#not sure if i believe him but i guess there's no harm in tryin. at least he usually likes it when i remember to eat n stuff. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

Note

88. I dropped my watch in an open grave, jumped in to get it, and while you were visiting your dead grandmother, you saw me climbing out of the grave (credit to @enchantedcass)

Indruck, sfw or nsfw, please!

Here it is! This is technically SFW, though there's some discussion of sex and a bit of steaminess at the end.

“Here, these are fresh.” Indrid sets the wildflowers on the small, stone marker, so covered with moss and worn with age that no one can read it. He only knows where to find her because he watched from the Barrens as she was put in the ground.

Temperance Leeds. His grandmother, the one who narrowly avoided accusations of witchcraft, the only human who ever set foot deep enough in the trees to bring him food, to drape blankets over his shaking shoulders. She never forgot him, and he shall return the favor as long as he lives.

There’s a thump of earth behind him and he whirls; it’s midnight in a graveyard, who could possibly be here? The ghosthunters usually wait for darker nights to come. In his periphery, a hand rises from an open grave.

Great, if the dead rise he’ll probably be blamed for that too.

“Fuck” A young man pulls himself from the grave, staring at his cell phone, “c’mon, please don’t be fuckin cracked.” Light illuminates his face and sighs, “thank fuckin christ.”

The light disappears and he blinks, eyes adjusting to the dark. Indrid, too caught up in working out why he’s in the ground, hasn’t bothered to hide as he should. The human notices.

“Uh. I. Uh. Dropped my phone checkin the time. I, uh, definitely wasn’t smokin in the off limits, uh, fuck, graveyard I, uh, I fuck, promise I’ll clean up my beer bottles I mean, uh, fuck.” He scratches the back of his neck, “please don’t call the cops?”

“Can you see me?” Indrid cocks his head.

“Yeah?”

“And you are worried about me alerting the police?”

“I mean, guess we’re both breakin the rules but I kinda figured you were staff here because of the clothes.” He gestures to the ensemble Indrid cobbled together from clothes lines.

Indrid stands, stretches his wings, flicks his tail and watches the human slowly notice the color of his eyes and the outline of his horns.

“Fuck. Look, man, whatever you are, I swear I won’t tell, I’m just tryin to keep busy, please, my folks are already worried about me-”

“I’m not going to harm you.” Lightning cracks through the sky, flashing his shadow across the frightened human, “I just wanted you to see me clearly.”

Rain patters on the leather of his wings. The man looks up at the sky, face seeming even younger as it fills with resignation. Indrid recognizes it’s source.

“You have nowhere to go, do you?”

“No. I, uh, decided I wanted to get outta town and never come back, made it as far as here before I ran outta money.”

Indrid offers his hand, watches the man’s face zero in on the claws, “You may spend the night with me, if you wish. My home is a ways into the woods, but it is dry and warm.”

“Okay.” The young man replies softly, letting Indrid help him up as the dirt turns to mud. Indrid shelters him as best he can with a wing until they reach the cottage. Indrid kneels by the fireplace, lumps kindling into a pile as the young man sets his backpack on a chair.

“Nice place. Gotta admit I was expectin somethin more dilapidated. On account of the whole, uh, y’know.” He gestures to Indrid’s horns and cloven feet.

“It was much like you expected, once upon a time. But a human named Arlo Thacker took pity on me and helped me build it with the aid of a few friends. There.” The fire flickers merrily, “that should keep us warm. You may--ah, what are you doing?”

The young man has removed his jacket and shirt, revealing what Indrid recognizes from human magazines as a sports bra. His hands are now on the fly of his jeans.

“You said I was supposed to, uh, spend the night with you?”

“Yes, in that you may sleep here to be safe from the weather and any who might wish you harm. Not so that you may keep me warm. So to speak.”

“You’re not gonna fuck me?”

Indrid flicks his tail, surprised, “You would offer yourself to me, looking like this?”

The man nods in a way that suggests he’s run a calculus in his head and decided Indrid’s desire was less abhorrent than some other option. Indrid crosses the small living room, bringing them face to face. He reaches out a hand, runs his claws through black hair until the human closes his eyes. Then his hand slides to cup his cheek, one nail tracing fond little shapes on the skin as the man sighs. Against his better judgement, he tilts his head down to nose the dark locks; smoke lingers there, just as alcohol hangs on his breath. He’s so warm, so willing and so very soft. Indrid wants nothing more than to undress him further, carry him to his cozy bedroom and discover what sounds come when he fits their bodies together.

“What’s your name?”

“Duck. It’s a nickname.”

“A charming one. But no, Duck, I will not take such advantage of you. I may be called a devil, but I do not believe in making one trade their body for basic kindness. Come along, the bedroom will allow you more privacy.”

“Thanks.” Duck sways, and Indrid senses a weariness he’s not certain a good nights rest will fix. Tomorrow he will be sure to be gone when Duck awakens, leaving his dry clothes and a map back to town outside his door so that he can do what Indrid can dare to; leave the Barrens and find a life waiting for him in the world beyond.

-----------------------------------------------------------

There are some days when Duck thinks his encounter in the woods was a dream. The hand-drawn map he keeps folded among his books tells him otherwise.

He’d come home after that night, made his peace with Kepler for a few years more, and often awoke from dreams where he was pushing through brush in pursuit of a strange shadow. He never cites these as a reason for his taking a job at a state forest in New Jersey that includes the Barrens.

Now, he’s decided to upgrade from his apartment to a house in the woods that’s been listed for over two years and is a goddamn steal because of that.

“As you can see, there’s another residence across the clearing; that’s why the company that built this lovely dwelling was able to do so. They intended to build a nice little community here.”

“The fact that ain’t happened got anythin to do with the reason I gotta stay the night before I make an offer?”

Ned’s smile falters, “Indeed, dear boy. I like you, so I’ll be forthcoming; we’ve never seen anyone in the other house. But they have most certainly seen us.”

Duck settles in for an uneventful afternoon and evening, reads his book and considers whether he could fit some windowboxes on the house for garden space. It’s not until it’s pitch black outside that it starts; footsteps on the roof, followed shortly by red eyes peering in through the living room window.

He opens the front door, the undergrowth rustling hurriedly to his left.

“Uh, hey there. You may not remember me but, uh, we’ve actually met before. About ten years ago. You uh, you let me stay the night?”

Only some crickets, unaware of the tension in the air, reply to him. Then the bushes grow two, ruby red flowers.

“Duck?”

“Yep. Y’know, you never told me your name. If we’re gonna be neighbors, feels like I oughta know what to call you.”

A shadow moves from the trees, stopping when it reaches the light spilling from the windows. He’s as Duck remembers him; short horns sprouting from a mop of silver hair, claws on his fingers and black wings folded on his back. His skin is a swirl of ashy grey and ember red. And his face, while striking, is human. That was the part that always tripped Duck up; the Jersey Devil was always drawn with a goat or horse face, making him question whether that’s who he met all those years ago.

“Indrid. My name is Indrid.”

“Nice to see you again, Indrid.”

The other man smiles, and Duck knows what will replace the mad hunt through the brush in his dreams, “Likewise.”

-------------------------------------------------

“You know, she had three more children after me. None of them suffered the same curse.” Indrid kicks idly at the long decayed remains of his family home. Their nightly walk brough them close to it this time around, and Duck had been curious. His interest is never prurient or morbid; Duck wants to get to know Indrid, not his legend.

“That fuckin sucks.”

Indrid chuckles, “I do enjoy how you put things so plainly.”

“I’m serious, what kind of folks put their kid out when it’s a baby? I mean, mine weren't always the fuckin parents of the year but at least they understood lookin after me was part of the deal.”

“It was a different time.”

“Fine, but I’m still judgin the hell outta them.”

Indrid looks fondly down at the human, “That’s as fair a fate for them as any.”

