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ahwait-no-yes · 3 years

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🍬 Candy Kingdom 🍭

Casually slides and places chapter down before running away only to trip on a can of soup and collapse as miku plays ominously in the background

also apologies for how ooc they are i can’t write

-4-

Once Shuichi arrived at the plaza, he scanned the crowded area for Ouma. He never really liked places with people bustling about. It was always too loud, too many things to focus on, and just made him want to cover his ears and sit down for a bit.

Thankfully, he spotted Ouma sitting on a bench, looking a bit bored. He assumed that wasn’t a good thing. He hasn’t known Kokichi for very long, but he seemed like a person that would be up to no good if they had nothing better to do.

Shuichi walked over to him, gently tapping his shoulder. Kokichi looked over at him quickly, he wondered if he would get whiplash. “Heya Saihara chan! Took you long enough, I was waiting here for years!” Ouma dramatically complained, drawing others attention to them.

Saihara nervously laughed, assuming part of it was true. He did sleep in a bit, not having to deal with someone waking him up and tell him he has things he needs to do. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to take so long.”

Ouma waved his hand, dismissing the topic. “Uh huh. So, Saihara chan!” He chirped, suddenly standing up. “I have a super fun and amazing cool idea! So we should toootally do it!” He exclaimed, rocking back and fourth on his heels.

“Soo! I was thinking maybe you should buy me a bunch of things, then I can murder you and take your stuff!” Kokichi smiled innocently, keenly stepping forward.

“But that’s a lie, isn’t it?” Shuichi deadpanned, crossing his arms and staring back at him. Ouma’s face was blank for a second, before it turned back into his usual smug grin. “Maybe! You’re catching on quick, Saihara chan!”

Shuichi chuckled, fidgeting with a strand of his hair. “Is that a good thing?” He asked, playfully tilting his head. Kokichi pouted in response, his eyes looking glossy. “No it’s not! It’s horrible! If Saihara chan keeps trying to figure me out I’ll have to kill him!”

Saihara nervously smiled, adverting his eyes as per usual. “I’m hoping that’s a lie too,” he murmured. Kokichi laughed, wearing a familiar mischievous grin. “Probably!” Was all he said before skipping off, leaving Saihara to catch up with him.

—

While Ouma was aimlessly walking around, (it seemed like he was at least, Saihara noted,) they ended up running into someone else.

Or, Ouma antagonizing one of his friends. Hopefully one of his friends.

“Hey, tit for brains! Come here!” Kokichi yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth. Multiple people turned to look at them, a few covering their mouths in shock. Shuichi couldn’t do much other then look down and hope they would stop.

A girl (who looked to be about their age,) walked up to them, a scowl on her face. “What the hell do you want Kokichi?” She asked, a hand on her hip. Ouma grinned and bought a finger to his lips before replying, “Well, I just wanted to give you the honor of seeing me!

Shuichi excepted a very, very bad reaction to that statement, but she just laughed and gently shoved Kokichi. “C'mon, the gorgeous Miu Iruma knows that’s a lie!” She exclaimed, placing a hand on her chest.

Iruma stared at Saihara, looking him up and down. “Who’s the twink?” She asked, turning to Ouma. The other boy scoffed, scowling at her. “Wow, already giving my iconic nickname to some rando? Im truly and deeply offended!” He replied dramatically, tears brimming his eyes.

“But that was just a lie. Even a cum dumpster like you could understand!” He exclaimed, a sly grin on his face. Miu flushed, shrinking away. “C-cum dumpster?” She murmured.

Ouma is weird. His friends are too. Is this how most people act? I really hope not.

“But! This is my new slave, Saihara chan! Say hi Saihara chan!” He said in a soothing voice, as if he was talking to a kid. Which, Saihara did not appreciate. His parents did that enough.

He still muttered a quiet hi, anyways.

“Aaanyways!! Are you just eating all alone in a cafe? How sad! I think you should totally pay for us and buy us some food!” Kokichi exclaimed, smiling innocently. “Hell no! If you want food buy some yourself!” She yelled, a scowl on her face.

“Plus, I have more important things to do than-” She was cut off by another girl, (how many people did Ouma know??) gently tapping Miu’s shoulder. “Is everything alright? I heard you yelling,” She commented, looking at the two boys.

Iruma flushed, looking a bit nervous. “Everything’s fine!” She murmured, fidgeting with a strand of her hair. Kokichi’s grinned, staring at her. Miu stared back, slightly glaring.

“Oooo! Miu’s on a-!” “Shut up! You- little twink!” She quickly yelled over him, stammering for an answer. Ouma laughed, slightly leaning against Saihara for support.

“You always talk shit about how no one’s worthy of dating you a-” “SHUT UP!” She practically screamed, her face a brilliant red. People kept turning to see what the commotion was, which kept making Saihara nervously shift in place.

The girl behind Iruma (which he still didn’t know,) spoke up, a slightly nervous smile on her face. “So, I’m assuming you know these boys Iruma?” She asked, practically glowing.

“W-well, I know the purple little sh- gremlin, that’s Kokichi,” she murmured, twirling her hair. “And this is Saihara chan!” He chirped, showing off the other boy like a trophy. “He’s like, totally deaf, so that’s why he’s so quiet!”

“No I’m not,” He deadpanned, slightly sighing. Kokichi just giggled, gently nudging him forward. “Well it’s nice to meet you Saihara kun! I’m Akamatsu!” She smiled, trying to distract Miu and Ouma from fighting.

“It’s nice to meet you too Akamatsu san,” He murmured, looking to the side. She just smiled, not seeming to mind the lack of eye contact. “So!” She exclaimed, clapping her hands together, causing Kokichi and Iruma to temporarily stop glaring at each other.

“Since we’re all here, why don’t we do something together?” She asked. Ouma smiled innocently, “Yeah, we should! Riiight I-ru-ma channn?” He teased, his smile turning into a mischievous grin.

Miu just muttered something along the lines of, “Whatever,” and crossed her arms. “Since Iruma san and I just got here, we can all eat in the cafe. Sound good?”

No one objected, so she smiled and went into the cafe. Once they were crammed into a small booth, the whole situation finally hit Shuichi.

This whole thing wouldn’t be a problem if he knew how to talk to people without getting nervous. If that was the case, everything would be fine. Perfect even. Except, he didn’t. He had mostly been isolated most of his life, and kept to himself.

So this was a major problem.

Before Saihara could have a meltdown in public where a bunch of people could see him, Kokichi spoke up. “Sooo, are you guys friends or?~” He asked, a sly grin on his face.

“Yeah, we’re friends! We met a few weeks ago when she spilled her drink on me,” She replied, quietly giggling. “It’s probably because she was-” Ouma was cut off by Miu again, “No I wasn’t you twink! Shut up!”

Kaede gently pat Iruma’s shoulder, effectively shutting her up. “So, do you guys have any funny stories?” She asked, tilting her head. “I’m so glad you asked Akamatsu chan!” Ouma exclaimed, slamming his hands on the table in excitement, causing Saihara to flinch.

“Well, I remember once my organization and I were throwing some water balloons at some random kingdom nearby, and we ended up getting chased around for a bit! It was suuuuper fun!” He chirped, smiling.

Shuichi froze up for a second, staring wide eyed at Kokichi. He remembered overhearing that conversation when he was around seven, talking about kids in clown masks and checkered scarves.

“Why did you even-” Saihara murmured, staring at him. “Oh, you know,” Ouma very helpfully replied, a playful grin on his face. Shuichi quietly laughed, covering his mouth. “I’ll never get how you’re able to do things like that, I can’t even maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.”

“All it takes is some practice and a fake personality!” He sing songed, gently nudging him. Shuichi continued laughing, still trying to muffle it. Miu and Kaede eventually joined in, everyone smiling.

Maybe he could stay a little longer. He still has a lot he wants to know about everyone else.

—

wwww this doesn’t feel too good but,,, needed to get done,, -DA

3 | 4 | 5

Read it on AO3!

#Candy Kingdom #dream anon #saiouma #oumasai #ouma kokichi #saihara shuuichi #shuuichi saihara #kokichi #ouma #saihara #shuuichi #shuichi #danganronpa #ndrv3 #dr #v3 #danganornpa v3 #submission

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midwestmess94 · 3 years

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Queer Mental Health: A June Discussion

It is Day 2 of PRIDE month. Major corporations have already changed their logos to the rainbow flag, the circuit gays are out on the beaches in their speedos, posting thirst traps on Instagram, the Ru Girls are teasing their wigs and stoning their body suits for the plethora of gigs they have coming up, PRIDE celebration planning is underway if the event has not already happened. It is the gayest time of the year.

I feel that, while we are drinking our vodka sprites with a splash of cran (and PBR ((yes, I am a gay who drinks cheap beer. Who gonna check me boo?))), we need to talk about queer mental health.

I feel that this is a topic we shyly talk about. After years of being viewed as outcasts and weirdos, I feel that we sometimes get scared to talk about the thoughts in our head. We’ve been told being ourselves was such a problem that the stigmatism behind mental health bogs us down. We don’t really talk about going to see therapists, or crying for reasons we don’t understand, or the on-going battle of what our bodies look like.

Every morning I wake up at 2am to go to work. I work until 12:30 p.m. Then, I come home and sit on my couch and just aimlessly watch Netflix until I have to repeat the process. I do that Friday-Tuesday. On Wednesdays and Thursdays, I just sit around my house and watch more tv.

I love my job. I’ve had amazing opportunities in my career and I’m thankful for the great people I’ve met, who’ve helped me. I’ve truly grown from those experiences.

I hate leaving work. It’s the most socialization that I get outside of my house. I sit and battle my anxiety and depression at home by myself. Because of my weird schedule, I don’t get to see people much. My friends try to come out but they work normal hours so they can’t really do anything on my days off. On Wednesdays, I go to the local gay bar and play bingo by myself. It’s quite sad but I made friends with the bartender, who has had to save me from a couple rough days.

---- PRO TIP: Never have your bartender drive you home. You then will live with a bunch of regret of making a pseudo-stranger see you in your worst----

Everyday, I wake up before dawn and get in the shower. My first thought when I wake up is “what will I fuck up today?” Then, I think about what I have to do for the day. Through that, I debate going to the gym after work and I usually let my inner saboteur win the argument. I always convince myself: what is the point? I never have the motivation to stick with it. It would just be a waste of time and all I want to do is lay on the couch. At some point in the day, my anxiety kicks in. It is usually around the time I check my bank account. This is where my anxiety convinces me that I am a fuck up. Then, I look up the number to my therapist because I feel like that might help. Well, my anxiety, who I’ve named Chad, tells me that it won’t help because it never does. I just feel like I want to escape my anxiety and that it will go away. Unfortunately, it never does. You can’t escape your brain and your feelings. Then, I realize I’m spiraling. I think about texting my friends about my issues but I haven’t known them that long since I’ve known them for under a year. I can’t really talk to them about my issues because it’s also robbing them of their time. It’s not fair to constantly seek help when you are probably just dealing with the same repetitive shit. I get afraid that I’ll just scare them away because of the issues I’ve dealt with since I was 16. My anxiety drives me to feel like I’m just a thorn in everyone’s side. It’s bad to the point that I repetitively apologize to everyone for basically existing. There are days where I just lay in bed and scroll through social media, wishing I was someone else because I let myself believe I can’t change to be the person I want to be. I look in the mirror and really hate the social decisions I’ve been making in the last year. I’ve been getting super anxious about the things I’ve said to people when I’m drunk. I get anxious about DMing people I’ve met because I think they’ll think I have feelings for them when in reality I just want to be sociable. My depression comes in waves on top of this. I constantly think about how I’ve made awful financial decisions in my early 20s and now I’m paying for it in my late 20s. I’m living with family at the age of 27 and I didn’t plan on that for myself. I see what people are doing on social media. I know people never post their worst but it makes me feel like I’m doing my absolute worst. It’s not fair of me to do that to myself but also I’d like to formally introduce everyone to Chad, my anxiety and Darryl, my depression.

