.

“Hey Lo...” Steve called after me, and I turned, watching him hang out a now open window to talk to me.

“Yeah?” I asked, wondering what was going on beneath all that hair that left him so serious.

“Goodnight...” He said, even though for a moment, I thought he might say something else entirely.

“Goodnight” I smiled back, turning back to my door and pretended to be searching my pockets for my keys.

I waited till the I heard the hum of his engine spark up, then fade as he disappeared back into the woods; and once again, I was glad that Steve’s sense of chivalry only went so far, especially when he knew I’d take it as an insult if he offered to “walk me to the door”.

Knowing that I was once again alone, I lifted my hand to the door and knocked.

Knock knock.... knock knock knock.... knock.

I waited, listening to the sounds of owls hooting and the wind blowing; a true signifier on just how isolated we were out here.

When I’d told Steve that me and dad were packing up and moving into the wilderness, he gave me a look like I’d just told him I was planning on running away and join the circus.

He thought my dad had lost it again; gone into a paranoid survival mode like you saw in movies, trying to lock away his family for ‘the end of the world’.

I had to reassure him that no; dad hadn’t lost his shit again, and no; I didn’t need to come move in with him until my dad was done playing Bigfoot.

I’d even had to break my dad’s favourite rule of secrecy, letting Steve drop me off and pick me up from the cabin, though my dad would never let him inside.

Steve just took it that my dad didn’t trust him with me; something that wasn’t all too surprising considering his chilly attitude towards Steve in the past.

Steve still had no idea of the real reason he couldn’t step inside my house.

“El; it’s Lola.” I called; noting that a couple of minutes had passed and she hadn’t come to answer the door. Probably pissed at my dad and planning to make him suffer for it.

I heard the click of locks opening, then the door swung open. I stepped inside, noting that despite the sound of TV murmuring, El was nowhere to be seen.

My eyes spied the long black cable of the TV set, following it as it trailed across the living room and up to Eleven’s closed door, disappearing beneath.

The kid had balls; I’d give her that; the corners of my mouth almost rising into a smile when I’d realised that the Hopper pettiness was apparently also contagious.

Almost; then I was reminded of the stickiness in my underwear, my stomach tensing as I realised I needed to clean myself up urgently.

—————————————————

It didn’t seem to matter how scolding I made the water; how hard I scrubbed my skin, I just couldn’t get the feeling of Billy’s hands on me to go away.

I was probably gonna end up using up all the hot water at this point. Dad was gonna be pissed, but you know what; fuck him! If he hadn’t been so damn well insistent I went to that party, I might not be...

No; you know what; I wasn’t gonna think about that.

Instead I focused on scrubbing the scent of beer and cigarettes out of my hair.

Only once I’d scrubbed my skin red raw; the strong scent of cherry blossom overtaking the stench of testosterone and cheap cologne, did I get out of the shower, wrapping myself in the least ratty looking towel I could find and heading back into my bedroom; ruined clothes in hand.

I locked my bedroom door, knowing that there was no chance of El leaving her room tonight and having no desire to speak to my dad anytime this week, then settled down to work out if anything was salvageable from my Halloween costume.

The stockings were goners; large rips spanning the length of my thighs down both legs, though that was no surprise. Those sort of things never lasted more than a couple of wears anyway.

My top was beer stained, though I could probably get that out with a little detergent and some elbow grease.

The skirt was passable, though my skin crawled slightly at the reminder on why I’d picked it.

I’d probably not be wearing that one again in a hurry.

My bra was surprisingly fine, despite Billy’s rough handling, as were my heels.

My panties; well that was another story.

Damp was an understatement; despite being left on the floor of the bathroom for the better part of an hour, the crotch was soaked through. I dared a look inside on the lining, and instantly wished I hadn’t.

Stained; an almost milky looking streak running straight down the centre. I feared what a mess I might of found if Tommy hadn’t interrupted Billy; if he’d actually been allowed to continue.

I screwed them up into a ball, dumping them in the trash can alongside my ruined stockings in a bid to forget my shame.