---------------------------------------

“It don’t weird you out?” Juno indicates Indrid’s house from where she and Duck are sitting on his front porch. The twin Adirondack chairs are a new addition, as the warmer months mean he and Indrid spend ample time trying to see the stars through the treetops.

“Nah. Indrid’s a real good neighbor when he’s around. He’s uh, from an old family so he don’t gotta work. Part of why he keeps such weird hours.” Duck wishes he could introduce them; it’d be nice for the three of them to have dinner before Juno heads south again. But Indrid has several centuries of shitty human encounters that dig under his skin like splinters, and Duck will never push him to ignore that pain. Besides, there will be other visits.

The summer and fall pass in much the same ways last winter and spring did. Duck works in the park, visits friends in town, runs errands, and generally goes about all the mundane moments that make up a life. Then he spends his evenings in one of the two cottages, or walking alongside Indrid on long-overgrown pathways.

The hardest part of it all is not mentioning Indrid in every single conversation; Duck is already tempting disaster being unable to lie and the neighbor of a cryptid. He doesn’t want to also drive his friends up the wall talking about said cryptids art, or his laugh, or the little herb garden Duck is helping him grow.

They’re in the stretch of days between Christmas and New Year, and Indrid has just finished opening the gift Duck brought him; a thick, soft sweater that Duck stitched a “I” into the front of along with a few little pine tree patches. Indrid smiles at him and notices that Duck’s sweater is done in a similar fashion (in fact, everyone in the Newton family wears one like this). The grin turns bashful and Indrid rubs his cheek against the fabric.

“Thank you, Duck. I, ah, I’m sorry I do not have anything to give you. Holidays are not my strong suit.”

“Just gettin to see you is enough.” Duck stands to refill his tea, Indrid’s gaze caressing his back as he moves through the room. He almost hadn’t gone home, had offered to stay and keep Indrid company. But his friend insisted, reminding him that while it felt odd to be without each other, they both had spent plenty of time apart and been fine. All the same, when he got home yesterday Indrid was knocking on his door before he even put his bag down.

Duck didn’t mind at all. No more than he minds when Indrid sleeps with his head in his lap or strokes his hair while they read on the couch.

The cryptid stokes the fire as the snow gives way to sleet, streaking the windows with icy drops.

“Goodness, what a frigid night.”

“No kiddin.” Duck sets his mug down, turns just as Indrid gets to his feet, “can’t say I mind, kinda reminds me of the night we met.”

The colors of Indrid’s skin make a blush difficult to spot, but Duck’s learned which dip of his head and quirk of his lip means it’s there.

“‘Drid? Did you ever think about that night? Because I did. I, uh, I do.”

“Yes.” Indrid’s tail twitches.

“What do you think about?”

“I, ah, I...you first.”

Duck crosses the creaking floorboards, looking up into red eyes, “I think about how safe it felt when you brought me here. How when I woke up, I felt like this was some kinda weird sign, that I needed to rethink some things and that’s how come I went home, which turned out to be a good call. And” he smirks, “I think about how I was drunk and desperate enough to ask the fuckin Jersey Devil if he was gonna fuck me.”

Indrid blushes once more, studies the ground as Duck touches his shoulder, “I must say that is the part that dominated most of my thoughts. Not right away; for the first few weeks when I thought of you I only hoped you were alright. Then I would let myself imagine that I had been devilish indeed.”

Gently, Duck raises Indrid’s hand and cradles his cheek with it as they did that night, “What would you have done, devil of mine?”

A snicker, “I will answer that only if you tell me whether you are angling for the demonstration that I think you are.”

“Damn right.” He closes his eyes, heart swelling and skin prickling as Indrid steps closer and nuzzles the top of his head.

“I would have asked if you were tired of running. If you wanted a home. And would you like to make it here, so that we could keep each other company. I know in my heart this would have been a selfish offer. I am glad I did not make it, did not trap you here, resign you to a fate that was not what you would have chosen freely.”

“I’m pretty fuckin free these days.”

“And that all on it’s own fills me with joy. But yes, there were nights where I wished I’d been selfish.”

Duck tips his head up, brushing their noses together, “Say you made that offer and I accepted. What then?”

Indrid cups his face with both hands. The kiss is chaste, Indrid sighing against his lips as he twines his claws in his hair. Duck wraps his arms around his waist, lightly teasing the edge of one wing.

“Then” Indrid murmurs, “I’d carry you to bed.”

“Yeah, that part woulda been easier when I was seventeEEN” he laughs as Indrid scoops him into a bridal carry with ease. He’s never been in Indrid’s bed, so he giggles again when he discovers it’s ten times squishier than his own. The cryptid sinks onto it with him, guiding him so they’re face to face on their sides.

“May I undress you?”

“Knock yourself out, darlin.” Affection deep and warm as a thermal spring wells up in him as Indrid carefully removes his sweater and shirt before dainty setting his claws to work on his fly. When Duck is down to his boxers, hunger enters Indrid’s eyes for the first time.

“Oh you are divine.” One hand strokes his leg, pausing at the crease of his thigh each time it reaches there. The other curves along his belly up to his chest before caressing his face, the black claws making his skin seem oddly pale and very fragile in comparison.

Duck touches the hem of Indrid’s shirt and the cryptid freezes.

“‘Drid? Is this okay?”

“Do you...truly wish to see me unclothed?”

Duck surges forward to kiss him as he rucks up his shirt, the movement a sufficient answer for Indrid to raise his arms and let him pull the sweater and battered shirt beneath it away. His skin here is the same swirl of colors as the rest of him, but there’s a dusting of peach fuzz fur across it. It’s delightful under Duck’s tongue, though the little keen of pleasure from Indrid is even better.

“It’s strange” Indrid traces hearts and zig-zags with his claws along Duck’s sides as the human continues kissing his chest and neck, “I thought that seeing you like this would so overwhelm me with need that I’d beg to have you this instant. But it seems I feel much the same way I did in my fantasies of that night.”

“Oh” Duck reaches up to toy with the base of a horn and Indrid groans happily before continuing.

“Had you stayed, knowing you were now mine, I’d have taken my time. Nestled you under the blankets, opened you up on my tongue until you were weak from pleasure. That way it would be easy to take you when I was ready. Perhaps on your back, so you had me to hold onto if you needed. Or on your belly, so you would be even more sheltered from the cold, cruel world by my body and wings. And I’d stay there for hours, make up for decade after decade of touch starvation by glutting myself on your young, willing body.”

“Holy fuck, ‘Drid.” Duck pulls him down into a kiss, “christ that’s a fuckin good image.”

“Mmmm” the cryptid licks his cheek, “it is, isn’t it. But since you are not going anywhere, and we are not limited by the confines of my imagination, I am even less inclined to rush. Will you indulge me with just kisse tonight?”

Duck brushes silver hair from his forehead, planting a kiss there when he’s done, “Of course.”

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The morning brings several feet of snow and announcement that those who can stay in their homes and shelter from the ongoing storm should. The pines drop heaps of white across the ground, and frost makes the windows so icy it’s better to draw the curtains and stay curled up in the dark.

Duck doesn’t mind at all.

#indrid cold/ duck newton #indruck #meet ugly #monster boyfriend

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lakemojave · 3 years

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Land of Falling Sun 6

It was too hot for the wanderer to travel.

He convinced Chipper, who was in high spirits and unbothered by the heat, to help him pitch a tent and rest. In their taloned feet they lifted the canvas while the wanderer staked it to the ground. While they hovered in the air, they scanned the horizon for nearby threats, and looked to the nearby town for any changes. There was nothing of particular interest. The group would be safe here, at least for the moment.

The wanderer took a seat under the tent, took off his hat, and shook the sweat out of his short hair with his hands. Chipper perched just outside, while Dog slowly circled the tent, forming a perimeter with its own eerie countenance.

