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carlosfruitsnacks · 2 years

Text

"your favorite worst nightmare"

PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5

summary:

— A series of murders took place in the city and you were given the job of finding the culprit behind it all but are you prepared for the nightmare about to unfold?

genre:

— serial killer x detective au & aged-up

notes:

— female reader. I do not speak fluent Spanish and all of the Spanish here is translated from google, feel free to correct me if I got something wrong.

warning/s:

— mentions of murder, violence, & foul language/cussing

a/n:

— i wanted to do something special for Halloween so here's something saved in my drafts for soooo long, he're a playlist for this series ;)

With each hurried step, you draw in deep breaths before stepping into your car. Hastily placing the key in the ignition, you stepped on the gas and pulled into the driveway. Your eyebrows furrowed as you focused on the road. You hear your phone ringing so with one hand and without looking at the caller i.d, you answer.

"Detective [Name], you might wanna pick up the speed to the scene"

"I'm on my way Pablo calm your ass"

You replied to the guy on the other line before hanging up. You increased your speed and soon enough you arrived at your destination. You exited your car with a heavy exhale, you spotted the yellow police tape already surrounding the area and prohibiting any civilians from entering. You casually walked into the scene, you flashed your i.d to one of the officers without making eye contact as they let you slip through the tape.

The situation unfolds in front of your eyes as you make your way towards the one-story house, upon entering you encounter your co-workers. A guy lets out a relieved sigh.

"Thank god you're here"

"So...it's him again isn't it?"

"Unfortunately, yes"

The guy named Pablo mumbles. You inhaled sharply through your nostrils and ventured further into the crime scene where others were collecting evidence. There was a chalk outline where the supposed victim was found dead, there were several blood stains, and the air reeked of odor and violence. You squinted your eyes at one of the walls in the house, as you came closer for inspection, you clicked your tongue.

"That son of a bitch..."

"You know detective, for months we've been working on this case, I never knew what the symbol is"

Pablo remarks. Both of you stared at the symbol scribbled on the wall with blood, an incredible cliché way for a killer to display a trademark. You turn to Pablo.

"Somehow the symbol reminded me of something"

"Oh? Could this mean we'll finally have a break on the case?"

"...I'm not sure. Any new evidence found?"

"Just one cigarette and a red lighter"

He hands you the evidence in a plastic container. You noticed the brand of the cigarette, you used to smoke but quit once you got a full-time job as a detective for the Encanto PD. The red-colored lighter isn't enough to supply you with a new lead. The crime scene proved that the killer you were after for months continued to be cryptic.

Eventually, you drive back to the station and talk with your co-workers about the case. You visit the forensics where a woman with bright green glasses flashed a smile at you.

"Your smile is awfully bright for someone observing a dead body"

"Pardon me but this is one of his victims isn't it?"

"Honestly, I don't get why you're so excited about this, Mirabel"

The woman, Mirabel giggles and walks over to you. You have been working with her for years and she was fantastic at her job, you two were the closest in the entire department.

"The way he would execute his victims is just fascinating, [Name]. I mean look at this!"

She pulls out an x-ray of the recent victim and showed multiple broken bones that made you wince. You were still not used to it after all these years.

"This man is a monster, with several broken bones without leaving bruises or cuts on the victim's body! Well...aside from the huge cut on the chest"

"He does this to his every victim, it's fucking disgusting"

"I know but there is one thing I find really weird"

Mirabel admits. You raised a brow at the woman as she goes to all of her files of previous pictures of victims that were brought for her to examine. You go closer as she sets the pictures side by side.

"Not only does he kill the victims with such brute strength before slicing their chests to write his bloody signature on the wall, but he takes the victim's hearts with them"

"...So he's basically stealing hearts"

"Cupid would be so angry at him"

Mirabel joked. You put a thought over what she said about the killer stealing the hearts of every victim he's come across. You returned to your office collecting all the evidence you've found so far about the killer.

"How's the world's best detective doing?"

A voice catches your attention. You turn and saw a man with curly hair and beautiful hazel eyes, he grins and takes a seat on top of your desk.

"This killer gets weirder and weirder every time"

"What I know is that he loved getting our attention"

"Hm, that's what you and he got in common, Camilo"

The man, Camilo, gave you an offended look as you let out a laugh. Camilo was Mirabel's cousin and was known to be a retired celebrity. His pursuit to be a detective instead of an actor was a mystery to you til this day.

"He's one tough bug to catch, [Name]"

"Yeah, we only got one picture of him without his face but we know he's a guy. He has no specific target, he likes to kill people near our age, and we have no possible motive!"

"Maybe the guy's just a psychopath, you know"

"Probably, god this is so stressful!"

You groaned and slumped on your chair. Camilo sends you a sympathetic look. The case was given to you weeks after you became a detective, you were tasked to find, identify, and catch this serial killer who the media gave many names for. "The Crimson killer", "The Heart Eater", and the classic "El diablo rojo". Seriously, when will people stop giving killers cool names?! And maybe the killing would stop?!

"You're the best one on the field, [Name]. I'm sure you'll be able to solve this case"

"I hope so, Camilo. I don't want to be too late and let more people die in his hands"

Camilo softly pats your shoulder and leaves you to work. You tried to examine every piece of evidence collected so far. For some reason, the killer loved leaving knick-knacks at every murder scene. First was a red bracelet, then a red guitar pick, and red nail polish. It's apparent to you that this killer adored the color red. The single cigarette was a Malboro red and it came along with a red-colored lighter.

You had a strong feeling that all these items were clues. The killer was leaving hints for you to solve as if this was just a silly game. Sooner, you had to pack up your things and go home, you were beyond exhausted. Pablo was kind enough to offer you a drive home. He drops you off at your place with that friendly smile of his.

"See you tomorrow, [Name]!"

"Good night, Pablo"

He nods and drives away. You trudged inside your home and ate dinner on your couch while watching the news. Of course, it's all about the stupid killer you're tasked to catch. You groaned and reached for the remote in order to change the channel but paused midway when you remembered something.

"Shit! I left my wallet at the office!"

You cursed, you recalled setting your wallet on top of your desk at your office. You grabbed your phone and dialed Pablo's phone number. The first ring, he doesn't pick up, it was strange but you try again. You called him five times and he didn't answer. You grew worried. Immediately, you slipped on your shoes and decided to stop by his apartment to check on him.

You arrived at his place minutes later and knocked on his apartment door, it was silent. You knocked again and called for his name, but Pablo doesn't respond. Merely panicking, you remembered the spare key he would hide near one of the flower pots outside. You found the extra key and frantically unlocked his door.

"Pablo?"

You called out. You stepped into his apartment, it was quiet and it sent you to the edge. You gulped and took a look around. His couch in the living room was messy, he left his shoes at the door, he's got to be around somehow. Your breath hitched when you turn to look at the hallway. Your blood turned cold as your heartbeat paused, and your eyes stared in sheer horror at the sight before you.

It was Pablo and he was lying lifeless on the floor with blood pooling out from his chest.

A scream gets stuck in your throat when you heard shuffling from behind you. With a slow turn, you spot a tall man writing a very familiar symbol on one of the walls inside the apartment with what you realized was Pablo's blood. The man was wearing a maroon attire and meets your eyes, you freeze as he takes a step closer.

He had a hood over his head but you can see a couple of curly auburn hair poking out. He had a pair of pitch-black pants and boots. He has a bloody mask covering half his face and he had a knife in his hand. At this petrifying moment you realized, you're standing face-to-face with the serial killer you're looking for.

"...What are you doing here, sweetheart?"

He first spoke, his voice was deep and raspy. You take a step back, your mind began to race. But you don't let the fear take over you so you reach for the handgun you strapped on your waist. He notices this and growls.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, amor"

He warned but you don't listen to him. You drew the gun and aimed it at him, you send him a glare but he scoffs.

"No hagas esto más difícil de lo que debería ser"

"Wh-what?"

"I said, you have pretty eyes"

You raised a brow at him, bewildered. Before you knew it, the killer pounced at you knocking you to the floor, and manages to wrestle the gun from you. With a strangled scream, you throw a solid punch to his face, he lets out a cry but quickly takes hold of you. Unable to get away from his grasp, you looked at him teary-eyed and he chuckles.

"It was nice seeing you again, [Name]"

He said before he hits you hard on the head enough to send you unconscious. He drags your body to the living room and headed for the door. Before he can leave he casts you one last look and closed the door behind him.

taglist: @pochi-moochika , @cahmilo , @vanevafu , @irisia-ckzkb1109 , @elegantkidfansoul , @candykamikun , @justzei , @try-cry-why-try , @nanaisheretomessupthings , @eichenhouseproperty , @nort-the-simp , @megs2world, @ducky-is-dead-inside ...join here

masterlist

#encanto #disney encanto #encanto fanfic #encanto fanfiction #carlos madrigal #carlos my beloved #carlos madrigal my beloved #carlos madrigal x reader #carlos madrigal x y/n #carlos x you #carlos x y/n #carlos x reader #jay's fanfics™️

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celosiaa · 4 years

Note

hi me again 🥺 sorry for making you tear up even if it was in a good way (hopefully?) 💕 i don’t mind the wait at all, i completely understand and it’s 100% worth it (honestly i get so excited whenever you post a new fic)!! soooo... i was doing some research for a project on epilepsy and i got thinking about epileptic martin?? like particular in s1 maybe he didn’t tell the other archives crew as he didn’t know them that well/hadn’t worked closely with them before (ok sorry tbc as i am rambling)

hello friend!!! I am so sorry that this took me a literally unreasonable amount of time to write! I really enjoyed the research I did for this, and I love this hc forever. And I hope this is what you were looking for <3

CW seizures, nausea, misgendering

Focus.

Just focus.

For god’s sake.

It’s been nearly an hour of Martin sitting at his desk, trying desperately to rein in any sliver of concentration he can muster to look at the laptop screen before him. He feels awful doing it, but every time Jon has passed by his desk that day, he’s found himself pretending to click around or to type—though he’s got the brightness set so far down there’s no way he’d be able to see it anyway. After a few attempts at turning it back up, he’s had to immediately look away, as the pounding behind his eyes resumes again. So for now, he’s stuck with reading statements—something he is loathe to do even on a good day.

And this certainly wasn’t.

He knows better than this, knows that he’s very nearly approaching disaster—what with the not sleeping out of hypervigilance, not eating out of anxiety, and not having his seizure meds for the past two days, as he’d managed to run out of his flat without them. And there’s no doubt in his mind that he cannot send anyone back to his flat. Not with Prentiss still on the loose.

Selfish selfish selfish

No, stop it.

You haven’t even done anything.

Wishing more than anything that his mind did not constantly run him ragged with thoughts like this, Martin looks up from his papers, intending to find a rubber band to snap against his wrist as a distraction, but instead—

Instead he finds himself frozen, colors fading in and out across his vision, heartbeat steadily climbing as his fingers go numb.

No no no no

Not now not now please not now

Realistically, he knows it’s only been a few seconds, but the seconds feel like years against the rapid thrum thrum thrum in his ears, made even worse when he sees Tim approaching from the periphery.

Damn it damn it

Please please please

“Hey Marto!”

Like clockwork, the focal aware seizure ends, and at last—at last he is able to move enough to look up at where Tim stands, leaning against his desk, smile fading rapidly as he watches Martin blinking in the suddenly-too-bright light.

“You alright?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to get a better look at his face, doubtless taking note of how quickly he is breathing now to match his settling heart rate.

“Y-yeah, sorry, um. Was just thinking,” is all he can reply, fighting to put an easy smile back on his face.

It seems to have been the wrong move, as Tim only shifts to sit atop his desk, expression quickly becoming overrun with concern.

“Okay, well…you look like you’re having a panic attack, mate,” he says lowly, reaching across him to grab his water bottle and set it nearer to him. “What do you need?”

Even with his misguided interpretation, Martin can’t help the flood of affection he feels toward him in this moment—because that’s just Tim, isn’t it? Never assumes, just asks what will help and then does it.

If only I weren’t such a mess, and would let him.

“Oh, n-no it’s not—it’s not that, Tim, I’m—I’m alright. Must’ve…drifted off, or something. Had a nightmare.”

There is no way Tim buys that, no way in hell—but thankfully, he lets it go.

“O…kay then. Well. If that’s the case, I was just thinking of grabbing some lunch, do you want anything? Don’t reckon you’ve eaten properly in a bit, yeah?”

God, Tim.

I don’t deserve this.

Yes, you do. You deserve a friend and you need to eat.

You need to eat.

“Uhh—th-thanks, erm. Where—where are you going?” he asks, wishing to god his voice didn’t sound so shaky.

He takes a few intentionally deep breaths after that—thinking that perhaps it is a panic attack, after all. Without realizing that several seconds have gone by since his question, he feels Tim’s bracing hand on his shoulder, knowing that he’s not going to ask again—but offering him a clear sign that he’s there all the same.

“Just the corner shop,” he murmurs, starting to rub his thumb over the shoulder seam of Martin’s t-shirt. “Nothing fancy. But I can get you a sandwich, if you like. Well, no—I am getting you a sandwich regardless, but I thought I might be considerate for once and ask if there was anything in particular that you want.”

“Yeah—erm, yeah, just. Anything that’s warm would be nice,” he says at last, sinking a bit as Tim removes his hand from his shoulder. “Thanks, Tim. That’s—that’s really kind.”

“Don’t mention it. Seriously,” he says, clapping his hand back against Martin’s shoulder with force before standing. “Be back in a bit. Drink that water.”

“I will,” Martin nods, earning himself some finger guns of approval before Tim starts walking towards the lift. “Thanks, mate.”

And he’s so close now, so close to shouting after him, to asking him to pick up his meds from the chemist, if he calls them in—

Just ask just ask just ask

—and then Tim is around the corner, and out of sight.

Damn it all.

He tells himself it’s probably for the best anyway—that he’s not really even sure he can get them. But it doesn’t stop him burying his face in his hands, tugging at his hair in frustration and shame. Really though, he ought to call first before mentioning anything—perhaps they have a delivery service, or they’ll refuse him, or something.

And what then?

The idea of finding himself suddenly on the floor of the archives, alone and in the dark with the worms having crawled all over him while he seized—

Have to call.

Reaching bitterly for his phone, he takes a deep breath as it rings, preparing his best “customer service” voice.

“Boots, how can we help you today?”

“Hi! Erm, I was wondering if—if I could get a refill for my prescription? For—for carbamazepine,” he says, cheery voice belying the dread with which he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Sure thing! Just need your name and date of birth and I’ll look you up.”

“Right. Erm—well, it’s Martin, but I think you’ve still got me under, erm. Mary Blackwood,” he says, forcing himself not to grit his teeth at the foul taste his deadname leaves in his mouth. “Date of birth October 15th, 1987.”

“Alright, let’s see here—“

Please please please

“—it looks like you’ve already got your refill, Miss Blackwood. Our system says you picked up your medication on the 19th.”

“It’s—it’s Mister, actually. Erm,” he stammers, stomach churning over the entire thing. “L-listen, I—I’ve had to leave my home quite suddenly, and—and I am unable to return there for the time being. So I don’t—I don’t have access to my meds. And I, erm. Really need them.”

Pathetic pathetic pathetic

“I’m really sorry, Mister Blackwood. You’re going to have your doctor call in another prescription for you before we can get you that refill. Unfortunately, it’s out of our hands.”

Of course.

“Oh, right. That’s erm—that’s okay. Thank you so much,” he says as brightly as possible, unwilling to blame anyone for something out of their control.

“You’re quite welcome. Take care.”

With a long, shaky sigh, Martin throws his phone back onto his desk, returning his head to its rightful place, buried in his hands. There’s no way he can call his doctor today—or tomorrow even, with it already being a Friday afternoon. No chance of him getting his refill, then. And no chance of sending Tim back to his apartment either.

Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

It was just a focal, nothing too bad.

Nothing unmanageable.

I can make it.

Steeling himself with somewhat tremulous determination, he takes another long breath—blinking back against the steady pounding in his head, and getting back to work.

—

“Aw come on, Sasha! Take a break with me!”

“Not on your life. I’m still furious with you, you know,” she replies, tossing her hair like a lion’s mane over her back. “Can’t believe you’d go all the way to the good café for Martin, and not offer me anything. Not even crumbs, Stoker!”

“Listen—” Tim grins back, hands raised in self-defense. “He looked like he could use some soup! I don’t know what else to say.”

“And you didn’t get me any? What about me doesn’t scream ‘I could use some soup, thank you?’”

“It’s different!! It’s—Martin? You alright?”

As he was walking past their bickering, eyes firmly fixed on the floor on the lookout for worms, Martin had suddenly stopped short—looking anxiously up and over their heads, framed by the doorway of Jon’s office.

“Martin?” Tim repeats, already halfway to standing in worry, following Martin’s gaze behind him and finding nothing.

Faster than he can turn back around, Martin’s muscles all tense at once—and he tips backwards onto the floor with a heavy thud.

“Shit! Martin!”

Tim darts forward at once, in some feeble attempt to catch him, but of course, far too late to do so. In his shock, he can do little but stand over him for a few seconds, taken aback upon seeing his eyes still open where he lies still on the floor.

“What happened?” Jon demands, stepping quickly out of his office towards them, where Sasha now crouches near his head.

“I-I don’t know, he just—”

And then Martin begins to convulse.

“Oh my god, he’s—he’s having a seizure,” Sasha gasps as she claps a hand over her mouth, from where it had been pressed against his forehead.

“Fuck. Fuck, what do—what do we do? Do we call 999?” Tim shouts, unwilling to sit by and watch as this all goes on around him, already grabbing Sasha’s phone from her nearby desk.

“I—I think so, let me—”

“Wait.”

Two sets of eyes land upon Jon as he interjects, crouching near Martin’s flailing left arm, waiting for him to set it back down before quickly grabbing at a bracelet circling his wrist.

“I-it’s a medical bracelet. Says epilepsy,” he says lowly, quickly sitting back on his heels as Martin’s arm begins to jerk again.

“Fuck. I—I had no idea,” Tim breathes, running an anxious hand through his hair. “How could we not know?”

“We should—” Sasha breaks off quickly to swallow a lump in her throat, before continuing. “We should be timing it, did anyone see the time?”

“I-I don’t—it’s probably been less than a minute, right?”

“I think so. I’m—here, I’m googling it to make sure—”

While she does so, Martin’s head begins to slam into the ground—and Jon immediately pulls off his cardigan, folding it quickly and placing it beneath him to cushion the blow.

“It’s alright, big guy,” Tim says, settling down to kneel next to Jon, who now has a hand gently pressed to his shoulder—not holding him down, just resting there in a comfort Martin probably cannot receive.

Tim rests his own hand against Martin’s thigh all the same.

“Okay, I think we’re good so far,” Sasha says at last, setting her phone down with a timer running on the screen. “Just time it, and—and keep watch. If it goes past five minutes, we call 999.”

“That’s—that’s it?” Tim says in dismay, snapping his eyes back to his friend, still convulsing on the floor. “There’s nothing else we can do?”

“No. We just have to watch out for him,” she replies, voice low as she adjusts Jon’s cardigan beneath his head. “Make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.”

Not the answer that Tim was looking for.

And so they wait—silent save for the rhythmic smacking of his limbs against the carpeted floor, and the occasional whispered platitude, though all know he cannot hear them. The seconds tick by in agony while they sit helpless, all eyeing the timer on Sasha’s phone creeping up steadily past three minutes.

“I don’t like this,” Tim says, knowing how useless it is to say so—Sasha raising her eyes to meet his for the first time in a while.

“Me neither.”

“Nearly three and a half minutes,” Jon mutters, worrying at his bottom lip while still resting a gentle hand on Martin’s shoulder.

“We’ve got you, Martin,” Tim mutters. “We’ve got you.”

Ten more seconds.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Forty.

And at last—at last he goes still, right past the four-minute mark.

“Alhamdulillah,” Jon sighs as he lets his chin briefly rest against his chest, a sentiment echoed by everyone around him.

“Okay, turn him on his side, here—Tim—”

“Got it,” Tim says as he moves to crouch next to her, helping roll him towards Jon, head pillowed on the arm Jon stretched out across the floor as a cushion.

As soon as they get him in the recovery position, they watch as saliva runs out of his mouth, surely fit to choke him had they not turned him—and he begins to snore forcefully, catching Tim very much by surprise.

“Wh-what—” he asks in bewilderment, struggling to hold back a bit of shocked laughter.

“The website said that’s normal,” Sasha assures at once, reaching behind her to grab a box of tissues from her desk behind her. “He’s going to be sleepy for a bit.”

“Okay. That’s—okay,” he says, watching as Jon takes the tissues from Sasha and wipes at Martin’s face so very gently, before tossing them aside and taking his hand.

Taking his hand.

…interesting.

Stowing THAT away for later.

As Jon starts to move his thumb across the back of Martin’s palm, the snoring stops—and his eyes begin to flutter rapidly, attempting to force their way fully open.

“Hey Martin, can you hear me?” Sasha says rather loudly, bending over him and tapping his shoulder lightly.

All she receives in response is a moan, deep and low, as he squeezes and unsqueezes his eyelids, coughing a bit against the pooling saliva. Jon reaches for the tissues again at once, cleaning his face as best as possible.

“You’re okay mate,” Tim says, patting his hip before leaving his hand there for support. “You’ve had a seizure.”

It takes a few moments, but at last, Martin opens his eyes, looking vaguely around without meeting Jon’s eyes.