I dumped the rest of my clothes into my laundry pile, planning to deal with them first thing tomorrow after dad left for work.

Then I pulled open my drawers, rifling through the jumble of cotton and denim for an oversized t shirt. I grabbed an old Jefferson Airplane t shirt that my dad gave to me years ago; a relic from him and ma’s freer thinking days back in New York.

I dropped my towel, fully intending to shove on the shirt then climb into bed and go to sleep; hopefully waking up tomorrow with enough of a stinker of a hangover that I’d have plausible deniability of the night’s events.

But then I stopped; I’d just caught sight of myself in the mirror.

Jesus fucking Christ; I looked like a domestic abuse victim!

The blooms of bruises decorated my skin like body paint, mapping the places Billy’s hands had strayed hours previously.

I thank God that it was dark in Steve’s car, otherwise he might’ve seen the messy pattern of hickeys running down the length of my neck, across my shoulders and collarbones, stopping just above the tops of my breast.

I even think I could make out the outlines of teeth marks mixed in amongst the bruises; the fucking animal!

It wasn’t just Billy’s mouth that had marked me up good; his hands had left purpling finger marks above my hips, the slightly raised red trails of scratches running just above in the curve of my back.

Most prominent of all was bruising on my wrist; already dark and angry, the distinct shape of his long fingers easy to make out on my darkening skin.

He was an ass; a complete and total ass.

He couldn’t even of done what he wanted and then left me to forget about it; he had to leave suiveneers, like this was some sort of milestone worth remembering.

I guess it kind of was; a hard learned life lesson to never trust a pretty smile and quick hands, no matter how much I wanted to.

I’d been an idiot; no matter what Steve said otherwise. I could accept that now, but I wouldn’t be one again; that’s for sure.

———————————— ——

I’d stayed strong for twenty more minutes, climbing into bed in my old t shirt and turning out the light, till only tree filtered moonlight lit my room.

I’d been fine for a whole twenty minutes; staring into the inky blackness till my eyes fell shut and sleep began to try and take me.

Then I saw him again; that sick self satisfied smile, those deep penetrating blues as he whispered dirty things into my ear, all to the raucous laughter of Tommy H and all his cronies.

My eyes sprung open; my heart hammering at a million miles an hour in my chest, and I was suddenly aware my face was wet; though with sweat or tears, I couldn’t tell.

I sat up, switching on my bedside lamp in the childish hope that the light might chase away the lingering bad dream. Instead my eyes were dawn to my hand resting on top of the comforter; bright purple bruises creating shadowy shackles around my wrist.

Reality hit me once more and I broke down; tears streaming down my face as I realised this was a nightmare I would never wake up from.

I didn’t get any sleep after that, sobbing silently into my pillow case like some stupid freshman who got stood up by her homecoming date.

I felt so stupid; I’d been through worse than this, for God’s sake, so why was I so damn cut up about it?

Maybe it was because I’d thought just for a moment, that Billy might actually like me.

Not like Steve did with his soft brotherly consolations and his worry filled eyes; and not like Tommy H and the rest of the sleaze patrol who stared up my skirt like it was a peep show.

I’d thought that for once in my life I’d found someone who could go toe to toe in the ring with me and put up a fair fight.

Apparently I had been mistaken; my opponent had no intention on fighting fair and wasn’t above resorting to any number of dirty tricks; even if that meant he’d end our little partnership for good.

In all my turmoil; I hadn’t noticed dad’s truck pulling up outside the house, nor had I noticed him knocking at the front door, but I could hear him now; cursing and kicking like some drunk who got locked out of his pickup.

He called out for Eleven; clearly not expecting me home yet. She didn’t answer; no surprises there. I didn’t have any doubts that she was prepared to leave him out there all night.

“Come on; kid. Open up. Look, I know I’m late; alright....” He petitioned from the other side of the front door, unaware that his entire speech was being drowned out by a rerun of The Munsters.