Chipper had grown more comfortable around their companion. He was still withdrawn, still short, still grumpy, still rarely speaking unless spoken to, but he had a resolve and determination that made them feel safe around him. What exactly he was determined towards was still a mystery. Chipper had respected his privacy for the last few days, but their relentless curiosity was too much to hold off.

“So,” they asked, cautiously, “Think that’s where we’re headed?” They gestured towards the town in the distance. It was somewhat closer now, and the smoke tower had not stopped rising.

“That? Not sure.” The wanderer leaned on his back in the tent. “I don’t like the scent coming from that smoke.”

“Scent?” Chipper tilted their head.

“You don’t smell it too? It’s subtle, but there’s dead matter in that smoke. Just like--”

“The brush fire.”

“Exactly. Real nasty.” He seemed altogether unbothered by the foul smell, as if he was already used to it, or as if he knew it well.

“How do you recognize it?” When Chipper asked this, the wanderer’s eyes widened with anxiety, as though they touched on some secret he was not ready to share. Then, as quickly as his stress arrived, it left him, and he shared this secret.

“Seen a lot of funeral pyres in my day,” he began. “Mass burnings of the dead. Sometimes it’s just to get rid of em, lay the ashes down. But most of the time it’s ritual acts.” He leaned forward from his recline, and Chipper did as well out of curiosity. “Folks using the dead for magical means. Apparently with enough ash, smoke, or overcooked flesh you can do just about anything.”

“Did you ever do that?”

“Nah, it was mostly uh,” he hesitated before his next words, “Adversaries. People who wished me harm, or who I was tryin’ to pop myself.”

Chipper figured he had a violent past behind him, but was surprised by this nonetheless. Here it was. Time for the big question. “What did you do?” they asked. “You know...before?”

The wanderer took about ten seconds to decide not to lie.

“I was,” he began, “An outlaw of sorts. Ran with some guys who got a little too in over their heads. Good money for a while. Then they all got in over their heads, started spouting dreams about freedom and justice for all people. Or something like that, it was all bullshit anyway.”

Chipper looked concerned at first, then intrigued, then astonished. “Do you...do you not believe in those things? Justice for all people?” they asked timidly.

“Nah nah I of course I do,” the wanderer said. “I mean...who doesn’t?” Having rested, the wanderer started a fire, and put on a percolator with some coffee. He continued speaking while doing this. “I dunno. Not sure what I believe in over here. Those guys were full of shit though. Nothing but thieves and murderers all but convinced they were anything but thieves and murderers. I had to get out while I could.” “What was it like?” “Oh it was terrific. Loved those days.” He turned the percolator. “We were brothers, living free and sewing chaos in a world desperate to organize and scheme. We robbed banks, stages, trains, alchemists, army men, damn near everybody. We even got rich once, though it didn’t last long.”

“What happened?”

He paused and reflected. “I got shot in a robbery. That’s when I…” His wrist twitched with this, and the fire momentarily blazed, then returned to normal. Chipper regarded his blackened hand, but said nothing. The wanderer clutched his shoulder in pain, then returned to his story.

“Since then my eyes got weary and my hands got shaky. My shot’s gotten a bit sloppier since then, but I was the only one of us who could summon. Became the Work horse, as it were. All their talk started seeming like just that: talk. Left without a trace not long ago.” He finished abruptly.

Chipper was content with the extent of detail to which the wanderer delved into his past, but he touched on something even more curious to them. “So your magic,” they asked, “You’ve only just started? I kinda thought you were more...experienced?”

“...why?” The wanderer felt like he should be insulted.

“Well,” Chipper elaborated, “You use a knife, right? No guns, just knife, right?”

“Ditched my five shot at the river, yeah. Does it mattter?”

“I think so. Knives are popular with magic users, aren’t they?”

The wanderer thought about this, and drew his own knife, inspecting it. It was pretty plain: a wide-bladed hunting knife of blackened metal. He kept it sharp and smooth, perhaps the best kempt possession on his person. It had nothing to do with his magic, this he knew for certain. He had seen lots of practitioners with knives before--alchemists, sorcerers, witches, especially those who could summon--but it was always a simple means of self defence. At least, that’s what he thought.

“I guess I’ve noticed that, yeah.” As he flipped his blade, it seemed to make a more distinct noise than usual, as though slicing through the air around him. “Do you know anything about it?”

“A little,” they said. “My teachers said any practitioner needs to channel through something. Sometimes it’s written sigils,” they flexed their etched feathers as they said this, “Sometimes it’s tools or weapons. But I’ve only ever seen you use your freaky arm oil.”

The wanderer sighed. “It’s...from that shot. Hurt real bad, but now I can cast magic I guess. Lucky we stopped, I was starting to get sore.”

“Sore? You mean…”

The wanderer gazed at his bright young companion with pain, grief, and a pensiveness that conveyed thoughts of doom and dread. He took of his coat and vest and unbuttoned his shirt.

What Chipper saw was what they expected, but not what they were prepared for. His arm, up past his right elbow, was covered every inch by that black tar, several pitches darker than his natural skin. Creeping up to his shoulder and spiraling around a single point, which they took to be the site of the bullet wound, were tendrils of this tar. They swirled across his skin, seeming to blend in and scar the closer to his torso they got. Then, once they found the wound, his true condition became apparent all at once. Strands and tendrils and roots and scars of tar sprouted from this wound, traveling across the wanderer’s whole upper body. They wove and interlaced across his chest in a chaotic pattern of angles and spirals, occasionally breaking into a mazelike order and organization, and collapsing into the same mess just as easily. They crept up his neck to be just visible past where his jacket collar would be, and just past his left shoulder, as if beginning the conquest of his left arm as well. He took his left finger, and keeping eye contact with chipper, traced a thread on his chest, wincing in pain on contact with his own skin.

His own gift was killing him.

“I can’t go too long without Working. I’ve never stopped; too scared to find out what’ll happen if I do.”

“Oh…” Chipper said, their wonder and amazement at his natural gift quickly changing into concern and anxiety. “Is there um...anything we can do?”

“We?”

“Yeah, we.” They folded their wings, and gently bowed their head--a display of a pledge of service among their people. “I want to help you.”

“Lil fella,” he started, “You can’t…”

He wanted to push them away. He wanted to send this poor kid off on their way to some community they could live a normal life. He wanted to keep them safe from this wild unknown, the rough men who could be out here, but most of all, his own self.

He couldn’t. He had grown attached to them, and clearly they felt the same. He couldn’t pick Chipper up off the desert floor just to pass them on to someone else like an unwanted gift. He couldn’t even justify himself to them. You can’t help. Bullshit. As far as he knew, there was nothing this kid couldn’t do.

He sighed.

“Alright. We.” He bowed his own head, then reached for his shirt. “Think my coffee’s almost done. Want some?”

#land of falling sun #my writing

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statticscribbles · 3 years

Text

Fae

Summary: John Bender/Reader Request: He’s always been a rebel but it’s simply because he’s from a long line of magic hunters so on Saturday when he goes to detention he’s on the hunt for a fairy (our adorable spitfire y/n) and he tries to make her show her true self so he can hunt her and get his freedom and he ends up capturing her and trying to cut off her wings (like maleficent) and he can’t go through with it, with a happy ending

Magic wasn’t uncommon and it wasn’t like you had to hide yourself. It was of course strongly advised and you were normally good about keeping your magic in check but once in a while you just had to let it out; it wasn’t healthy to keep so much bottled in. Of course your decision to prank Vernon by dousing every article of clothing he had in the scent of boiled eggs wasn’t the kindest but you couldn’t help yourself with how happy everyone looked when the teachers forced him to leave and refused to let him back in the school until he’d changed. Of course he’d figured out it was you; you were convinced he was Fae himself but it was rude to ask, not to mention you weren’t keen on the idea of exposure to him.