I then think that my friends, the very few I have in Florida, think that I’m just too much and only deal with me because we end up in the same social situations. Want to know why? Because I’m everything that would annoy me as a person. I wish I wasn’t but I am. I know it is that whole conversation of working on yourself but this is happening to me right now. Not the end goal of working on yourself. Stop fucking telling people they need to work on themselves. Someone going through something probably knows that but this is happening in the now. Dismissing their shit and saying it’ll be better down the road is the fucking worst thing ever.

Then, I’m gay on top of all of this. Being gay is great but unconventionally hard. People want to tokenize you. They want to put you in a box and say you should be this and not that. I have gotten, specifically from my fraternity brothers in college, “you are cool but just like tone it down dude.” The first time I heard that was in reference to me posting a picture kissing a boy’s cheek on Instagram. Some of my fraternity brothers didn’t think it would look good for the chapter’s image. But, they publicly cheat on their girlfriends and do whatever they want. Oh, lets talk about how they’d ask me to wing man them with my girlfriends so they could get laid. Or, my favorite, is when women say I should act a certain way. My close girlfriends are not like this. One of them says “yes queen” but that’s about it. She has never tokenized me and she’s let me be whatever version of myself I am that day. But straight women love to say we should love shopping. If we’re femme presenting or there is an ounce of feminity in our presence, then we get asked if we like mani-pedis or assume we have style. Not all of us do. I don’t even identify with a feminine or masculine identity. I didn’t know I needed a label to be myself.

Then there are the boxes gay guys put other gays in. First thing is first, if you are slightly overweight, not fit and not stylish... You can go fuck yourself. Gay dating is like having a Ruth Chris budget but you can only afford the McDonald’s $3 McDouble Meal. Every gay man, thanks to porn and the American media’s take on what gay men look like, thinks they need to date the hottest guy in the room. The minute that they realize that guy will never go for them, well that is cataclysmic. You may call that once in a blue moon but I call that a Saturday night at a gay bar.

Then, there is the judgment in how you dress, who you hang out with, what you do and what you drink (I am the only person at my local gay bar that drinks PBR and the amount of comments about calories and bloating I’ve received is way too much). It’s rough.

I know this was a long journey and most of you probably didn’t read all of this but I wrote this to get things off my mind. This is what I deal with every day of the year. I never know what my mood of the day will be when I wake up. Will I win my battle against my anxiety and depression or will I lose it and let it run everything? I feel no matter what we look like, what do we do or who we hang out with, this is something every queer person deals with. I think we need to have more of an open conversation about it amongst ourselves. I think there is some comfort there. We all present and hold face in different ways. If you ever saw me in person, you could tell how I am doing by how I present myself. I never really hide anything. It’s dumb. Just be yourself.

I know I wrote this for me but I hope it starts a conversation amongst the queer community. I hope it helps someone reach out to seek help or I hope you just related. Anyways, thats it.

#pride #pride flag #mental breakdown #mental health #gay #queer #lgbtqia #queer mental health #please discuss #pride month #stonewall

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katyatalks · 5 years

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MP100 OVA Drama CD Track 6 - Episode 5: Reigen’s Will - English Translation

The MP100 OVA Drama CD, titled “The first spirits and such company trip; The other side of a journey that mends the heart and heals the soul and such” comes with the blu-ray/DVD, and is officially described as a compilation of 1) conversations from the day before the OVA itself & 2) exchanges that aren’t depicted in the OVA. More info here!

Here’s the translation of the sixth track, “Episode 5: Reigen’s Will”!

Characters: Reigen, Serizawa

You can listen to this track from the masterlist!

REIGEN [As Narrator]

This fifth story takes place within the looping train, when I’d resigned myself to the fact that I was going to die.

[BGM: train moving]

[SFX: scratching into floor with screwdriver]

REIGEN

“Reigen… Arataka… was here.” Damn it, my vision’s going… as if Serizawa’s screwdriver would turn out handy after all, for something like this...

[SFX: dropping screwdriver, pained inhale]

That Serizawa… where did he go? It’s been a week since he vanished.

[SFX: a few pained deep breaths, flipping of page]

“Trip Guidebook”, huh… when I was making this, I really didn’t think this kind of situation would happen, did I…

[SFX: flipping of pages, pained exhale]

“Fun memos”... I need to tell my mother and those guys what they should do after I die… my final job.

[SFX: Pen click; pained exhale, begins writing]

“Father, mother,

I’m so sorry that it’s come to this. Honestly, I didn’t think this would ever happen, so I apologise. If I think about it, after I left my job, I was nothing but a nuisance and a worry to you both, and I’m sorry that I couldn’t give you the love and respect required of me.

However, through the office I work at now, I’ve obtained many things. Above all, I was blessed when it comes to my employees. At the office I run, I have an employee named Kageyama Shigeo - I want to give ownership of the business to him. The formalities of that will take time and labour, but I’ll leave that in your hands…

Mob, I’m a nuisance to you as well now like this, aren’t I? But. Even without me, I want you, together with Serizawa, Ritsu and Hanazawa, to continue to make the office greater…

If all of you work together, then even without me, surely, you’ll be able to manage fine.

Do your best, and make S&S the greatest consultation office in the world for me.

If it’s you guys, you can definitely do-”

[SFX: pen drop, Reigen collapses, voice as if about to cry]

[BGM: creepy piano that gets louder and louder as he continues]

Damn it… seriously, damn it! Why am I the only one suffering…? Even when I was in primary school, playing games with everyone, whenever it’d be my turn I’d get skipped over… I’d never recover from my colds… when it comes down to it, I just stood out as someone buggy…

What was it called, that game...

That’s right… “Ninja Khaiden”[1]. How nostalgic…

I frantically memorised that spell, that’d let you start the game off in the strongest position possible... [2] I can recite it even now.

Na-n-ta-ko-ro, ko-cchi-to-ru.

Eh….huh? What was it?

Na-n-ta-ko-ro, ko-cchi-to-ro...no-ro-ma-n...

Eh… wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. That’s not it.

Na-n-ta-ko-ro, ko-cchi-ko-ro?

What? Seriously, what was it... I was always able to recall it.

I definitely have it down as far as “tsu-ku-ki-na”...

Damn it, seriously, what was it?

Just a little more...

Uh, If I remember correctly… Um...

Ah, seriously!? What was it!?

To be in the strongest position poss-!

[SFX: Train door opening]

SERIZAWA

Ah, amazing! The landlady made onigiri with some bodai butterfish rice-

REIGEN

Serizawa-san! Where the hell did you go? I was looking for you!

REIGEN [as Narrator]

And like that, somehow or another… I survived. I’ll likely not forget the taste of that onigiri for as long as I live. And even now… I can’t remember that spell.

And here’s the subbed audio! Thank you @mobu-time!

youtube

TN: Goodness this was hard to translate. It’s SO difficult to understand what he’s saying because his speech is very slurred from… y’know, dying. I’m a bit iffy on the “tsu-ku-ki-na” bit but the rest is fine, I BELIEVE, because I ended up spending hours on this one translation mxcvn.

[1] This is a play on the Japanese title of Ninja Gaiden (a famicom/NES game) which is ‘ninjaryuukenden’ (lit. Ninja dragon sword story). Clearly in the Mob universe it’s called ‘ninjaryuumaden’ instead (Ninja dragon magic story). I don’t have enough brains to translate such a thing, pls take “Ninja Khaiden” instead mncvbcbcnvb

[2] Spell, as in, a video game cheatcode

Track 1 (Intro) is here!

Track 2 (Episode 1: Serizawa’s Preparation) is here!

Track 3 (Episode 2: Going Shopping) is here!

Track 4 (Episode 3: Onsen) is here!

Track 5 (Episode 4: Dimple & The Local Spirit) is here!

Track 7 (Episode 6: Ritsu Can’t Sleep) is here!

Track 8 (Episode 7: Breakfast) is here!

Track 9 (Outro) is here!

#mp100 #reigen arataka #serizawa katsuya #mp100 ova #mp100 ova drama cd #ova drama cd #my stuff

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monstersandmaw · 4 years

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Male vampire (Ruben) x trans male reader (sfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

Because approximately 3 people expressed interest in seeing this 4.4k story extract, here it is. It’s been up on my Patreon since June 2018, so I think it’s ok to post here now...

As I said in the answer to the ask that prompted this, it’s a bit AU ish because it assumes that his partner doesn’t know what happened to him with the hunters, which was discussed in his story with Ash, and its a reader insert. Ash is a trans guy in Ruben’s two part story, but the reader here is almost completely gender neutral, with one reference to being ‘male’ (trans or otherwise) mentioned: “You are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. Thank you.” and one passing reference to ‘T shots’…

It’s fluffy, with a bit of angst, lots of tender feels, and features some violence/attack (not to the reader), blood drinking and, because it’s Ruben, a bit of vomiting…*shrugs, it is what it is*.

Ruben shifted his weight, pulling you close to him and humming contentedly. It was early for you, around five in the morning. It was a real pain having a boyfriend who couldn’t go out in the daylight and who got weaker and weaker the longer he stayed up past dawn.

But he was worth it.

“Morning,” you croaked, grinding your hips playfully back against him where he lay curled around you, one arm draped over your waist.

He answered by kissing your neck, just below your ear, inhaling deeply as he did so. Something seemed to thrum through him a second later, like the wind in the rigging of a ship, and his whole body went taut.

“Ruben?” you asked, coming awake with a jolt as his hands tightened on your hips.

He wasn’t breathing.

You turned over in his arms and saw that he had rammed his eyes shut and his jaw was clenched. “Stop moving. Please,” he hissed through his teeth as you reached for his face, hard and sharp enough to have been carved from stone. “Lie still.”

You froze.

“Shit,” he hissed, and suddenly he had dissolved into dark, swirling mist, and left the room.

The bed was cold where he’d been lying. With no heartbeat, his body was always cold, but now it drove home to you just how inhuman Ruben really was. He’d been good about controlling his bloodlust around you, but Aubrey had warned him just the previous evening that since he was now in a relationship, he needed to feed much more regularly. He still hadn’t got the hang of that, and so his bloodlust was unpredictable.

You sighed and sat up, running a hand through your tangled hair. Residual tiredness clung to your body like the shadows in the corners of the room, but your brain was awake.

Ten minutes or so later, you slipped on a pair of jeans and yanked a hoody over your pyjama t-shirt, shuffling out of the room and heading for the kitchen. If you were awake, you might as well be up. Lying in bed without Ruben didn’t seem all that appealing.

To your surprise, you found him in the kitchen, leaning against the solid-oak island in the middle, head bowed, hair falling forwards. He was dressed now, in simple black trousers and a white shirt, tucked into the waistband. His back was heaving irregularly, almost like he was crying. His heavy, black cane was nowhere in sight.

“Ruben?” you asked in a small voice from the doorway, not wanting to crowd him if he was still having difficulty.

He jerked around to face you, and you saw the tell-tale flush in his cheeks that told you he’d just fed. His eyes were a violent, scarlet red, and when he saw you he began to pant again like he’d just come out of a dead sprint. He whispered your name, looking away. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Can I come closer?”

“Yes,” he said after a moment, voice like broken glass.

You crossed the room straight to him and looped your arms around his solid torso. His chest was hard as marble, and he stopped breathing immediately when you laid your head against him, squeezing hard. “I love you, Ru,” you breathed.