“I got candy here, alright... I got all the good stuff.” He continued, but I knew it was falling upon death ears.

Eleven was mad; worse than that, she was hurt. And I already knew well enough how much being hurt by someone who you thought cared about you stung. Dad really had a better chance at picking the lock, than relying on a spurned tween to come to his rescue.

“Please... Will... You... Open... The.... Door!” He demanded, emphasising every word with a loud bang on the door, as if any amount of blustering was gonna convince El to emerge and give him entry.

Not gonna happen; I thought, but still, he was my dad. He hadn’t done anything to hurt me; at least, not intentionally.

It wasn’t fair for me to blame him just because my stupid little plan blew up in my face. He told me to go out and have a good time; not to be a slut about it.

So I dragged myself out of my bed and out of my room before my dad could give himself a hernia with all his yelling.

El still hadn’t left her room; the flickering light of the TV beneath her door the only sign of life coming from her room.

She must’ve really been pissed; and speaking of people who were pissed, dad still hadn’t given up on his ranting in the vain hope of out-stubborning a newly aged up teenager.

Stubborn or not; this teenager wasn’t so keen on being grounded till marriage, so I quickly made my way over to the cabin door, unlatching the ridiculous amount of locks lining the door. Paranoid much?

“I’m gonna freeze to death out here...” Dad petitioned; his tactics changing to guilt tripping, because apparently it was the backup plan to the entire Hopper family, but he never did get the chance to up the anti.

I’d reached the last lock and swung the door open; my face the perfect blend of pissed off and plain moody to dissuade him from asking any questions.

“Lola?!” He blurted out; actually going as far as to look confused that his oldest daughter was home after being forced to go out to some Halloween fuck fest to confront a boy he really knew nothing about.

I strode back into the house; I was really in no mood to have a moral discussion on my night out and wanted to be back behind the closed door of my room as soon as possible.

“I thought you were meant to be at a party?” Dad asked; because quite frankly, my dad was a complete and total idiot when it came to emotions, boys, and pretty much everything to do with raising a teenage girl.

I don’t even know why I trusted him with giving me advice on Billy in the first place. He treated everything like a fucking police interrogation, thinking you could get everything from someone if you just leaned on them a little.

I suppose he was right; but that technique worked two ways, and Billy clearly was better at playing bad cop.

“Lola?” Dad called out; annoyance overtaking confusion in his voice as he realised I was ignoring him.

“What the hell went on?” He asked; his chief hat and his father hat getting mixed up, but it didn’t fucking matter. Not when I could slam an slab of unvarnished wood in his face.

The door slammed; and I could still hear my dad’s blustering from the other side of the door. I knew he was gonna try and pester El on her attitude, but it would achieve him nothing but a sore throat and a sour attitude.

That was fine. We’d all earned the right to be a little pissed off tonight; some more than others. The rest of the night was destined to be spent in respective solitude, faces stained with angry tears as we each refused to talk about our problems.

Monsters were real but they didn’t hide in closets or under beds; they wore easy smiles and familiar faces, just before stabbing you in the back.

Happy fucking Halloween everybody!

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fakexface · 5 years

Text

No Plan

Swiss is haunted by phantoms of his past and seeks comfort in the one person who knows it all: Cirrus.

Yeah this is just pretty much all smut. The woman mentioned by Swiss (not by name) is an OC. Also, I give Swiss & Cirrus actual TRUE names. And this is based on a lot of headcanons I have. I ship everyone. Enjoy.

My heart is thrilled by the still of your hand, it's how I know now that you understand. ━━━━━━━━━━━━ There were days that Swiss wished he could simply lay in bed and ignore his duties. But that wasn’t possible; he had to get up, to move, to tend to the instruments, to check on a few of the younger Ghouls, to check in with Copia and look over any paperwork that needed a second, critical eye. Today was one of those days, yet he’d managed- just barely. There was a word for this that the mortals used- depression, they called it. But he didn’t like that word, didn’t like putting words to certain things he felt.