“I’d ask what you’re doing here but I’m guessing everyone knows about the egg issue by now.” John Bender grins from where he leans against the railing you’ve perched on. “And you? I’m guessing it’s just from being an asshole?” “Fire alarm; again.” “Again again? Can’t the teachers get in trouble for sending you to detention one too many times?” “I was tryin’ to flush out, uhh, prank a couple people.” “Flush out? Were you hoping one of those girls you have your eye on was gonna get soaked?” “Magic.” “There’s magic at the school?” “No, someone in the school has it.” “I’m sure plenty of people do.” “Not people; the Fae.” “Fae?” You figure playing dumb is the best course of action, he nods before you’re all herded into the classroom to wait out your Saturday.

“So you hear John believes in Fae.” You laugh and everyone stays quiet watching you. “What? Oh come on you don’t all believe in the Fae right?” “We do; John’s entire family are hunters.” “Like actual magic hunters?” You turn watching him strike a match on his teeth. “Yeah, you need something magical killed I’m your guy.” You nod dumbly trying not to panic, you can feel your wings pulsing and shifting under your skin before you mumble some excuse before sprinting out of the classroom. You unfurl your wings curling them around you as you squeeze yourself into a corner of an empty room and let your wings flutter and block your vision. “Gotcha.” You peer from between your wings to see John smirking at you teeth gleaming.

“I didn’t think it was you Y/N. I really had hope it wouldn’t be you. Course I didn’t think I’d get stuck here, stuck like this.” “You have magic?” You tilt your head your wings tucking themselves behind you. “Not enough to fix this.” He shrugs and you watch him pull his jacket off and you can see the chain like imprints that loop his skin, you assume the lock, the burn from the magic that sealed him into it is on his chest. He grins laughing a little. “I’m not going to take my shirt of Y/N no matter how cute you look staring at me like you’re trying to figure out if it’s a trick. I’m not Fae; I won’t trick you.” “Then what do you need me for, if not my magic?”

“You wings will get me freedom, they’ve been after a pair of Fae wings for centuries, I’m just the next in line to fail I guess.” “You have me trapped here, away from my magic, I’m weak, you could easily take them. You wouldn’t fail.” He laughs again and you frown. “You really think I can hurt you? That I’d be able to live with myself if I did?” “Well I assumed you’d be free; me being wingless has nothing to do with your freedom.” “Why would I trade your freedom for mine?” “Because you’re more important to yourself than I am to you.” “And what do you know of what I value?” He snaps and you laugh flaring your wings out letting them shift and shimmer in the light. “I need not know what you value; your wants and desires mean nothing to me.” He sounds bitter when he speaks after you. “And what would a Fae know of a mortals desires?”

“You desire flesh. Not the way the others of your line do.” Your voice softens and your hand brushes his cheek. “You desire me; but not to harm.” “Never to harm.” He echoes and you worry the magic you’re using to peer into his head is warping his own thoughts. His hand reaches for yours and you note he doesn’t move to draw a weapon; or any sort of defense; his hand just runs up your arm, fingers brushing against your neck you lean closer cocking your head at him.

“What do you want John?” He furrows his brow eyes tracing down his own scared arms, following the pattern of chains and you watch as his eyes flow up your skin, against your wings and resting to meet your eyes. “You.”

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#john bender #john bender x reader #john bender x you #john bender x y/n #john bender imagine #john bender reader insert #breakfast club #breakfast club reader insert #breakfast club imagine #stattic

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madtype · 3 years

Text

Cabaret Club Czar Training - YUKI (Part 4)

yuki’s training continues! this time she and majima discuss personal improvement, unsuccessful job hunting, and how yuki ended up as a hostess.

highlights: - majima being very kind and supportive to yuki regardless of the option chosen - yuki still being too nervous to even theoretically sit a job interview - majima making brazen assumptions about yuki’s love life...

full transcript under the cut!

---

MAJIMA: Okay, ready for another round of talking?

YUKI: Yes, please!

M: Wow, Yuki-chan. You've got those battle butterflies all sorted out, don't ya?

Y: Well, it is just you, Majima-san.

M: Hey, we'll have none of that, thanks.

M: Alright! I'm the customer, you're the hostess, same as always. Are ya ready?

Y: Yeah! Of course!

Y: Welcome to Club Sunshine, Yuki! I mean, customer!

M: ...We still ain't there.

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Y: Majima-san, thank you for requesting me. It's pretty cold today, isn't it?

M: Hey, Yuki-chan. You're lookin' cute as ever today.

Y: Haha... Hahahahaha...

M: Yo, what's with the giggles? I'm tryin' to talk to you like a customer would.

Y: Oh, I'm sorry! Majima-san, when you're the one telling me I'm cute, I can't help it... Hahaha.

M: Well, whatever works. At least you're doing okay when it's me you're practicin' with.

Y: Y-Yeah. I used to get nervous even talking to you, Majima-san. But with your help, I feel like... I'm getting it now.

Y: Even the conversations with my customers are getting longer lately. I'm actually starting to have fun at work!

M: That so? What ya been talkin' about?

Y: Everything and nothing. What they've done recently, what they ate... Oh, and hobbies!

M: Hobbies? Yeah, I seem to recall yours was...

> Writing in a diary.

M: ...Writing in a diary, right?

Y: That's right! I've recently started keeping a log of the customers I get each day, and I note all of their unique qualities and conversation topics.

M: Ah, that's some nice dedication to your customers. Way to go, Yuki-chan.

Y: I know my customer service skills aren't that great yet, so I thought I'd do what I can to get better.

Y: Well, I'm still working at it. I know I've got room to grow.

M: Hey, that's some good stuff right there, Yuki-chan. You've come a real long way.

> Bonsai.

M: It was bonsai, right?

Y: Wow, Majima-san, you actually remembered I raise bonsai? That's amazing! I only mentioned it briefly, didn't I?

M: Heh. When you're working at a cabaret club, a steel trap memory is half the battle.

Y: That's true. I found myself forgetting little things, so I started keeping a log of my customers' unique qualities and conversation topics in my diary.

M: Ahh, so now you've practically got a case file on your customers. Way to go, Yuki-chan.

Y: I know my customer service skills aren't that great yet, so I thought I'd do what I can to get better.

Y: Well, I'm still working at it. I know I've got room to grow.

M: Hey, that's some good stuff right there, Yuki-chan. You've come a real long way.

> Reading self-help books.

M: ...Reading relationship self-help books, right?

Y: N-No, it isn't! I mean, I guess I did read one. Once.

M: Yeah, what was the line you fed me? “Meat and potatoes are the quickest way to a man's heart!” Somethin' like that?

Y: Ahhhhh! Seriously! Just forget about that, please!

M: Heh heh heh.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

M: So, the club's come quite a long way, hasn't it? And you've been here since the beginning to see it all change.

Y: Yes, right. I've only been here for six months, though. I graduated from college just this year.

M: Yeah, remember when this place had three girls in it, including you?

M: So tell me somethin'. Why's a girl like you working in a club like this, anyway?

Y: Th-That's because...

M: Last time I asked, ya clammed up just like this. Maybe it's time ya cleared the air.

Y: ...... (uehh..)

Y: I... I couldn't find a job.

M: Eh?

Y: After I graduated from college, my job search was going nowhere, and I couldn't find anything!

M: Really? In this day and age? Companies are practically hirin' bums off the street, and you couldn't get a bite?

Y: I-It's true! I'm a pathetic woman who couldn't get an offer from a single company!

Y: I do pretty well on written tests, but I get nervous easily, so I'm terrible at interviews. I'm not a good liar like most people are, either.

Y: *sighs* I'm a real loser, aren't I?

> They were clueless.