“Wh’ happ’n?” he slurs—all three of them exchanging a meaningful glance, a bit alarmed.

“You had a seizure, Martin,” Sasha repeats, stroking at his hair while Tim starts rubbing his hand up and down his arm, hoping it will somehow help to ground him.

Remaining still for a few moments, still blinking, Martin tries to take it all in— looking down towards where Jon still rubs at his hand, though still seemingly unaware of his presence.

“What happened?” he asks again, voice less slurred, but still weak.

“A seizure, Martin,” Jon says, trying desperately to catch his eyes. “You’re alright.”

At once, Martin wrenches his hand away from Jon’s grasp in favor of clapping it over his mouth, muffling a small and desperate gasp behind it.

“Shit. You gonna be sick?” Tim asks, already looking around him for something to grab as Jon once again prepares his tissues.

He does not respond right away, instead pausing for a few deep breaths—at last shaking his head no. In both relief and the absence of something to do with his hands, Jon fusses at the cardigan again—positioning it just so.

“Wh—oh, seizure,” Martin breathes, and Tim cannot help but feel relieved at his gaining a bit of orientation back.

“Yeah.”

Eyebrows knitting together, Martin moves the hand clapped over his mouth to rest on his eyes, sniffling a bit before speaking.

“M’so sorry,” he gasps—and it’s enough to break Tim’s heart.

All of their hearts apparently, as they immediately place their hands on him in a gesture of comfort.

“Hey, no, none of that,” Sasha soothes, brushing back his fringe again.

“M’sorry.”

“Martin, it’s alright,” reassures Jon, with such rare gentleness that even Martin lowers his hand to look—wincing quickly as he does so, and placing it back over his eyes at once.

“Do the lights hurt?” Sasha asks worriedly, placing her hand to cover his own, hoping to block more of it out.

“Yeah—ah,” he grits out with a pained little gasp, and Jon gets to his feet.

“I’ll get them,” he says, and walks quickly to the switch, sending them into a darkness illuminated only by the light from the hall.

With a quiet sigh of relief, Martin lowers his hand again, eyes still closed, and rubs absently at his nose. Stumbling a bit as his eyes adjust to the dark, Jon makes his way back to kneeling beside him, taking up his free hand again.

“Your head okay?” asks Tim, prompting Sasha to card through his hair to look for any swelling. “I’m sorry I didn’t—I couldn’t catch you.”

“…what?” comes the vague response, delayed by a few seconds as Martin tries in vain to sort through what was said.

“Still confused,” Sasha mouths at him silently—and he nods, instead going back to rubbing up and down Martin’s arm, as Sasha moves to massage his neck.

“M’sorry.”

“Hush, darling. It’s alright,” she says, and Tim knows without a doubt she will sit there all day, repeating these same things to him as long as he needs.

And loves her for it.

“…wh—Jon?”

Eyes more focused than ever, Martin looks down to where Jon still rubs a thumb over his palm, stunned very his very presence in this space.

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, offering a small squeeze of affirmation, inadvertently painting a soft grin briefly across Martin’s face—before it drops quickly again in horror, as the reality of the situation sinks in again.

“Oh god. I—oh god.”

“It’s okay, Martin.”

“No no no.”

“It’s alright,” Jon comforts, more soothing than Tim had ever imagined would be possible for him. “Just be still. You’re alright.”

Five minutes turn into ten, turn into fifteen as Martin’s confusion slowly fades away—his recovery naturally filled with a deluge of apologies, patient soothing from his friends, and tending to the waves of nausea that come over him every few minutes. Ever so gradually, he becomes better able to hold a conversation; better able to hold their gaze, asking what happened before he went down, explaining that his…well, everything is sore, but that it’s nothing unmanageable.

There is very little that Martin would call “unmanageable,” of course, but it’s the most they will get out of him.

“I think I can sit up now,” he says after a bit, bracing his arms underneath himself to prepare, and Tim reaches out to support him at once.

“Sure?”

“Yeah.”

A bit slow, a bit clumsy, they get him up—not without some worried questioning when he hunches forward, face buried in his hands as the headache worsens with the change of posture. But luckily, it dulls as quickly as it comes, and Martin soon finds himself able to look up, even to offer a bit of a sheepish smile.

“Want some water?” Tim asks as soon as he looks steady.

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m on it,” he says, refusing to accept any of Martin’s guilt-laden excuses, and dashes off to the kitchen at once, leaving Jon and Sasha still vaguely holding onto him in the fear that he might fall again.

“I’m alright, guys, really,” he assures, though he makes no effort to shrug their hands off—so there they stay.

“Do you know what caused this, Martin?” Sasha asks, folding his collar from where it sticks up at the nape of his neck.

With a heavy sigh and an exhausted pinch to the bridge of his nose, Martin replies, face reddening with shame.

“Yeah. You’re—you’re going to laugh.”

“Why would we laugh?” Jon asks so earnestly, so softly that it wins him a long and surprised look from Martin.

“I…dunno really, just. It’s just that it’s—it’s all my own fault. Stupid.”

“What do you mean?”

“I—I don’t—” he cuts off for a moment to hiss painfully as he rubs at his temple again, and Sasha’s hold tightens ever so slightly as a precaution. “I don’t have my…seizure meds with me. I left them at my flat when—when I ran. From Prentiss.”

Of course.

Of course he did.

“I would have gotten them for you Martin!” Tim shouts as he returns with the water. “Any of us would, mate. You should have said.”

“I didn’t want to send you back to my flat. She might…she might still…be there.”

He fades a bit as he speaks—rubbing once more at his temples, and Sasha resumes her ministrations of massaging his neck.

“Alright, just—it’s alright, Martin,” Jon soothes, a bit alarmed at the way he’s hunched back over—seemingly nauseous again, as he moves the bin a bit closer to himself just in case. “What can we do now?”

After a few long, deep breaths, his churning stomach finally settles long enough for him to answer, albeit a bit more vague-sounding than moments before.

“I tried…I tried to call the chemist, but…they won’t refill it unless I…unless I talk to my doctor. And it’s not like I can just go.”

“You have to get some from A&E then,” Tim insists, sitting back down next to him and pressing a hand atop his shoulder.

“No, I can’t.”

“We’ll go with you,” mutters Jon, before clearing his throat, returning to his best confident-boss tone. “We’ll keep watch for the worms. Go prepared.”

“You don’t—“

“We will,” Sasha says emphatically, leaving no room for argument—and even Martin knows when the battle is lost. “We’re happy to do it, Martin. Seriously.”

“Thank you,” he very nearly whispers, face flushing beet red as the undue attention of the afternoon catches up with him. “That’s really…too kind.”

“Well, you’ve got to get it somehow, mate,” Tim says with a chuckle, earning himself a warning glare from both Sasha and Jon. “What? I’m sure Martin wants this to happen again even less than we do. Which is saying a lot.”

“Yeah,” Martin says, surprising them all by chuckling briefly in return. “Reckon you’re right about that. I didn’t—this is pretty much my worst nightmare, so…just so you all know how sorry I am.”

“Yes, you’ve said,” Sasha laughs. “And it keeps continuing to not be your fault.”

“Right. Sure.”

He does not sound at all sure—but she lets it go all the same.

“We should go today, Martin,” Jon says as he stands, already grabbing a canister of CO2 in preparation. “Don’t want you to miss another dose.”

“And take that thing on the Tube?” Martin laughs, fully smiling for the first time since the whole affair began. “Think we might get some looks.”

“It’s the Tube, mate. Stranger things have happened,” Tim chuckles, rolling his eyes good-naturedly before jumping in to assist him in standing.

“Suppose you’re probably right about that.”

“Let’s go then,” says Jon, face steeled as if armed to the teeth and ready to tangle with anything coming his way. “Work that needs doing.”

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #martin blackwood #hurt/comfort #cw nausea #cw seizures #cw misgendering #trans martin #jordanian jon #background timsasha #my writing

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ziggyzagreus · 4 years

Text

Active Listening

[Pairing: Charon/Hermes - Fandom: Hades (Video Game)]

[Rating: No Rating Applied]

[Important Tags: Fluff, Getting Together (Kinda), Hermes is Nervous and I love him for that]

[Fic Type: SFW Drabble]

[AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28365528 ]

[Summary: Hermes contemplates the growth of companionship between himself and his Professional Business Associate.]