It didn’t help that there was a new Ghoulette with hair the same color as hers and eyes the same shade. She wasn’t a Quintessence Ghoulette, though. She was just another Water Ghoulette, summoned to help the Abbey. Her words didn’t have the same biting tone; she wasn’t Her. Yet, he’d still flirted, had still stolen kiss after kiss. Harmless little things.

Now, sitting in his room, the silence was too loud. He could go to Mountain and tease him until he pinned him to the bed and fucking ruined him for the next week. He could go to one of the older Ghouls, perhaps Alpha or Omega, and have one- or both of them- wreck him. He could grab Dewdrop and be nothing but carnal release. His gaze drifted upwards, studying the solid white mask that sat beside a black mask of the same make. Memories danced within his mind of hidden smiles, stolen touches, fleeting kisses. Nothing ever progressed beyond that. They had always been too busy carrying out the Clergy’s dirty deeds.

‘Nomos’, she’d whisper, her voice low, ‘Nomos, touch me-’

He jolted off the bed, jaw clenching, claws digging into the skin of his palms. He needed out. His tail twitched quickly behind him, showing his anger, his aggression. He didn’t even bother with shoes, simply grabbing his room key and leaving, slamming the door behind him. The lock clicked automatically, a handy little thing for the Ghouls- unless you forgot your key.

Swiss wasted no time in crossing through the Ghoul’s wing, climbing the stairs up to Cirrus’s room, ignoring Aether’s call of his name. He needed- needed to talk to her. She knew. She knew everything. She could help.

He needed her.

By the time he reached her door, tears had filled his eyes. He knocked twice, and waited- listening as footsteps neared the door, as the door was unlocked. Cirrus stood there, mask hastily shoved on, wrapped in a silken navy robe. She stared at him, hard, before stepping aside. “Come on.”

He slid in, and she closed the door behind him, locking it. He set his keys aside and dragged his hands through his hair- Nine circles, he’d forgotten his mask. Too late now. Cirrus watched, her arms crossed over her chest, as he paced the floor of her room. He was irritated, wrung raw and chafing.

“Talk.”

“It’s close to the anniversary,” Swiss began, tears spilling over, trailing down flushed gray cheeks. “I can’t- there’s just. It’s too much, Cirrus.” He whined, sinking down onto the edge of her bed. “It’s been over two hundred years and I still see her shocked face in my dreams. I still hear her laughter. I can’t stop thinking.”

Cirrus moved closer, sitting beside him. She scooted back before grabbing his shoulder and tugging him over. He complied, head settling atop her thigh as sobs began to spill out. She didn’t speak, simply toyed with his dreadlocks, claws gently scraping against his skull, down his neck, back up again.

This wasn’t something she wasn’t used to. Swiss had told her one hundred and three years ago about what had happened one night. They had both been drinking- Ghouls always held a lower alcohol tolerance compared to humans- and he started rambling. Talking about Umbra and how she had taught him. How he’d been a hound for Nihil for years. How the scars that decorated his skin were from an Eldritch, this one from a Ghoul gone mad, this one from a Sibling who fought back against his death, this one from a higher demon, and on and on. And Cirrus had sat there and listened to it all until Swiss had finally fallen silent.

And then, she told him of her trauma. Of the forced surgery. Of the blood on her own hands. The lashings she received. The hatred she held. She told him all, and he pulled her in, and just… Held her. Held her, and hummed, and ran his fingers over her arm. And she had curled her arms around his waist, and they sat like that until dawn came.

They understood one another, better than anyone else in the entire Abbey.

She glanced down as Swiss pulled away, scrubbing at his eyes. His cheeks were flushed, his nose rosy and eyes glazed. “Go wash your face off,” she murmured, and he nodded, Rising to his feet, he made his way to the attached bathroom. He didn’t look at his reflection- he knew how he looked. Instead, he took one of her lavender soap bars and lathered up, scrubbing his face before splashing it with cold water. A shock to the senses, clarity coming through. He dried off before returning to collapse onto the bed, falling into the mountain of pillows Cirrus kept.