M: Lettin' someone like you slip through the cracks was a mistake, Yuki-chan. Those fool companies were clueless.

Y: What?

M: Look around ya. It's the times we're in. Everybody's dressed to the nines in lies and vanity, tryin' to one up the competition.

M: But you don't do that. You just put yourself out there the way ya are, honest almost to a fault.

M: I wanna work with people I can believe in. I'd hire an awkward gal who can't tell a lie over a buncha smooth-talkin' succubi any day of the week.

Y: Majima-san, you've made me so happy. I... faced a lot of rejection, but in the end, I'm glad I got to work here.

M: Really?

Y: Yes. Otherwise, I never would have learned to talk to people like this. And I met you, Majima-san, along with everyone else here.

M: Well then, I'm glad ya got rejected too. If you weren't here at the club, who knows what woulda happened.

Y: I'm glad I'm awkward.

> Honesty is a talent.

M: I'd say bein' unable to tell a lie is actually a pretty positive quality, Yuki-chan.

Y: What?

M: Look around ya. It's the times we live in. Everybody's dressed to the nines in lies and vanity, tryin'to one up the competition.

M: But you don't do that. You just put yourself out there the way ya are, honest almost to a fault.

M: I wanna work with people I can believe in. I'd hire an awkward gal who can't tell a lie over a buncha smooth-talkin' succubi any day of the week.

Y: Majima-san, you've made me so happy. I... faced a lot of rejection, but in the end, I'm glad I got to work here.

M: Really?

Y: Yes. Otherwise, I never would have learned to talk to people like this. And I met you, Majima-san, along with everyone else here.

M: Well then, I'm glad ya got rejected too. If you weren't here at the club, who knows what woulda happened.

Y: I'm glad I'm awkward.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

M: So how'd it happen? I imagine ya musta met Youda-chan somehow, eh?

Y: Yeah. I was spacing out at a park by myself. I shudder to think what would've happened if he didn't approach me.

M: Interesting. I wonder what possessed Youda-chan to roll up on you.

Y: I remember him saying, “There's something brilliant within you! You're the kind of girl that only appears once in a decade!” That's Youda-san for you.

M: Oh. Uhh... I see.

Y: Youda-san is a really bad judge of character, isn't he?

M: Nah, nah, I disagree.

M: So, Yuki-chan, if you could get a normal day job now, would ya still wanna go do that instead of the cabaret club?

Y: I don't know. Until recently, I really wanted to quit this job, to be honest.

Y: But now, I want to see what I can make of myself at this club for a while.

M: I see.

Y: Of course, at some point I'd like to resume my job search and try to get an office job.

Y: But, this club is a comfortable place to be, and I learn so much every day. So I'm thinking maybe I should grow up a little more here before I start looking again.

> You gotta get sexier.

M: If that's the case, your next goalpost's gotta be sexiness.

Y: Me, s-sexy? Why's that?

M: Considering the world we live in, bein' sexy is a great way to land an interview. Women got some tools men don't, so ain't no harm in usin' em.

Y: I-I see. That makes sense. Maybe I failed my interviews because I wasn't sexy enough.

M: Yeah, maybe that was the problem. And maybe a bunch of other things, too...

M: Nothin' better than an interviewer flustered by a sexy woman, though. He's tryin' to ask ya questions when all he really wants to know is the color of your damn underwear!

Y: O-Okay! But I wouldn't want to answer that question...

> You can network here!

M: Ya never know, one of your clients could turn out to be a corporate manager.

Y: What?

M: If he likes ya, he might offer you a job right there on the spot. Haha.

Y: Whaaat? Though I guess that does happen in manga!

Y: Wh-What would I do? I'm getting nervous just thinking about it...

M: Hey, relax, Yuki-chan. Lay your best line on me.

Y: Wh-What can I do for you Mr. President... My name Yuki... It nice to meet you...

M: Oh man, you sound more nervous than a foreigner on her first day at a shady bar.

> I'll work ya hard!

M: Nice. But fair warning, I'm gonna put the screws to ya!

Y: Y-Yes! I'm looking forward to it! I'll work hard!

M: Heh. You've changed, Yuki-chan. Look at that confidence. I bet you'd ace a company interview now.

Y: R-Really? Heh heh... Hahahaha.

M: ...Just make sure ya don't laugh like that at the interview, or they'll boot ya right out.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

M: Alright, let's call it a day. Good job, Yuki-chan.

Y: Sure. Thank you very much. Whew... Now I'm getting sleepy all of a sudden, now that I can relax. *yawn*

M: You gettin' enough sleep at night, Yuki-chan?

Y: Oh, y-yes. I just had an unexpected guest over last night, so...

M: Oh, I see. A late night guest, eh? Well, now.

Y: Huh? What is it?

> A lady needs sleep.

M: Nothin', nothin'. Just get your beauty sleep, Yuki-chan.

M: Lack of sleep's bad for the skin! And it's doubly bad if ya fall asleep on the job.

Y: Y-Yes! Thanks for your concern. They say nothing's more important to a woman than her skin, after all. And it would be rude to the customer. I'll be careful!

M: Yeah, nothin' wrong with going out for a night on the town. Just don't overdo it, right?

Y: Huh? Going out? I don't really understand, but, anyway, I'll get more sleep!

> I wish ya the best.

M: Well then, Yuki-chan, I wish ya nothin' but happiness.

Y: Huh? Wh-What are you talking about? I don't understand what you're getting at!

M: It's okay, it's no problem. A bit of a shame, I guess, but if you're happy, I'm happy too.

Y: Um, uh. Thank you? Well, I am happy. I guess I'll keep on being happy!

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

M: Okay, I think that'll do it.

Y: Th-Thank you for the lesson.

M: Sure thing. Good job.

#cabaret club czar #yakuza 0 #goro majima #yuki #club sunshine

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norvicfiddler · 4 years

Text

Michael Emerson - The Hatch podcast, Jul 28, 2020.

The following is my transcription of part of an interview Michael Emerson recorded with the The Hatch earlier this year. I’ve concentrated on the parts where he specifically talks about Ben as a character, but you should go and listen to the whole thing, as he has some nice behind the scenes anecdotes (and who doesn’t want to hear Emerson talk for half-an-hour, right?). If you’re interested in Lost at all, or TV production, the whole podcast is worth a listen (despite the hosts’ inexplicable love for Sayid). They have a load of other great cast and crew interviews.

(transcription note: the ellipses indicate pauses, not cuts)

about The State of Things to Come

‘I think it’s the turning point in audience sympathy for Benjamin’

h: really? we thought letting his daughter be killed was one of his worst crimes

‘It’s a terrible crime, but, evidently an innocent one, because he thought they had a set of … … parameters or rules about engagement. And one of them was, no-one in your family would be harmed.’

‘That’s why it’s unthinkable to him. Keamy doesn’t even wait for the countdown, he doesn’t even let him finish, his … tawdry little speech about how she’s nothing to him. Oh it’s, so sad. But, human.’

h: how’s Ben handling things at this point?

‘Well, he’s kind of on autopilot, I mean he’s doing what he … thinks or knows, to do but, it’s not one of the more successful phases of his career, and, he must be … I thought he was, desperate. And, you know, trying to maintain an image which we’ll eventually see, it’s a false image. But, here again this is all humanizing for the character, I think. He’s guilty of hubris, he’s guilty of pride, he’s guilty of … ignoring obvious signals. All that stuff. But, that’s just him.’

h: Ben tells Locke he always has a plan. Does he?

‘Right, what kind of plan is it that you have, Benjamin? ‘cos it doesn’t seem like a great plan (laughs). OK, so you have one, so you’re thinking ahead, so you fancy yourself a gamesman. How’s that workin’ out for ya?’

h: what is it that’s making Ben break down?