“I should try harder for you,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you countered. “You are trying. Ruben, you let me share your bed; you’re trying to drink more often even though the thought of it still makes you sick; you’re staying up past dawn just so you can get a few more hours in with me… Ruben, you’re… amazing.”

He heaved a little, as though he really was going to be sick, and you pulled back just in case.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, bringing the fingertips of one hand to his lips.

“Ruben… Why does drinking blood make you sick?” you asked hesitantly a moment or two later.

He sighed and looked down, dropping his hand to run his palm absentmindedly over the top of his thigh beneath his hip where you knew the scars from his old injury lay.

“I… I wasn’t always like this,” he began. “When I was newly turned, I had no trouble drinking.”

He didn’t look at you as he spoke, instead his eyes went to the kitchen window, pupils shrinking to mere pinpricks as the rising dawn gathered pace and the sun climbed towards the horizon. The sky above was still a dreamy, lilac blue, but the horizon showed the glow of dawn.

“Not long after the turn of the century,” he went on, “What with the interest in mesmerism in the early 1800s, and Conan Doyle’s involvement in –”

“Oh, that century…” you interrupted with a snort, and he did look down at you then.

For a moment, it seemed he didn’t understand, and then he softened, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he snorted a laugh out of his nose. “Yes, that century,” he chuckled. “Apologies.” The light of amusement faded a little in his bright, red eyes as he went on, but it didn’t leave his expression completely, despite the nature of the story he told you. He seemed to draw strength from the distance you represented between that time and the now, anchoring himself by sheer proximity to you in time and space.

You went very still as he spoke. He’d never told you why he walked with a limp, or why he bore those terrible scars at the top of his leg, the silvery-grey lines and puckered marks boring into his flesh and snaking up his torso like veins in his marble skin.

“There had been a steady rise in interest in the ‘occult’ and all things ‘supernatural’, and it prompted the ranks of the infernal guild of people who call themselves ‘vampire hunters’ to swell almost exponentially.” His lip curled in disgust as he spat the words out. “I had been living in London at the time. Aubrey kept an eye on things here, but I shut up the castle every eighty years or so in order for folks to forget about us.”

“I see,” you said, leaning your weight against the kitchen counter beside him.

He looked at you for a long moment before smiling sadly. “It’s very early for you. Are you sure you want to hear all this now?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you rasped. “I do.” No way you wanted to stop him now that he’d started to open up to you.

“Very well. Would you like a coffee at least?”

You nodded again, and he began to make you one while he spoke. He seemed grateful for something to do while he talked. The little espresso machine whirred away, dribbling strong coffee into the mug.

“You want it watered down?”

“Yes please,” you said, and he boiled the kettle too.

“My house was broken into during the middle of the day, and my housekeeper – who knew about me, about what I am – tried to warn me. It’s almost impossible to wake me after I’ve fallen into my trance during the daylight hours, but she managed to rouse me by slamming a silver crucifix into my chest.”

He snorted sarcastically and shot a sideways glance at you.

“That’s like hooking a car battery up to your heart, let me tell you.”

He sighed, turning his attention back to the boiling kettle.

“The hunters burst in then, and dragged her away, believing I had been holding her there under my influence. I fought for my life, but I was so weak. They almost killed me. They had weapons designed specifically to hurt vampires…”

The kettle clicked off as it reached a boil, and Ruben seemed to welcome the interruption. He topped the mug up with water before handing it to you, and you caught his retreating hand in your fingers and squeezed him hard. Ruben looked down at you then and smiled.

The red light had not faded from his eyes and his features still seemed sharper than usual in the dim light of the kitchen.

“What happened?” you asked, still holding his cold hand.

He didn’t try to pull away, but he did resume his former stance, staring out of the window with his left hand behind his ramrod straight back.

“They wanted to try out their new weapons, I suppose,” he said, voice growing a little distant. “One of them had a shotgun full of silver buckshot. I lashed out at him just as he fired it, and it all went into my right thigh and hip. That’s where all those ugly marks come from,” he said, bringing his fingers back to his leg.

You laid your hand down over his and looked up at him, eyes blazing with the unspoken sentiment that his scars were not ugly.

He smiled, though the gesture was hollow, and continued. “Another had a phial of silver nitrate,” he said, tone turning bitter. “He was a photographer, and had discovered that vampires could not appear on film because of the use of silver in the preparation of the film. The clever fuck thought to weaponise it.”

He raised the lower hem of his white shirt and revealed the snaking dark lines up his stomach.

“I was incapacitated by it, and they thought they’d take advantage of that fact to try out a little experiment they’d been cooking up for us. They forced blood down my throat, but it was laced with garlic and holy water. It wreaked havoc with my insides and I’ve never been the same since.”

“Shit, Ruben,” you said. “That’s… barbaric…”

He smiled at you, and this time it held no humour at all. “Vampire hunters are not known for their empathy, sweetheart,” he said, and you actually shivered. He sighed. “Now every time I drink blood, my body tries to reject it.”

“How did you survive? How did you get away?”

He smiled. “I… I am not a very strong vampire during the day – my bloodline is much more powerful under the influence of the moon – but there are some vampires who can walk about in the day, so long as they are careful not to expose their skin to the sun for any great length of time. I have a couple of friends – twins actually – who are able to walk in the daylight. They are well known for fighting back against vampire hunters, and they had caught wind of the planned attack on my house. They came just in time.”

“I’d like to meet them,” you said. “So I can thank them.”

He smiled and squeezed your hand, still held gently between his fingers. “I would like to introduce you to them. I think you would like them.”

“Thank you for… sharing that with me,” you said in a soft voice.

He looked down at you and you set the coffee down on the counter behind you and tucked yourself under his arm.

He didn’t speak for a long while, but eventually he brought the conversation back to the whole reason you were both standing in the kitchen together, and not lying side by side in bed. “Not being able to drink blood very easily doesn’t mean I don’t experience bloodlust though…”

“Do you think not drinking regularly makes it worse?”

“Definitely,” he sighed.

He leaned down and kissed the crown of your head, raking his fingers through your hair, just above your ear. He inhaled deeply, beginning slowly and expanding his chest until he’d drawn in a great lungful of your scent.

“It doesn’t help that I like the smell of you so much,” he chuckled wryly, letting his breath go in a rush. He didn’t seem to be in danger now that he had fed.

“Would…?” you began, swallowing, feeling your heartrate rising with mingled excitement and apprehension. “Would… Would it be easier if you… um… you know…” Unable to articulate the rest of your question, you tilted your head to one side and exposed your carotid to him.

You looked back up to see his eyes locked on your neck. “I don’t know,” he said, unblinking.

“Ruben,” you asked, an idea suddenly occurring to you, “Have you ever been in a relationship with a human before?”

He laughed. “No. Only vampires, and few enough of them.”

“Male or female?”

“Male,” he said immediately. And then he kissed the tip of your nose.

“Would you be willing to try drinking from me?” you asked.

“Now?” he blurted, looking taken aback, almost panic-stricken.

You shrugged. “Why not? You’re full, so you’re unlikely to lose control, right?”

He licked his lips, his irises flaring brighter like hot coals graced with a breath. “It does significantly reduce the danger,” he said. And then he snapped back, blinking. “No. I can’t believe I even entertained the possibility. No.”

“Ruben, please,” you begged. “Just try… It might make things easier.”

“Or it might make everything ten times worse!” he fired back, releasing you and limping a few steps away. “I can’t risk it. I can’t risk hurting you.”

Anger flared in your stomach and you ground your teeth, and you spat, “You’re already hurting me, Ruben, by not trusting me enough to try.” And then you turned on your heel and marched from the kitchen, fists clenched at your side.

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day, and you felt guilt gnawing at the pit of your stomach as the sun wheeled through the sky at a pace that was painfully slow.

Finally, late in the afternoon, you went to his bedroom, unable to bear his absence any longer. As expected, his double bed was empty, but you pressed your hands on the wall panel where you had seen him disappear into the secret room, and sure enough you found yourself in the little connecting corridor to his room.

His coffin was in a far corner, tucked up demurely against the wall, and you crossed to it. Your hands trembled as you reached for the lid and raised it soundlessly up, leaning it against the wall. The room was dark, with no windows or lights and illuminated only by the sliver of light which spilled from the passageway behind you. In the gloom, his face looked gaunt and lifeless, his chest was still, and he looked truly dead in a way that chilled your blood. You’d only seen him ‘asleep’ or in his trance a couple of times and it wasn’t your favourite way to see him, stretched out like a lifeless corpse.

Tentatively you reached for his face and as your warm palm came in contact with his chilly skin, his eyes flew open and he sucked in a great breath, like a free-diver coming up for air for the first time in minutes. He sat bolt upright and stared at you, confused, eyes blazing red in the dimness of the room.

You didn’t wait. You couldn’t wait. You flung your arms around him and hugged him. “I’m so sorry Ruben,” you said from somewhere near his neck. “I never should have said that to you. I’m sorry.”

His breathing was became ragged and irregular for a moment, as though his body hadn’t quite remembered how it was supposed to do it, but he held you in return, somewhat cautiously, and murmured, “Shh, it’s alright.”

“I was wrong to say that you don’t trust me. You do, I know you do. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he repeated, chuckling this time. “I could have reacted a little better myself. I was just… a little overwhelmed by your suggestion.”

You pulled back, rocking onto your heels while he cracked the tension from his neck and jutted his chin out at you, asking you to move back and give him some room while he got up.

“I gave your idea some thought before I passed out,” he said once he was standing. He still wore the black trousers and white shirt he’d been in that morning, though there was hardly a crease in them. “I would like to give it a try, if you’re still willing.” He held onto the wall as he stood, as though waiting for a head-rush to pass.

“Really?” you gasped, eyes going wide and heart skipping a beat or three. “Sure.”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Come, let’s get you out of this dark room. You belong in the light.”

He squinted as he limped out into the bedroom, and, despite the curtains which were drawn, he reached for his dark glasses, the light levels of the late afternoon clearly too much for him. He grabbed his cane, the steel handle slipping into his palm with long familiarity, and made his way wordlessly towards the door.

You walked through the house beside him in silence, following his lead. He ended up taking you to the little courtyard on the north side of the castle which was walled in on all sides and sheltered from the sun during all but the middle hours of the day. He sank into a wooden chair at the little table beside the fountain at the centre, and waited while you dropped into a nearby one.

Aubrey joined you a while later, armour clanking quietly, and he took a seat beside his brother. He chatted amicably with news of his partner’s progress on the job that had taken them away from the castle, and then, at a single look from Ruben during a natural lull in the conversation, Aubrey quietly took his leave, and disappeared back inside the castle just as sunset began to gild the upper parapets of the walls above.

Ruben was silent for a long time. Finally, he crossed his legs elegantly in a way that made your blood pool in your groin, and he looked up at you. “I would like to try to drink from you,” he said slowly. “But you have to understand my reticence.”

“I get it,” you said immediately. “I know you care for me, and if it really might make the bloodlust worse, then obviously, I don’t think we should do it. But… if you think there’s a chance it could make it easier for you to be around me, then…”

He drew in a deep breath and slid his hand across the wooden slats of the scrubbed table-top. He opened his fingers and invited you to slip your hand into his. He let the pad of his cool thumb play over your knuckles, his face quiet and dark, lost in thought.

Eventually he swallowed and flicked his eyes up to meet yours. You were surprised to see that they had returned to the chocolate brown colour which he showed when he was passing for a human or trying to make you forget what he was.