He shifted, his head tilting back against the soft pillows. Her room smelled of lavender and spices, the bed a lovely four poster with sheer, light blue fabric hanging from the bars along the top. It almost resembled a cage, he noted- though, he knew well those bars were not just for show. His gaze drifted to the left, where the Ghoulette sat on the edge of the bed.

She'd let her hair down, the black hood and silver mask set aside. Long, deep brown tresses flowed down her back, curling near the ends at the small of her back. Idle fingers reached out, brushing through the soft tresses. He watched as a shudder ran through her, her head raising. She’d discarded her robe to reveal a black satin nightgown.

"Pretty pathetic, right?" Swiss mused, lips quirking upwards in a humorless smile.

"No." Cirrus shook her head, turning around to face him. "It isn't. You were used by men and women to complete jobs they didn't have the guts to. And you're still here." She reached out and cupped his cheeks. A mere fifteen minutes ago, they'd been tear-stained and flushed. He leaned into the touch, trilling softly. "You're alive. You've survived. I remember those days. I remember seeing you and-... And her coming back, bloodied but laughing, high off the thrill of it." She rose onto her knees, her black satin nightgown rising to show thighs that he knew, very well, could choke a man out. "I miss that laughter. You were once so happy, Nomos," a gasp left him, eyes widening at the sound of his true name.

She shuffled closer as he sat up, cupping both cheeks now. She leaned in, a low rumble of a purr filling the air. "Let me take that pain away?" Cirrus asked, lips hovering over his own. A whine left him, the urge to submit washing over him like a tidal wave. He closed the distance, claiming her lips in a kiss she immediately took over, forked tongue snaking out to trace along his lips. He gasped, lips parting, and their tongues met, brushing against each other.

His hands came to rest on the tops of her thighs, clawed fingers pressing into the smooth skin repeatedly, kneading. Her scent invaded his sense- cold winter winds, harsh mint, gentle lavender, an undertone of woodsmoke. She pulled back, and he followed, rising up- only for a hand to press down on his chest, holding him in place. She pressed harder, and slowly, he fell back upon the bed, watching as she climbed atop his lap, settling down with a pleased murmur. Cirrus was beautiful in a wicked way; high cheekbones, sharp steel-gray eyes that held a hint of gold within, framed by long, dark lashes. Full lips that she liked to paint a deep red, and a surprisingly feminine jawline.

She was every bit a lioness, and he was her prey.

Wordlessly, her hands drifted beneath his shirt, pulling it up and over his head, careful of his horns. Bared before her, his gaze slipped away from hers. "No." She shook her head, frowning. "Eyes on me, Nomos," she murmured before leaning down, tongue sliding out to lick across a twisting scar upon his left bicep. A hellhound had caused that one, he remembered briefly.

"Aquilo," he whispered, gaze trained on her as she continued to kiss and lick every scar she could reach on his upper torso. A shudder ran through her, her tail coming to curl around his thigh, squeezing at the sound of her true name. By the end, he was panting, keening for more, and her hips were sinfully, slowly grinding down. "Aquilo, please-"

"Please, what?" She mused, sitting back up. His fingers gripped her hips, urging her to go faster. She didn't relent, instead reaching up with both hands to wrap around his throat, thumbs resting below his chin, keeping his head up. "Patience, darling. Let me tear you apart," a slow circle of her hips, "allow me to drink deep your pain," her hands squeezed, pulling free a high keen from his throat, "I want to break you down, piece by piece." She leaned down, teeth grazing along a surprisingly sensitive nipple. "Will you let me?"

He squeezed his eyes shut as she waited for an answer. He could feel her purring- could feel how wet she already was, soaking through her silk panties and his own sweatpants. Finally, he swallowed roughly. "Please- please tear me apart. Help me feel again, Aquilo."