‘Yeah, I think his bravado was always kind of false. I don’t think he was naturally, a, warlord or a commandant, or, a … leader, even. It was something that, was an exhausting amount of work for him. He was supposed to be some other kind of boy, ya know, some other kind of life. I guess he was doing the best he could. Ah, I tried to find the pathos in it. You know. You’re, you’re overmatched. Now, what do you do? You don’t have any fallback, you don’t have any assistance, you don’t have any mentors. There’s no-one to go to, for help. So he kind of slowly loses his mind, in the way you would, under those circumstances, when you’re … ill-suited for your role.’

on filming that scene with Keamy

‘Well, we knew it was going to go to a heavy place, so, I can’t remember the exact discussion, but there was some question about … let’s save the heavy lifting for the end. Let’s, take care of all the mechanical business of handing out weapons and choosing windows and, you know, where’s Keamy, and Alex and, all of that. And we’ll shoot aaaall of that stuff, and at the end of it all, we will turn the camera on your, sad little face, you know, in that one pane of window that you can see through. And then, we will figure out … how to play it. Or, what it is.

But … I have to say. I wouldn’t even call that in the top ten of difficult moments for me, in that series. Cos, it’s just … a bare naked horror, and shock and, an ungraspable mourning and, to know that you made … like a … cosmic mistake. And it cost … the life of someone. So, I was ready to play that.’

‘It ends up taking care of itself … in some way. I mean, if you have, if you feel an empathy, for the situation or, for the character. I always feel kind of empathetic about whoever I’m playing. I get them, I get, Ben. He’s tryin’ to be something that he can’t, fully live up to. But he has some skills, he has a skillset. He’s a good talker! He’s straight on psychology.’

h: he’s trying to talk his way out here

‘Right, it’s a good strategy. In, in a chess game, he senses “Oh, let’s undervalue the pawn. That’s the way to save her.” But, it was the wrong choice, because he wasn’t playing the game he thought he was.’

on Keamy’s countdown

‘In the … world of dramatic countdowns, that’s a cheat too. We didn’t even get the countdown. We, you know, no trickle of sweat ran down anybody’s face. It was just, you know, five four boom! WAIT! WRONG! NO! (laughs)’

h: there’s a real electricity between Ben and Keamy in this scene

‘Partly that is just actor chemistry. I look at him and, what he embodies, and what he sounds like, and it’s like anti-matter to my matter. You know, he’s just like, he is the non-Ben. But, whenever you say that … then, you have to think OK but, there are some … shared … character … traits (laughs). He’s been ruthless. All of that is contained, in a way, in this one episode. The facets of, Benjamin and his strengths and weaknesses and stuff that works and stuff that doesn’t.’

h: did Alex hear what Ben said?

‘Of course, whether she hears him or not, Benjamin Linus will always believe that she did.’

h: how does this change Ben from here?

‘Well, I think it’s where … whatever passes for faith, with him. With the island, with Jacob. I think it, that faith is now … it’s cracked open. He, there’s no going back, from this. So what, I dunno, his forward momentum, his plan from now on will be … flawed and a little half-hearted, I think. Or desperate.’

h: does this lead to him killing Jacob?

‘Yeah, I think there’s a direct line, from this episode to that, sure. Can’t remember what my lines were exactly, when I killed Jacob, but, it was about him not supporting me. Me having given all. And by all he means, my own blood, my own child, and that means this little to you? Then die, you SOB! That was kind of his attitude.’

h: like if God had let Abraham kill Isaac, how would Abraham feel about God?

‘I think Benjamin was tested in a way that Abraham wasn’t.’

h: is redemption something Ben can hope for?

‘It’s not on his mind at the time, obviously. He’s just scrambling, just scrambling. And the end of the series, shows him unredeemed. So, he’s so caught up in the action of things, that he has no reflective mode I don’t think. Well occasionally, like … when he has that father/son, argument with Jacob or there are some other moments where he even reveals his, his weaknesses and doubts and, his sense of betrayal. But mostly, he can’t see anything else to do but just keep on, keep on with, whatever crazed plan there was in place. Before everything went wrong.’

on the scene with Widmore

‘That scene to me was really satisfying, ‘cos I thought the threat of it, the gamesmanship was, really high stakes. It was fun to be Ben and to keep a lid on it, that much. The fact of him being in the man’s bedroom. You don’t need to raise your voice, when your enemy wakes up, and you’re in the room. So then you just … you just say what you need.’

h: Widmore calls Ben a rat

‘Yeah, that’s alright. Ben doesn’t think he’s a rat. Ben thinks he’s … an avenging angel. So, he can call me what he wants. I don’t even hear that. That runs off me like water off a duck’s back.’

on Ben not going through with killing Penny

‘As a ruthless killer he has an Achilles heel and it is parenthood, or children. (h: where does that come from?) I think, you know, his own upbringing, I suppose, or just … wishing, maybe he’s always wished that, his life … he wasn’t meant to be this, he was meant to be something, you know, some tenderer, and more natural and normal thing. (h: a guy who plays piano and reads books?) That’s right, that’s right. So … yeah, the kids. Here’s his soft spot. It’s endearing.’

#ben linus #lost show #michael emerson #is articulating my Ben feels for me!#omg #he's so right

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evening-rose-309 · 4 years

Text

"Nea, why is your father like this?"

To his credit, the Vipertooth's answer was simple as it was short. Balefully he snorted, which was more that any of his brothers or the man in question has ever deigned to give Newt within the time that he'd been here.

"Well that's understandable, but what I don't see is why he has to be like this twenty four seven."

A curious keen.

"That means twenty four hours for a week long. A week isn't twenty four hours, you're right, I just meant that he's like this almost everyday for seven days a week and it's..."

Frustrating. It was frustrating. Newt tried not to look at it that way, but it was.

Sighing, he leaned back against the rock he was sitting by as he absently pet the globe sized domes of the dragon's arrow shaped head. Strange, he thought passively. You would think that a hybrid of Lernaea's calibre would take the physical traits of both parents, but he and his hatchmates seemed to take a very distinctly sort of Vipertooth way of things. Unlike his 'brothers', neither the twins nor Azriel were much distinguishable in their breed as the triplets were. You had to be very observant of the dragons to tell what crosses they were. Say, the twins' size and their forward facing horns or Azriel's azure flame and clubbed tail. Latter had taken Newt a considerable amount of time to figure out, being a three way cross, instead of the arguably more simple two that the twins were. Once he had though, it'd been easier to guess their temperaments, list out their likes and dislikes from interaction and Magda's ramblings, understand them, even if it was from afar.

If only it were so simple with their 'Father'.

"Mornin' there, oh bride-to-be." Newt smiled. Speak of the devil, or rather the devil's withered old aunt treking up the sand bank in old gardening boots.

"Whatcha lookin' at love," Magda queried as she bent down to greet him. "Spyin' on the groom? Now that's not a very gentleman thing to do."

Newt found himself laughing. Yes, he supposed he was spying, but Gellert did say he wanted to spend time with him on the island, so it wasn't entirely his fault. Scooting over a bit- "S'cuse me Mister Noodle Britches, tryin' to sit with my son-in-law here, there you go." -he let the old woman settle next to him, Lernaea's wriggling neck promptly plopped down on her skirts.

"What's the matter love?" Newt noted the concern in her voice. "Could see you poutin' all the way from the shack. Sighing too- oh there we go, there it is again. Come on love, tell old Maggie what's gotcha down."

Newt sagged into the rock face, his one free hand tiredly excepting hers and the little circles she ran into his palm.

"Tell us love," and what could he do to deny her? It wasn't like it meant anything anyway, his sluggish little wonderings. What was the harm, it wasn't like she was going to tell him or that he would listen.

Sighing, again, Newt kept his eyes on the man on the docks even as he addressed the woman at his side.

"It's..." he started, words not coming to him as easily as he thought they would. They never did, when he was addressing humans. "It's, well it's...."