[Note: This was inspired by replies to a post by @deathonholiday where people were just basically sharing their Charon/Hermes headcanons soooo here we go, lol.]

~~~

Hermes did not know at which point he started being able to understand Charon. Or rather, when something had shifted significantly enough for his own mind to slow down adequately for the boatman to worm his way inside, for that somehow soothing voice contrary to the audible sound it had to sound in the Olympian god’s mind and respond to his own ramblings. It certainly had taken a long time, for the messenger additionally could not recall hearing the low drawls of Charon’s scraping voice for the first while of their association.

A shift in character, perhaps it had taken, or something much more interpersonal, between the two of them rather than Hermes’ attention alone.

At the start of it all, quick trips down to the Underworld often left Hermes more wound up than usual, a strange unease always settling over him when things got darker and more claustrophobic. Sometimes the upper regions were quite alright, nice even, but despite the expanse of Elysium and all its chill air, there was a sense of unwelcome that made Hermes’ pulse antsy. A pressure, like the feeling of watchful eyes on his back – even if it were just innocent shades, Hermes felt the hairs on the back of his neck standing up practically the entire trip down. So, he’d search for the boatman, quite literally dashing in to dump his wares and the soul identifications on the polished albeit ancient boat, prattle off on their uses and what messages to be delivered, and be on his way.

Charon would always watch him as well, burning violet gaze just visible under the brim of his wide boater hat, and Hermes would use an old salesmanship trick – staring right at the bridge of the nose, well, should the individual possess one, which Charon did not – to finish his delivery in record time. Charon would nod, weight leaning heavily on the oar, and that same searing gaze would bore into the back of the Olympian as he darted off to leave this wretched place behind.

Those hollow eyes, teeming with a deep energy, were always on him, and initially they had carried that same feeling of watchful unease that Hermes shivered off once finding his way back home.

Then, it came that Charon would begin meeting Hermes closer and closer to the surface; how the boatman came to expect his arrival was unbeknownst to the messenger god, but he appreciated the gesture all the same. It was as if Charon could tell how jumpy Hermes got, the way he couldn’t even hover still and the slight tremor to his rapid speech. The boatman awaited his arrival closer to the surface, and in his company, Hermes found himself speaking more, the tiniest bit more slowly, and biding their time. The more at ease he became, the easier it was to fall to his dispositional pattern of chatter.

Hermes filled most silences. In Olympus he was well known for it, rather rudely to be perfectly square, and especially now when the only companion in this dreary place seemed to have no words of his own. Figuring he was mute, with little to no intention to speak, Hermes had no issue prattling on about anything and everything.

Eventually, Hermes felt sorry, too, for being so fleeting in the past; and now, he allowed the realization of a sort of warm safety from being in the presence of the Chthonic minor god, aware that nothing dare cross the planks of his Narrowboat lest they be lost shades with little will stored in their spirits. Nothing could truly come to harm Hermes down here, and so, relaxation came to follow with the pleasure of Charon’s company.

Of course, though, as time went on, he wondered if the boatman even understood a word he spoke while they were together.

He received nods, and Charon followed directions, but that seemed to be the extent of it all. He never uttered even a sound in return, and while Hermes was often the one to interrupt things, a strange thought occurred that he himself wished to be interrupted, if only for once. Prompting place for it, asking questions, and waiting a beat for a response all seemed futile. Plus, Hermes himself often answered the question allowed, or rushed off to speak before he could stop himself.

And so, it came to pass in such a shock when one day, Charon spoke.

Hermes adjusted the strap of his bag, keeping what wares inside from tumbling out, and skidded to a halt at the ledge in Elysium where Charon often arrived to pick him up and spare him from a solitary trek down through Asphodel or Tartarus.

To the god’s surprise, the boat was already there at a standstill, its proprietor waiting to the side calmly, dark aura instead the most welcoming feature of the Underworld as far as Hermes was concerned. One of Charon’s arms crossed his chest, slender hand hidden within the folds of billowing robes, and that same penetrating violet gaze fixated as if he knew precisely where the god would appear.

Hermes opened his mouth to speak, a grin tugging at his lips, already sucking in a breath for the tumultuous expulsion of words sure to come: stories of where he’d been and the functions of the goods he had to deliver to his dear associate. But the words fell flat when Charon instead drew his hand out into view, a palm-sized bottle of golden nectar held delicately in his grasp.

“Charon, chap, is this…? Erm, well, of course I know what it is, but are you gifting this to me?”

And for the first time, Charon spoke. He had a voice like no other; and while to many that would be derogatory, speaking volumes of negativity towards the scratching, garbled whispers like a foul blizzard wind or the gargling of shards of something broken – to Hermes, it sounded simply, cozy and clear in his mind. It sounded as much the comfort and safety he felt in the boatman’s presence, and that was… Striking.

“Indeed, something simple, but a gift for you, nonetheless. Should you desire to take it.”

Hermes’ mind felt fuzzy, something blooming from his chest, warm and light like the comings-on of the wines from Dionysus’ feasts, but this was delightful. A new, exciting thrill shot through the messenger and caused his feathered heels to lift an additional foot or so off the ground where he hovered. He stared, at a loss for words, at the nectar in Charon’s hand.

“How can I hear you so clearly?” He instead asked, words dumping out slowly, at least for the pace of the quick-tongued god.

“You at long last cared to listen. Perhaps you are comfortable… in my presence. Take it, I insist, good Hermes.”

Without further hesitation, Hermes reached for the nectar and held the delicate glass close, admiring the subtle craftsmanship forged likely from fires here in hell itself. “I… thank you. I – oh, I didn’t exactly bring anything special for you, nothing aside from the usual wares and the few soul identifications but – oh, next time, next time I will, alright Charon? We are business partners for sure, there’s no doubt about that now, alright? Considering you’ve put up with me for this long, and you’ve followed everything I’ve said! Why, you’ve understood it all, haven’t you? I am terribly sorry for doubting so, I suppose I should have – I should have listened closer last time…”

“You are forgiven, for neither of us were ready. Now, shall we depart?” Charon gestured to the boat that awaited them.

A jolt of glee shot through Hermes, and for the first time since his work began, an excitement to venture into the Underworld met him. It was startling, surely, for when the fear had dissipated as companionship with Charon grew, for once… Well, this would be rather enjoyable.

“Certainly! Let’s get right to it, friend! And do I have stories to tell you, now there was this incident that I faced up on the surface when acquiring the name of that fellow right there…”

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no-whump-on-main · 4 years

Text

Untitled (for now) Vampire Whump

Soooo I binge read @whumping-every-day ‘s Ash and Callum series this morning (It’s INCREDIBLE, by the way, go read it now) and got mega inspired to write some vamp whump of my own, though with very different dynamics than in the Ash and Callum series. Also partially inspired by @whumped-cream ‘s prompt about a similar scenario :) (sorry for the tags y’all I just wanna properly credit)

ANYWAYS HERE WE GO PLEASE LEAVE FEEDBACK IT MAKES MY HEART SING

TW/CWs: some mild imagined gore/body horror, pet whump, long term captivity, dehumanization, vampire whumper/human whumpee, possible minor whump? Whumpee is described as young but her actual age is not known.

There is a girl in the basement of the old wooden mansion down Buist street.

The residence teeters on the outskirts of the miniscule town it was built in many decades ago, resting so far away from the rest of town that it is visited by no one but impish teenagers who dare each other to get close enough to pound their aching fists on the heavy black door, then turn and sprint back, completely unknowing of the horrors inside.

Younger children make up songs about the foul creature rumored to own the estate, singing hymns in high-pitched voices to each other about the great evil. Rumor had it that the evil man inside lurked among them, perfectly blended into their society. He worked with them, prayed with them, lodged with them, and was, in every way, a part of them.

The adults of the village grew out of believing the rumors about a monster who lurked among them as they aged. They moved on, found occupations, married, and had children of their own, who became the next generation to preach the tale of the vampire down Buist street, of the vile creature who cruelly drained human bodies for his own pleasure, then flew off into the night and locked himself in his lavish home until the desire to feed struck him again.

That was where all the generations of townspeople had gotten him wrong. No, he did not feed off of strangers in the nighttime only to flee and leave his victims dead and drained.

He preferred living, breathing sources of fresh blood. The basement of his wooded home contained a cell, dedicated to the upkeep of his servants. That was what he called them; the captives he took were but servants to him, warm, beings to feed him whenever he so desired. He never kept more than one at a time, and had never had a servant last much longer than one or two cycles of the full moon before their weak, fleshy bodies gave in to exsanguination. Oh, what pitiful things. The man who kept the servants (if one could even call him a man anymore, given that he’d sacrificed his humanity as he became nothing but a sadistic bringer of suffering so very long ago) almost pitied them. Not for the pain that he inflicted, but for the fact that they had to exist in such useless vessels. The only true purpose of a human body was to serve something stronger. It was an honor for a being so useless to find purpose by becoming a servant to someone greater.

The vampire did not often make exceptions to his standards of keeping his servants. He had standards for a reason, after all. This meant that what he had now was a rare, beautiful thing.

He had kept the girl in the basement through the passing of nearly two winters. With proper yet minimal care and caution to never feed too much in one sitting, he had managed to preserve her frail body and keep her blood pure, warm, and plentiful for nearly two years. Now, why he’d done this was still a mystery to himself. He could’ve gone through more than twenty servants by now, tasted the different unique notes of their blood, watched them all submit in front of his eyes, and yet, even with the knowledge of what he could’ve had, he was still more than content with his little pet. He had never found himself so infatuated with a useless human being before that fateful day nearly two years ago when he had spied the traveling merchant girl with nothing but a pack, a rack of spices, a pouch for coins, and a mare tied to a post in the grass nearby. There was something about the girl’s natural, unspoken charm that instantly drew him into obsession with her that day.

He’d struck up a conversation with the girl and bought out nearly half of her wares, despite having no use for the human pleasure of assorted foreign spices. After a long exchange, it was all too easy to lure her back to his estate with the promise of a meal and a bed for the night; after all, she was a weary young thing who did not yet know the danger of following a strange man home, no matter how kind his appearance was. He doubted she’d been travelling along dirt roads any longer than a week.

The girl had put up a strong fight at first. She was fiery, and the vampire admired that. Her fighting spirit proved to him just what a perfect human she was. She was not so weak like the others. For weeks, every time he came to feed on her blood she fought like a wild animal, biting and scratching and keening up until the very moment his fangs slid into her neck, forcing her into being still and silent as to avoid tearing her carotid artery.

That initial fight, the aching rage deep in her very soul made her so much more gorgeous to see battered, muzzled, and completely submissive in the bounds of a metal cage built with the intention of containing a feral dog, not a broken human girl.

It took months, but the vampire had made her the perfect servant. The perfect little toy. And after so much work, he was never going to let her perish in the chilled waste of his basement underground.

He called her Annalise. She did not know why. That wasn’t her name. But that foreign name, the one that did not belong to her, became so much easier to accept as her own as she was slowly beaten into perfect submission over many months, so fiercely that she could no longer recall what her name had been before. Or who her family had been, or what she had done to support them. She did not recall her favorite things, or what she liked to eat.

She knew only her cell and Master. She knew that she was Annalise and she was perfectly behaved for Master. Every waking moment of her life was dedicated to him. Serving him. She belonged to him. Startlingly, she did not remember a time before the basement. There was only Master. He was all she knew.

The cell she was kept in was cold and dark. She had not once felt the warm mercy of sunlight on her skin in a longer span of time than she could remember. She had not even been granted the gentle light and warmth of a fire. There were no windows in the basement; the only light she ever saw came from an oil lamp Master brought with him when he came to eat, then took away when he returned to his unknown abyss of a home upstairs. The commodity of warmth was similarly limited. Master brought her a thin linen blanket as a reward when he was pleased with her, but she could never quite decipher what exactly pleased him. His kindness, to her, seemed to come in random bursts of his own volition, but they were never underappreciated. Annalise was always so very grateful for the shreds of mercy he showed her, cowering at his feet like she was praying to her god every time he showed her even the simplest kindness.

Sometimes it would be a hot, filling meal, in stark contrast to the bowl of cold porridge and glass of water she was normally brought every morning. Other times it was warmth; the blanket, her favorite source, but also sometimes fresh changes of clothes, nightgowns that were made of thicker material than the usual thin cotton, and even jackets to layer over her usual clothing. Rewards did not come often, and never lasted long, but they were always blissful. She cherished what she was given until the very moment Master instructed her to give it back.

Despite this, her favorite reward of all was not a physical item. Her favorite reward came when she heard master’s footsteps tap tap tap down the concrete basement stairs, in the particularly heavy, tired-sounding manner that she knew meant he was going to feed. It came when he opened the creaking metal door to her cell, swiftly allowed himself in, but did not instruct her to crawl to him, kneel, and bare her pretty neck.

It was when he would hold her as he ate. It was a rare occurrence, but Annalise lived for it. He would scoop her into his long arms and cradle her like a child, sometimes whispering to her sweetly before gently brushing her matted hair over her shoulder, then tilting her neck and piercing her carotid. Feeling his fangs sliding into the pale, tender skin of her neck hurt every time, but when she was being held so gently, it was almost possible to forget the pain. To just focus on Master, and on him and his kindness only. The pain was so much more bearable when she was cradled in loving arms rather than kneeling on the stone floor, her knees in agony as emaciation had left the bones so very close to the surface of her skin, meaning they were constantly grinding into the ground.

His feeding never took long, only a few minutes. And typically, he would immediately leave, but when he held her, he’d always linger after finishing, tenderly wiping the excess blood away from the new puncture wound in her neck that would soon begin to scar before beginning to rock her, singing sweetly in a language she did not recognize until she fell asleep. That’s how she knew that he loved her. He would not be so kind if he didn’t.

Most of her days simply consisted of sleep, as there was very little else to do but rest, and she was often too exhausted to do anything else. Constant shivering took a very heavy toll on her muscles, and even when she was granted warmth from Master, her shaking never really did stop. Her body had just simply never gotten used to the biting cold of the basement. At least Master never seemed to mind. He had never instructed her to stop shaking, nor had he ever seemed bothered by the cold himself when he came downstairs.

The month now was January. For the girl, this meant spring would come soon, and the basement would be just ever so slightly warmer, something she was infinitely grateful for. She craved warmth more than anything. For the vampire, though, January meant something much more special.

It meant that it was nearly the second anniversary of the day he had brought his special servant home. And because this girl was so very special to him, she deserved a very special celebration.

The vampire thought it was high time his Annalise was introduced to his friends. He had a bustling social life, and yet, not one of his peers had ever met the girl. It wasn’t terribly unusual for vampires not to meet each others’ servants, given their typically short lifetimes, and the fact that vampires did not meddle with anyone else’s pet unless they were invited to, in which case, they could easily become a pack of cruel, wild hyenas. The vampire knew of this cruelty, which was part of the reason he had never told a soul about the girl, but now, after so much time, and with how perfectly behaved she was, he was sure a few select friends could never spoil a thing about his beloved servant. He was overjoyed, ecstatic, even, to finally be showing her off. Not only would he be able to show her around the upstairs, he could use the opportunity to test her obedience, see just how far her devotion went.

In a pattern now familiar to Annalise, he padded down the stairs to announce to her his spectacular plans. He had decided not to inform her until the day of, not wanting to get the pet riled up, but now, it was time. In mere hours, his friends would arrive to see the girl he had promised them all to be so breathtaking.

And he had to get her ready.

#whump #whumper #creepy whumper #whumpee #vampire #vampire whump #vampire whumper #whump fic #hurt no comf #uhhh chicken nugget #whump writing #my writing

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thegoodomensdumpster · 5 years

Text

I WATCHED GOOD OMENS IN FRENCH SO YOU DON’T HAVE TO

and it wasn’t that bad. Here are my thoughts, barely edited as I wrote most of them while watching the show.

EP 1

OK i like god’s voice so far

possibilité d’embarras gastrique is a good formulation, I wonder if it’s the same in the book ( I think I kinda need to read it in french now...)

aghghdhgs « primo-délinquants »

of course subtitles don’t match the audio for a variety of technical reasons but when you get things that have very different underlying meanings i find it… not good This one about Crowley being evil / a demon : subtitles : « c’est ton travail » - « it’s your job » audio : « c’est dans ta nature » - « it’s in your nature » i mean dang

crowley sounds like a little shit asking az about his sword

« T’AS FAIT QUOUA » - he just loses his shit (kinda giving me some le coeur a ses raisons vibe)

ok crowley sounds very nerdy when he tries to explain that he took down the phone network, i think i actually like this voice acting

ligur sounds… very suave (im a little ill at ease)

crowley getting called mon chou by satan freddie mercury is a thumb up from me

i see the part where aziraphale speaks japanese wasn’t dubbed over and we can still hear michael sheen. it’s a bit disturbing considering french aziraphale has a higher pitched voice (and he sounds soooo much more anxious than sheen, give this angel a xanax )

“sandwich bœuf cresson” ( beef and cress sandwich ) deirdre really who makes this kind of sandwiches

im being reminded that the chattering nuns prepared little cut outs for their explanation about the antichrist switch… such dedication to useless crafts (it made me laugh on my first viewing and it’s still funny to imagine that some of them either ordered or built these things themselves just so they could make this two minutes long presentation for the most important act of their satanic nun careers)

retire-toi vil démon infernal, créature des abysses XD i swear az doesn’t sound even remotely convinced when he is saying the « get thee behind me foul fiend » line in french, it’s just too over the top for credibility, it sounds like it’s straight out of some super intense dnd session

they still can’t say bouillabaisse (which, like, weird because french, but still valid). nice touch is crowley couldn’t say soupe de poisson (fish stew) either and said poupe de soisson (sish ftew)

warlock mah boy how can you be a teenager and not like dinosaurs

c’est un dinosaure un nullosaure plutôt - apply burn heal

La façon dont warlock s’est exclamé « C’EST NUL » m’a fait penser au nain de naheulbeuk

the english version has nothing on french speaking aziraphale for the second hand embarrassement during the magic tour. it’s over 9000 i literally hid my head in my jumper when he was presenting harry the bunny. Horrible experience, 0/20, would not recommend

EP 2

oooh agnes has a lovely voice !

why is young newton having such a quality dub for the three sentences he has to say

dick turpin’s name is jesse james (tbf dick turpin is not known AT ALL in france, i discovered him reading good omens)

shadwell is pure chaos (as expected). No particular accent for him though, the chaotic energy was probably enough. Would have made me laugh if he had like, a chti or a marseilles accent.

aziraphale is so fucking stressed out by crowley’s driving i thought he was gonna explode

« tu es un gentil garçon » => « you’re a nice boy » said az to crowley DANG THAT’S SO INFANTILIZING AZIRAPHALE YOU’RE TALKING TO A DEMON FROM HELL NOT TO PINOCCHIO

ARGH FIRST MON ANGE OF THE SERIES i’m hit straight in the heart

anathema’s mom doesn’t have a spanish / latino accent at all when talking in spanish…. why...

dog being called toutou is definitely adorable (it’s basically « doggy » but way cuter imo)

tickety-boo has become ça gaze. that’s valid. it’s corny but i still use it unironically from time to time so ... i stan

EP 3

« je répands la fomentation » « i’m here spreading foment » « quoi tu fais des crêpes au froment ?????? » « what you’re making crêpes with wheat ??? » love the fact that we shoehorned in one more ref to crêpes

az called crowley mon cher camarade, unintentionnal communist propaganda ftw

« pas de repos pour les… bah, pour les bons » « no rest for the… good » – az was so deflated about the ineptitude he realized he was saying, he felt zero percent commited to his sentence

i was wondering how they would play aziraphale not being able to speak french in the bastille and they opted to have him stutter a bit and say to his executionner « excuse me i’m anxious » XD

« vous êtes le 999e aristo à mourir par mes soins. Mais vous êtes le premier en costume beige » « you’re the 999th aristocrat I’m going to kill, but the first one in beige attire » yeah i guess now that az isn’t english anymore his most noticeable feature is his cream aesthetic

« c’est au cas où ça tournerait en eau de boudin » « j’ADORE le boudin » => « in case it all goes pear shape » - the literal translation featuring food in french is « turning into black sausage water ». I don’t know what pear shaped inspires to english native speakers but the mere mention of boudin always make me giggle, it’s such a funny word and such a funny food

OH !!! no terrence rampa for the tv series, we’ve got anthony J. rampa. Rip terrence petit démon parti trop tôt :’(

« tu roules trop vite pour moi rampa » SERIOUSLY i know we can still infer « rouler » (here as in driving, but literally rolling) as a metaphor for their relationship but you could have said TU VAS TROP VITE that would have been so much better argh

has anathema got an emergency stock of potteries to break in case of emotionnal crisis ?

« Rampa, un démon très futé, il m’oblige à redoubler d’effort » « crowley, a very clever demon, he forces me to make double the amount of effort » oh so admitting you’re making an effort there aziraphale ? :))))))

dang i really want to know how shadwell said that major milk bottle died because not only did he die in combat but aziraphale’s reaction is a bit intense, it must have been quite a tale (this could be a crack fic prompt : «The Epic Tale of the Death Of Major Witchfinder Milk Bottle, by Sargent Witchfinder Shadwell» )

des sorcières et des phénomènes sorciéreux x)

CROWLEY CALLED AZIRAPHALE DUCON ?????? EXCUSE ME ????? #NotMyCrowley #CrowleyWouldNeverDoThat #CancelAnthonyJRampa2K20 => ducon would be an insult, the gathering of du and con, con being a very nasty but common swear word, and associating it with du- makes it extremely patronizing. it’s like « absolute pathetic digraceful moron +++ ». thanks i hate it *frowny face *

EP 4

l’apocalypse c’est pour aujourd’hui juste après le goûter : it could be translated as « apocalypse is scheduled for today right after tea time » except that « goûter » is not quite tea time but rather the little sugary snack kids take when they come back from school and that most adults drop out of (i haven’t and i’m sure az hasn’t either). thanks aziraphale for having exclusively food related notion of the time because tbh same

ligur has no right to be this sexy between ariyon bakare and his french voice actor that’s just not allowed

radio crowley’s voice vs french ligur’s voice, who has the sexiest voice : FIGHT

(jk french agnes nutter’s voice is by far the sexiest)

gender neutral doesn’t ‘quite’ exist in french but pollution has been assigned a female voice actress and masculine pronouns (i’m saying it doesn’t quite exist because officially we have no gender neutral, but it’s a serious wip among lgbt+ circles to the point where it’s started being used in a few medias)

hastur « en attendant qu’un plombier vienne » / « while waiting for a plumber to come » does hell have a special plumber unit or do demons have to call on human plumbers for their pipes damages ? Dang hastur having to call a human plumber for hell’s plumbery is another damn good writing prompt for a crack fic