Her lips spread into a wicked grin; she felt his pulse jump in his neck. “Good boy,” she murmured before leaning down, licking a hot stripe across that damned hellhound scar before she shifted, climbing off his lap. He didn’t dare move his hands; not now, not as a claw traced the shape of his length. A groan pulled free as Cirrus suddenly pressed down with her palm, enjoying the feeling of him jumping beneath her. She grasped the edges of his sweatpants and tugged, pulling them down and off, tossing them to the ground. “No underwear? Slut.”

A laugh escaped Swiss suddenly as he shook his head. “Really? I don’t think you’ve ever called me a slut before.”

She grasped him, her palm cool against his heat, and a groan left him. “You seem to like it,” she mused as she loosened her grip, letting her fingers slowly trail up, claws brushing against the sensitive head. Her index claw just barely grazed the slit; a pleased noise escaped her as she watched a pearly bead spill free. “Already beginning to weep for me, Swiss? Is this the Incubus in you?”

“Don’t tease,” he whined, hips bucking. Her hand withdrew, drawing for an even louder whine.

“Patience,” she murmured as she leaned down, tongue lolling out. She drug it down his length slowly, the sound of Swiss moaning above her like music to her ears. “Or else, I won’t let you cum.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” Swiss gasped as she suddenly grasped his cock around the base, squeezing almost painfully. “Okay, you would-”

“I know Mountain edges you,” she began, her lips just brushing against the underside, “I know how he uses his fingers and brings you to the edge over and over again. I know how you like to ride his fingers, how you whine and beg for more when he pulls away.” Swiss whined, and she laughed, a low, dark sound. “Yes, just like that. I know how you like it when Aether wraps his hand around your throat. And how you make Dew ride you in the confession booth. How you let little Rain choke on your dick. You’re our little slut, aren’t you?” Swiss was panting, his pupils blown, swallowing the honey brown iris nearly completely. He licked his lips.

“How- how do you know?” He asked, swallowing roughly as her hand began to move slowly. “Who told…?”

She hummed, resting her chin on his thigh as she moved her hand almost painfully slow. “I have my ways, darling. Mountain is surprisingly talkative when in the right mood. And we know how big Dew’s mouth is.” She watched as he twitched, a snort leaving her. “You’re desperate for more, aren’t you?”

“Please, please,” his head rolled back as she withdrew her hand. “You’re evil.”

“Normally, I’d keep tormenting you. But I don’t think you need that tonight, do you?” She could feel his tail creeping up the back of her thigh, the spade toying with the band of her underwear. “Aw, little Nomos is so needy!” She reached up, squishing his cheeks. “Needy little kit.” She couldn’t help the trill that left her as the tip of his tail dipped low, rubbing against her heat. In retaliation, she slid two fingers into his mouth, watching as his eyes widened in surprise. “Suck.”

Swiss hummed around the fingers, tongue curling around them as Cirrus watched. Her own pupils were blown wide; she was shivering in anticipation. Good; he reached out, gripping her wrist, pulling it from his lips. “Aquilo,” he purred, watching as she shifted her hips, her thighs clenching. “You’re just as needy as I am.”

“Did I say you could talk?” Cirrus snapped, lip curling as she jerked her hand free. She moved back, out of his reach. He watched as she reached between her thighs, a sigh escaping her as she slid her silken panties down. She didn’t speak as her fingers brushed against herself, her eyes sliding shut. Swiss let out a groan at the sight, watching as she wasted no time, sliding a finger into herself. It was a slow process, drawn out to tease him no doubt, as she fucked herself. There wasn’t really any true need; she knew she was wet enough. She even savored that sting that came with the first push, but to see Swiss thrusting into thin air, begging to be touched as she touched herself… It was addicting.

Her hips rolled forward as a moan spilled free. She was getting close- too close. With a whine, she pulled her fingers free. Swiss reached out, grasping her wrist, and before she could pull back, his tongue was curling around the wet digits, groaning at the taste. A keen pulled free of Cirrus as she watched him clean her wetness from her fingers. She pulled them back before shuffling forward, brows furrowing.

“You don’t have to take the nightgown off,” Swiss spoke suddenly, his voice soft. The tension in Cirrus’s shoulders melted away as relief flooded her system. “I know.”