“So, when do you want to try it?” you asked, seeing something akin to resolve settling into his features. He wasn’t happy about it, but you thought you could sense a slight, nervous excitement in the very corners of his pale lips.

“I think if I spend too much time thinking about it, I’ll overthink myself out of it,” he said very softly. “I want you to be comfortable, and I want to do it while it’s still light.” While I’m still weak.

“Let’s go then,” you said, standing and holding your hand out to him.

He followed you inside, his hand closing tightly around yours. You felt the familiar, rocking rhythm of his walk behind you, and drew comfort from it.

“I’ll fetch a dressing,” he said awkwardly. “You’ll probably need it for the wound.” He sighed and added, “I’m not biting you in the bathroom though.”

You grinned, “But it has such a nice alliteration.”

Caught off guard by your unexpected humour, Ruben did that little snort where his nose crinkled and his eyes creased at the corners. “Come here,” he said, tugging you off balance and into his arms.

He kissed you then, and it was like the very first time he’d kissed you properly. His hands travelled through your hair and then to your shoulders. He pulled you tight against him and deepened the kiss, his tongue seeking your mouth. He moaned as he traced the contours of your torso til he landed at your hips and then he growled softly, pulling back a moment as he grabbed you and his hips reared into yours. The point where the two of you touched seemed to thrum with energy and you both gasped, panting.

Ruben began to laugh. “I love you,” he said, shifting his hands to cup your jaw. “You are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever met. Thank you.”

You shook your head, smiling. “You are strange, Ru…”

“I know,” he sighed. “Come on, let’s get this over with. Go and sit down in my room. I’ll join you there.”

You couldn’t help the fizzing fear that ran along your veins as you sat there alone in the waning light of day, waiting for his footsteps on the corridor outside. It felt like the waiting room at the doctor’s or something. Soon, however, the door creaked open and he stepped in looking pale and more than a little grim, his dark glasses folded and tucked into the top pocket of his white shirt.

You smiled, trying to reassure him as much as yourself, and he blew the air from his lungs in a rush. He was clearly as nervous as – if not more so – you were. He laid his cane against the table nearby and limped over to where you sat in the armchair by the window in a perfect rectangle of evening sunlight.

“I’m glad you pulled the curtains back,” he said, standing right on the edge of the pool of direct light.

“How do you want to do this?” you asked with trepidation.

He smiled nervously. “Bring the chair to the edge of the light and get comfortable. When you tell me you are, hold out your wrist to me in the shadow.”

“Not my neck?” you asked.

“You’ve watched too many vampire films with Aubrey,” he scoffed. When you scowled, he added, “I need to work up to that.”

“Oh,” you said. “Right.” And you began to arrange the chair as he’d instructed. Happy at last, you drew a deep breath, and held out your hand. “Will it hurt?” you asked.

“Probably at first,” he said, eyes dark and warm with no hint of red. “But your adrenaline will kick in and you’ll probably feel mild euphoria.”

You nodded.

“Last chance to –”

“Do it, Ruben. I want this. It’s not as if you’re turning me with this, is it?”

He actually snarled at you for that, and you flinched. “I will not turn you,” he said. “You will never ask me to do that, do you understand?” His eyes blazed scarlet now.

A mute nod was all you could muster.

Ruben relaxed and took your wrist in his cool hands, massaging over the veins with both his thumbs. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to be so harsh. I just couldn’t inflict this on you.”

“I understand,” you said, voice cracking.

Ruben closed his eyes and exhaled. Then, without opening his eyes, he raised your wrist to his lips and as they peeled back you saw that his canines had elongated. He sank them straight into the flesh beneath the heel of your palm and you flinched in pain as he punctured the radial artery.

He let out a long, deep moan, as though he’d never savoured anything so beautiful, and then he began to suck. He drank deeply from you, bent over your hand, until you felt him start to shake, and he pulled back with an effort, eyes blazing crimson. He lapped at the tiny, welling pinpricks of blood – you had expected there to be much more – and then in a swift motion he placed the lint dressing over them and taped it down.

He grabbed your other hand and pressed it down hard over the wound without a word.

He still hadn’t taken a breath.

He didn’t look at you as he pushed himself stiffly back to his feet and turned away. You watched his torso contract as his body began to reject the blood already, and he staggered to the en-suite on the far side of the room. He disappeared inside it and a moment later you heard him fall to his knees and wretch into the bowl of the toilet.

Was it like this every time he fed?

He heaved again and you heard more fluid hitting the water in the toilet. Rising, you made your way hesitantly to the door and found him clutching the seat of the toilet, kneeling before it, back curved over as his body tried to expel the blood.

You rushed to him and dropped to your knees beside him.

“I’m sorry,” he hissed, spitting blood. “I’m so sorry. Please, don’t look. I’m fine. It’s… It’s…” he heaved anew, and spat while you rubbed his back between his shoulders.

“I don’t mind, Ruben. It’s ok.” There wasn’t much in the bowl, but it still looked dramatic.

He fell still for a while, and then nodded once, pushing himself up with a grunt and flushing the toilet, closing the lid promptly. He crossed to the mirrored wash basin and splashed his face clean. Eventually, he turned to look at you, standing in the centre of the bathroom.

“Not a total disaster,” you smiled weakly.

“Admittedly… no,” he conceded. “But it could have ended a little less… indecorously.”

You chuckled, but the sound quickly died. “Ruben, is it always like that for you?”

He shook his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve fed directly from the artery. Your blood was probably a bit rich for me…” he said. “The stored blood I drink tends to change the longer it’s kept. Stale blood is… ‘gentler’ on my system, let’s say.”

“Oh.”

“But I didn’t feel a surge of bloodlust the way I was expecting, so I suppose I should be grateful for that at least. How are you? Did it hurt? Do you need to sit down?”

“No,” you said. “Trust me, my T shots hurt more than that.” You waited for his smile, and then stepped close to him. You held him. “Thank you,” you said. “I hope… I hope it helps, and I hope maybe we can try again.”

He nodded and kissed the crown of your head. “I love you,” he said. “Never doubt that.”

“I won’t,” you said. “I couldn’t.”

________

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#vampire #male vampire #ruben #trans male reader #exophilia #vampire x reader #mlm #male vampire x male reader #blood drinking #vomiting #but only briefly #feels #also Ruben turning into mist because that's what he does when he gets overwhelmed

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chaotic-bells · 4 years

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🌟 dig a little deeper 🌟

My tag buddy Emma @herefortommo knows my addiction to tag games too well and tagged me for this fun one. It is indeed long, so read more after the thingy.

I’ll tag... @promisethatillnevertell and @cgg3913 - it’s totally fine if you don’t do it! this is a long, long one.

1. do you prefer writing with a black pen or a blue pen?

blue pen

2. would you prefer to live in the country or in the city?

country

3. if you could learn a new skill, what would it be?

writing

4. do you drink your tea/coffee with sugar?

yes, how much will depend on the mood and what it is.

5. what was your favorite book as a child?

I had two books of fables, like... massive books with over 100 fables each. I read *a lot* as a child, but these two were some of my favorites as a little kid.

6. do you prefer baths or showers?

shower. really don’t like baths - i get suuuper bored and it feels cramped (probably because not only am I tall, but I am also fat)

7. if you could be a mythical creature, which one would you be?

vampire

8. paper or electronic books?

paper is nicer, but I don’t mind ebooks at all and it’s nice cause I have a huuuuge collection at all times.

9. what is your favorite item of clothing?

a sheer tiered black dress. dresses in general.

10. do you like your name? would you like to change it?

nah, it’s fine. when I was a kid I wanted to be called Luisa, which is what my dad wanted to name me and it was the name of my best friend. since I’ve started using nicknames more, i don’t mind so much.

11. who is a mentor to you?

don’t think I have one. @whatagreatproblemtohave was definitely unknowingly (or knowingly, possibly) my Tumblr mentor. but in life i was just the .... go and do it type.

12. would you like to be famous? if so, what for?

not particularly. a writer would be a cool kind of famous; mainly famous between fans, no one would recognize you all that much and you probably could still live a somewhat normal life.

13. are you a restless sleeper?

depends. i usually don’t remember dreaming, i fall asleep pretty much instantaneously when i want (people have said it’s almost freaky at how fast i fall asleep) and stay that way until my cats start headbutting me in the morning. But from time to time, usually when I’m stressed with something, i do remember my dreams and then it’s just tossing and turning the whole evening.

14. do you consider yourself to be a romantic person?

yes i am. but I also have a baggage where this was used against me, and it’s really hard for me to show that side anymore, so I usually come off as cold.

15. which element best represents you?

earth

16. who do you want to be closer to?

some of the people i’ve met recently here. i think there are a lot of people here who share my world view and could be amazing real life friends.

17. do you miss someone at the moment?

no one in particular. i miss the idea of someone though.

18. tell us about an early childhood memory.

when I was about 6, my friend and I were very bored and it was very warm. we stealthily stole a bunch of toilet paper rolls from our apartments, went down to the building’s playground, stuffed the paper in all the drains and turned on the hose. We flooded the playground really, really badly, but weren’t discovered until hours later when we went to our homes soaking wet from playing all day.

19. what is the strangest thing you have eaten?

I don’t think it is strange - it is super tasty - but loads of people freak out? Chicken feet, neck and other weird bits of the chicken? My grandmother used to make them in a stew like way, and they get all melty and it’s delicious. Also ‘dobradinha’ which i don’t like at all, which is made out of cow's flat white stomach lining. And cow’s tongue, which is probably the best part of the cow and people who have never eaten one cooked well really freak out?

20. what are you most thankful for?

not sure how this is going to sound like, but... my own adaptability. i really can’t imagine where I would be right now if I wasn’t so good at handling life changes. I’m 31 and already had to start over with nothing to my name four times.

21. do you like spicy food?

Not really. I mean, I do - but I like the spice level to be at a point where I can taste the dish. I don’t like when everything is so spicy you might as well just eat the pure pepper, which seems to be most dishes I see. Pepper can be super flavorful, but if all you’re feeling is the heat than that’s not enjoyable for me.

22. have you ever met someone famous?

yes, quite a few times. both my mom and my stepfather worked in TV and cinema (where they met) as a costume designer and sound engineer, and with that I met loads of people.

23. do you keep a diary or journal?

tried many times, failed. I’m horrible with a routine.

24. do you prefer to use pen or pencil?

pen

25. what is your star sign?

capricorn

26. do you like your cereal crunchy or soggy?

crunchy

27. what would you want your legacy to be?

i don’t really care? i don’t feel like i need to leave my mark on the world.

28. do you like reading? What was the last book you read?

yes, a lot. i’ve been reading a LOT of fanfiction. Actual book was probably The Rosary Girls.

29. how do you show someone you love them?

spending time with them, sharing interests. it will very very rarely be a vocal thing.

30. do you like ice in your drinks?

depend on the drink. i prefer if the drink itself is cold.

31. what are you afraid of?

disappointing people. (and never seeing 1D back together). This is an unintentional RPDR reference, but that dialogue really spoke to my soul.

32. what is your favorite scent?

peppermint

33. do you address older people by their name or surname?

name.

34. if money was not a factor, how would you live your life?

probably the same, except with less worry. instead of working on what I do now, I would spend my time volunteering for a cat shelter, or have my own. more time for my craft and sewing, would study something.

35. do you prefer swimming in pools or the ocean?

neither, if I am honest, but definitely swimming pools if i’m forced to chose.

36. what would you do if you found $50 in the ground?

try to find the owner. if I couldn’t, i would keep it. wallets are one thing - i’ve found a few before and I always call their bank and give them my contact (not the police, that doesn’t do anything), but pure cash? can’t trace that. i’ve lost money before, and i just hope whoever found it used it well.