Michael is called Michel in the subtitles but Michael in the audio *shrug emoji*

EP 5

to get a wiggle on has become « il faut qu’on se remue les fesses », literally « we need to shake our butts » like, yes, se remuer les fesses is a common expression to say « we need to act in order to get things done » but it really casts the image of people shaking their booty to some music and obviously crowley thinks the same Weirdly enough I have almost nothing to say for that episode. Sorry. But we’ve discovered most voice actors and actresses so far and no bit of dialogue really struck me as worth discussing or pointing fingers to mock it.

EP 6

« on va BROUTER quelques derrières » - « we’re gonna lick some butts » OK THIS IS UNQUESTIONNABLY FAR SUPERIOR IN FRENCH THAN IN ENGLISH you thought LICKING butts was good ??? you really thought that ???? AZIRAPHALE HERE SUGGESTS TO GRAZE BUTTS. TO NIBBLE THEM. TO EAT THEM. TO. MUNCH. ON. THOSE. BUTTS!!!! not just licking, guys. This is as serious step beyond licking. (oh yeah he should have said « botter » instead of brouter btw, which is really just kicking, fyi)

« moi je crois en la paix, pétasse ! » wow, language, pepper (fyi i think « pétasse » is far far worse than « bitch » even if it means roughly the same, pétasse is almost never used while bitch is rather common, so it’s a swear word +++)

Dagon sounds like she’s got a nasty cold. #GetDagonIbuprofen2K20

I can confirm that Crowley offers Aziraphale to not just stay at his place, but to move in with him. « tu peux t’installer chez moi si tu veux ». omg they were roommates.

Bad translation strikes again : i don’t know why, but the french dub doesn’t have the « tickety-boo » / « ça gaze » being referenced as Rampa / Aziraphale is being knocked down, which is… a real mistep. It was narratively significant and I’m quite mad the translators missed it.

The Jesse James explanation from Newt has become very nonsensical, instead of the neat and to the point pun « wherever I go I hold up trafic » we’re getting a circonvoluted « because it’s a crime to mechanic’s diligence ». I’m not judging that one too hard, I have no idea how to make it better, and that’s probably how it was translated in the book as well thirty years ago, but it definitely doesn’t have the same impact. On the other hand, it definitely IS a very bad joke that doesn’t even deserve a chuckle, so Anathema’s embarassement really matches the audience’s (aka mine).

OVERALL :

I wasn’t convinced by Crowley… I mean, Rampa’s voice at first, but as the nerdiness showed up it really grew on me. I still think that french dubs have often problems with some voice inflexions every here and there, and for instance in Rampa’s case it was when he was annoyed or frustrated ( at the Globe when complaining about horses and Shakespeare’s plays that aren’t comedies, and also when discussing Azirphale’s magic tricks, it’s like… there is a step between having the right amount of grumpy complaining and overdoing it that is overlooked. It’s overacted, it should have been a bit quieter imo. I don’t mean to criticize voice actors too hard either but as an audience watching french dubs this is a very recurring problem and it always feels off to me. It’s actually one of the main reasons I avoid french dubs whenever possible.)

I have a hard time judging Aziraphale’s voice dub because it clashes so much with both the idea I had formed with it when I read the book and Sheen’s delivery that I just… kinda filtered it. It was too high pitched for me, and too anxious (though for this last point I must admit it could be funny at times, but I’m not fond of this character portrayal). The rest of the cast was rather good, nothing to complain about. There wasn’t anything stellar either, but everything that needed to be conveyed was and it was professionnal. It was also very homogeneous, no voice really struck me as being way too bad or way too good compared to the others, so it was really consistant.

So I don’t have much to complain about overall despite a few wonky translations here and there, BUT there is one thing I felt very robbed of : Crowley calling Aziraphale « mon ange » happens only once, when giving a lift to Anathema, and I’m almost certain they translated it that way because otherwise the joke about Anathama mistaking them for a couple wouldn’t work. So, they were forced to make it that way. The rest of the time Crowley calls Aziraphale « l’angelot », and despite being literally translated by « little angel », it feels sarcastic more than anything else ( the « L’ » in front of « angelot » is part of the reason why, it creates some distance, the other reason being that this word in itself has a very corny vibe and people being affectionnate to each other wouldn’t use it as a term of endearment). So, that’s a shame.

I like the English dub much much MUCH better than the French, but the french wasn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting it to be. The voice actors and actresses were quite good, the dialogues mostly faithful and endearing despite a few really missed steps. It really had its moments. Props to brouter des derrières, that one was fantastic.

#good omens #french #french omens #tv omens #my stuff #meta #review #long post #text post #i hope you found this entertaining :)

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the-darklings · 4 years

Note

yooo!!!! that 2nd part to the vampire au was soooo good, i think you should at least make one more, just saying. also, loved how you included more of john in this one!

𝙑𝘼𝙈𝙋𝙄𝙍𝙀!𝘼𝙐: 【01】| 【02】| 【2.5】| 【03】| 【3.5】|

wc: 4.1k 🤡

“The situation in the East keeps escalating,” the man beside you speaks and you listen silently, not letting any emotion show at his reproachful tone. “Camorra’s power keeps growing. The more treaties they establish, the more creatures they recruit into their ranks, the more their power peaks. You and Johnathan must stay focused. The High Priest says that this war is just beginning.”

“We are focused, Winston,” you say and wince when a jolt rushes through your body. Walking is painful and even with the mild warmth of the sun and gentle breeze brushing against your skin, a bead of sweat still trails down the back of your neck. Your back feels raw and inflamed but you fight not to let your discomfort show. “John has been away for two weeks dealing with the werewolves and—”

“And your little incident was deemed as a failure,” the older man cuts you off, glancing your way as his hands fold in front of him. “The Camorra Devil…honestly. What were you thinking? You’ve been told not to use the Holy Text. You’re lucky it was Charon that found you and not one of the many foul things prowling those streets.”

You huff a breath, clenching your jaw. “I'm aware. What was I supposed to do? Let the Devil drain that girl?”

“One human life is not worth your life,” Winston says sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You and Johnathan are the only Holy Hunters of your generation. You fail to realise your own importance.”

Hardly.

Stronger, faster, smarter, and with prolonged lifespans. You are not supernatural but you are hardly human either.

You are neither. You are both.

Your and Jardani’s names are known wide and far and being considered a legend before your death comes with a certain amount of scrutiny. Expectation.

Something the High Priest, The Adjudicator, nor Winston ever fail to remind you of.

“I thought the Holy Church protects all. Cares for all life equally.”

Winston’s head slants, the look in those old eyes knowing. “The Holy Church cares for the bigger picture. Which, at this time, is winning this war.”

He steps ahead of you and you watch his dark robes in the sunlight as his fingers brush over the rose petals.

The Prayer Garden is in full bloom. It’s a site of reflection, of prayer, of hope and atonement.

But the sickly sweet scent of flowers makes you dizzy so you try to slow your breaths, focusing on the man before you instead.

“You will track down the necromancer again and remove him,” Winston states after few minutes of tranquil silence between you. “And once that is done you will return to the church for your Remaking.”

“Why?“

It slips out before you can stop it and your mouth snaps shut, a sting of regret following right after. Winston twists to face you, his eyes narrowed, and he pointedly glances around the garden, making sure that no one heard your slip up.

At the church, there are no questions, only obedience. The will of the twelve priests and especially the High Priest himself is to be followed without questions or doubts.

And their will is that you are not ready to use the Holy Text. That you need to undergo Remaking often—at least twice a year, if not more—and do so without question. Despite the agony of having to lay down on that cold slab of stone and feel the Holy Text being recarved into your skin anew.

You’ve learned long ago how to stop the tears and the screaming. Not when you know that the High Priest’s hands will not be gentler for it. If anything, the blades always cut harder, more intently, and whether it’s to encourage or quell the anguish has always been beyond you. But the way the man always traces his work as if in reverence after never fails to leave you feeling dirty and used.

It’s unfair that you have to go through it over and over again when Jardani hasn’t visited the catacombs in years.

They say it’s because your power is less stable than his. That the Remaking simply keeps that potent holy power in your veins flowing freely so it never fails you.

Yet it always makes you feel the opposite. Usually, you’re left feeling heavy and aching with pain for days after. Muffled somehow.

Winston gazes at you for a long moment before nodding his head. “Come with me.”

You, as always, follow him without question and the priest is mute as you approach a more secluded area of the garden. Few wander here, and if they do it’s for reflection only.

“You have a fierce heart,” Winston begins and you blink, trying to focus on his words. “It burns right out of you. And while it makes you special, it’s also your greatest enemy. You feel too much. Want too much.”

His brief glance at you is telling enough.

Jardani.

Winston has never spoken his suspicions out loud but you know he’s always suspected that the nature of your relationship has long since changed.

“I—”

“Don’t bother. The less I know the better.”

His words are hard as the look in his eyes and your gaze lowers.

He knows that if anyone found out the punishment that would befall you would be terrible. Brutal. So he doesn’t ask. He won’t risk it.

Silence follows again and you swallow heavily, blinking at the heat of sun against your face. Gods above, even with your lightest clothes, you can’t help but feel like you’re cooking in your skin.

Your back is twinging with dull pain and you silently curse the vampire prince for the thousandth time.

Every since your encounter with the Camorra’s Devil, the prince has been appearing in your sleep every night.

It’s been two weeks of him haunting every second of your slumber.

Every night you escape by breaking out of his grip and every night he makes it harder to do so. He’s testing you, you know that. Seeing just how far that power in your veins can be pushed.

He drives you near insane with his silky whispers and promises of joy and pleasure and power. With every sly suggestion and accidental caress. He never oversteps and that, perhaps, makes it even worse. You want to hate those green eyes.

But he’s found a way to burrow himself deep under your skin. He marvels at your abilities, always eager to see more—as infuriatingly alluring as he is arrogant.

Every night you awaken from your feverish dreams with your skin slick with sweat and your back aching. The Holy Text seems to itch for hours after, and the only way to suppress the raging fire in your veins is to submerge yourself in a tub of freezing water for at least half an hour.

It’s gotten so bad that you see him in every dark corner now. Catch glimpses of his green eyes everywhere you look and hear a whisper of his voice in your ear wherever you go. However hard you look, however, he’s never actually there and you know that he can’t be. He is breathtakingly powerful but even he would never risk coming into the beating heart that is the Holy Church itself.

“Are you listening to me?”

“What?”

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts and find Winston frowning at you, his lips twisted into a dismayed line.

“What’s gotten into you lately?” he questions briskly, the heavy furrow of his brows telling a tale of his subtle worry. “You haven’t been the same since—”

“Your Holiness.”

Your address interrupts Winston’s shrewd words and you bow to your waist, gritting your teeth at the flare of agony through your back muscles. The High Priest, or The Elder as some still refer to him, expects nothing less. As one of his Holy Hunter’s you only have to bow your head, others have to get on their knees before the man.

Something deep down in your chest scratches and snarls as you stare at the ground, your head ringing.

Do not bow to him—

A hand touches your chin, raising your head and effectively banishing the distant voice that sounds too much like the green-eyed prince from your head.

“My child,” the man utters, his voice soft. You keep your eyes lowered respectfully but he raises your chin higher and you focus on him only, overlooking the familiar raven-haired man behind him. Even if your heart yearns to look at him. It’s been two long weeks without him after all. “It pleases me to see you out and about once again.”

“I apologise for any worry caused.”

The High Priest brushes his thumb against your jaw and something in your gut twists.

Winston and your Jardani are quiet and you don’t dare to look away from the man before you. His white robes billow in the faint breeze, adding to the sounds of nature and trees.

The man inspects you for a long, solemn moment, unblinking.

“I hope this can be a valuable lesson to you, my child,” he says, and there is just enough ice lacing his voice that it feels like one of your blades scraping against your throat. “My words are to be heeded. Always.”

Your heart hammering in your chest, you only manage to dip your head in small a nod. “Yes, Your Holiness.“

The man finally releases your face and you try to mask you relief.

“Good,” he mutters, his dark eyes piercing. “I assume Winston has informed you of your next course of action?”

He doesn’t wait for your reply, his voice stern but tempered, “You will hurry with your task and then return for your Remaking,” he continues, pausing on the last word and something shifts in those dark depths just for a second as he scrutinises you. “I need my Holy Hunters strong and pure. This war will get worse before it will get better.”

Pure.

A manic laugh almost bubbled out of you there and then.

Pure. What a joke. If only he knew about the wicked, sinful things you and Jardani do in the folds of the shadows. If only he knew how your bodies tangle together till you can’t separate your edges from his as you drive each other to ecstasy. Smothering every whimper and moan and sigh, stealing and hoarding every moment between you out of fear that it might be your last.

There is nothing holy about what you two do in the dark. Or perhaps you’re wrong. Perhaps the holiest thing about either of you is how you share each other.

Because there is divinity to be found in the feeling of his mouth on you.

“Come, Winston,” the High Priest calls out, his gaze finally moving away from you and towards the older man. “Johnathan has returned with some interesting information regarding the werewolves. The Table must hold council.”

Winston dips his head graciously and the High Priest glances at you again before looking behind him where your Jardani stands clad in black. He’s like a storm could, an ink stain, marring a perfectly happy scene.

“Do not disappoint me, my children.”

A warning if you’ve ever heard one, even if his voice remains amiable.

You know better than to doubt its sincerity though.

You both bow as one, and force yourself to speak the monotonous oath out loud, “I have served. I will be of service.“

You don’t look at each other the entire way back to the Northern Building.

The Holy Church has massive, sprawling grounds with several buildings all blessed to withstand attacks from the darkest creatures lurking throughout the land. You doubt even Giovanni D'Antonio with all his endless, monstrous power could break through the wards etched into the very air here.

You and Jardani keep easy, meaningless conversation as you pass other members of the Holy Church. Nuns and priests and healers. Forgers of weapons. Other hunters. Just human. Ordinary apart from being trained.

You and Jardani are a different breed. Standing apart from everyone else here.

You’ve managed to keep your relationship a secret by never giving anyone any room for suspicion. Except for Winston, clearly, but that man always had a gift of reading you both like an open book.

The Northern Building is special for one reason. That reason being that the entire structure belongs to the Holy Hunters and no one else.

Of which there are only two in this generation.

You keep several feet distance between you, partake in dull, meaningless conversation that won’t catch anyone’s attention the entire way there.

But the moment the doors close you slam into each other eagerly, your hands greedy and desperate as you tangle in each other.

Your back hits the door and you hold back a wince of pain as he kisses you with enough passion to stall your breathing. His warm sigh tickles your lips and you moan into his kiss, tangling your fingers in his raven strands. The heat between you, the tingle of pleasure that comes from simply kissing him, manages to dull the pain a little and you melt into his embrace.

Your dark shadow.

Gods above you’ve missed him. So very much.

“I heard about what happened,” he whispers against your mouth when you part for breath and his thumb strokes down your cheek. There is a brief second in which his touch gets replaced by a man with cold eyes and eerily calm voice but you shake it immediately. “I worried. Are you injured?”

His other hand rests against your lower back and you ignore the pain that touch brings, focusing only on him. You lean forward, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

“I’m fine,” you reassure him and tug on his hair, delighting in the familiar gleam in those dark pools. A desire for you. A flame that never stops burning no matter how much he insists that you shouldn’t do this—shouldn’t touch or kiss or fuck like the world is seconds away from ending. But he can’t deny you. He can never deny you. “Missed you,” you add because it’s true.

His expression softens, the impassive man fading for your eyes alone. “I missed you more,” he tells you softly and lays a careful peck against your lips; fleeting and tender.

But you don’t want fleeting and tender.

Your nails drag against his neck and his expression strains under your deliberate coaxing.

“Jardani,” you hum quietly and kiss his jaw, pressing into him. “My Jardani. My umbra mortis.“

“You’re upset.”

You still. “I’m not.”

“The Remaking—”

“Don’t.”

Your voice is an icy, shaky exhale. Jardani just looks sad but a shadow lingers across his expression, too. He hates seeing you suffering. But this isn’t the outside world, he can’t kill those that would harm you. All he can do is wait for when you are brought back from the ceremony, swaying and delirious, and too weak and drained to do anything for the next three days. All he can do is hold you as you sob into his chest after, begging him to never let them touch you again even though you both know that there is no other choice. He doesn’t bother making you promises he can’t keep.

He touches your face then, your foreheads almost touching. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s agony, Jardani. I can’t—”

His fingers smooth over your hair, his expression dark, distant. “If there was another way…”

Your smile is bitter. “But there isn’t. I must obey or they will force me. And if they ever find out about us they will kill me or banish me—”

“No,” he cuts you off and this time his voice is lower, harsher; practically a growl that rumbles from deep within. “I would never let them hurt you. I would kill them all.”

You cup his face, desperate to have him closer. “I hate it here, Jardani,” you confess in a wet whisper. “This place is a prison. I feel like I'm suffocating here. Have been for years.”

He kisses your cheek and then again, trailing up. Your brow, forehead, nose; a handful of caresses at the time. Lastly, he kisses your lips, dragging you to him carefully and you hold onto him. Your shadow and sanctuary and home.

“I will find a way,” he vows quietly against your quivering mouth, his voice a deep rumble. “I will find a way, moy svet.”

My light.

His mother tongue rolls off his tongue effortlessly and you shudder at the dark, reassuring blanket those words wrap around you.

You kiss him again—all teeth and hunger and fingertips seeking his heat—and with his strength he picks you up easily, your legs wrapping around him soundlessly.

You don’t make it to the bedroom.

You awaken in silk.

You’re so used to it by now that for a handful of seconds you don’t stir, simply lying there.

He isn’t beside you.

A surprise.

He seems to delight in watching your expression when you wake up with him hovering near or trailing his fingertips down your arm. Once you woke up with his arm partially curled around you, holding you close, practically against his chest.

You punched him right in his smug face.

A downside of this being the dream world is that no real damage could be done. It still didn’t stop the swell of satisfaction you felt at the way his head snapped to the side, clearly haven’t had expected an attack even with his finely honed predator instincts.

Or perhaps he simply didn’t see you as a threat.

Or trusted you enough to lower his guard which was a thought you had banished the second it came because it was absurd.

You had felt self-satisfied until he laughed, grinning widely, his cheeks dimpling.

“You’re a delight,” he had purred and his lack of wrath had been as surprising as realising how appealing his smile is. “Now imagine what you could do with an immortal’s strength, hm?”

But he is not beside you this time.

Your head slants and you find him sitting a little further away from the bed, bathed in the beam of light coming from a window overhead.

It takes you a moment to realise what he’s doing.

He's painting.

A brush between those long, graceful fingers moves lovingly like he’s taking all the care in the world to make sure that whatever he’s trying to capture is done so to perfection. As if not one mistake could be afforded.

At least this time he’s not naked.

It took you a few visits to realise that you come to the dream world dressed in whatever you had fallen asleep in.

Though the realisation that the vampire prince sleeps naked between his silken sheets had warmed something in your blood.

“My mother was a great lover of art,” he begins conversationally, still focusing on his work. You sit up deliberately, watching the ripple of his back muscles as he shifts in his seat, facing away from you. “Personally, I never saw much appeal in it. Just a bit of paint on canvas, you understand? That changed after she met Eternal Death. There is indeed something, hm, extraordinary about creation in such a form.”

Your bare feet touch the floor and your fingers grip the edges of the bed as you observe him silently.

From this angle, you finally get a glimpse of what he’s working on.

It's you.

But not.

The woman depicted on canvas has your features. Your lips and nose and hair and colouring but—

But your eyes are something else. They look like they’re raging from within even though your expression is captured as calm and composed—almost empyreal. Your gaze is strong, consuming, sensual and fierce. It demands to be looked at. Respected. Admired.

He’s painted you as you could be, you realise numbly, an immortal like him.

His head turns towards you when you stand shakily on your feet, your fingers gripping the side of your nightgown tightly between your fingers.

The vampire prince eyes you with a slight twitch of his lips as light plays across his tanned skin and wild curls.

He’s dangerous.

For the first time, you feel that understanding settle deep in your bones but—

“Do you not like it, amore?”

“I want to leave.”

If you didn’t know any better you would say that he looks disappointed at that. But it’s gone in a blink, whatever it is, so you can’t be sure.

“You are free to leave whenever you please, bella,” he tells you dismissively, raising the brush back between his fingers. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Brushing past him, you let your fingers clench, trying to pull on the power in your veins.

“I don’t want to come here anymore,” you bite out, glancing at him over your shoulder before turning to face him fully. “I'm done playing your games.”

Santino’s head tilts, humming in consideration, and it’s hard to think of him as a vampire—the enemy—when he looks so breathtaking in this blinding, warm light. When he looks so approachable, almost normal.

“Hm. You are exceedingly attractive when angry,” he notes with a sliver of a smirk, peering at you curiously and the green of his eyes is piercing. “What other angry words are you going to bestow upon me, hm? I do so admire a sharp tongue.“

His attention transfers to your mouth and you scowl at him.

”Enough, Santino.“

Shit.

It slipped out.

You’ve always addressed him as “D'Antonio” or “vampire” but never by his given name.

His smirk disappears instantly, something stuttering across his expression; a flicker of emotion you don’t quite understand passing over his features.

“Say it again.”

You don’t think you have seen him sound or look quite so serious.

“What?”

“My name,” he utters, his gaze burning. “Say it again.”

Forcing oxygen into your lungs, you breathe a deliberate, vicious, “Santino.”

He’s in front of you in a blink and fear is not the reason why you step away. He stalks closer, his lips parted and you see his fingers form loose fists.

“Again.”

It’s an order and your lips press together when your back kisses the cold stone of his room.

This isn’t real, you try to remind yourself, it’s just a dream. But one’s mind has the power to make things real. The Dream Realm is just as powerful as any other reality.

His hand braces next to your head and you stare at each other for a halted breath.

His body is tense, coiled, his attention focused solely on you. With the light falling from behind him, it looks like a halo is caressing the crown of his head. He resembles an angel even if you know the devil lurks beneath.

“San-ti-no.”

He leans closer and you exhale forcefully, your lips parting.

“You,” he murmurs softly and you feel his fingertips brush up your bare arm, making goosebumps explode across your skin. “Are more dangerous than sunlight."

You force your suddenly dry tongue to work. "I thought… that the sun doesn’t affect a pureblooded vampire like you?”

He’s close enough that you can feel his breath against your lips.

Not real. Not real. Not real—

“No, it doesn’t,” he agrees lightly under his breath, the velvety promise of his lips brushing against the edge of your jaw. “Ah, but it’s very good at something else, bella. Can you guess what that is, hm?”