“Thank you,” she murmured as she climbed atop him once more. She reached back, grasping him with a gentle hand before shifting her hips down. A groan spilled free of Swiss as his cock brushed against her, the head knocking against her clit. Cirrus jolted, a grin spreading across her lips as she simply grinded herself against him for a moment, drawing out the pleasure before finally lifting her hips.

This wasn’t their first time together, or even their second, or their fifth. She could offer him what he was too afraid to ask at times; she could read him like an open book. And he could see her, touch her without her flinching away or growling.

She slowly lowered her hips, her head falling back as he filled her. It was still a stretch; two fingers had not been enough, but the sting faded quickly as she bottomed out. She took a moment, letting herself adjust. Swiss reached up, grasping her hips gently beneath her nightgown, thumbs rubbing small circles into the smooth skin. Her eyes opened, and grey met brown as her hands crept up, encircling his throat.

“Squeeze,” he whispered, “please.”

And squeeze she did as she raised her hips slowly before dropping back down, enjoying the slow movements as she began to ride him. He gave her a breathless smile as he braced his feet against the bed, knees rising to give her a little leverage. Neither of them would last long, not with how worked up they already were, not with her hands around his throat. She began to ride him in earnest, hips swiveling on each thrust. Soft moans left her- Cirrus was never one to be too vocal. Swiss, however, would have been vocal- had hands not been wrapped around his throat. Instead, rough keens left him as the sound of skin meeting skin filled the bedroom.

One of his hands slipped forward, roughened pads of his fingers slipping between them to rub tight, quick circles around her clit. His other hand stayed on her hip, gripping, claws digging into her skin. His tail twined with hers, the spade pressed against her own.

“In you,” he whispered, breath coming in harsh pants. “Please, can I-”

“Yes, yes,” she replied, eyes squeezing shut as she approached her climax. “Cum for me, Nomos, Now.” It wasn’t a request. Her hands tightened before releasing his throat altogether. A surprised gasp left him as his orgasm crashed over him. She was right behind him, her hips stilling as she clenched around him. She bit her lip hard enough to break skin, fangs piercing the flesh. Blood welled up; she licked it away, shuddering as his fingers continued to rub until she batted at his hand.

His knees dropped as Cirrus climbed off, collapsing beside him. “I didn’t wear a condom.”

“I know.” She hummed, leaning over to lick at a bead of sweat that had been slowly trailing down his throat. “I needed to change my sheets, anyway. And take a shower…” She trailed off, grimacing at the feeling.

Swiss hummed, leaning over to steal a kiss, the iron tang of blood drifting across his taste buds. “Thank you.”

“You can thank me by taking a shower with me,” Cirrus replied as she shifted, stretching her arms over her head. “You stink.”

“So do you,” he countered, smiling as she laughed. These were the soft moments, the afterglow. Cirrus looked beautiful like this, with light dancing in her eyes and her lips spread into a smile. It was a rarity; very few ever got to see her like this. He thought himself to be lucky to be one of the few. “Wanna go raid the kitchen afterwards? I think there’s still leftover Chinese.”

“You say that as if I’m letting you leave this bedroom anytime soon.” She replied as she rolled off the bed to stand. “I’m not finished with you yet. We have all night. There’s no plan, no kingdom to come.” She didn’t even glance over her shoulder as she made her way to the bathroom, finally pulling off her nightgown, revealing lash scars on her back.

Swiss rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help but grin as he climbed off her bed as well, bare feet padding on the stone floor, trailing after her. “Copia’s gonna be pissed if we’re too tired for practice tomorrow.”

“Maybe he needs to get fucked, too.”

“... Probably.”

Laughter filled the air as Cirrus tugged Swiss close, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she stole a kiss, thoughts of phantoms gone for the moment.

#swiss army ghoul #multi ghoul #swiss ghoul #air ghoulette #cirrus ghoul #the band ghost #this shit be hella en es ef double u #fakexface sin #fakexface writing

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