37. have you ever seen a shooting star? did you make a wish?

yes and yes.

38. what is one thing you would want to teach your children?

empathy

39. if you had to have a tattoo, what would it be and where would you get it?

my next one is definitely going to be Louis’ smiley face. I actually dreamed about it this evening, it was a very anxious dream and apparently my subconscious really want me to get the smiley with a tiny little doodle anchor next to it? on my wrist?

40. what can you hear now?

the fan of my computer screaming and my cats eating.

41. where do you feel the safest?

my bed

42. what is one thing you want to overcome/conquer?

is it too much to put my entire childhood here?

43. if you could travel back to any era, what would it be?

Woodstock. I would enjoy those days for about a week before going mad. I like my modern comforts.

44. what is your most used emoji?

🤣

45. describe yourself using one word.

impulsive

46. what do you regret the most?

nothing. i do the best i can at the situation I am in. yes, i would probably change stuff if i had the knowledge i have today, but that’s not regret.

47. last movie you saw?

Mr. Right.

48. last tv show you watched?

Ru Paul Drag Race All Start season 5

49. invent a word and its meaning

out of 49 this is the only one I’ll skip. oversharing? no problem. creativity? erm... my brain just goes blank.

#tag games

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

gold coloured prisms of light, chapter three (branjie) - holtzmanns

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 6462

AN: Third and final chapter. Thank you so much for all the sweet wonderful feedback on this fic. I enjoyed writing it so, so much, and it’s always going to hold a special place in my heart. Hope you enjoy this last instalment. Writ is the best beta <3

Brock is days away from his plane to LA to film season eleven of Drag Race and he’s never felt more harried in his life.

The past two weeks have been a haze of calls with designers, fittings, picking up garments, and trying not to think about the fact that he’s soon going to be filmed for national television.

It’s not that Brock’s a shy person, not really. He can work a crowd, he can entertain people and make them laugh especially if he has a drink in hand.

But he does it underneath his armour of drag, layers and layers of makeup and clothing and pads and tights and they make him feel indestructible when he has them on. Once all of it is stripped away, though?

He’s terrified of it.

How do you do it

Do what

Get people to like you so much

Make everyone fall in love with you

Pretty sure that’s just you falling in love with me, boo

No seriously

Why’re you asking

We’re gonna be on camera

Uh huh

Everyone’s gonna watch us

Uh huh

People we don’t even know

You bet

But you know what

You’re fucking weird but also the best

Anyone with a brain cell is going to love you

But what if they don’t

What if people think that he’s terrible, that he’s a failure, that he doesn’t deserve to be on this season? What if he fucks up and matches Jose by going home first this season?

So then fuck em

Who cares about the one percent that don’t

I don’t want your crazy ass to be listening to them

Focus on those who are louder and love you

‘Cause they the ones who are right

Not people with shitty opinions that match your inner sabotore

sabatoor

sabotour

Oh fuck it you know what I mean

Brock laughs despite himself, wishing that Jose was here with him instead of states away.

You did NOT just say inner saboteur

And what about it?

Brock pauses before his next question. Not because he doesn’t know how to ask it, but more so because he doesn’t know if he wants to find out what Jose’s answer is. But his planning, detail oriented side wins out the way that it always does.

Are we gonna tell everyone?

About what

Brock snorts but he gets it, really. Being able to talk to Jose feels so natural, so part of him that he can’t distinguish it from breathing or falling asleep, that he forgets that not everyone has it, that it’s not common knowledge. That soulmates aren’t universal for everyone.

That Jose is his.

I dunno

What do you think

I don’t know either

Do you think they would use it against us

Production would maybe

I dunno if the rest of the cast would care

What if they see it as an advantage

Call it cheating

Cheating how

I dunno

I just don’t want to lose the ability to talk to you y'know

Fuck

Me neither

I’d lose my damn mind not having you

Talking to my crazy self

I’d miss you too much

Brock’s heart tugs the way it always does when he has to leave Jose, when he doesn’t know when he’ll see him again. Even though soon they’ll be together in actual physical proximity, for an extended period of time.

At least, Brock hopes so because neither of them better go home first.

Brock’s just walked into the workroom for the first time and he’s scared shitless, but Jose is sitting there sparkling in glitter and beaming at him and the sight is enough to calm him down.

Nina’s bounding over to him, hugging him ever so tight. Brock is elated because he’s going to have Nina and Jose with him, and maybe the idea of being on national television is less scary when people closest to him are by his side.

Brock’s arms seek Jose out almost unconsciously, Jose fitting there like he’s always meant to, and Brock has to resist pressing a kiss to the top of his head what with three cameras filming them at one time.

A’keria’s looking between the two of them with a curious expression when Jose’s hand stays on his thigh as they sit around a table, and Brock can’t help but put his hand on top of his.

It feels weird as the day goes on, having to pretend like he doesn’t know every inch of Jose better than he knows himself. Pretending Jose is just a cute acquaintance when production asks Brock what he thinks of him as they’re filming confessionals. Part of him wants to scream it out to the world, have everyone know. But on the other hand it feels like they’re back in high school, sneaking around and kissing behind the bleachers. They are, in a way, based on how Jose tugs him into a bathroom stall and pulls him close, both of them breathless and wide eyed and giggling.

“This is already miles ahead of season ten.”

“Why, ‘cause you haven’t gone home first yet?”

“Bitch.” Jose smacks Brock’s arm and it makes him cackle. “It’s still day one.”

“We’re both gonna keep going way past the first episode.” Brock cups Jose’s face with his palm, his thumb running across his cheekbone, almost forgetting that they’re cooped up in a bathroom stall. “Till we lip-sync for that crown and I beat you for that 100k check. I’ll dance all around your pirouetting ass.” Jose grins and it’s so bright, so radiant, so perfectly him.

“You wish.” Brock ruffles his hair, grinning when it makes Jose grumble. “Though I’ll be sure to stay out of the way of your flailing limbs.”

What a sight it will be if the two of them make it to the end. Brock doesn’t ever, ever want to lip-sync against Jose in a competition setting unless the two of them are lip-syncing for the crown. He’s not sure if his heart would be able to take the damage.

Brock’s on the main stage and looking like a neon superhero and he fucking feels like one too, because he’s just won the first main challenge.

He’s won. He’s actually won.

The five year old inside of Brock wants to dance around while his pageant side reins him in and holds him back, keeps him looking composed on the main stage. Besides, Ru’s looking at him and Michelle’s looking at him and Miley Cyrus is looking at her cuticles but he needs to remain poised, or Farrah will absolutely ream him out for it later.

Not only that, Jose’s been called safe.

Brock’s still here. Jose’s still here. He’s going to get more days with him in this weird little filming bubble that is already making him lose his perception of reality, and it’s only been a couple of days.

Jose pulls Brock to the smoking area as soon as the cameras call cut and they get a break, while production goes to film Soju going home.

He’s the prettiest girl Brock’s ever seen, a red flower crown on his head and glittering like he’s a star on fire. Jose looks like the world’s been lifted from his shoulders and Brock gets it, years and years of being Jose’s soulmate makes him feel Jose’s relief, Jose’s elation that he’s still here, he’s on to episode two.

“Y’know, I’m still mad as hell they sent me home first last season but being here right now? Feels like the best type of revenge.” Jose rubs his hands together and Brock has to hold back a laugh.

“Revenge against who?”

Jose shrugs. “I dunno. Just feels fucking great.” He straightens up, taps Brock’s shoulder. “Also, you! Winning the first challenge and getting a first class ticket straight to Paris, bitch!”

Brock can’t help himself, he wiggles his hands around excitedly because he’s been holding it in, damn it, and Jose won’t judge him for it. “I still can’t believe it.”

“You better take me to Paris with you. I want some fresh croissants.”

Brock hasn’t even thought about yet about who he’ll bring with him, but seven days in Paris with Jose seems like a dream. He’s gonna draw it out for Jose, though. “I’ll bring you if you’re good.”

Jose pouts and Brock has to resist the urge to kiss him, ruin both of their lipsticks. “I’m real good.”

Brock grins, unable to resist the hand he lets drift above Jose’s hipbone, making him shiver. “Are you, now?”

He’s about to grip him more tightly, do something incredibly stupid, but then production’s yelling out ‘five minutes!’ and they jump backwards from each other, looking around to see if anyone’s caught them.

Not yet. Their secret remains safe, for now.

Brock is in a highlighter orange jumpsuit and he feels like a helicopter, hovering and tutting over Jose who’s spiralling down and down and down.

Brock doesn’t know what to do when there’s cameras watching their every move, and every part of him just wants to pull Jose in close and tight to his chest and whisper just how amazing he is into his ear.

Jose’s shoulders are slumped, his fake lashes cast to the ground and Brock can’t help but put his fingers under Jose’s chin, lift his face up towards him.

Brock waits until Tiffany Pollard comes backstage and the rest of the cast is squealing over her, his heart hurting over the fact that Jose would absolutely be joining them if he wasn’t so upset right now. He grabs Jose’s hand while the cameras are all trained on the Untucked couches, pulls him behind a set backdrop and turns off their mics.

Jose looks up at him, confused. “What are you-”

“Shhh.” Brock holds up a finger to his lips, replies in a whisper. “Don’t want them to catch us.”

“Right.” Jose’s trying to whisper, he really is, bless his heart, not that he’s being successful at all.

Not that Brock really minds too much.

“You were better than most of those girls up there, in my eyes.” He’s going to tell Jose over and over again, lift the veil of self hatred and disappointment that seems to be marring Jose’s being over his own performance in Trump: The Rusical. “And the judges gave you better critiques than Mercedes and Ra’jah. They’re going to call you as safe.”

“Wish I was as confident in that as you are.” Jose’s laugh is humourless. “I can’t go home yet. I fucking can’t be a disappointment again.”

“You were the biggest name on season ten. Hands down. How is that a disappointment?” Brock doesn’t get it, because Jose’s successful and winning at the game of being a famous drag queen and Brock could really pick up some tips from him.

“‘Cause I’m not good at this.” Jose gestures to himself, to his outfit. “I can be a headass and make people laugh but I’m bombing all these damn challenges.”

“You’re not bombing them.” Maybe Brock sounds a little indignant but Jose is wrong, he is. “Literally the challenge before this episode. The diva worship one. You killed it.”

“And yet, still safe. I dunno what it’s gonna take. Gonna have to pull a bunny out of a hat at this point.” Jose grumbles but the image makes Brock laugh.

“That’s one way to do a lip-sync reveal.” Brock nudges Jose’s side, sees the little smile peeking out on his face no matter how hard he tries to hide it.

“Speaking of romance, where’d they go, disappearin’ again? We know you two be hiding!” A’keria’s yelling and all of the other castmates are cackling along with her, and Brock can hear Tiffany Pollard’s voice letting out an ominous Miss Vaaaanjie.

Jose lets out a little huff. “So damn nosy-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentiment because A’keria’s tugging on both of their hands, pulling them over to the couch. Brock kisses Jose in front of the rest of the girls because they’re all goading them on and the shrieks they let out makes Brock wonder how they’d react if they found out that him and Jose are soulmates.

Jose’s drawings show up in orange ink on Brock’s skin that night, matching the runway theme and the way Brock’s own heart feels like it’s bathed in warm sunlight.

Brock is trapped in a hotel room and he feels restless.

He wants to do something. Anything. Go for a walk, run some errands, but the door of his hotel room has been taped over and he’s not allowed to leave.

It’s 11:47 p.m., and Brock knows that he should probably sleep, considering that they’re all going to be up early to head to filming and he still needs to finish putting his final Farm to Runway look together.