His lips part against the curve of your jaw, a puff of air tickling your skin, and your head tips to the side, his large hand coming to grip your hip. You’re not sure which one of you he’s trying to steady.

“No.”

His nose slips down, dragging against your skin and he freezes, inhaling deeply. A low snarl erupts from deep in his chest and he nuzzles against your neck intently.

Through the dizzying haze, there blooms confusion, but then you remember the fact he can no doubt smell Jardani on you. Maybe even scent you earlier lovemaking. You would be surprised if the intensity of it didn’t leave a mark.

“It’s very good,” he hisses against your ear, his breath prickling against your skin and his fingers flex against your hip. “At making us weak.”

Choking down a gasp, you try to pull back but he ducks his head against your neck again, his lips pressing a featherlight kiss against your fluttering pulse.

“They’re lying to you,” he reveals in a hoarse whisper when his head lifts and your eyes clash. He looks ravenous, wild. His eyes are more black than green. “You are so much more than they’re trying to convince you, amore. Let me show you. Let me."

His grip on you constricts.

You blink; once, twice, and bare your teeth at him before promptly snapping the tether between you in half.

There is a glimpse of fury before you are dragged back to wakefulness.

You fly up into a sitting position, your skin damp and throat dry.

Every inch of you tingles made only worse by an acute ache between you thighs.

”Fuck.“

…

an: hahaha…….i’m in trouble :) also apologies for any mistakes. one edit only and done at 2:30am ayyyy. hope you enjoyed jfghfdg please don’t try and ask me why i’m actually trying to build a world/lore/plot because “i’m stupid” will always be the answer jhdfg. also I just really dig the feral/dark vibe of this AU so *shrugs*

#john wick x reader #santino d'antonio x reader #john wick #john wick fic #vampire au #supernatural au #we love clownery!!!! goodnight!!!#s: no one could be him #s: i can wait

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pug-bitch · 5 years

Text

That’s not why I’m staying (1)

Life of the party

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a steamy scene right at the beginning. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18. This also alludes to disturbing content about consent. No assault scene, but allusions are present.

Word count: about 5,000

Notes: Welcome to my version of Book 2! This picks up pretty much where we left off, the day after the Decision Ball, starting with Amara’s POV. This contains some plot, but mostly lots of fluff. I guess I needed it, after the drama-packed end of Book 1… But don’t worry, drama will come back eventually ;)

*****

Amara smiles softly as she sees Drake’s eyes open ever so slightly. She’s been up a while, and barely got any sleep, but she doesn’t care. Her heart is full, and her mind is determined. She warms her hands on the cup of coffee she snuck up from downstairs, and takes a sip.

‘Babe?’ Drake calls for her as he opens his eyes with difficulty.

‘I’m here,’ she says, walking back towards the bed to embrace him.

‘Hmm,’ he murmurs, leaning into her kiss. ‘You smell like coffee.’

She chuckles. ‘Want some?’

‘Please.’

Amara snuggles up to Drake as he sips from her cup. There, she thinks, that’s what she wants. This level of intimacy, forever. Drake puts down the cup and, now with two free hands, pulls her in for a warm hug.

‘I’m so glad we’re here,’ he whispers.

She smiles. So is she, at the end of the day. What was she thinking? Last night, they ended up celebrating so loudly that they woke Hana up, and she joined the five of them downstairs for lots of hugging and some champagne. When was the last time Amara had felt this much warmth in a room? Besides from her dad and Nancy, and of course Mia, over the past two years… not much.

She kisses Drake more deeply, and asks, ‘So… now that we just have to wait for the engagement tour to start, what are we gonna do with our time?’

Drake laughs. ‘Wow, I don’t know… a whole five days just to ourselves? Pff, problems problems…’

He kisses her neck, and Amara leans into the moment, taking in every second. She needs to remember this. The good. For when it becomes tough again, inevitably. She needs to soak it all in.

Drake hoists himself up until he’s on top of her, and she sees the familiar glimmer in his eyes. The want, the tenderness, the sheer adoration… all of it, all together. Everything he feels for her, everything she feels for him in return.

Amara’s breath catches. Does she deserve all this? This wonderful man, always there for her, even when he knows all of her flaws, all of her mistakes? Maybe not all yet, the voice in her head says. Maybe he will still have a few surprises.

She shakes it off. Stop being so insecure, she thinks. Don’t create problems where there are none, not now.

‘You ok?’ Drake asks, in between kisses.

She nods. Of course she’s ok. She’s with him, right here, right now, and that’s all that matters. She needs to silence that bitch voice in her head, pestering her with self-doubt that she really, really doesn’t need.

‘I’m great,’ she smiles, before kissing him some more.

He smiles back. ‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispers. ‘I love you, Amara.’

His lips go down, and down, and trace a loving path from her neck to her breasts, then to her stomach… ‘I love you too,’ she whispers.

His lips are between her legs now, making her shiver like he knows how to do so well. Her back arches, and he kisses her core passionately, like there’s no tomorrow. She moans quietly, until she can’t keep it in anymore and needs a pillow to muffle her scream. ‘Fuck,’ she laughs breathlessly. ‘Drake, that was so good…’

He smiles broadly. ‘At your service, Suarez.’

She chuckles and guides him back on top of her. He lets out a low groan, almost a purr, as she wraps her legs around him and presses herself onto his length. In less than a few seconds, he’s already teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock, and she can’t wait to have him all to herself again.

*****

‘Wow,’ Drake says as he lies back down. ‘You really know how to start the day, Suarez.’

Amara laughs. Drake wonders if he’s ever heard anything more entrancing than her laugh. ‘Shower and coffee?’ She asks.

He nods. ‘Please. I can already hear the commotion downstairs, Max is definitely up to no good.’

Amara cups her ear and listens carefully. ‘Um… Drake?’ She grabs his arm and bursts into laughter. ‘Is that a goat?’

Drake clearly makes out a bleating sound. He can’t contain his laughter either. ‘Sure sounds like it. Alright, let’s get in the shower so we can investigate this, Detective.’

*****

Amara isn’t surprised to see a baby goat in the living room, but she can’t help but squeal anyway. ‘Oh my God Maxxie, what did you do?’ She screams as she joins Hana in petting the small, delighted animal.

Maxwell pours coffee for Amara and Drake, shrugging. ‘I went to the Farmer’s Market this morning in Ramsford, I wanted to show Michael, and get some produce. My favorite vendor, Gustavo, was there, and he was selling baby goats. I thought this little guy would be a good companion for my peacocks and our two sheep.’

Amara’s eyes widen, the little goat’s head in her arms. ‘Hold up. You have sheep?’

Maxwell giggles. ‘Yeah! Have I never told you? I have five sheep, in the back of the property, they live with the peacocks, and our property manager, Silvio, takes care of them full time! Have I never told you, Little Blossom?’

Amara laughs, ‘No, you certainly have not. Can we please see them today? What are their names?’

Maxwell gloats in anticipation. ‘Well, there’s five of them, right? So, I named them Bobby, Jonathan, Antoni, Karamo, and Tan. Some of them are girls but you know, gender’s a construct.’

Hana and Amara share a look, and both burst out laughing. ‘That’s the most hilarious thing I’ve ever heard,’ Hana says, wiping a tear.

Maxwell beams. ‘Right? So, what are we gonna name this little guy?’

Drake, coffee mug in hand, squats to pet the goat, and Amara can’t help but notice the wide grin on his face as he plants a little kiss on the goat’s forehead. ‘It has to be an awesome name, as handsome as this little fella, you know. We can’t name him something boring, this guy deserves the best name.’

Amara gasps. ‘I know! I have the perfect, handsomest name ever.’

Hana smiles. ‘What is it, babe?’

Amara looks the goat in the eye and solemnly declares. ‘Bradley Cooper. His name has to be Bradley Cooper.’

Drake almost chokes on his coffee and Michael laughs wholeheartedly. ‘I see the obsession is still going on,’ he says.

Amara shrugs. ‘Not an obsession. Just the recognition of the best actor of his generation, y’know.’

Drake raises an eyebrow. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I like the guy, but… we’re talking about the man who starred in The Hangover, babe. Think about that. Think about how terribly this movie has aged. Think about Ken Jeong emerging from the trunk. Think about Bradley Cooper’s line when they’re waiting for Ed Helms outside of his apartment.’

Amara thinks for a second, and shrugs. ‘It’s not like Bradley wrote the movie, Drake.’

Drake throws his hands up. ‘I give up. Max?’

Maxwell grins widely. ‘It’s perfect. Welcome to the world, Bradley Cooper-Beaumont. We love you.’

*****

‘So? What did you think of the Fab Five?’ Maxwell asks anxiously.

‘They’re soooo sweet and so cuddly,’ Amara exclaims.

Hana nods. ‘I love how they just run towards you as soon as you get there, and how they instantly adopted Bradley Cooper!’

Drake chuckles. ‘Will I get used to that goat’s name, ever?’

Michael pats his back. ‘Let time work its magic, Drake. It shall pass.’

They both laugh. Amara smiles at the sight of her friends and family getting along, and without even realizing it, reaches for her phone in her pocket. Still no texts. Well, some from her dad, with whom she’s been texting since he woke up, but none from anyone else. Her heart sinks a bit. She contemplates writing another, but she promptly gives up. She doesn’t want to stalk her, either.

Drake swoops in from behind her and grabs her hand. ‘Whatcha doing?’ He asks, all the while knowing exactly what she’s doing.

Amara shrugs and squeezes his hand tight. ‘Nothing. Checking my phone.’

Drake brings her hand to his lips and kisses it. ‘She’ll come around. She’s stubborn as fuck, but if there’s one person who can do no wrong in her eyes, it’s you, Suarez.’

She smiles faintly. ‘I don’t know about that.’

*****

Olivia turns her phone over, one more time, and when she sees nothing on the screen, turns it face down again. She takes another sip of coffee and a bite of her eggs, angrily.

‘Still mad?’ Rashad asks as he plants a kiss on the top of her head.

Olivia shrugs. ‘I’m not mad. It’s just funny how the bitch thinks my advice is shit when I deliver it, and then two hours later, she decides to do what I told her to do.’

Rashad raises an eyebrow. ‘So...you’re mad that she took your advice? I don’t follow.’

Liv rolls her eyes. ‘You’re pretending not to follow. It’s annoying.’

He chuckles. ‘Well, you’re right, I’m following. I just don’t understand your logic.’

She snorts. ‘No one does.’

Rashad thinks for a second and takes her hand. She doesn’t flinch. ‘Liv, I think you’re mad at her out of principle. But think about it. She went through something shitty last night, and had a gut reaction. Can you blame her?’

She shrugs again. ‘Yes.’

Rashad chuckles. ‘Alright. I guess you can.’ He starts pulling his hand away, but Olivia holds on to it, without meeting his eye.

She sighs. ‘For the record,’ she says, looking down at her cup of black coffee, ‘I didn’t come here because I needed you. I’ve wanted this for a while, now we’ve finally boned, end of story.’

Rashad’s smile falters. ‘End of story?’ He asks worriedly.

Olivia bites her lip. That’s not what she meant. At all. Fuck, how is she going to spin that one without seeming too eager? ‘You know what I mean,’ she says. ‘I mean that I don’t want to talk about that whole Suarez shit. I know what you’re thinking, that I came to you because I was sad or whatever.’

Rashad shrugs, a shadow still over his eyes. ‘Honestly, Liv, I’m glad you came to me, and I just hope you don’t regret us having sex for the first time in these circumstances.’

She snorts. Why does he have to be such a good guy? She needed comfort last night, that’s true. Not that she would admit it, but she did. She felt betrayed by Suarez, who she considered to be...ugh, not worth putting words onto it. She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m fine. And, if you must know, it was fucking hot. No regrets here.’

He smiles a little and digs into his eggs.

She did fucking love it. They did need to break the tension. No regrets.

Still, it feels a bit...anticlimactic. Is it how it feels to have sex with someone you actually like? Sure, she had sex with Liam many, many times over the years, and ugh, boy, did she have feelings there. But he was unavailable. It was noncommittal.

Here and now, as they share breakfast, and she’s wearing no makeup, while Rashad looks as comfortable as ever in his sweatpants, Liv can’t help but feel… too safe?

Maybe she’ll tell Suarez about it, sometime, when she stops hating her guts.

Who doesn’t listen to Olivia Motherfucking Nevrakis?

*****

Liam hasn’t slept. At all. He watches the sun rise on his country, as he sits on his balcony in his boxers and dress shirt from last night, his head full of regret. He replays the events from after Leo left last night, in his head, and cringes at the memory.

Madeleine getting impatient and knocking on the door of his study. Their small talk. His discomfort. Her advances.

His attempts to create a diversion by offering her a drink. Her insistence at having a nightcap in his suite.

The knot in his throat as he caved.

His inability to say no any further.

It would have been suspicious if he had said no, right? She would have known he was up to something. She needs to feel comfortable and safe if they want to successfully investigate her and break the engagement. Right?

He swallows his saliva, and takes a hesitant peek in his bedroom, through the French windows. She’s still sleeping, soundly, sprawled in his bed.

He had believed her. Like an idiot, he was convinced that she was the only one who still cared about him. Until the ball, until his stupid eyes were open by the picture of Amara’s assault.

He closes his eyes tight. It’s not a big deal, right? Everyone forces themselves to do things they don’t want to do, sometimes.

Even that. Even something that you’re supposed to completely want.

Right?

*****

Drake stands in front of the stove, and flips the pan expertly. He can get used to this: cooking for his friends, with his girl keeping him company. Amara is sitting on the counter next to him, and playing with the ingredients as they chat about life.

‘This is gonna be so good,’ she says. ‘Have you made this before?’

Drake chuckles. ‘Sausage and peppers? Of course. It was a staple of the Walker household.’

She smiles. Is there anything more heartwarming than her smile? He thinks not. ‘Did you cook for your family, always?’ she asks.

He shrugs. ‘I did, sometimes. Dad was always in charge of grilling and he taught me how to take care of meat and fish. I love cooking fish above everything else. It’s delicate, precise, and so satisfying when you get it right. Mom was more into baking, and making hearty dishes like mac and cheese. Efficient stuff when you’ve got two kids that you need to feed quickly.’ He laughs. ‘And boy, did we need to be fed. Sav and I were always big eaters.’

Amara smiles a bit wider. ‘That’s really sweet. So were we. I remember Mom making chilaquiles, and Sergio and I were so impatient to eat them that we would literally wait in front of her. She’d roll her eyes and be like ‘Chiquitos, you’re not gonna make me cook any faster.’ When she baked, it was the same. I’d just stare at the oven hoping it would bake faster.’

Drake steps away from the stove to plant a sweet kiss on her lips. He loves when she shares memories like that. They both need it. ‘Did your mom cook mostly Mexican specialties?’ he asks.

‘I’d say half and half. She liked hearty American food like your mom, too! And my dad, well he grew up in Pennsylvania with Puerto Rican parents, so his comfort food is a mix of both.’

Drake smiles. ‘Sounds delicious. You’ll have to tell me about your favorites and I’ll find recipes.’

She gasps excitedly. ‘I could even send you my mom’s. Sergio and my Dad numerized her cookbook years ago, because when she passed away, they both picked up the slack in the kitchen and wanted to remember her this way.’

Drake’s heart pangs. ‘That’s such a sweet initiative. I’d love to see some of her recipes. I’ll try to cook Marisol-style!’ he says excitedly.

Amara’s smile that ensues could melt Drake’s cold heart, if it wasn’t completely melted already, all because of her. She says in a breathy voice, ‘I’d love nothing more, babe.’

‘Hey guys, need any help?’ Michael asks as he walks in. ‘I guess I mean...Drake, need any help, as Amara just stares at you without helping at all?’

Amara giggles and throws a dish rag at him. ‘I’m here for moral support!’

Drake chuckles. ‘I’m all good, but you can look in the fridge if anything appeals to you. Max bought a bunch of food this morning, in between buying farm animals, y’know.’

Michael laughs. ‘Yeah, full disclosure, I was with him, and I could have stopped him but...the goat was too cute.’ He reaches for a bunch of radishes and a head of lettuce in the fridge. ‘And to be perfectly honest, it felt good to be out and about in a very normal setting. No sash people, no viscounts and dukes and whatever, but just a farmers market.’

Drake smiles. ‘I feel ya. Well, in this case, we should all go out tonight, somewhere in Ramsford. Suarez, what do you say?’

Amara joins her hands together. ‘Yes! It would be awesome! Plus, Michael’s only here for a few more days, we need to make them count.’

Michael makes an excited face as he washes the lettuce. ‘Seriously? That would be great. A normal place with normal food?’

Drake looks at Amara with a victorious look on his face. ‘My man,’ he says softly, pointing at Michael. ‘Yes, a normal place and all. Ramsford is good for that. We’ll see what Max recommends, I have a few favorite places but he knows more.’

Michael smiles widely. ‘He is the life of the party.’

Amara chuckles. ‘Oh, you’ve noticed?’

*****

Drake’s lunch is a success, as always. Amara enjoys every bite, as well as conversation with her friends. Even Bertrand is in good spirits, and got over the whole goat debacle quickly. He doesn’t like when Maxwell spends money, but ever since they stopped paying off Albert the blackmailer, they are a bit more comfortable.

Hana nods excitedly at Maxwell’s suggestions for bars and restaurants. ‘That sounds so great!’ she exclaims. ‘We’re all going, right?’ she asks, looking at Bertrand.

He chuckles. ‘It’s really sweet of you to include me, Hana, but I think with all this um… drama, as you youths say it, I need to get some rest tonight.’

Amara rolls her eyes. ‘Us youths? Bertrand, you’re barely older than Michael. Calm down.’

Bertrand smiles. ‘I suppose so. But Amara, with everything we’ve been through, I just want to be in my robe and relax.’

Amara nods. ‘I don’t blame you. Your robe looks very comfortable and, most importantly, has a lot of tassels.’

Bertrand blushes. ‘Um, yes, indeed it does.’

Maxwell bites his lips to stop laughter from coming out. ‘Alright, let’s leave Grandpa Tassel alone tonight then, but Bertrand, we’re not taking no for an answer tomorrow, we’re doing something. We need to enjoy Michael’s company while he’s here.’

Bertrand nods solemnly. ‘Yes, you’re right. We need to honor our guest.’

Michael smiles facetiously and makes quick eye contact with Maxwell. ‘Thank you, Bertrand. Your hospitality means a lot.’

Amara can’t help but notice the brief looks of complicity between Maxwell and Michael. She hadn’t seen Michael be so social in years. Even before Sergio passed, Michael was always the studious one, the serious one, while Sergio was...well, also the life of the party. Hmm, she thinks. Could this be something?

‘Amara,’ Maxwell insists, ‘did you hear me?’

She shakes it off. ‘Oh, sorry, I was in my thoughts. What is it?’

Maxwell looks at Drake, and at Amara again. ‘I was asking, do you want me to invite Liv tonight, or not? She would definitely like the vibe at Zeno’s, but I don’t want to include her if you guys are still...tense.’

Amara’s smile falters. ‘No no, invite her. If I’m the one texting, she won’t answer. We need to put an end to the bullshit.’

Maxwell nods. ‘I’ll ask if Rashad wants to come, too.’

‘Oh, the sexy smoldering guy from the ball?’ Michael inquires. ‘He and Olivia seemed very close.’

Amara smiles. ‘Yes, and yes. They’re kinda dating. See? You’d make a good detective, too.’

*****

Maxwell reflects intently as he focuses his eyes on his closet. ‘No, not this,’ he murmurs.

Michael sits on his bed, feeling awkward about having to, once again, borrow clothes. ‘Max, seriously, I can wear what I have.’

Maxwell turns around and smiles at him. ‘You can, you’d look good in anything, really. But I want to give you options!’

Michael smiles. ‘Thank you. I really need a clothing intervention. I do dress like a lawyer,’ he says, looking down at his outfit made up of beige chinos and a plaid shirt. ‘If we’re going to a hip place--’

‘We’re not,’ Maxwell interrupts. ‘Whatever you’re comfortable with will be great. But I have some clothes that would look better on you than they do on me. Let me find them…’ He digs deeper in his closet. ‘Ah!’ he says victoriously. ‘Here it is. The shirt.’

He presents an emerald green shirt to Michael, who almost recoils in fear. ‘Jeez, Maxwell, it’s very green. I know I wear these colors sometimes, but… isn’t it a bit much?’

Maxwell smiles as he holds the shirt against Michael’s face. ‘No. It brings out your eyes. You can wear it with your chinos, or jeans. You have jeans, right?’

Michael nods. ‘Yes.’

‘What cut?’

Michael raises an eyebrow. ‘I’m not sure what this means.’

Maxwell smiles. ‘It’s ok. I have jeans that you will like.’

*****

Hana and Amara are sitting outside in the sun, a margarita in hand and Amara’s nail polish collection sprawled out on the table for them to choose from. Amara looks out to the pool, where Drake is swimming laps. She doesn’t even realize that she’s staring at his body as he gets out every now and then to take a sip of his water.

Hana smile mischievously. ‘Amara, honey, do you need binoculars?’

Amara shakes her head. ‘Oh shit, Hana, I’m sorry. I promise I’m not a perv. He’s just so…’

Hana laughs. ‘Oh, I know. I’m gay, not blind.’

Amara chuckles. ‘Alright, back to business. What are you wearing tonight?’

Hana nods seriously. ‘I’m gonna go with my coral sundress, with my light brown wedges.’

‘Great choice. You wanna go for a light nail, or a metallic?’

Hana thinks intensely and finally says, ‘I think I’ll go with your gold polish. Is that ok?’

‘Of course, great call. I’m gonna wear my ripped jeans and a yellow top, so I’ll go with the light gray. Good?’

Hana smiles. ‘Perfect. Amara, I’m so glad you stayed. I don’t know what I would have done without you here.’

Amara takes her hand. ‘Same. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ve found my people, why did I want to leave?’

Hana smiles broadly. ‘Right? I feel the same way. I know my parents are leaving me tons of messages, but I’m not ready to listen to them. I want to enjoy my time with you guys, and go on the engagement tour.’

‘Plus, the tour ends in London, and you know what that means,’ Amara says in a sexy voice while wiggling her eyebrows.

Hana blushes. ‘I do know what it means, since you’re not being very subtle.’ She smiles and twists the nail polish open. ‘We’ll see what happens. For right now, I’m happy to be here.’

‘Agreed.’

She continues, ‘On another note, did you catch all the little looks between Maxwell and Michael? They’re totally inseparable,’ Hana whispers.

‘I was just thinking that. It’s nice to see Michael be close with someone. Who knows where it might lead, but it’s just nice to see, you know,’ she says, avoiding eye contact.

Hana paints her nails intently. ‘I can imagine. Michael seems to relax a bit, and tonight will help too.’

‘What are you guys plotting about?’ Drake asks as he walks out of the pool and towards the nail painting station.

Amara chuckles, ‘Nothing babe. I’ll fill you in later.’

‘Don’t come out yet, Drake, here we come!’ Maxwell exclaims, running towards the group on his bathing suit. Michael follows slowly, shyly covering his body with a towel.

Amara sits up and asks eagerly, ‘Maxxie, did Liv get back to you?’

Maxwell, still running, cries out, ‘Not yet, Little Blossom. But I gave her all the info and she’ll know where to find us!’

Amara looks down at her nails, silent. Drake sighs and puts his hand on her back comfortingly. ‘She’ll come around, baby. I promise.’

*****

‘Looking good, man,’ Drake says as he catches Michael looking at his reflection in the hallway.

Michael jumps up, startled. ‘Oh! Thanks, Drake. Is it too much, though?’

Drake shrugs. ‘I don’t think so. Green looks good on you.’ He walks to the drink cart and pours two glasses of whiskey. ‘Here you go,’ he says as he holds one out to Michael.

‘Thank you.’ He smells it. ‘This is good stuff.’

Drake smiles. ‘It really is, huh? Max doesn’t skimp out.’

Michael smiles and sips. Drake takes out his phone and looks at the text he just sent out.

I know she hurt your feelings, but she came around and apologized. Don’t let your fucking pride take you away from a friend. We’re both new at this opening up shit, I get it, it sucks to be vulnerable, but it’s also fucking satisfying to be surrounded by people who care. Don’t fuck up.

He wonders whether he cursed too much, but oh well. It’s sent.

And read, without a response.

He sighs and looks up. ‘Sorry, Mike. Hey, what do you wanna do tomorrow? I can take you on a tour of Ramsford in my Jeep if you want me to show you around.’

Michael’s face lights up. ‘I’d love that. I want to call Callie tomorrow when she’s awake, but otherwise I’m all free.’

Drake smiles. ‘Good.’ He glances at his watch. ‘I guess we’re the fastest ones to get ready around here. When I left Amara, she was agonizing over which earrings to pick.’

Michael chuckles. ‘Max picked my outfit, so I have absolutely no merit in being quick.’

As if on cue, Maxwell appears on top of the stairs, Hana and Amara on each side. ‘Gentlemen, may I present you the two most beautiful women in the world!’

The girls chuckle and roll their eyes, they all yell out to Bertrand to wish him a good night, and they get on their way.

*****

Amara fidgets in the car, her hand in Drake’s. She is sitting in the middle, between Drake and Michael.

‘You ok, babe?’ Drake asks. ‘Nervous?’ he points to her shaky leg.

Amara promptly stops. ‘Sorry. I’m fine. I’m excited to have fun, I promise.’

Maxwell glances at Drake in the rearview mirror, a worried look on his face. Amara notices it right away. She knows it means Max didn’t hear back from Liv. She hates that she feels so nervous about it, and she especially hates that Drake and Max are, once again, worried about her. She sits up and takes a deep breath. She needs to grow a pair of ovaries and stop being this fragile little bitch who is always in danger of having an anxiety attack.