"It's what?"

What indeed. What was it.

"Him." Yes him. Which him, he hadn't the faintest. Magda squeezed his hand.

"Him," she repeated, surer than Newt was. "Him, and what of him?"

Newt bit his lip, his breath passing through noisily again.

"He's...." What? "He's so....."

"Difficult?"

So sure. Then again, she had lived with the man for over two decades. She knew more of him than Newt could. She could make sense of him, the things he did. The things he didn't. Wouldn't. Could have, but never.

It was Magda's turn to sigh then. "You two really are made for each other. He can't make sense of you either."

The last part she added when Newt gave her a curious look. He was still curious, if not a just a tad confused.

"S'not your fault really," she said, shifting to ease her knees under the dragon's heavy weight. "Either of you. You've both been broken in ways. You don't tell each other things, which is fine, you know. Men have got to have their secrets, but more importantly..."

Newt shifted when she paused. "More importantly?"

She spared him a meaningful look. "More importantly," she twinned their fingers, "you'll learn. He'll learn. Nothing makes sense now, and believe me, it won't for a long time, but it will. The moods, the drinking, the asking for company only to fly away-"

She stopped. A burst of laughter had sounded from the docks. Newt turned his head. His fiance, that strange man, was floating amongst his children, skipping listlessly between their maws and cackling when they snapped at nothing. A strange cackle, a melody, pleasant. Not at all like any other visage of the word. For a moment, Newt thought to New York. He must have heard it somewhere, sometime, within those weeks when they pretended that life was good and things were better. Strange that he'd only heard it now, this true melody, this genuine sound. Not the grin of a drunk man or the chuckle of a creature on verge of breaking down in tears by his feet. He wondered if that sound- if that sound could only be heard when its maker thought no one else was around or perhaps when he felt safe.

Was he only safe when dancing with teeth and pretending to be someone else's husband?

"I don't understand him," and Magda let out a sound that can only be thought as disparaging. "How can he be so- so different all of the time. Sad. He's always so sad all the time. I can never tell if he's smiling to humor me or if he actual wants to because he's happy."

Happy. What was happy to them? To people like Gellert Grindelwald and Newton Scamander? A beaten man's son and a neglected ex-husband? A monster with a broken heart and a magizoologist with too many pieces to give never sure if they fit?

Watching him, so caught in his own thoughts, Newt nearly missed the words that parted sternly from the keeper's lips.

"Pardon?"

"Go to him."

Newt swallowed as he turned. Magda held his gaze sharply as she cupped his hand.

"Go to him," she said, gentle but firm. "You said you didn't understand and I'll tell you this: you don't have to."

He didn't have to. He didn't have to understand.

"Go," she urged. "Enjoy him. Enjoy him. When that sadness is gone, he's the brightest thing, but you have to enjoy him. He goes quick, sometimes faster than you can blink, and you have to catch him. Don't think about the sadness. That's his to keep, but for you, give him something else. Go and take your piece and give him something else to remember."

Something else to remember. Something to bade away the sadness. The- the sluggishness.

Newt looked to the docks, to the man who was on them standing proud. For a split second their eyes met. A split second and Newt saw something he now realized- now realized he very much wanted to see more of. That's why I took the ring, the thought spun, I took the ring, but that's a shared piece, I want more-

-I need to give him more, and suddenly Newt knew what to do.

He got up.

|-]

Whew, that was a doozy. Hope you like it, @willofhounds. Hope this time it goes on smoothly. Enjoy!

#newt scamander #grindel newt #grindelnewt #gellert grindelwald #obscurus!verse things #obscurus!verse #obscurus!grindelwald #my fic #my writing #drabbles #writing drabbles #drabble #alternate universe #fantastic beasts and where to find them #gift #asks #asks open

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krystalreverb · 4 years

Text

Tomorrow, Tomorrow (Fic Preview #4)

“So this is why you hardly sleep.” She said. “You worry me, Hubert. Promise me you’ll let me help you from time to time?”

“Milady, I welcome it. A brief reprieve from the doldrum of paperwork is a blessing, believe me. It interests me about as much as watching paint dry, yet I forced myself to learn how to do it. It’s incredibly difficult to force oneself to learn something that they don’t find interesting.” He sighed. “In fact, if you’d like to help me finish this up, it will still actually be daylight by the time we’re done for once.”

“Then let’s finish, Hubert. I’d like to treat you today as you treated me yesterday, perhaps dinner?” Edelgard asked hopefully, taking his hand. Hubert raised her hand to his lips to kiss it.

“I’d like that.” He murmured. He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’d like that very much.”

They sat back down and got to work, and kept working until the work was done. It was mid-afternoon now, and the two of them had a large pile of completed paperwork to show for their efforts.

“Incredible.” Hubert said, looking at the mountain of documents. “And in record time, too. I was otherwise going to be up all night doing that.”

“Not on my watch, you’re not.” Edelgard said. “Hubert, you’re perfectly capable of delegating. Why not have an imperial treasurer? Someone whose sole job it is to keep track of the Empire’s funds? You should have assistants, or something.”

“Please, Your Majesty. What kind of imperial vassal would I be if I couldn’t handle this? Besides, better to get it done myself and ensure a favorable outcome.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust the other imperial servants?” Edelgard teased. “I’m sure I could pick someone capable of assisting you.”

“No, no. Don’t go through the trouble for me, Milady. Perhaps I’ll hire that scrappy little kitchen boy. I’m positive I could at least teach him how to read and write.” Hubert suggested. “He’s a good lad; I could put him to work.”

“Mm, perhaps…” Edelgard said. “I’m sure he’d be thrilled to work with you.”

“...Actually, now that I’m really thinking about it, I believe the boy already knows how to read. ...It’s not a bad idea.” Hubert said, thinking about it with his hand on his chin. “....Where is he right now?”

“Ring the bell, I’m sure he’ll come running.” Edelgard replied. She rang the bell on the wall. Sure enough, soon after, the boy appeared in the doorway, all red hair and a face full of freckles and a missing front tooth.

“Yer Majesty, m’um?” He asked. “Mister Minister?”

“Yes, you. We’ve been looking for you. Come inside.” She invited the boy in and sat him in a seat. “Tell me, what is your name?” She asked gently.

“Er… Toby, m’um. I ain’t got no surname, at least none I know about. Ma died in childbirth and Pa left early. I lived in an orphanage until one of the other servants brought me to work here. So far it’s nice. I ain’t gotta fight with nobody to get the top bunk, and I get real food to eat three times a day. And all’s I gotta do is clean the dishes and mop the floor, that’s easy!” The boy shrugged, as though his orphanage upbringing was simply an inconvenience.

“And how old are you?”

“Fourteen, m’um.”

“Alright then. Toby, do you know how to read and write?”

“Readin’ is okay, I read good, I guess. I mean, I can read. Probably not the kinds of books big fancy nobles can read, but I read enough to get me by. Writin’? I’m not so good at writin’. I spell things wrong and it’s hard to remember some words. But I can count! I can do numbers really good!” Toby replied. “Miss Alma at the orphanage taught me my numbers. I can multiply up to my twelves!”

“Are you willing to learn how to read and write properly?” Hubert asked.

“Uh… are you gonna send me away?” The boy looked fearful. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

“Heavens, no. Calm down.” Hubert sighed. “No, I was offering to teach you myself. It appears I need an assistant for some of this work I deal with, and I figured you’d be as good a lad as any.”

The boy beamed. “Really? Aw, thank ya! I promise, I’ll be the best assistant ever! I’ll be on time and ready every day! Thank ya, Mister Minister!” He got up and shook Hubert’s hand with both of his own vigorously. Hubert was almost staggered by the sheer exuberance in this short, skinny little boy.

“If you like, we can start today.” Edelgard suggested. “Hubert, pick out a book you’d like him to read.”