Hell, he’d even rather work on his look than be pacing in the tiny room, like he is right now.

Psst

I’m bored

Brock feels like a child passing notes in grade school, bothering his best friend while he tries to pay attention to the teacher.

What do you want me to do about it

Give me something to do about it

I’m working on my squats

What? You are NOT

Really?

How else do you think I keep my booty looking so tight

Jesus Christ

Though Jose isn’t wrong. It is a great butt, and one that Brock misses, quite frankly. The fact that him and Jose are both in hotel rooms, but separate ones so that they can’t even do anything about it, is ridiculous.

I do know something that can keep you entertained though

What

Brock watches as the cartoon outline of a dick appears on his chest and he can practically hear Jose’s cackle in whatever hotel room he’s in.

A second one appears on his thigh, then a third on his bicep, and he can’t help but snort.

You having fun

Plenty fun thanks for asking

I’ll leave you to it then

Have fun washing these off

BITCH come back

Miss me already huh

I know you miss me too don’t be playing

I do

But you seem to be having fun with your doodles, I’ll let you do that

Boy if you don’t-

You just like being a tease

What you gonna do about it

Leave you to it

Don’t you dare

Why, do you want something else?

Sure, Brock is alone in his hotel room, but he can’t help the shit eating grin that grows on his face. He knows that Jose isn’t going to be able to resist something so blatant.

I want you

You’ll have to be more specific than that

Brock can almost imagine the way that Jose must be muttering bitch under his breath, getting antsier by the second. Hell, he knows that he is himself.

Fuck

I miss you fucking me

Filling me up

Pinning me down

Brock unbuttons his pants, pulls out his dick and he has to resist a groan, because fuck, now he’s thinking about it and it’s been too long, he needs it now. He drops all pretenses of teasing Jose, because his self control is all but gone.

I wanna bend you over the counter like last time

Remember how whiny you were

I had to punish you because you were misbehaving so much

Fuck

I know you liked it a little too much

Please

Next time

You want me to fuck you again like that, baby?

Yes daddy

Brock can already feel how close he is and he has to bite his lip, keep himself on the edge, because the nickname is about to send him over it. Jose brings it out from time to time and Brock likes it more than he wants to admit, a fact that Jose knows well.

I’ll keep your hips down against the counter, get you so close that you almost come

Pull back because you’re not begging enough

Get you so close

Please please please

I’ll wait till your voice is all raw from begging ‘cause you want it so bad

Then fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to walk for a week

Fuck daddy

All the neighbours will know what I’m doing to you ‘cause you can never stay quiet, can you

Good

Let them know

Brock’s grip on his pen is shaky as he comes all over his own stomach, letting out a breathless moan as he strokes himself through it with his other hand because he’s spent and fuck, they’ve never done it like this before.

Jose takes a full two minutes before he replies, and Brock knows it’s because he just came, too.

Fuck

Jesus christ

God I miss your ass

My ass, huh?

You know what I mean bitch

Brock’s just done one of the best lip-syncs in Drag Race herstory and his pink sequin outfit is too tight, way too tight. The layers and layers of tights and fabric and padding are restricting, stopping him from being able to breathe, from filling up his lungs the way he so desperately needs to.

It’s different from the way he’d been out of breath during the lip-sync, where the exertion as he put everything he had into his performance made his heart beat faster and faster and faster, his lungs working overtime. Now there’s no reason for them to continue like this, not when the cameras have stopped filming, not when they’re supposed to be getting out of drag so they can head back to the hotel.

But Brock cant focus on getting out of drag. It’s too much, too much of a task to apply his brain towards, especially when the most he’s able to do right now is lean against a wall, trying to focus his vision on the ground in front of him, looking at the patterns on the floor tiles.

He feels fingers intertwine with his, looking up and there’s Jose already in his boy clothes, his eyes soft and kind and worried. Brock doesn’t want to make him worry, because it doesn’t matter, not really, he’s survived the lip-sync and he’s fine, he should be.

“I’m fine.” Brock musters up a smile on his face, one to reassure Jose though Jose doesn’t seem to buy it, his thumb running in soft circles over Brock’s palm.

“It’s okay if you’re not, y’know.” Jose’s voice is soft and Brock doesn’t hear it like this often, though when he does it’s almost always directed towards him. A part of him likes it, that this small part of Jose is just for him to hear.

“It doesn’t matter. I survived that lip sync, I’ll live another episode.” It’s true, he did. He’s made it through and yes, he’s relieved, but he’s also exhausted all of his reserves. It feels like the day has been a battle, one that’s left him worse for wear.

But he doesn’t want Jose to worry.

Jose helps him get out of drag just like he did the first night that they’d met in person, while the rest of the girls are fooling around in other areas of the work room, barely paying attention to the two of them. He’s gentle, pulling off Brock’s wig cap and lashes and layers and layers of tights and padding on his body. He pushes Brock to sit down on a chair in front of the mirror, leaning against the counter as he wipes Brock’s face clean of foundation and contour and powder.

Jose presses a kiss to Brock’s lips when he’s done, and Brock feels lighter, less constricted, though his heart is aching for Jose in a way that’s going to bowl him over when he thinks about it too much.

For someone so outgoing and vocal and loud, Jose knows how to calm him down in the way he needs it the most. Without too many words, without overt reassurances or distraction tactics. Just being there, both in gentle touches and deep pressure and helping Brock get through actions that seem insurmountable, one step at a time without even asking.

Brock’s not sure if anyone else has ever done this for him before. Then again, there’s never been anyone else like Jose in his life, nor will there ever be. Brock knows that for certain.

Brock is lip-syncing against his soulmate and sure, the song’s at the bridge, but he hasn’t quite processed it yet. His brain is foggy but he’s going to focus, damn it, he’s going to perform the hell out of this song.

Even if looking over at Jose makes his heart skip a beat for just a second, makes him almost trip over his own heels.

The song ends and Brock’s breathing in gasps, because of course, of course they were meant to lip-sync against each other, of course they were. Brock had told Jose, he really did, backstage in Untucked because production would have never let go of the chance to have the star crossed lovers face off against each other in the final moments. Not with such a juicy storyline.

The best part is that the producers don’t even know the half of it. It gives Brock a strange sense of satisfaction, that not everything belongs to the producers to manipulate between him and Jose. They don’t deserve the chance to be able to do so.

Brock’s name is called to stay and it doesn’t give him the relief that he so desperately wants, because they both deserve to stay and Jose can’t leave and why, why was there already a double save earlier in the season?

He grabs Jose’s face and kisses him hard - who cares that they’re in drag, that they have lipstick on, that they’re being filmed, that this is the epic, thrilling conclusion to a love story that the producers want to craft to satisfy an adoring public? It doesn’t matter, because there’s so much that Brock wants to say (I’m sorry, please don’t hate me, please wait for me, please don’t leave) that he can’t. Not right now, not in front of everyone.

Jose’s never been in his hotel room for filming, but it still feels a little empty when Brock returns to it that evening. His bed a little too big, the four walls surrounding him a little too quiet.

Already home

Goddamn

Living in LA is convenint

Conveenent

Convenient as hell

Come back

I miss you

Brock’s not a clingy sort of person by any means, but he can’t stop his heart’s tug for Jose no matter how hard he tries.

Miss you so fucking much

Hurry and finish up filming so you can come here and hang out with me and Riley

Imma go grocery shopping and get snacks

What do you want

The words make Brock laugh despite himself, because the domesticity flows so naturally between them, as if they’re just two regular people coming home from work.

Get those salt and vinegar chips you had when I came to visit in February

You still remember snacks from February?

They were good!!

They don’t have them in Nashville

That makes you sound like a country bumpkin

Hey, I’m from Toronto

Yeah yeah, a country bumpkin in a parka

The rays of sunlight begin to light up the room as the hours go on, and ink fills up Brock’s skin that he’s going to have a hell of a time washing off. Brock’s barely gotten any sleep because why would he, when talking to Jose is so much more fun? He knows he’s going to be exhausted in the morning, but he can’t bring himself to care. Because Jose’s still here with him, Jose still cares and isn’t mad about the lip-sync and they’re still them, complete with all the nonsense and softness that always calms his heart without fail.

Jose yells at him through big capital letters along his side to GO TO SLEEP, BITCH, and Brock wishes that he had Jose in his arms to help him do so.

Brock’s still in his glittering mirrored jumpsuit from the final finale lip-sync, the cameras just having called cut, when his mom taps his shoulder.

“The one in the cheetah print. It’s him, right?” His mom’s eyes are all knowing, too knowing, and Brock should have expected it, really.

“Who?” Still, Brock’s voice is squeaky. Just the way it always is when his mother brings up things that he doesn’t want to talk about with her, because they make him feel like he’s twelve and vulnerable again.

“That one’s your soulmate. I’m your mother. I can tell.”

Jose is hugging his own mom and introducing her to Silky and A’keria and laughing his head off, causing a commotion that is making the others around them look over with a smile.

“Yeah, that’s him.”

Brock’s been trying, so desperately trying, to let his mother in more. Even when he could see the hesitation in her eyes when he first came out (despite the fact that she had already known), even when he’d told her that he’d started drag and she didn’t understand it in the least.

But the last couple of years, his mother has been trying. Brock can see it.

And so he will, too.

He grabs Jose’s arm when he passes by, pulling him into the conversation. Jose’s face is bright and happy and his eyes widen in understanding when he sees the woman in front of him.

“Mom, this is Jose.”

Then Jose’s making her light up and laugh with his natural charm and part of Brock almost can’t believe it, that this is his life. That his mother is meeting his soulmate, that his mother doesn’t hate him, that his mother has changed from the way that she used to be. The way she used to make twelve year old Brock want to shrink in on himself, hating himself, wanting to hide everything precious to him.

Brock wishes that he could go back in time to that version of himself, hold his hand, pull him into a hug. Tell him that everything will be alright, that he’ll find Jose in real life, that his mother will be okay with it and that he’s going to feel like he has a family again. It’ll look different from the one he has now, but it’ll be better. Full of more love.

Brock remembers himself at twelve, when the marker in his pocket felt like a secret he had to hide rather than one he could freely talk about. He’d had no idea what would be coming for him in the future.

Seeing Jose and his mother get along, laugh together as his mom squeezes Jose’s hand, is a sight that Brock is going to commit to memory.

Brock has an arm around Jose while they wait for production to finish up last-minute adjustments to the reunion set, and he’s antsy.

“Do you think we should?”

“You’ve asked me like fifty times in the last minute, and I still don’t know.”

Brock fidgets. “Sorry.”

Jose turns around in his grasp. “Don’t stress, okay? We’ll know what to say once we’re up there and they ask us. We can decide if we wanna say it in the moment.”

Him and Jose still haven’t decided whether they’re going to tell everyone about being soulmates. Nina knows, naturally, having seen drawings on Brock’s skin since before they filmed Drag Race. Silky and A’keria know, which made them approve of Brock a lot quicker.

But everyone else?

The rest of the cast doesn’t. Production doesn’t. Hell, Ru doesn’t.

They’d managed to get through the entire season by meticulously keeping their bodies ink free before having to wear revealing outfits, being careful about where they wrote and drew.

But at the same time, the game is over. The season is done. They’ve already filmed the finale, and Brock has an idea of where it’s going to go, anyway.

He has nothing to lose. They have nothing to lose. Besides, he wants to scream it from the rooftops, Jose is his soulmate, Jose is his soulmate.

Brock’s made up his mind as soon as the cameras start rolling, but Jose is the one who lets it slip.

“So, how did this all get started?” Ru is looking between the two of them, and A’keria and Silky are smirking, and Jose whips out a marker from who knows where, a grin on his face.