She needs to enjoy life, dammit. It will be hard enough to sneak around and investigate while on the tour, the least she can do is enjoy her five days of freedom, and make the most of Michael’s presence.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Maxwell parks in downtown Ramsford. ‘Alright guys, I’m designated driver tonight, you bitches go crazy, I’m there for you!’

Amara smiles broadly. ‘Max, I can bet you that we’ll end up taking Ubers back. No way you’re not getting lit.’

Maxwell laughs. ‘You may be right. This is a 24-hour parking lot, detective. Either way, we’re good. Let’s go!’

They get out of the car, and Amara walks with Drake, her hand still in his. Zeno’s is a cool bar, not too hip but definitely nice, with an outdoors section full of greenery. As they walk in, Amara finds herself relaxing. This is definitely normal, with young couples all around, and too many people for them to get noticed. Maxwell picked the perfect spot.

‘First round on me,’ Drake announces ‘Everybody tell me what you want!’

Hana requests a margarita, and everyone follows suit, except Michael who wants a lager.

Drake smiles. ‘Babe, help me carry?’

They make their way to the bar, their bodies close to each other. Amara holds Drake’s belt loop so they don’t get separated by the crowd. This place is really happening.

They plant themselves in front of the bar, and Drake orders for everyone, and opens a tab. Amara nuzzles in Drake’s arms, taking advantage of the crowd pushing them together. She buries her head in his chest.

Drake chuckles. ‘You’re not afraid of being seen?’

Amara smiles, ‘Not really. Too crowded. Plus, it’s not my fault if people are forcing us to get close.’

‘Good excuse,’ he whispers in her ear as he squeezes her shoulder.

‘You look hot tonight,’ she murmurs. ‘I love you in black.’

‘And I love you, period,’ he says softly.

‘You guys are sickening.’

Amara whips around instantly. ‘You came!’ she exclaims.

Liv rolls her eyes and adjusts her top. ‘Of course I came. Walker threatened me via text.’

‘I did not,’ he protests. ‘I tried to convince you, that’s all.’

Liv snorts and orders two double vodkas. She pauses and says, ‘It’s not all for me. Rashad’s here with me.’

Amara smiles. ‘I’m glad.’ She hesitates, then throws her arms around Olivia and pulls her into a hug.

‘What the hell are you doing, Suarez?’ Liv asks disgustedly.

‘Hugging you. Lean into it,’ she replies.

Liv rolls her eyes again and slowly hugs Amara back. ‘Fine. That’s your one hug. You used it up.’ She pauses. ‘And never fucking blindside me again like you did yesterday. You made me be your friend, now you have to act like one.’

Amara lets go of her and grabs a couple of glasses from the bar. ‘Agreed. I fucked up, I’m really sorry. Now, can we please get drunk together and show my brother how shit gets done in Cordonia?’

*****

Taglist:

@drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @andy-loves-corgis @jovialyouthmusic @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983 @simsvetements @alesana45 @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love @drakewalkerwhipped @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakxwalker @drakeswalkers @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @texaskitten30 @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot @ladyangel70 @thisperfectmemory @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @mrsmairstanley @addictedtodrakefanfic @msjpuddleduck

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#that's not why i'm going #that's not why I'm staying #drake x amara #drake walker x amara suarez #drake walker #amara suarez #dramara #drake x mc #drake walker trr #drake walker x mc #trr drake #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic

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artlessictoan · 5 years

Text

another ao3 req, for a butch sak/femme ino domestic drabble! y’know i’ll say one thing for this req theme, it’s got me describing character’s clothing a hell of a lot more than i usually do..

(requests open)

(ao3 mirror)

---

She poked her head through the front door cautiously, scanning around for any sign of her.

With the entrance declared clear, Sakura slipped silently into the house and shut the door as softly as she could, all the while wary of both the house’s other occupant and the large, heavy box held in her left hand. It wasn’t that far to the office, if she could get in unnoticed, then it would all be smooth sailing from there.

She slowly crept forward, the stairs her goal, peeking around every corner as she went, the living room was empty, but she swore she could hear faint humming from the kitchen.

Ok, that was fine, the kitchen wasn’t in her direct path, she could easily sneak upstairs without being seen, so long as she was quiet. Taking a deep breath, she placed one foot on the first step. The second one creaked, as did the sixth and ninth, she would have to skip them if she wanted this to work out – normally not an issue, but right now she had an unwieldy weight to contend with as well. But she could do this, she’d been practising for the last few days, this was no problem at all.

When she was just two steps from the top, the box in her arms let out a high-pitched cry.

Her heart stopped dead for several seconds, as she waited for the tell-tale sound of feet against floorboards, completely frozen in place. Nothing. Releasing her held breath, she shushed at the box, before continuing her journey.

From here it was a straight shot to the office, second door on the left, nothing to get in the way, she had won. As soon as the door was shut behind her, she let out a sigh and gently placed the box on the floor, flapping her loose tank top to try and cool herself down a little – it wasn’t a particularly hot day, but she’d been tense with terror and excitement for the last hour or so and she’d never quite gotten over her panic-sweating – she had just leaned down and opened the latch on it when she heard footsteps echoing down the hallway.

She flew out of the office and slammed the door behind her, leaning against it and all but panting as Ino stopped, hand still raised from where she had been about to knock on the door, wearing an understandably confused expression.

Sakura plastered a forced grin onto her face. “Heeeey beautiful,” she said, reaching up to kiss her wife’s cheek.

Ino leaned down a little to help her, but was still giving her a strange look. “Thought I heard you moving around up here,” she said, brushing a hair through her long, perfect, silky hair, “why didn’t come tell me you were home? I was just making some tea, could’ve got you a cup ready too.”

She glanced at the office door, then back to her wife. “Actually, I think I’m good, why don’t you just go have your drink?”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Ino asked with a grin, clearly joking, except that, yeah, Sakura kinda did want her to go away right now. A fact which Ino quickly picked up on, curse her terrifying intuition. “Oh. You actually are.”

“Not like that! I just… have something I need to get out of the way, y’know?”

A fine brow rose. “That’s pretty vague-” she crossed her arms, fabric of her – unfairly revealing – wrap top swishing as she did. And really, how was Sakura supposed to concentrate on her mission when her beautiful, amazing wife was standing right there, wearing that deep plum skirt that hugged her hips and showed off enough of her long, long legs to drive Sakura mad. “You’re up to something, aren’t you?”

“Whaaaat, noooo! I just have something I need to get done for work tomorrow, boring stuff, but if I don’t do it now then I’ll forget about it later.” There, perfectly reasonable explanation, she was great at this!

A soft thud filtered through the door behind her.

Ino’s eye narrowed on her and Sakura could feel the sweat dripping down her spine. “What was that noise?”

“Probably just the neighbours playing their TV too loud again?” Shit, her voice was starting to tremble, she had to divert the flow of this conversation and fast. “Anyway, what do you want for dinner? I’m pretty sure we’ve got some eggs that need to be used up-”

A second thud. Quickly followed by frantic scrabbling.

“Ok, seriously, what are you hiding.” Ino didn’t bother asking, nor did she wait for her to move, instead just placing a hand against her shoulder and giving her a hard shove.

Sakura stayed firm, earning a foul look from her wife. Once more, she was pushed, once more she held position and placed a solid hand against the doorknob before she could get any ideas. Behind her, there was the ominous sound of something scraping against wood. “Or… maybe they’re putting up some new shelves?”

Ino looked thoroughly unimpressed. “You do realise how obvious you’re being, right?”

“I’m not hiding anything!” she yelled, despite every one of her brain cells screaming at her to just shut up. And her declaration clearly didn’t sway Ino either.

Her wife gave her a long, hard stare, lasting almost a minute – long enough for Sakura to wonder if she wasn’t considering just giving up – before a delicate hand jabbed into her side, sending electric prickles across her entire body.

She leapt back instinctively, clutching at her stomach to try and smother the ticklish sensation still lingering there, giving Ino plenty of room to quickly throw open the door and step inside.

Pushing through her discomfort, Sakura leapt onto her back, sending her toppling forwards onto the thankfully thickly carpeted floor with a screech. “Shit, I’m sorry! Are you hurt?” she asked, lifted herself up enough that her considerable weight wasn’t crushing her comparatively delicate wife down, but still hovering over her and keeping her trapped.

Ino groaned into the carpet, but quickly snapped, “What the hell is wrong with you, what are you hiding in here that’s soooo…”

Sakura winced. Well, this was officially an unmitigated disaster.

Any lingering pain was ignored as Ino stared at the creature in front of her. “Oh, my, god,” she whispered, so soft that Sakura had to lean down to hear her properly, which a very bad idea, because the speed at which Ino pushed herself up, lead to the back of her head colliding heavily against her chin.

Both women fell back to the floor in a groaning, tangled heap. As the pain faded, however, Sakura found herself laughing, soft snorts gradually growing into mildly hysterical cackling.

Ino soon joined her, carefully peeling their aching limbs apart and sitting back up, rubbing at the back of her skull. “Fucking hell, are your bones made of steel or something?” she asked, clearly not expecting a real answer from Sakura, who still couldn’t stop laughing long enough to pick herself up. “Ok, calm down idiot, you’re scaring our guest.”

The reminder of the cause of their current predicament brought her back to reality long enough to push herself onto her elbows and try to halt her snorts. Also, she badly needed to breathe, but that was secondary.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Ino sounded more frustrated than she looked – her soft, beautiful smile betraying her true feelings.

Sucking in deep breaths and rubbing at her aching cheeks, Sakura followed her wife’s gaze to the ginger cat cautiously watching them from under the desk. “I wanted to surprise you,” she said, carefully shutting the door again, just in case the nervous animal decided to bolt off into the house, and get trapped somewhere – they still had a lot of pet-proofing to do and the shelter had recommended keeping the new cat to a single room until it was comfortable with the new environment. “I was planning a whole dramatic reveal and everything.”

“Well, I’m definitely surprised-” she held out a hand to the cat and made gentle cooing noises to call it over “-but you know I would’ve been just as happy if you’d just told me you were getting a cat.”

“That takes all the fun out of it though!”

Ino rolled her eyes and elected to ignore that, instead focusing completely on the large ball of fluff, who was slowly relaxing and taking cautious steps towards the pair, whiskers twitching as it sniffed the air around them. “Oh, you are just gorgeous! Aren’t you baby? Yes, you are! Do they have a name?” she asked, as the last of its nerves dissipated and it allowed her to scratch under its chin.

“The shelter called her Gingersnap, but if you want to change it-”

“Ohmigod! Gingersnap! You are just the most precious little girl, I love you so much, look at that sweet little nose, I just want to boop it!” By this point, Ino had dragged the cat into her lap and was lavishing it with smooths, her eyes lit up with pure glee and mouth stuck in a wide, giddy grin. Gingersnap for her part was purring like a jackhammer – which Sakura was maybe a little jealous of, it took several days of visiting the pet shelter before she could so much as touch the normally skittish animal.

Clearly Sakura was going to have to start fighting to get attention from anyone in this household.

Suppressing a snort, Sakura shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around Ino’s waist, leaning heavily into her side and watching the pair with soft eyes. Well, now that the cat was – quite literally – out of the bag, she could at least get Ino to give her a hand deciding where to put all the new bowls and toys and litter boxes still stacked in the office. She glanced around the room, wondering what to sort out first, when she noticed something lying on the floor.

“So, I guess you’re not mad at me anymore,” she said with a smirk, watching Ino fawn over the cat as it rubbed against her well-manicured hand and guided her to smooth under its chin.

“I still expect a full written apology by tomorrow and you’re paying for my medical bills-” she turned her head and pressed a lipstick stain into Sakura’s cheek, before immediately returning to the new love of her life “-but no, I am not mad.”

“…And will you stay not mad if I tell you that Gingersnap knocked your favourite vase off the desk?”

---

#ictoan writes #sakuino #inosaku #sakura haruno #ino yamanaka #naruto #i refuse to believe that these two would stop being idiots once they're married

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gay-spaghetti · 5 years

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Role Reversal - Good Omens AU

Wanted to take a stab at a Good Omens reverse AU! Comin’ up with all these ideas was soooo much fun. I might do more soon! :)

Inspired by @dotstronaut ‘s , @speremint ‘s , and @wikigiuli own reverse AUs. I love the different ways people use this AU! And these three are definitely my favorites. They gave me the inspiration to make my own :) Please check ‘em out and give them some love! They are so heckin’ cool UwU [Dotstronaut’s] , [Speremint’s] & [Wikigiuli’s]

Also! Aziraphale’s design in my version of this AU is heavily inspired by @millerizo’s demon Aziraphale. Check ‘em out, I command you! >:3 They’re so super cool.

___

(More info about my version of this AU under the cut!)

(Please feel free to ask my questions about this AU! ^u^ But be sure to read what’s below so you don’t ask something that’s already answered! Thank you! :D)

The archangels are: Barachiel, Hariel, Jeremiel, and (This AU’s Beelzebub, Hastur, Ligur, and Dagon).

The demons are: Lord Gaap, Shax, Malphas, Uvall (This AU’s Gabriel, Sandalphon, Michael, and Uriel).

___

Aziraphale is the archangel known as Raphael. After getting into some heavy arguments with the other archangels and asking way too many questions, Raphael falls. His bright brown hair is singed to a dull, dark grey-ish brown color, and his white wings turn soot-black.

When the time comes, he uses his demonic animal form, a bearded vulture, to tempt Adam into partaking of the garden’s forbidden fruit.

There at the edge of the garden, Raphael meets the angel that was given the task of watching over the first humans. Raphael introduces himself as “Aziraphale”, and the angel, known as “Cariel”, introduces himself as “Crowley”.

___

Aziraphale never goes by “Raphael”; he hates that name and anything even remotely relating to Heaven. The demons in Hell just call him “Fell”, a name he despises immensely. Aziraphale is still proper, fairly uptight, and rather fancy for a demon, but he’s grumpy, quiet, and reserved. He’s not a complete stone though; he has a sense of humor and is a total bastard, but it would take’s a big push to get that mischievous part out of him. He is indeed a demon, but he’s a total softy under that hard, irritable shell. He adores the human race, Earth, and everything coming from them. Azira takes an especial liking to reading, and manages to open a bookshop in London. He gladly welcomes anyone into his shop, although people seldom do. Azria’s appearance and general attitude is, unfortunately, enough to keep most people away.

Cariel (Angel of fire) is the rebellious angel who quickly becomes addicted to living on Earth. He changes his name to Crowley, favoring it way more than his God-given name. He calls his fallen angel friend “Phale” as a nickname, and Aziraphale doesn’t mind it at all. Crowley follows the rules and always stays in line, just as an angel should, but he’s certainly more humorous, sarcastic, and cynical than any of the other angels. The archangels joke amongst themselves that if any other angel were to fall, it would be him. Crowley trusts God’s plan, but admittedly, has his doubts. He never lets those doubts be known though. Due to his own anxieties and insecurities, he shoves those thoughts to the back of his head, sort of absentmindedly following Heaven’s rules without question. Just like his demon friend, Crowley falls in love with humanity and the earth. He has a deep affection for his Bentley, fashion, and an assortment of 80s-90s bands. Dancing and music in general is something he really cherishes.

Other info:

Aziraphale gets those scars on his face from angering Lord Gaap. It happens some time in the 40s. Crowley is pretty shocked and upset when he sees them for the first time.

Whenever he is asked, and he often is, Aziraphale will say that his eyes are just a “rare genetic condition”.

The rest of the characters in this AU are the same as they are in the show. I was going to do an entire reversal for all of the characters, but that would’ve been too hectic and confusing. Just untidy and unnecessary.

Crowley often wears varying kinds of flowers on his varying kinds of suits/outfits.

Crowley, rather obsessively, owns a lot of plants. He’s very good to them, but perhaps owns too many. His flat is full of tall, blossoming, ferns, bushes, small trees, and plenty more. Aziraphale aptly names them “the prettiest plants in all of England”. Crowley obsessively takes care of all of these plants due to his fear of God. He’s always had questions and even objections, but being too scared to rebel or ask anything, he just bottles up all his doubts of the almighty. This has caused him to view Her as a sort of, cruel mother of sorts. So, he keeps all of these plants as a way to prove to himself that he’s better than Her at taking care of things.

As mentioned above, Crowley loves wearing many different outfits, often adorning himself with the flowers he grows in his flat. Aziraphale on the other hand, rarely changes out of his suit—he doesn’t see a reason to.

Aziraphale often scolds Crowley for using foul language. The demon has an irrational fear of Crowley becoming a fallen angel, so he’s worried that Crowley searing too much would put a negative effect on him. Although, he always just tells Crowley that swearing is “improper” and “crude”. Truthfully, Aziraphale isn’t afraid to swear, he just doesn’t want Crowley becoming too rebellious or Hellish.

Crowley, when teasing Aziraphale, will sometimes call him a “wily ol’ bird”.

Again, please feel free to talk about and ask questions if you’re curious/interested! :3

I’d love to expand this AU!

#good omens #reverse au #my art #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale

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cocomaxley · 6 years

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Paws for a Cause Part 1

This was a prompt request from @stopforamoment

This is a part of a TRR A/U called Cordonians Gone Wild, a collaborative effort by @ao719 @speedyoperarascalparty @leelee10898 @riseandshinelittleblossom and yours truly. Catch up HERE.

Summary: A furry friend joins the CGW squad which results in another boys vs. girls wager.

Rating: Fluff

Tag List: @hopefulmoonobject @fullbeaumonty @brightpinkpeppercorn @katurrade @krsnlove @alj4890 @zaffrenotes @annekebbphotography @carabeth @moneyfordiamonds @give-me-ernest-sinclaire @3pawandme @indiacater @ooo-barff-ooo @ownworldresident @tornbetween2loves @perfectprofessorherokid @stopforamoment @editboutique @wannabemc2 @enmchoices @lauradowning29 @lodberg @smalltalk88 @gibbles82 @heatherfilliez @noey718-blog @nikkis1983 @sweetest-marbear @classylady1234 @daniv2278

Liam picked up his desk phone and called Genevieve. “Hey, Gen. I have a surprise for Anitah, and I was hoping you'd be able to help me.”

“Sure! What's the surprise?”

“She's been talking non-stop about getting a puppy...the police shut down a puppy mill recently and the local animal shelter is housing them until they are adopted. I'd like to pick one out for her.”

“You're getting her a puppy! Oh my god, yes I'm coming with you!”

A little while later, Liam picked Genevieve up from Domvallier and they made their way to the animal shelter. Once inside, Genevieve could not contain her excitement. She sat in the middle of an enclosure that had five Jack Russell Terrier puppies inside. “They're all so cute! I want all of them!”

Liam chuckled, “One puppy, Gen. My wife is getting one puppy.”

Her bottom lip pouted, “but what if the puppy gets lonely and misses his brothers and sisters? You're the king, can't your hire dog nannies? ”

He shook his head, “I asked the wrong person to come with me.”

“Fine, one puppy. I think she would love this guy! Look at him, Liam. He's soooo cute.” She picked up a white puppy with brown markings on his face and ears and large brown asymmetric spots on his body. The puppy wriggled in her arms and licked her face making her giggle. “He's the one. He's so sweet. Anitah is going to die!”

He left her with the puppies while he filled out the paperwork. Once the documents were completed, the two of them along with their new furry friend hopped into the back of the SUV. “What are you going to name him?”

Liam sat quietly while observing the dog, “He looks like a Milo.”

“MILO! It's perfect isn't it, Milo? Oh, Liam, can I have him?”

He laughed, “you can babysit until tonight. I need him to stay with you until Anitah is done with her meetings. Everyone will be arriving at the palace before dinner for the start of the social season tomorrow. Gen, you have to bring him with you…”

She giggled, “Fine. I don't need to be arrested for kidnapping the royal canine. I can't wait to see her face.”

They said their goodbyes, and she entered the estate with the pup. As soon as she opened the door, Demetrius was standing there talking to the majordomo. He stopped mid sentence and turned his attention to Milo. “You got a puppy? Is this my new grand dog?” He picked up the little ball of fur, and Milo immediately started licking his face. Demetrius let out a hearty laugh.

“He's actually a surprise for Anitah. Liam asked me to babysit and bring him to the palace later. Want to go play with him in my quarters?”

“Your Grace, do you wish to continue our discussion later?” Raphael asked him.

“Yes, yes later. I'm busy.” He followed Genevieve to hers and Rashad’s chambers. She set out a bowl of water and another bowl with food for the puppy. He happily wagged his tail as he drank and ate. Milo disappeared, but neither Genevieve nor Demetrius noticed. Rashad came home a short while later and was greeted by the white puppy with a men’s black dress shoe in his mouth. “What the hell is that and is that my shoe in its mouth?”

Genevieve peeked around and saw Milo with the shoe hanging out of his mouth. She covered her mouth, “umm, no I don't think so…”

Demetrius stood up, “Would you look at the time? I have to get going. Goodbye, my darling girl. See you later little, Milo! Bye, son.” He kissed her cheek, scratched Milo behind the ear and quickly walked to the door.

She stood up and pulled Rashad into a kiss. “Honey, meet his royal highness, Prince Milo. We are bringing him with us to the palace later.”

“Ok good. I like dogs, but that looks like a rat.” He shook his head and walked into the bedroom. A few minutes later she heard, “FUCK! I just stepped in dog shit!”

She looked at the puppy and started laughing, “I think Uncle Rashad is mad, Milo. You have to be extra nice to him when he comes back.” The dog cocked his head and his tail started swaying side to side as if he understood her.

After getting ready and packed for the palace, Rashad and Genevieve got into their car. Milo happily sat in her lap. Rashad reached his hand over to the passenger seat. Genevieve went to hold it, but he dodged her hand, petting the puppy on his head.

“Someone's soft for you, Milo. I knew he wouldn't be able to resist you.” She giggled which made him roll his eyes.

“He's cute, but don't get any ideas. I don't want any pets, not right now anyway,” he took her hand in his as he continued to drive. They pulled up the palace and walked towards the royal chambers. Rashad knocked and Liam answered the door. “Perfect timing, she's just getting changed.”

Anitah walked into the living room and froze, “Is that..is that...a puppy?” She knelt down on the floor, and Milo bolted towards, knowing she was his new mommy. “Yes, love, he's your puppy. His name is Milo.”

“Milo? It's literally the perfect name!” Anitah burst into tears. “Liam, thank you!” She said still crying. “Hello, Milo, I'm your mommy.” She put the puppy down and hugged Liam. Milo decided to explore his new home and disappeared. The four friends sat and talked when there was a knock on the door. Brad entered and Milo ran out the door with a brown loafer in his mouth.

“Brad! The dog! Go get the dog!” Liam shouted. “Was that my shoe that he took with him?” Anitah and Genevieve burst out laughing.

Genevieve said, “He likes shoes, but he prefers men’s shoes. Especially expensive leather, right honey?” Rashad just shook his head.

Meanwhile in the hall, Milo turned around and saw Brad chasing after him. He wagged his tail while still holding Liam's shoe in his mouth. “Come here little doggy. Come here…” Brad said in a singsong voice, not wanting to frighten him. He was about to reach down and pick him up when Milo took off running again. He dropped the shoe and turned the corner. Thoroughly enjoying this game, he sat down and waited for Brad. However, before Brad could get to him, he started scratching at a door.

Leo opened the door and looked around the hall before looking down and seeing the puppy by his feet. “Hey little guy. Who the heck do you belong to?” Milo let himself into Leo and Alicia’s quarters. Leo shrugged and walked in after him. Brad turned the corner and panicked. The dog was gone, and he had no idea where the dog went.

“Leo...why is there a dog here?” Alicia asked.

Leo chuckled, “he knocked on the door, and just walked in. I have no idea where the hell he came from.”

Milo strutted around the apartment, sniffing everything in sight. He came back to the living room and jumped on the couch. He plopped down on Alicia’s lap, making her giggle.

“I'm usually more of a cat person, but he's so cute! Aren't you so cute?” Milo barked in agreement. He jumped off the couch and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. Alicia straddled Leo on the couch and pulled him into a hard kiss. Then they heard a faint vibrating noise and looked over at Milo. He was standing in the living room, wagging his tail with a vibrator in his mouth.

Alicia yelled, “Leo! Get that from him!”

Leo got off the couch and chased Milo into the kitchen. He ran a couple of laps around the kitchen table before dropping the sex toy on the floor. Leo chuckled as he picked it up. All of a sudden a foul odor hit his nose. He looked down as Milo relieved himself on the kitchen floor. “Alicia, get him out of here!”

Gagging at the sight, Alicia opened the main the door. Milo happily walked out of their chambers into the hall where he spotted Brad. He sat down in the middle of the hallway, and Brad slowly approached him. “Alright, puppy, stay. Stay, ok?” As soon as Brad took a another step towards him, Milo ran off towards the kitchen. Every once in a while, he turned around to make sure Brad was still following him.

Stephanie and Maxwell were at the kitchen island enjoying some snacks. Milo snuck through the kitchen door as one of the staff was leaving. He beelined towards the couple hoping to get some scraps.

Stephanie’s eyes widened, "Baby, what is that?!"

Maxwell looked down and immediately started baby talking, "Aww! Wook at the widdle puppy.”

She wrinkled her nose, "That's not a dog that's a gerbil."

“Stef, don't call him a that! He's precious!" Maxwell scooped him up and started kissing Milo’s precious face.

“Do you want a snack little guy?” Maxwell grabbed a piece of cheese, and Milo eagerly accepted the morsel. He put the puppy down on the counter, and Milo walked up to the tray of snacks. Maxwell let out a belly laugh watching the puppy gobble up the cheese and sausage from the tray.

“Rosebud, can we keep him…”

She immediately cut him off, “Oh heck no! You have Evie. You don't need a hamster. Besides he clearly has an owner if he's in the palace. This place is like Fort Knox, no stray could just waltz in here.”

Maxwell's face fell and she patted his hand. “We can talk more about it some other day, ok hon?”

“I'll wear you down eventually, Red.”

This made Stephanie giggle, knowing her husband was right. She was just as soft for him as Drake was for the people he loved. Brad burst through the kitchen door. Milo wagged his tail and barked at his friend. He jumped off the kitchen island and ran to the door.

Maxwell followed him and asked, “You need to go outside, little buddy? Here you go.”

He opened the door as Brad yelled, “Noooo!”

Milo ran into the yard smelling the fresh air. He laid down in the grass and waited for Brad. Once Milo saw him, he bolted towards the stables with Brad hot on his heels. Milo walked into the stable and pranced from horse stall to horse stall, making sure to bark hello to his new friends. Having heard the bark, Drake turned around and smiled.

He picked up the wriggly puppy and asked him, "Hey, what are you doing out here alone, little buddy?"

“Where do you think he came from, Drake? He's so little.”

Pam patted his head in an attempt to show the puppy some form of affection. Milo licked Drake's face which made him chuckle. “Pam, we should get a dog. He could keep me company while I’m with the horses. Dogs are also known to help them during the rehabilitation process.”

Pam smiled at her husband and said, “No.”

Drake’s face fell, “But I just told you that there’s benefits for the horses and the stable.”

Pam rolled her eyes, “Baby, that’s a lot of responsibility. I really don’t want a dog.” she whispered so he couldn’t hear her, “I don’t like animals.”

“What was that?” Drake asked with a raised brow.

“Nothing, I said we can discuss it.” She leaned in and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips.

Brad pushed open the stable doors, his eye twitching when he saw Milo in Drake’s arms. “Do not put that little fucker down. I’ve been chasing him around the palace for the past hour. He’s been taunting me.”

Pam and Drake broke into laughter as Milo tried to struggle free from Drake’s grasp. Brad took hold of Milo, and the puppy immediately started squirming in his arms.

“No, you don’t. You are going back to Queen Anitah.” Brad stomped back to the palace. He knocked on the door of royal chambers and Anitah happily took Milo into her arms.

“Aww, baby, where’d you go? Did Brad give you a hard time for running off with daddy’s shoe?” Anitah looked at Brad trying to hold back a laugh.

Brad mumbled under his breath, “He acts just like his mommy. God help me when they have actual children.”

Anitah turned to him, “What was that Bradley?”

“Nothing ma’am.” Brad quickly left the room.

Genevieve burst out laughing, “He basically said you’re both assholes!”

Liam could no longer hold back his laughter. “You called him Bradley! Can we fire him now?”

“Absolutely not! He’s fun to torture and it looks like Milo picked up pretty quickly on that. Didn’t you, baby boy?” She kissed her pup’s face and he returned them with his own sloppy kisses on her cheek.

The rest of the group came to Anitah and Liam’s chambers for dinner. It would be the last casual dinner they would have once the social season started. Once everyone realized that Milo was Anitah’s new puppy, everyone got excited knowing they would see a lot of him. Liam told everyone that the animal shelter was inundated with animals because of the puppy mill raid. Maxwell, Drake and Genevieve turned to their significant others with pleading puppy dog eyes and each were met with a resounding “No!” from their partners. Liam expressed his concern for the animal shelter since it was almost at capacity and funds were tight before having to house the additional dogs.

“What if we did a fundraiser for the shelter? Anitah said to the group.

“As long as it doesn’t involve being naked or being on a date with someone else, I’ll consider it,” Alicia replied with her arms crossed.

“How about a calendar with each of us posing with animals? All of the money raised from the calendar sales would go to shelter. It might even encourage people to adopt. I’m a photographer, I could take all of the pictures, which means we’d save money,” Stephanie said.

The group looked intrigued at her suggestion. “So do we have all of us pose for the calendar and then some group shots or do you think it would sell better if it was just the ladies?” Pam asked.

Leo snickered, “Come on girls! You know that women are suckers for animals. Add us guys posing with them, we would definitely sell more calendars.”

“That sounds like a challenge, pretty boy,” Genevieve said with a smirk.

Rashad held his arms up, “Whoa, whoa. Before we start betting anything…”

Leo cut him off, “You’re on! We will do a men’s calendar and you ladies do a women’s calendar. The group with the most sales wins!”

“You’re going down, Rhys! And when we win, you guys have to do a carwash in speedos to raise additional money for the shelter. Cordonia would love to see their king and Playboy Prince all wet and soapy.” Anitah said with a laugh.

“Fine! If you girls lose, which you will. I mean come on, we can’t lose every single challenge. You get to clean up dog poop and the animal shelter for an entire day,” Leo responded with a smug grin.

Drake slapped his forehead while Rashad covered his face. Liam sat there with his mouth open, unsure of what just happened. Maxwell turned to Stephanie with a concerned look on his face, “Rosebud, do you want to, uh, switch teams for this one? I feel like I should be with the girls.”

Stephanie threw her head back and laughed, “Oh, honey, no. You’re with the boys on this one.”

#cordonians gone wild #cordoniansgonewild #cgw #liam x anitah #drake x pam #maxwell x stephanie #leo x alicia #rashad x genevieve #the royal romance #trr au #squad goals #cgw squad

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perlocutionary · 6 years

Text

After Hours, pt. 2 - Lawyer!Stiles

Description: You and Stiles work for Stilinski’s law firm, but your relationship goes beyond work. After a lovely night (or weekend...) together, it’s time to focus on a case again. But, discrecy isn’t your strong suit today it seems..

Warnings: As part one was smut, you can expect exactly the same thing with part two. There, you go, enjoy your filthy smut!

Relationship: (Lawyer!)Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word count: 2833

A/N: this serves as a thank you for bearing with me lately, helping me out with that research thing and as a mini-celebration for my birthday! But, I had said that my gratitude would be ever-extending soooo.. This of course will not be the only surprise. Happy reading! (Let me know what you thought!!)

“You’re late.” John addresses me instantly when I walk through the open doorway, my heels clicking loudly against the marble tiles. I cock an eyebrow in his direction, demanding him to tempt me, and as soon as his eyes flick back to the manila folder in his hand, I cannot help but let a snicker quietly pass my lips.

My body shakes when Stiles’ office door roughly swings open, my heart hammering against my ribcage at the sudden movement. He glances briefly n my direction but doesn’t address me or my tardiness.

“We have forty-eight hours left to get this guy out. I know some of you still possess morals, but that doesn’t work when you want to be a lawyer. It doesn’t matter if he did it or didn’t do it – it’s our job to get him out.” Stiles barks, the whole room silent as they stare up at their boss. Stiles coerces discipline and admiration – perhaps a bit of terror as well. It thrilled me.

“So, I don’t want to see any of you loitering around – if you wish to keep your job.” Stiles snaps his final words at his personnel occupying the spacious study, backtracking toward his office before he hoovers beside me. My frame is prepped up against the enormous book case, arms leisurely crossed over my chest as I dare to take a glance at the dapper man beside me.

His features remain stoic as he holds out a manila folder for me to grasp. “Ms. Y/L/N, we better start sooner, rather than later.” As soon as my fingers curl around the paper, I feel his large hand cup my ass. His eyelid drops down into a wink before he makes a one hundred-eighty degree turn and disappears back into his office.

The same words he had spoken to me only ten hours prior - albeit in a completely different setting. My hair fanned out against his satin sheets as his tongue showed me the new tricks he had learnt, making my head spin and my body fall into a complete abyss of pure bliss.

Without further ado, I flip open the folder and start skimming through it - in search of anything that could be of use. I feel my cheeks heat up when I notice the crumpled piece of paper, recalling me laid out over Stiles' mahogany desk, grasping onto something for dear life. This thing I had going on with Stiles was mind blowing, and the excitement I felt every time his name flashed on my smart phone had me feeling like a teenager again. His hands were as skilled as his tongue, and there was nothing I’d rather do than run my hands along his soft, ivory skin. His hair would stick in every direction after a night together, and it reminded me of how wanted he had made me felt – I was hooked.

"Okay, spill."

I hum as my gaze flicks over the last few words at the bottom of the page – turning it briskly before glancing up at the voice. Lauren.

“What?"

My manicured finger traces along the lines of the bold black ink on white paper, but my eyes are continuously glancing toward the impatient tapping of Lauren's Louboutin black pump in my peripheral.

"You know god damn well what." She aggressively whispers, jabbing her pointy red polished nail in my triceps. I flip the manila folder closed, squeezing the paper so roughly between my fingers that it starts to bend around them. I knew damn well what she was referring to, but I was not sure if I even wanted to confide in her. When I started my job, I had the wholehearted intention of keeping my work and my personal life separate – and I had never met one lawyer that I trusted enough to become my friend.

But Lauren, she was different. The corruptness of our system had not tainted her yet and she was still as pure as I was mere years ago.

"Lauren -" I warn her, widening my eyes as I slide my tongue along my lipstick-clad lips. I tried to be as dismissive as possible without barking in her direction – she got that enough from Stiles already. But she was threading dangerous territory nonetheless and I didn’t want Stiles hearing our conversation and deciding to end whatever it is that we got.

"Don't fucking shit me - Are you fucking Stilinski?" She steps closer, readying herself to pry her answer out of me if I don’t respond in the correct manner. Instead of speaking, I let my fingers curl around her bicep and drag her away from the study and into the kitchen, making sure the tips of my fingernails dig into her arm. When I glance back and see the wince on her features, a smug grin curls onto my lips.

I spin on my heel in a split second. "Do you want everyone in the room to hear your questions, or what?" My whisper is harsh, as soon as the door clicks closed behind me. The manila folder is roughly slammed onto the marble kitchen counter top, my fingernails impatiently rapping the faintest tune.

Apparently, I am not threatening enough. "It’s a simple question though. Seeing as how you decide not to answer and avoid it all together, I already have my answer." The grin suddenly appearing on her face is shit-eating, her arms crossing over her chest, as if she had won this battle against me.

"You know I'm with Ben, Lau." I try to divert the ecstatic young girl, leaning against the marble as I cross my own arms over my chest. “I saw Ben yesterday. You two broke up.”

“That doesn’t matter. I don’t do that.”

"Oh yeah, because having an affair with your drool-worthy boss is something that only happens in romantic comedies."

I'm quick to reply. "I'm not like that."

Oh, but I am. And I know it. "There's nothing wrong with it, you know. I kind of understand – I'm sure he's a nice guy when you take away all the lawyer stuff." Lauren shrugs her shoulders, plucking a small thread from her pristine white shirt before her eyes meet mine again.

A sigh leaves my lips when I realizes that for one, I am cornered, second, she was what I considered a great friend right now and three, I desperately wanted to tell someone about it. "It’s just sex though."

I try to nonchalantly shrug my shoulders, but an awkward smile crawls its way into my lips. Lauren's eyes get so wide I think she might be able to go for the Guinness World Record, but I'm pulled from my thoughts when her hand smacks my arm with a loud snap. "That’s even better!"

For a split second I have a feeling we are caught, and my heart is rapidly thumping in my throat. A quick glance tells me otherwise. I scrape my throat when I hear the door squeak, addressing Lauren more formally.

"Therefore, there would be no indication that Mr. Miller has actually committed this foul crime. Perhaps it's indeed for the best if we try a different approach." I motion my head for Lauren to disappear as Stiles steps into view. "Okay, thank you Y/N. Mr. Stilinski." With a brisk nod to her boss she slides through the doors and into the study, leaving Stiles and I alone. He did hear – maybe even everything.

"How much of that conversation have you eavesdropped on, Mr. Stilinski?" I smugly hum as I turn on my heel, filling myself a steaming mug of coffee. A gasp escapes me when I feel his whole frame press my body against the counter forcefully, the cup almost tumbling from my grip.

"I wish to not disclose that information." I can just picture the smirk he must be sporting at this exact moment, humming to myself before I tsk at his words. I slowly turn around in his little cage, taking a sip of the coffee before discarding it and resting my hands on Stiles' broad chest.

"You are aware that every employee in your law firm is less than ten meters away, yes?" I smile, fixing his ajar tie and smoothing out the wrinkles in his pristine white dress shirt. I'm taken aback when his hand cups my jaw and he presses his lips firmly, but briskly, to mine. He didn't give me any time to react. When he pulls away, he hovers in front of me, lips touching just slightly. His voice is a mere whisper. "Let me change that." I swallow, opening my eyes slowly – which I didn't even realize I had let slip closed in the first place; my throat suddenly dry.

"What?"

He hums, smoothing out my loose hair before he lets his gaze meet mine. "The 'just sex'. Let me take you on a date."

It takes me several seconds to respond, both analogous as digitally.

"I - what? Are you even sure about this?" I push him away, my gaze shifting from left to right as I try to assess the meaning of his words – was he kidding? Stiles Stilinski had been my long-time crush for ages, but I considered him so off limits I had never even considered to gain anything – let alone the amazing sex we had.

"Tonight. Meet me here at eight. No work – I promise." This time, when he presses his lips to mine, I do respond and as he pulls away, my body involuntarily follows his retracting frame. I always desperately crave him.

“Why are you even nervous? You’ve known this guy for how many years?” I whisper to myself, running my flattened-out hands against my dress, my hands shaking nervously as I straighten myself again. It’s eerily quiet on the street, only the street lights illuminating my path. I see Stiles’ bedroom light on from the sidewalk, my hands fumbling as I tun up onto his driveway.

“Stiles?” I yell up the stairs as the front door clicks shut behind me, my feet already taking me upward. I hear him hum to himself and follows his voice, ending up in the doorway of his bedroom.

“Hi.” Stiles whips around at the sound of my voice, smiling at me as he glances over my outfit. He discards the buttons of his dress shirt, stomping over to me. Within mere moments, I’m pulled flush against his bare chest, his lips firmly pressed to mine.

I moan into the kiss, my hands roaming over his pale chest as our tongues battle with one another. His hands roam over my back, only to rest on my ass and dig his clipped nails into the soft flesh, drawing another moan from my lips. “You look ravishing.”

Stiles’ gaze is filled with lust, his hands pushing my core to rub along his trouser-clad leg as his lips find my neck again. “We’re doing this wrong.” I laugh against his already kiss-swollen lips.

“We didn’t start this off right either, but I don’t mind if you don’t.” Stiles whispers as his lips trail along my jaw, his teeth sinking into my neck as his hands roam over my waist to the zipper in the back.

He awaits my answer, slowly dragging his pointer finger along my spine as his lips continue to roam over every piece of exposed skin.

“Take me.” I whisper, pressing my upper body against his as I push his dress shirt from his shoulders. Stiles growls in response, finding the zipper with experienced ease and slowly drags it down, the red material dropping near my feet.

My hands are fumbling with his belt, lips clashing together but I’m stilled in my movements when a loud smack resonates through the room and Stiles’ hand comes into contact with my soft ass. A loud moan slips me, most of it swallowed my Stiles’ smirking lips.

I leisurely push his trousers down his legs as my core involuntarily starts riding against him, his large hand kneading my ass and coercing my movements. I hear the rip of my underwear as it flutters to the ground, my body pulling away from his to scold him – but I don’t get a chance to.

Instead, I’m lifted into the air and my dripping cunt meets his erect cock, sliding through the folds and causing me to throw my head back with a shrieked moan. Stiles’ tongue licks a bold stripe along my exposed sternum, turning and guiding both of us over to the bed.

“You like it when I throw you around, don’t you, sweetheart?” Stiles grins down at me devilishly as my body collides with his satin sheets, my legs immediately opening and inviting him to join me. “You’re hot when you’re bossy.” I smile, licking along my bottom lip as I coax him over with a ‘come-hither’ motion of my pointer finger.

Stiles’ long, slender finger wipes along my folds and he lifts his finger to slowly lick off my juices, our eye contact not once breaking nor wavering as he licks his finger clean. “Then you must be wet for me all the time.”

I pull him down by the neck, pressing his cock through my folds with my leg pressing roughly against his ass. “Oh, Mr. Stilinski, you have absolutely no idea.” I moan into his ear, fisting his hair and curling my breasts into his chest.

“Fucking hell.” Stiles growls loudly as he slams his cock into me, my mouth falling open in an ‘o’ without any sound. He doesn’t relent, instead, his pace is rapid and rough, desperate to chase his and my release. I feel his cock throbbing against my walls, his fingertips digging into my waist as he buries his head in the crook of my neck.

“Stiles, please, more.” I moan desperately, throwing my head back and dragging my nails along his back, feeling him groan before his hips snap harshly against my hips, the scruff of his pelvis rubbing deliciously against my clitoris.

I’m dangling near the edge of my orgasm, my hands roaming everywhere along Stiles’ body that I can reach. One of his hands cups my neck, bringing my lips to his, as the other disappears between our bodies to lazily press his thumb against my clit, making me cry out against his opened mouth.

“Come for me, sweetheart. Let me feel you shudder beneath me.” Stiles growls against my lips, sending me over the edge and causing all the muscles in my body to deliciously clench as he keeps up his relentless thrusting. Stiles is groaning against my cheek, breathing harshly against the shell of my ear as he stops suddenly.

His own body weight is too much to bare after his intense orgasm and he drops down roughly, causing the air to momentarily slip from my lungs. “Sorry, babe.” Stiles grins as he rolls off me but keeping in touch with my frame even still. His fingertips are trailing lazy circles along my abdomen, sending shivers along my spine from his gentle touch. My heart his hammering against my chest, my breathing irregular as I just enjoy Stiles’ sweet touches.

As soon as he has caught his breath himself and my own breathing as normalized, he leaps onto his feet, covering my quivering frame with the duvet and pressing a longing, passionate kiss to my lips. My heart flutters when I see him retract with a cute, little smile pulling at his lips, eyes twinkling in the dim lighting.

“How about a date in bed?” Stiles holds out a pair of his boxers along with a plain shirt and I grin as the articles hit me in the bare chest. “Sounds like a plan.” “Pizza or Chinese food?” Stiles questions while trailing over to the telephone, glancing back briefly with the device held in hand.

“Surprise me. And then come back here.” I grin, biting down on my bottom lip as his bare ass is on full show for me. Stiles lets his eyes roam over my naked chest, his left hand absentmindedly toying with his already half-hard cock. He is mumbling his order into the receiver, slowly pumping his erection. He can’t take his eyes off me.

I start running my hands along my stomach, one over my breast as the other dips beneath the sheets. His eyes widen and his jaw clenches, my eyes slipping closed as I feel my fingers trail over my already sensitive clitoris.

“Fuckin’ unbelievable.” Stiles growls as he drops the telephone back onto his dresser, chest flushed and cock standing to its full attention. I hum in response, squeezing my nipple roughly as I slide down further onto the bed.

“You seriously render me ravenous.” Stiles growls again as he stalks over, almost predatory. He yanks the duvet off my frame and I squeal as he rapidly pulls me underneath him, lining himself up with my dripping core again and burying himself inside me. “I can’t ever get enough of you.”

Forever: @ssweet-empowerment @fuckwhateverfuck @youshiverwhenyouhearmyname @behind-my-hazeleyes27 @itsbilescallmebiles @7e6205 @daddyxraeken @lovelynerdytraveler @redstringlovers @suggsmate @dylxnob

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 6 years

Text

DOTW 48 - Start