“Contrary to what y’all thinking, it didn’t start on season eleven. Watch this.” Jose pauses, looking at Brock like he’s almost asking permission, and Brock nods, because why not?

The gasps from Ru and the rest of the girls and the cameramen when Jose draws a star on his hand that shows up on Brock’s makes it worth it.

It’s the first time that Brock’s ever seen Ru speechless, the cue cards in his hands rendered useless, the questions that he’d been planning to ask no longer relevant.

“You’re-you’re soulmates?” Ru’s looking back to the producers behind the cameras, almost asking if they knew, if this was planned.

But the producers shrug back, and it’s more satisfying than Brock wants to admit.

They’ve done it on their own terms, the way it should be.

“We’ve known each other since we were kids.” It feels strange to Brock, being able to talk about it, but the rest of the cast is quiet, attentive. Listening. “We didn’t meet in person until we were in our twenties, but Vanjie was worth the wait.”

The cast awws and even Ru looks a little bit less shell shocked. Jose, for his part, is preening, his face lit up in happiness, and Brock’s never seen anyone more beautiful.

“Some could call that an unfair advantage, you know,” Ru points between the two of them, “being able to talk to each other whenever you wanted to.”

Jose shrugs. “Hey, we were never on the same teams, what would we be using spy tactics for? Ain’t no point to that.”

Ru’s opening and closing his mouth, trying to figure out something else to say, when Scarlet pipes up from behind them in a dreamy voice. “That’s so romantic. You’re both living a fairytale.”

Brock snorts. Regardless of what others say, he’s glad it’s out in the open.

Sure, Brock’s a private person. But if the public is hanging on to every last detail of their relationship, he’s happy he gets to share his favourite part about it.

Brock is in a random town in Arizona for a gig and he’s tired.

He knows that he has to capitalize on his first year after being on Drag Race, make all the coins he can before everything dries up. But being consistently on the road is wearing him down, the constant new faces and the same questions being asked over and over again before he performs the same numbers, because he’s too damn exhausted to learn anything else.

He makes small talk with the local queens, plasters a smile on his face because he remembers being in that position, and that it pays to be nice. But it’s draining, and he wishes he could be home instead, the cats and Jose by his side.

He doesn’t even know where home is anymore. Not Nashville, not really. Not Toronto, not anymore.

But the word home makes him think of Jose’s laugh and Jose snuggling into his side and Jose making him a cup of tea when he’s too antsy. It makes him think of Jose’s grip on him tightening when he’s about to come, swear words that leave Jose’s mouth echoing in his ears. Home is the way that he greets Jose at the airport, or when they step into each others apartments, no longer having to rely only on Sharpies to feel like they’re in the same place.

He’s in an Uber to the airport at 3 a.m. because he has another gig the next day when words appear on his forearm that make him pause.

Move in with me

Brock please

I miss you

The words tug on his heart, crush it into small pieces because Brock misses him too, and wants nothing more than to be with him all the time. He doesn’t know how they survived so long without meeting in person. He’s not sure if he’d ever be able to go that long again.

The idea comes to him before he’s even pulled his Sharpie out from his bag.

Sure, he’d been planning to do it properly, plan something nice because he knows Jose likes that sort of thing, but he needs to ask now. Needs to know.

Because really, would there ever be any other option for them?

I’ll do you one better

????

Marry me

Brock’s hand is shaking, because fuck, he’s just asked his soulmate to marry him and he hasn’t replied yet and what if Jose isn’t on the same page at all and-

You asshole

Of course I will yes

But you better get me a proper ring

Brock’s laugh comes out half like a sob, and his Uber driver is curiously looking at him in the rearview mirror but he doesn’t care.

You know I will

Had to make sure you wanted to first

Bitch

Duh

Can’t believe it took you so long to ask

You could have easily asked me, y’know

Nah

Knew your ass likes to be the kind to do that shit

More that your ass is the kind that likes being proposed to, let’s be real

And???

Brock laughs because he can fully picture Jose’s grin, his indignation as he writes back. His Uber stops at the departure gate at the small airport and he has to unload his bags, his heart feeling like it’s already flying, because Jose said yes, Jose said yes.

A doodle of a wedding band appears on his finger as he’s going through security, and Brock never wants Jose to ever wash it off of his own hand.

Brock remembers being seventeen, seeing one of his older sisters show up to Thanksgiving dinner with a ring on her finger and her fiance in tow. A part of him had felt his heart flip in his chest, wondering if it would happen for him, when it would happen for him.

If it would be Jose who would have a matching ring on his finger.

And now, more than ten years later? He’s going to have one.

Brock’s in a tux and it’s tugging on him in weird places but he’s never been happier in his life.

He looks around the tent in which their wedding reception is taking place. His mother and his sisters and his nieces and nephews are here, their close friends are here, as are countless queens that have become family to him over the past decade or so.

He swears that Farrah tears up while giving her speech, though she’ll never admit it when Brock asks her about it later.

Jose is glowing as he sits with his own mom, her arm around him and they both look so happy. He sees Jose’s family that’s he’s gotten to know by name, and he wishes that he’d gotten to meet Jose’s abuela, the one that he’d heard about when they were kids.

There’s people missing from the wedding, people that both him and Jose desperately wanted to have there, but Brock supposes that that’s life.

He has a real wedding band on his finger now, and he never wants to take it off. A piece of him that’s also a piece of Jose, a commitment.

When Brock was younger, he’d wondered how soulmates worked. How they’d be together forever. Then he’d seen his own parents fall apart, seen how his mom became so much happier without his father. The way she’d done better without hers.

Brock gets it now. Soulmates aren’t the be all, end all. Soulmates still require effort, solving problems together, weathering through storms that threaten to ruin everything only to come out the other side a lot more stronger.

They’re going to have to try to work on it. They’re still going to tour and be away from each other, the way they’ve been for the last couple years, but it’s okay, it is. Because it’s not forever.

They’re capitalizing on their careers and getting their fill now and experiencing everything now while still getting to share it with each other through stories written along their skin.

He gets to keep sharing things with Jose, forever, if he wants to. His husband.

They’re going to be the soulmates that the stories talk about, the ones that work out, in the end. Brock knows it.

Brock takes another sip of his wine when a niece and nephew run up to him, the tiny tux and flower girl dress making him melt.

His niece crosses her arms. “Liam said- ”

“-I didn’t say, Emma said it-”

“-that you and Uncle Jose can write to each other. I think they’re lying.” His niece raises an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, and Brock wonders whether he was ever that rambunctious at six years old.

Nonetheless, he pulls out a Sharpie from his pocket, turns his hand over. “Watch this.”

He draws a smiley face, their customary smiley face, and has to hold a laugh back at the sight of his niece and nephew whipping their head over to look at Jose, to peek at his hand. They leave him, running over to where Jose’s standing and interrupting his conversation with his cousins to turn his hand over.

“Emma was right!”

“No way!”

Jose’s holding back a laugh at their astonishment and he looks over at Brock, the raised eyebrow and the soft smile on his face enough to make Brock’s heart all warm.

His niece and nephew run back, grabbing Brock’s arm.

“Write more, write more.” His nephew is practically spinning around.

His niece’s brow is furrowed. “But how?”

“Soulmates.” Brock nudges her shoulder. “Hey, maybe you’ll have one, too.”

His niece wrinkles her nose. “I hope it’s not a boy like yours.”

When she comes to him and Jose a couple years later with writing on her arms and a million questions to go with it, they don’t have all of the answers to give to her. Hell, he and Jose still don’t even have all the answers for themselves, but there’s one piece of advice that Brock says to her.

“Start with your name,” Brock hands her a Sharpie from the kitchen table, like the many that are scattered around their shared apartment, and laughs as she uncaps the marker enthusiastically with her teeth. “And everything will fall into place.”

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #canon compliant #soulmate au #holtzmanns #gold coloured prisms of light

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pandemicthestory · 4 years

Text

10: confused

Fake it til you make it.

In the middle of the City, fairly close to the Academy, there is a chrome-colored building that is taller than almost all of the rest. Night and Sugar stand in front of its doors, wondering how they’re going to get in.

The building is called “Mecca.” It’s filled with headquarters for top companies--mostly builders, but also fashion and interior designers, medical technicians, and game developers. Thousands of civilians report here for work 5 days a week. But since it’s Friday, as soon as it’s 5 o’clock, these workers will leave their desks and head to the top floor.

At the top floor of Mecca is LOUNGE, an exclusive night and day club where windows are always blacked out and the passing of time can’t be measured. A night club meets speakeasy meets casino, this is where the elites go to unwind. After a long week’s work of building, the business men and women of Mecca can swipe their membership card at the top floor and indulge themselves in the darker parts of life.

And this is exactly where Sugar intends on taking them.

“There’s no way we’re getting in.” Night mutters, hitting his forehead with his palm. This situation feels seriously illegal and seriously stupid. As he and Night stood at the front of this massive building, Night begins to wonder if he’s made a big mistake.

“Hold on now, don’t give up just yet, man. Listen, the separation medical facility is in this building.” Sugar explains.

“So..?”

“People think we’re Vacaters. So, we’ll tell security that we have appointments today, they’ll let us in, we’ll head to the facility and…”

“And what?”

“And figure it out from there? Let’s go dude!”

*buzz*

*buzz buzz buzz*

Suddenly, Night’s phone starts blowing up in his pocket. He can’t ignore it, because it just keeps going.

“Hold on a second, Sugar…”

Night reaches into his pocket and sees that he has several missed texts and calls. From Julian.

Oh god, what does he want from her so desperately? What could be so important that it can’t wait?

This is why he’d tapped Emma’s phone. It wasn’t because he’s creepy or trying to infringe on her privacy, though, he’ll admit, that’s exactly what it looks like. No, it’s because she’s unpredictable, and surrounded by people who don’t know what’s best for her. And because he really needs her to make it here.

JULIAN: where are u

JULIAN: stopped by your house and u weren’t there

JULIAN: ur mom said u were out for a walk, but i don’t think that’s true. Tell me what’s happening

(3 MISSED CALLS)

JULIAN: your friend zoe says that you’re out somewhere with her boyfriend. Care to explain? Wtf is going on...we’re leaving in a few days Emma

(2 MISSED CALLS)

JULIAN: we’re leaving tomorrow

Leaving?

Leaving where?

Night had known that Emma was planning something, just not what. Apparently Julian does.

Sugar taps his foot impatiently while Night composes a response to Julian. With the software he installed on his phone, it will be rerouted through Emma’s number. He’ll have no idea.

“EMMA”: Going where?

A pause, and then Julian is typing.

JULIAN: there you are. Fuck. don’t do that to me

“EMMA”: where are we going, julian?

JULIAN: what are you talking about? Are you trying to distract me from the fact that ur out chilling w Gabriel? The fuck?

Now Night is actually confused. Is this why she didn’t answer him? Because she was busy with Gabriel? And for that matter, who the hell is Gabriel?

What’s going on Emma? Everything you need was sent straight to your doorstep. Couldn’t have been easier. All you had to do was get the mail. So what went wrong?

Sugar yells to him, “DUDE, NOW.”

“Ok ok, I’m ready!” Night says, while composing and sending one last text.

“EMMA”: i’m not going anywhere with you julian. I’ve changed my mind. Don’t contact me again

Night runs after Sugar. He wonders to himself...what does such a smart girl see in such a profoundly stupid guy? Is she that starved of attention that she’ll settle for anyone who gives it to her? Note to self: that question will probably be offensive to her if he were to ask it. So he will not.

But hopefully he’ll at least have the chance. Soon.

Sugar storms ahead, and Night basically has no choice but to follow.

Sure enough, they head through metal detectors on their way in, and are then greeted by a squad of security guards. A guard steps in front of them. How many times is this going to happen today?

“Please swipe ID cards on the way in.”

This guard is nicer than the last one, he said please. He’s still in the way though. Sugar steps up.

“Hello sir, we don’t have ID cards because we don’t actually work here. We’re merely here for our appointments at the separation facility. We’re wearing our uniforms to indicate our status.” Sugar says, oozing with professionalism and aggressively overdoing it. Night fights a laugh under his breath (“merely..?”) and Sugar elbows him discreetly. The guard frowns.

“Is that so? We weren’t told of any separation appointments scheduled today...in fact, it’s rare that they’re ever scheduled on Fridays. What’s the reason you’re here for the service today instead of Monday?”

At this moment, both Sugar and Night are hoping that the other one has more knowledge of who the hell Vacaters actually are and what the hell the separation facility actually does. Unfortunately, neither of them do. Night realizes that he’ll have to throw another hail mary pass and hope for the best.

“Well it’s because, the...service...is going to be followed by a session with some other associates at LOUNGE.”

Now it was Sugar’s turn to try not to laugh. That was officially the dumbest ass response ever, which is why he is the resident debauchery mastermind and Night spends every night in front of a computer and a dead plant.

Night tries to remain confident. He couldn’t bank on these guys not understanding Vacaters, like the last pair of idiots, but he gambled that he could bank on them not knowing much about LOUNGE. From the look of it, these guys don’t seem like the type to be invited to an exclusive, glamorous party. They’re wearing jumpsuits.

“What? Really? That’s so...unusual.” One guard says. The other nods in agreement. They actually seem a bit...jealous? As in, why have these two bratty teenagers been invited to the top floor when we who have worked here for five years never will?

“Well yes, my father is a builder and it’s, uh, a sort of rite of passage for me to be vacated, er, separated, alongside him. In a celebratory way. After work.”

If Night got away with this, he’d owe the forces of the universe one.

The guards just nod in admiration while Sugar looks incredulous.

“Well then, good luck young man. We hope your last night will be a special one.”

The guards exchange nods with Night and Sugar, who head forward to the glass elevator.

“Separation facility is on 43!” Calls one of the security guards from behind, almost wistfully. Maybe one day he’ll get the chance to see what’s up there. But not likely.

Once inside the glass elevator, Sugar hugs Night around the shoulder.

“Ok honestly, I’m a bit shook that you’re a bad ass. Was pretty sure that you were just a virgin computer nerd.”

Night laughs to himself. That’s all that anyone has ever expected of him. But right now, seeing himself through Sugar’s eyes as a genius lawbreaker feels good. Intoxicating, even.

“What floor’d he say? 45, was it? Sugar asks.

“Why not go straight to the top?” Night asks, with a mischievous grin.

He hits the number “100” without waiting for an answer.

* * *

Emma crashes through the front door of her house, ready to have to explain herself to her parents and hoping to get through it painlessly.

But they don’t seem to be home. “Mom? Dad?”

They must be out looking for her. Now it all makes sense...her neurotic mother was blowing up her phone because she couldn’t even trust her daughter to take a walk around the damn block. Then her phone got destroyed in the parking lot. And now, since she hasn’t answered, they’re out looking for her. And when they eventually get back, she’ll probably be sent to prison. Cool.

Emma decides to take this time as a gift. Tune everything else out. This is her shot to save Isabel.

Emma runs upstairs to her room and tears the cardboard off the headset. She tosses the instructions aside because she has enough knowledge to put one of these together without them.

Does it need to be charged? It does not. It’s ready to go.

Now, to check on the download…

7 HOURS REMAINING

She groans. It’s speeding up, but not enough. She needs to plug in now, not in 7 god damn hours. She sees on her computer that there are a shit ton of unread G-chat messages from Zoe. Ugh, she’s probably dealing with some sort of jealousy moment right now and Emma just doesn’t have time to deal with it. So she doesn’t open them. Sorry Zo. You’ll forgive me.

Emma wracks her frazzled brain--there’s gotta be a way for her to get online and contact Emma.

Wait.

Emma runs across the hallway to Isabel’s room, carrying the headset and headphones. Isabel is still slumped over in her chair, alive, looking the same as before. Well at least she’s alive, which is cool. Emma examines the game on the computer--scanning the twisted map view of a city for any sign of her sister. None. Hm, guess it doesn’t work like that.

Emma looks at the game settings.

Ah, input/output. Yes. This is it.

If she can’t join from her own game, maybe she can join Isabel’s.

Emma sits down on a pile of clothes in the back of Isabel’s closet. She might as well get comfy, she could be here for a while. She puts on thick noise-canceling headphones and the headset, and everything goes dark and quiet.

Power on.

Emma wirelessly connects to Isabel’s computer, then sees the icon for the Universe game pop up in front of her eyes. With a nod, she selects it.

Black becomes blue.

Silence becomes ambient drone music.

Isabel’s done VR before, so she expects this. She still feels excitement. This technology never ceases to amaze her.

It’s when the feeling of the laundry beneath her fades away into a rush of cold air...

This, she does not expect.

#write #writer #writers on tumblr #writers #yanovel #yanovels #scifi story #my writing #hackergirl #gamergirl #virtualreality #scifi writing

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cloudevangelist · 3 years

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People Resilience in times of business resilience

When every organization is looking at staying resilient to face this pandemic, every human being is still in a state of shock from the decadent decline of everything around us. The pressure from COVID continues to mount as we are currently facing a wave 2 and potentially wave 3 will hit hard in the near future.

Let’s pause and go back to PRE-COVID days, life was hectic, people were working, they were going out and enjoying happy hours, dinners, parties, movies, football fans were watching in packed stadiums, some were flying 3 times a week, businesses were flourishing, expanding, over recruiting to mitigate the risk of falling behind.

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Then one December day, a tiny virus, SARS-CoV-2, that is the virus that causes COVID 19, brought the world to its knees. And with it, life as we know it, was abruptly shattered. Some people neglected it; others played it down. As the number of cases kept growing to reach a pandemic level, many stayed in denial. I was one of them!

I kept my plans as they are and traveled with my wife to Italy mid-February where I visited 6 cities in 7 days, driving more than 2500 KMS and flying much, much more. Trip started in Nice, then moved along the amazing Cote d’Azure scenery before reaching my first City in Italy, Genova. Road trips to the Capital of Tuscany, Florence followed by another drive to the romantic Venice. Later I moved to Modena and spent 2 days visiting Maserati, Ferrari, Maranello, a Parmigiano-Reggiano Cheese factory, the Aceto Balsamico factory tour, getting to experience the history of what is known as “The Black Gold of Modena” with all my senses. After that I hopped to Milan, visited San Siro (as an avid football fan, visiting stadiums is on top of my hobbies). I wouldn’t have left that part of Italy without visiting “La Vecchia Signora” famous Allianz Stadium.

The One and Only...Massimo Bottura

The epitome of our visit to Italy, was a pre-booked lunch at Osteria Francescana where we had the chance of our lives to meet the one and only “Massimo Bottura”. A dream came true. This culinary experience was out of this world! Highly recommended for foodies!

The whole world was on lockdown, companies started furloughs, unpaid leaves, half salaries and HR Policies started to change drastically. Human Resources departments must undergo a shift in priorities from developing and retaining its top talents to safekeeping the health of employees and keep its workforce and workplace safe. COVID counters jumping high, people locked at home, transformed their homes into multi-purpose facilities, an office, a gym, kids’ playground, and even a movie theater twice a week.

"Zoom-bies"

Meanwhile, business resilience became top trend with an increased focus on people’s wellness and mental health. As Companies were trying to survive and ensure continuity, their employees turned into “Zoom-bies”, some glued to their chairs for 12 hours a day. First couple of weeks were adaptation phase. Every big change needs adaptation then acclimatization, followed by steady incline in tasks, business initiatives, presentations, team meetings and many more activities. While everyone kept tab on the number of infections in their country of residence and worldwide, no one knew where we are heading, when it’s going to stop, how strong is this virus? Comparing it to the Spanish Flu, drawing charts of infections per day vs Number if Deaths per Day vs Per Capita, etc...

Working from home while baby sitting and doing all other house chores drained people. The pre-approved once a week supermarket trip became our only escape window. With every passing day, hope remains a great push through, but a solution or a hard stop still seems distant. Here comes an existential question, how did people stay resilient all this time and kept moving forward?

Those first couple of weeks were a complete shock to the entire system. Later, people started acclimating and integrating new habits into their routine daily lives.

"The Fit and Healthy"

“The Fit and Healthy” moved into putting an exercise routine and a food diet to maintain their shape. You start seeing people resorting to the streets next to where they live, to the forest nearby or even to parking lots. In some countries, lockdowns were total, in other countries partial, where people could exercise for 3 hours daily in the afternoon. Even in the hottest countries, you could observe flocks of people walking on the streets where no cars were allowed. Even after 4 months of exercise, that became a routine that was not coupled with any other outing; previously, they used to go out for a Latte, or a happy hour before or after hitting the gym. Now it’s only exercise and even “The Fit and Healthy” dug for more stamina to keep going and started exercising with their kids, practicing yoga in their backyard or even acquiring new sport hobbies like biking or rafting. Resilience of the fittest had to take different forms in order to sustain.

"The Workaholics"

“The Workaholics” resorted to work more than 12 hours a day as an escape from reality. The reality of a new pandemic were more than 50 percent of the people never experienced such a phenomenon. Working on their desk, immersing themselves in new learnings, work initiatives, webinars, trainings, etc... Now people had more time for self-development. That also is a form of resilience that many people have started doing. No one measured how long this will take to be resolved. As I write this article, COVID is still infecting people worldwide, numbers are still being multiplied by the thousands every day and The Workaholics are now ruing how much time they are facing Zoom every day. Zoom is their best companion nowadays but the length of using it has had its toll on most people. The exhaustion from sitting 12 hours has affected physical and mental health of almost everyone and “The Workaholics” has to turn to physical exercise to stay resilient.

"The Shellshocked"

“The Shell shocked” resorted to panic attacks every time they hear the COVID numbers. Worldometer became their best friend. Analytics turned into their hobby and medicine became their second profession. They started researching previous pandemics, comparing Spanish Flew Charts to COVID Charts. Even some of them started noting and building their own comparative charts. This group has one objective in mind, predict the end of this pandemic. Even a slight decrease in numbers in their country or any other country might deviate them to announce the end date, self-announcement of course. Another form of resilience for the fragile as well, to be able to work around their fears and to keep their feelings in check by becoming doctors, vaccines’ specialists, and pharmacists gave this group its resilience vaccine.

Resilience is relative in my opinion. All the aforementioned groups started their resilient journey energetically to later be affected by the extended periods of confinement that they had to endure. Just imagine what a day for working parents of 2 might look like. What kind of routine they must find? Here a day might feel shorter than 60 seconds from the moment they wake up at 5-6ish till the moment their kids go to bed. From kids homeschooling, back to back meetings, cleaning, cooking, then kids’ activities, cleaning again, dinner, putting kids to bed...try to repeat this sentence twice and have a temperature check after that! This won’t need planning at all, it’s all planned for you in advance. It’s hectic and crazy that some days you might sleep on the floor from exhaustion.

Human brains and bodies, in my opinion, are still much more powerful than supercomputers. They can create wonders when put to the test of having to acclimatize and survive uncertain times.

Always believe in yourself, have faith, befriend hope, and never lose sight of what always kept your engine running. My family is my greatest motivator and I know many would agree with me when I say that family is the greatest strength anyone can have. Keep them close, keep them happy!

#resilience

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