Eren's meeting with Floch hadn't gone well. His barely used voice still hurt his throat each time he spoke, and he'd left Levi waiting outside in the living area. Being pregnant, he felt wrong having another alpha in his bedroom, but there were so many things he couldn't tell Levi yet. Not without clear answers about just what had happened at the compound. He had no idea if anyone had survived, outside of the few omegas and children, he and his father had been able to sneak off the property. Compared to living there, being with Levi again was a luxury. And he knew how fucking lucky he was to be home with both he and his pup in one piece. His father had been the first suspect his pregnancy, then had gone to great lengths to hide it from everyone else. It was probably the only kindness Eren could ever remember the man showing him, though it was also probably for his own personal gain. If they'd found out he was pregnant, it would probably have been a great way to limit his father's actions even more. Eren couldn't say he understood anything his father told him, or what motivated him, only that he still didn't think he loved him like a good son should. Not with what he'd done to his mother. Floch had asked so many questions. Not stopping as he forced him into a panic attack. Blindly gripping his chest, he'd fled to Levi, his alpha wrapping his soothing scent around him and coaching his breathing back to normal, while evicting Floch from their apartment. If he had to ever see him again, it would be way too soon. Once Floch had left, and his panic attack had turned to vomiting, Levi stayed with him on the bathroom floor. They'd been to see his doctor, who'd ordered a fresh lot of blood tests... much to his disgust. He was sick of needles. And, despite how sweet it was, he was sick of the fuss. Levi would do everything for him. Since discovering that he was indeed the father of the pup, his alpha was now smothering him with affection, trailing after him from room to room like a lost puppy. That's why he didn't tell him he'd messaged Hanji. She's scolded him for not messaging sooner, then in the same sentence told him that he was coming over for dinner on Friday night... which happened to be the same day as Floch's visit. He hadn't told her about his pregnancy, instead wanting to surprise her. Being able to tell someone the news himself felt good. Erwin's heart might have been in the right place, and Mike had to know because of the whole doctor thing, but he'd wanted to keep it to himself for a little longer. Especially with how hard it'd hit Levi. He'd tried to make up for the awkwardness with affection. His stupid words had left him from the moment he'd seen his father, so he couldn't really convey everything he wanted to tell Levi properly. After he'd returned, he'd tried speaking a few times. When he was alone in his room, but hated the squeak in his voice. He sounded stupid, and the words felt weird. Then realising that Levi wasn't being completely honest about the pup and his feelings towards it, he felt so fucking angry. An anger that halted his words again. He felt like Levi should have known better to think he'd just let himself get pregnant to another alpha. If that had been the case, he would have found some way to take care of it... he didn't want to be carrying anyone else's child. And the sense of pride and the thrill of it being Levi's, had been crushed to dust by his alpha's constantly foul mood. By the time it came time to head to Hanji's, he was exhausted. His courage waning, and his anxieties flaring. He'd never appreciated all the unwanted emotions and thoughts his omega had forced him to endure, yet the loss of its solid presence had shattered something inside of him. Without its voice, he felt lost inside his own body, only really feeling connected when having sex with Levi. He couldn't make fun of Marco anymore, not when his own sex drive was out of control. All Levi had to do was breathe, and his dick sprung up. Slick all but gushed from him each time his boyfriend was close, and more than once he'd taken "matters" into his own hands, in a desperate bid not to seem too needy. It was struggle. Living in a community that had used and abused omega's had driven home his awkwardness around sex. He craved the touch of Levi, while feeling dirty. Like he shouldn't want it, or accept what the changes he was going through so easily. The pads he was forced to wear almost all the time barely lasted an hour or so before being soaked, and he felt guilty over Levi having to replace everything he was using. He loved him. Even after he'd hurt him so deeply. But it was all a bit too much and he hoped that Hanji would be able to act like a wall between them, at least for one night. Asleep on his feet, he'd dozed off while Levi drove. His alpha had helped him dress, because he had no idea what to wear anymore. Something as simple as going to Hanji's shouldn't have sent him spiralling like it had. Waking to find Levi staring down at him, he'd completely slept through his boyfriend pulling up in Hanji's drive way "You should have woken me" Wincing at the pain in his throat, Levi reached out and wiped the drool from the corner of his mouth "We only just arrived" Eren was pretty sure they hadn't only just arrived. His seatbelt was already undone, and Levi's jacket was covering his torso "Liar" "5 minutes, is close enough. Erwin's already here" Ugh. He was tired of Erwin living with them "Don't give me that look. You told me to send him to Hanji's, it wasn't my fault he came back" "Can't you just go back to work already?" Helping him down from the Range Rover, Levi wrapped his arm around his waist "Trying to get rid of me already?" Eren coughed. Fuck. He was sick of this. His father had poked around at his throat, before deciding his muteness was psychological and teaching him the basics of signing. Now he was wondering if the man hadn't done something "Eren?" "It's ok. Just tender. And no. But I'm back. I just want things to go back to normal" "I don't think there's such a thing as normal. Not when you're around" "I'm serious" Pausing, Levi sighed "Is that something you want? Me returning to work?" "I... I think you need it" "I need it" "You do everything for me. I want you to have something for yourself" "I'll think about it" That was something. He hoped Levi actually would. His boyfriend couldn't chase after him forever, and it wasn't fair to keep him home all the time. Once the pup came, then they'd be both busy taking care of them. He hadn't confided his fears over it being an omega. Levi might accept his dynamic, but Eren didn't want to condemn his child to a life of fighting for existence "Are you ok? We don't have to go in..." "'m ok. Just... a little anxious" "You don't have to tell Hanji more than you're comfortable to. And if you don't want to tell her you're pregnant, that's ok to" "I'm nervous" "You'll be ok. I'm here, and if you want to go home, all you have to do is say" As nice as it was, Eren really wished Levi would stop saying things like that. It made him feel weak. He was done with feeling weak. He wanted to be strong. Strong for Levi and their pup. Forcing a smile, he nodded "I know. Let's head in" "Eren!" Screaming his name, Eren couldn't help but retreat as Hanji launched herself at him "My sweetheart! I've missed you! I can't believe I had to wait this long to see you. Let me look at you!" Stepping between them, Levi ended up the one caught in Hanji's hug "Back off, Shitty Glasses. You're scaring him" "Sorry. Sorry. I'm just so happy to see you" Shoving Hanji off, Levi shook his head "He missed you too. Now, are you going to let us inside? Or do we have to spend the whole evening out here?" "Come in, come in. God. I'm so happy you're back" "T-thanks" Yeah. Talking had to stop. It hurt way too much and now Hanji was frowning at him "Ignore her. It's fine" How was he supposed to ignore the look on her face? Tugging at his jacket, he felt the need to scratch or do something to relieve his bubbling anxieties "I was just..." "Eren is perfectly fine. He's been checked over by Mike, and his own doctor. And he's had a chat with Krista" Hanji threw her hands up in surrender "Message received. Anyway, we should get back to Erwin and Anna. She's got him wrapped around her little finger" "Good. You can keep him. He refuses to move out. The arsehole owes me a new sofa" Cackling, Hanji finally moved out the way, leaving Eren to close the door behind them. Trailing after Levi, his eyes widened at how big Anna had become in his absence. The little girl was beautiful "Yep. Just about four months old now" Fuck. It was July already. With everything that happened, it was hard to believe it was nearly four months. Yet, at the same time, if someone had told him he'd been gone for the last 10 years, he wouldn't have been surprised. Retrieving Anna from Erwin, Eren soon found himself with his arms full of the baby girl "Anna, this is uncle Eren" Deciding not to talk and risk scaring her, Eren smiled down at the girl "I need photos! Make yourselves at home. Levi, do you want a beer? How about you, Eren?" "I know what you're like. We'll stick to water" Hanji poked her tongue out "Spoil sport. This is a party. One won't hurt" Eren looked to Levi in desperation "You can't get my omega drunk" "Aw. Eren's great fun to drink with" "I know, and maybe some other time. But for now, water will be fine" Carrying Anna over to the dining table, Eren held her close. He was in complete and total awe over how much she'd grown, and how much she looked like Hanji. A mini-Hanji... god. One Hanji was bad enough "Soooo. What's it like being back? Is Levi still being a grumpy arse?" Busying herself with getting two bottles of water out, Eren was relieved to see she wasn't cooking. With no scents of food in the house, he hoped that meant they were ordering in. He could at least use dodgy food to cover up smell nausea "I'm not grumpy. And things have been going alright" Eren nodded, Erwin sighing "I guess these two idiots forgot to tell you Eren can't talk at the moment" "I noticed the wince when Eren was speaking before. What's up, honey? Is your throat sore? I can take a look for you" "Hanji, drop it" "But if he's in pain, he should get it looked at. He sounded squeaky" Fuck. He wanted to scratch... or scream. Screaming would have helped... and helped make him look even more like a basket case "Hanji, it's fine. Eren lost his voice for a bit, and is getting used to talking again" "Oh. Did something happen... No. Never mind. We'll make do" So two and two clicked for Hanji, while Eren's stomach dropped. He didn't want to be treated differently. Placing the bottle of water beside him, Hanji dropped a kiss on Anna's head, who immediately reached for her mother. Lifting Anna from him, Eren was at a loss for what to do with himself "Actually, Eren can sign" Couldn't Erwin shut up?! A distressed whine fell from his lips before he could stop it "Alright. The next person who picks on my omega is getting hit. Leave him alone" "Really! That's so cool" Well, after 8 weeks or so of his father's forced lessons, he should be able to at least remember the letters. He'd even met an omega who'd helped him a little. He hoped she was alright, wherever she'd ended up "I had no idea you could sign. You're just full of surprises" Yeah. She had no idea because he couldn't fucking sign when he'd left. This whole dinner thing felt like a terrible idea. Rising from his seat, he walked towards the glass doors that lead to the side of the house "Eren?" "Need air" Signing at Hanji, Hanji looked to Levi "He's fine. He just needs a moment" He'd been under no delusions that he could just return to his old life. Not being pregnant and not having gone missing again. And though he knew Hanji didn't mean anything bad at all by the things she said, he still felt like he needed a moment to himself. Sitting on the back steps, he wasn't surprised when Levi trailed after him "Are you ok?" Outside, it was too dark to really sign "Y-yeah. I know she means well" "She does. She's been hounding me to come visit you. She was really worried for you" "I don't need the guilt" "I. Sorry. I don't know what to say" "It's ok. I knew coming back wouldn't be easy, but there's so much I'm not ready to talk about" Shit. He'd just scolded himself for being weak, and now he was tearing up again. Slinging his arm over his shoulder, Levi pulled him into a hug "I know. You don't have to talk and you don't have to sign. I'll have a word with Erwin, but I wanted to see how you were doing first" "I don't think I can tell her" There was half a moments silence "You don't have to. Like I said, we can tell her when you're ready. Just use tonight to get used to her crazy all over again" "I fucking hate this" "What?" "My voice. Feeling like I'm back at the start all over again. My voice" "I like your voice. You probably haven't noticed but you've gotten better" "Really?" "Yeah. You were much more raspy before" "It still feels weird" "It's fine. Hanji's just in mum mode" Eren nodded, Levi kissing his temple "Let me know when you're ready to head back in" "Should go before Erwin opens his mouth again" "That's a fair point. I've already told him not to talk about the pregnancy. Not until you're ready. But I don't know if he'll take that to mean with people like Eld and Gunther, instead of Hanji" Eren groaned, why did all these big mouthed people have to be the ones to spread his news? It wasn't fucking fair "I really want to be the one to tell people when I'm ready. I'm sick of it" "I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't going to tell Erwin, then he noticed your stomach" "I know he's been there for you, but I can't take much more. I can't even be mad because he doesn't mean to be a dick" Coughing, he wrinkled his nose at the feeling "Yeah. I think there's a fair bit I need to talk to him about" "Levi, don't kick him out... just because of me" "I'm not. He needs to start moving on with his own life too. And he's not going to do that on our sofa" Kissing his temple again, Levi rubbed his arm and gave him a quick squeeze, which for some reason his body decided he needed to slick over "Let's head back inside. It's colder out here than I thought it'd be" "Mmm..." Lead back inside, they interrupted whatever conversation Erwin was having with Hanji. Eren felt guilty for interrupting them, and then paranoid when they both looked to him at the same time. Levi squeezed his hand firmly "It's ok. Why don't you go sit down, in the living room? I'll join you in a minute" Even if this "chat" was necessary, he didn't like knowing it was about him "Is everything ok?" "Yeah. He'll be ok. Erwin, can I talk to you?" Ignoring the look on Erwin's face, Eren tried not to trip over his own feet as he wandered over to the lounge room. Sinking down on the sofa, he drew himself into a ball, resisting the urge to place his hand on his stomach. He didn't want Levi fighting with Erwin, or with Hanji. He especially didn't want to fight with Hanji. Joining him, it was like the woman could see right through him "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or anxious" Looking to him, Eren wanted to reply, but was too self conscious about his voice. Pulling out his phone, he opened a new message. Typing to her would have to do "I know. My anxiety isn't good" Showing her the message, Hanji nodded "I really didn't mean to. I'm just so relieved your back. After you went missing, we were moved to a safe house for the first month. Levi wasn't coping and Erwin had to step in" Erasing his message, he typed another "Yeah. I heard. He needs time" He hadn't heard about the safe house, not that he remembered "And I guess Erwin crashing on your sofa isn't helping?" "Not really" Hanji nodded at his message "Levi's not going to be too blunt is he?" "No. He said they needed to talk. I told Levi he should go back to work too. I don't want to be treated differently" "I can understand that, but you were gone for two an a half months, after a death threat was made against you. We don't know what's safe to say and what's not" "Then just talk about what I missed? Not about me" "I don't know what to say. Levi fell apart. He quit his job, and spent all his time searching for you. To the point he could barely function. He started drinking more and more, and every time we tried to talk to him, he'd shut down" It wasn't his fault he ended up taken again. He'd expected to die. Not for Bertholdt and his father to show up... nor did he expect that he'd ever have to kill another person, or be involved in their death. But here he was. And gone was Bertholdt "I didn't ask for this" "I know. It was just a horrible situation" "Then why do we have to talk about it?" "Because talking helps" "Not when you're not ready" Hanji sighed, Anna was curled into her as if she was already sleeping "I suppose you're right. You haven't missed much here. Moblit's grandmother tried to take my chance at having another child away" Eren raised an eyebrow. He didn't like the woman, but he didn't think she'd do that... and he wasn't sure he understood "Sorry. What?" "Moblit and I had been considering going down the IVF path. He had sperm frozen, which came out at the reading of his will. I didn't even know he had one. He expressed his desire that I use his sorry if I wanted to have another child, should something happen to him. His mother didn't like it at all. She called it disrespectful" Eren let out a sign of his own, echoing Hanji's "That's rude. Moblit wanted a family with you" "Thanks, Eren. I was really angry with her at first, but I guess I can see where she's coming from now" "I can't" "That's because you don't have children. You'd do absolutely anything to protect your child. She didn't want me possibly tarnishing Moblit's name, or relying on them for money" "Moblit wanted this. This is his choice. He wouldn't have wanted kids with you, or for you to have more children if he didn't believe in you and that you'd be a good mum" Hanji smiled sadly "At the moment, they're still in storage. But like I said. You haven't been pregnant, nor or you a mother" What the fuck did that have to do with anything? Maybe he was stupid for not getting it, but wasn't it Moblit's and Hanji's choices? They'd dreamed of having a family. Moblit absolutely adored Hanji, and Anna was so adorable. It was clear that Moblit was the love of Hanji's life. The only ok thing he could pull from her reply was the fact Erwin hadn't told her his secret... and after hearing that, he wasn't telling her either. He might not have been pregnant, but he'd been there for Marco and for Hanji, as well as a dozen or so omega's at the cult. And their children. He'd unfortunately been made to sit through births. Like. Multiple births. He wasn't exactly clueless "I guess I'm stupid for thinking that love and decisions should be made by the two people in love" "Sadly, it doesn't work that way when one parent dies" Who the fuck decided that? Instead of replying to Hanji, he sent an "SOS" to Levi. Jogging into the living room, Levi visibly relaxed when he saw he was ok. Walking the rest of the way to the sofa, he dropped a kiss on Eren's hair "What did I miss?" "Eren and I were just talking about Moblit. How did things go with Erwin?" "He's moving in with you" Hanji snorted, before looking over the sofa to Erwin who was standing near the kitchen counter "You can stay if you clean" Erwin shrugged "The lovebirds need some alone time" "Can you blame them? Eren just came back" Eren was right there! They didn't need to talk like he wasn't "Levi's thinking of coming back to work though" "That's something. Have you called through for dinner yet?" "I thought you were" "Aww. No. See. This is why we couldn't live together. Neither of us would ever remember to eat" Sitting on the arm of the sofa, Levi ruffled his hair "You'd remember to eat, you're just both too stupid to organise the food part" "Well, if Eren wants a job. I wouldn't mind help around here" "I'm not leaving him with you" "More like borrowing?" "He stays with me" Hanji pouted "No fair" "Tough shit. Get Eyebrows to help. You're not taking my boyfriend away" Again. He was right there.

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harrisonchute · 6 years

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What’s Harison been Watching?!

9/8/2018 Edition

“Perfect Blue”

I haven’t encountered one of those “Perfect Blue EXPLAINED” videos on YouTube, though I did look for it, and any online writing about Perfect Blue is gonna be marred by very standard Satoshi Kon commentary, that he’s very influential, one of the best known in the west, he do dreams and reality. I just wanted to know what people made of this movie, what their interpretations are. I saw it for the first time Thursday night, and this is what I think: the main character’s mental breakdown caused by the existential transformation pop idol to actress, the Internet, and other celebrity life-inconveniences is then exacerbated by her manager’s serial killing. Rumi just wants to protect her, protecting her past self from exploitation, and because that murder violence is so similar to the exploitation, the main character sees herself in it -- she has to, in order to immerse herself in the new roles and grow as an actress. Ultimately, I feel like Perfect Blue is a more interesting film than it is a strictly entertaining one, like that one half of Serial Experiments Lain I’ve seen. Kon identifying all these different stressors facing popular public (and female) figures is fascinating. However, most of Perfect Blue is that space in movies that isn’t dialogue or action or exposition, it’s like mood-setting or suspense setup, like a Wong Kar Wai revision of The Strangers. I would not see that movie, but I’m glad I finally saw this one.

“Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt”

I was halfway through an episode of this show when I had to go see Perfect Blue. Not surprising -- I get this way with TV shows, and it’s obviously hardly uncommon for modern media consumers. Every now and again I’ll find a show that disrupts my life, and it’s all I can think about. I was grateful for short shows earlier this year that I loved, like Fleabag and one anime show whose name I can’t remember, swearsies. And yet, I was even more grateful that Kimmy Schmidt is like four seasons -- though it’s ONLY gonna be four seasons. Regardless, it’s really surprising, and it’s especially interesting in the context of other women-led womeny shows of its day.

Upon the infamous episode where Titus is criticized for doing yellowface, I’m watching the Internet outragists shout things like “I don’t want to know the context of anything!” and was left with the startling yet embarrassing conclusion: “My God, Tina Fey is soooo white.” Like, this is what gets to her? Embarrassing because I feel like that sentiment’s been on the Internet wall for ages, with every “Tina Fey did a bad thing” headline I’ve witnessed and ignored over the years. “White people” in media usually just means this is a person whose instincts were manufactured by a system demarcated by stratification: exclusive and hostile. Revising those instincts requires some listening skills, so I was put off by the backlash to the backlash here than anything anyone was lashing against initially.

I feel like Kimmy Schmidt is the absurd comedy version of Cloud Atlas, and the word “absurd” is really the key. So much of racial representation is reliant on “realism,” it seems, threading that needle where a world needs to convincingly contain the token black friend or whoever, and “realism” comes right down to tone. I get a little put-off by absurd comedies, like the short-lived Ghosted, much as I enjoyed it, and I think that comes from my time with Futurama: as that show went on, I started to appreciate the characters more than the jokes -- always a mistake. With that one, the integrity of strict character continuity was often sacrificed for the sake of a joke. Like, Leela is not that insensitive, but she has to be kind of a blowhard in this scene for the punchline to work. Sometimes, Kimmy seems to suddenly know more about the world than I’d expect, but they make it work, because who knows where she picks up these things? The comedy/drama balance isn’t as embedded into the show’s core like You’re the Worst or the above-mentioned Fleabag; it’s got its own logic, like magical realism with abandon, more Arrested Development than Jane the Virgin.

This logic allows -- to me -- navigation through a lot of the show’s spiky territory. For example, it’s hugely problematic that Lillian shot her black husband, because he was a black man in her house at night, but it didn’t bother me (last week). The subject of criticism in the first season leading to the outrage response in the second, Jane Krakowski’s American Indian heritage, didn’t bother me because under the surface there’s that blackened but beating white people heart of “the joke is that I’m soooo white.” Lines like, “The litter in New York makes me cry” got a genuine laugh out of me, and it felt like the best possible version of “Pardon my whiteness, I’m writing a Native American caricature.” I know we’ve had 17 seasons of Modern Family for that kind of humor, but here, it didn’t bother me.

Didn’t bother me. Love that line from minorities. That means it didn’t bother anyone, right? Of course, I’m neither a black man or American Indian, so what about the Dong story line? Issues facing Asian-American men are very different from most social issues, because they all hinge on his penis and where it goes. Satiating AsAm men’s desire to be represented by anybody but Ken Jeong is a one-step process, which is why my desire no longer exists (because Crazy Ex-Girlfriend does, and Selfie before it). So it was a pleasant surprise that Dong became an actual love interest, but it didn’t change my world, and a love story is not handled with the same gravity as shows with different logic -- are we meant to take any of this seriously? Is Kimmy meant to grow as a character? Is anyone? Jane Krakoswki does, but does it matter? My brain is different watching this show, where true pathos comes from moments reached upon layers of irony and cynicism and an almost exhausting one-person race to stay ahead of the cultural conversation. For example, Titus’s romance in the two and a half seasons I’ve seen has been touching, but because it involves Titus, it’s expressed with a much more interesting vocabulary than other gay romances I’ve seen. (Though it’s probably relatively traditional and I still just think Brokeback Mountain is the raddest shit ever).

The difference between the American Indian and Dong plot lines is that I theoretically got a strand of representation out of the Asian-American element in the show, where I doubt an American Indian did from Krakowski’s plot line (though you never know until you ask). But I wasn’t asking for representation (this time), and no one else was asking to be alienated by stereotypes. So I can understand the frustration on both sides -- sometimes, it doesn’t matter how steeped in irony racism is. And as someone who’s created things for an audience once before, I know you can’t please everyone, and it’s the negative voices that resound the loudest, because they’re only echoing what’s already in one’s heart as a fragile left-brain writer variety.

My ability to excuse or at least compartmentalize the problematic in Kimmy Schmidt seems to be part of a concerted effort to appreciate a sitcom’s unique sheen. I like that a show doesn’t need to say important things to be important, that one can draw meaning from near-total meaninglessness. The joys I’ve had watching this show have mostly come from Ellie Kemper’s facial expressions and halting, intense deliveries, and I think we only get those with all the other ingredients -- contrarian satire which sometimes crosses that line from centrism to taking a side, like wow you’re so too cool for school you... went to school.

Crazy Ex-Girlfriend is the show I’m most familiar with in this burgeoning televisual fempire, and the creators of that one are constantly listening to fan feedback, almost to a fault. They seem determined to get everything right, understanding that any one individual, no matter how much a quadruple or quintuple-threat, represents the outlook of an individual, and so they’ve built a dimensional writers room and the show reflects that with its characters and their stories. But they did all that because their show is specifically about inclusion -- off the show’s title, this is the journey of a woman from rejected by society to creating her own. Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt has less of a clear thesis, and its moral lessons often feel networky and only there for some kind of conscience quota. But unlike CXG, it exists in the here and now, with dated references to The Jinx, to Marcia Clark and Chris Darden pre-American Crime Story, and now hugely insensitive jokes about shooting black men in that specific circumstance. The morality feels like a work-in-progress during an era in American society where the conversation changes every day, like the ever-shifting substance of crackling television noise.

Before CXG, I used to think it was some herculean task to listen to feedback. And on occasion, I’ll hear a video game player talk at length about how “the studio listened to its fans!” and cringe, because I know how those fans speak, at what decibel, and with what, frankly, terribly foul language. Maybe the Internet outrage episode in Kimmy Schmidt wouldn’t have stung as much had I not seen it in the context of Apu on The Simpsons. Now, there’s an example of creators who don’t give a shit. I have a lot more faith in Fey and co., with an understanding that her brand of comedy is always poking and prodding. Comedy is observation, and so much of the observation under men’s watch was “other people are different.” Kimmy Schmidt is tackling that head on, with interesting results I ultimately am not interested in, because it’s too joyous and weird.

I never regularly watched 30 Rock, but now revisiting that one via YouTube clips and compounded with a new love for Kimmy Schimidt, I’m noticing just how lyrical Tina Fey (and co.)’s dialogue is. They say there’s zero improv on that set, and I understand why -- the often tongue-twisting wordplay has a perfect cadence that’s fun to listen to and must be fun to perform. Since I’m now trying to understand rhythm in writing, this is one I’m gonna study.

Spent too much time on this, dammit. Little over two hours, I think.

PS: Anna Camp had a few guest appearances and she should’ve won an Emmy for that role if she didn’t. Or, they don’t need to make Big Little Lies season 2, because that sort of upper crust mommy wars was so perfectly satirized by that arc with Jane Krakowski.

#kimmy schmidt

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