Hubert went to his bookshelf on the wall and perused the titles. “Toby, do you have any magical aptitude?” Hubert asked, pulling down a spellbook. Basic faith magic, enough to heal minor cuts and scrapes. Despite his propensity for dark magic, Hubert could even heal a minor wound. Hubert didn’t particularly care for faith magic, but he had the aptitude for it. Toby shrugged.

“Dunno. Never really thought about it. Guess there ain’t no harm in tryin’.” Toby took the book from Hubert and opened it up. “Oh! Yeah!” He said brightly. “This is the same book Miss Alma from the orphanage used to fix up our cuts and bruises when we got inta fights. It’s Heal, right? I remember this one!” He said, flipping through the pages. He pronounced the spell slowly, as if remembering it after a long time, and his hands lit up with white magic, glowing brightly. “Ah! Look at me!” He said. He waved his hands around, watching the shimmering white trails his hands left in the air around him.

“Excellent. Excellent.” Hubert said, examining the boy’s glowing hands. “It seems you actually have quite an aptitude for magic. We’re starting you off a bit late, but given your potential, I can’t see why we couldn’t or shouldn’t continue. Alright.” Hubert stood up. “You’re to meet me in this room six days a week at half past eight. You will be given Sundays off, and from now on you are no longer a kitchen boy. You are an imperial student of the Minister of the Imperial Household. I will be teaching you reading, writing, basic mathematics, and magical skills. But I warn you, child. I am a very strict teacher. I will not tolerate laziness or slacking off. I expect results out of you, boy.” Hubert announced. Toby grinned widely, exposing his missing front tooth.

“You betcha, Mister Minister!”

The very next day, Toby was on time and ready to work, a quill in one hand and a borrowed inkwell from another imperial servant in his other. “Mister Minister! I’m here! I even got my own quill and everythin’!”

#tomorrow tomorrow #fic preview #edelbert #fire emblem three houses #lookie lookie they found themselves a Boy #what will happen #ooooooo

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mememanufactorum · 4 years

Text

Halo 3 quote starters

* FEEL FREE TO SHARE AS YOU PLEASE, NO CREDIT NEEDED. CHANGE PRONOUNS OR ANYTHING ELSE AS DESIRED.

-Arrival-

“They let me pick. Did I ever tell you that?”

“You know me. I did my research.��

“Like the others, you were strong and swift and brave. A natural leader.”

“You had something the others didn’t. Something nobody saw but me. Can you guess? Luck.”

“Was I wrong?”

“This ain’t good.”

“Damn, how far did he fall?”

“Stay sharp!”

“We’re not leaving him here.”

“Crazy fool. Why do you always jump? One of these days, you’re gonna land on something as stubborn as you are, and I don’t do bits and pieces.”

“Come on now. We’ve got enough to worry about without you two tryin’ to kill each other.”

“Were it so easy.”

“They must love the smell of hero.”

“They must love the smell of badass.”

“I’ve gotta get paid too!”

-Sierra 117-

“As for you, just try not to wreck my planet.”

“Come on, I’ll lead you out.”

“You are fools to do their bidding.”

“I hate it when I’m right.”

“Kiss my ass.”

“Could you sacrifice me to complete your mission? Could you watch me die?”

“You want breakfast? You’ve gotta catch it!”

“See how they bait their trap? I will help you spring it.”

“This isn’t as fun as it looks.”

“We’re even, as long as we’re only countin’ today.”

“The world won’t save itself.”

-Crow’s Nest-

“We’re gonna be alright!”

“Hell! Not again!”

“Your destruction is the will of the gods. And I? I am their instrument.”

“Cocky bastard just loves to run his mouth.”

“Does he usually mention me?”

“Give the order. We’re closing shop.”

“We’re about to get hit.”

“The wounded. We’re getting them all out.”

“Who would’ve thought we’d have this many wounded?”

“We knew they’d find us eventually, but we have a plan. Let’s make it happen.”

“How’d they find us?”

“Hey, bite me. I’m sick of hiding anyway.”

“Calm before the storm. Enjoy it.”

“If we don’t get there quick, they’re gonna get rolled.”

“Wipe those bastards off the deck!”

“You might wanna put that out.”

“We both know what they do to prisoners.”

“You have been called upon to serve.”

“These are whelps, not warriors!”

“We did all we could.”

“There will be a great deal of hardship on the road ahead.”

“This place will become your home.”

“This place will become your tomb.”

-Tsavo Highway-

“I’ve got a broken rib…”

“Hey. You wanna bleed out?”

“I’ve got to keep pressure on the wound.”

“Did we get everyone out?”

“You think you can stand?”

“Best thing now? Get some distance between us and the base.”

“I’m sure they’ll be plenty happy to see you.”

“Look at the size of that thing! I wonder how old it is?”

“We will take our city back, and drive our enemy into the grave they’ve been so happily digging.”

“One final effort is all that remains.”

-The Storm-

“I have defied gods and demons.”

“I am your shield. I am your sword.”

“Somebody get me some morphine!”

“I thought we were the only ones left.”

“Only our enemies should fear this raging storm!”

“Darkened skies and lashing fire are all that shall remain for them when we, the worthy, have passed beyond.”

“I will not be shamed. Not again! Not by you!”

“This… Is the way the world ends.”

-Floodgate-

“Make short work of this abomination!”

“Rise up and I will kill you! Again and again!”

“I… I didn’t have a choice!”

“I did them a favor… Yeah, that’s it! I helped them!”

“Maybe… Maybe I need to help myself…”

“I fear you bring bad news.”

“Do not be afraid. I am peace… I am salvation.”

“I am a timeless chorus. Join your voices with mine and sing victory everlasting!”

“Wait. Leave her alone.”

“That will not be necessary.”

“It’s just a message.”

“We’ll remain here. Hold out as long as we can.”

“Did you not hear? Your world is doomed.”

“You barely survived a small contamination.”

“What we should do is understand – clearly – that this is humanity’s final stand – here.”

“We go, we risk everything – every last man, woman, and child!”

“If we stand our ground, we might just have a chance.”

“This is either the best decision you’ve ever made or the worst. Hell if it is? I doubt I’ll live long enough to find out which.”

-The Ark-

“That’s some view.”

“Enjoy it while you can. As soon as we land, we’re right back to it.”

“Keep your eyes and ears open. We need all the intel we can get… On wherever the hell we are.”

“Tidy bastards. Hope they never decide to clean us up.”

“It’s like they don’t even see us.”

“Oh, they see us. They just haven’t decided what to do with us yet.”

“I will certainly try my best, though I am unfamiliar with this facility.”

“Please, use caution! Avoid collateral damage!”

“Odd, for a door to require such brute force security protocols.”

“We must temper joy and sorrow in our hearts, for those who were left behind.”

“Find where the liar hides, so that I may put my boot between his gums!”

“It seems I’ve… Crossed a circuit.”

“Well, let me take a look.”

“Ow! Little bastard stung me!”

“I did not want you to come to any harm.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“Slothful runts. Kill them as they sleep.”

“All you seek is close at hand.”

“Can you tell me where we are, exactly?”

“Fight me! I’m right here!”

“You must win this fight on your own. Failure will bring a fate worse than death.”

-The Covenant-

“Brace yourselves, we’re goin’ in a little hot!”

“Calamity! If only we had more time!”

“It asked, and I answered. For a moment of safety, I loosed damnation upon the stars.”

“My faithful, stand firm!”

“Though our enemies crowd around us, we tread the blessed path!”

“That the best you got? Oh, come on. Impress me.”

“Stop, you imbecile! He wants you to kill him! I would prefer that you did not.”

“What’s the matter, big shot? Can’t start your own party?”

“I admit, I need your help. But that secret dies with all the rest.”

“Get out of here!”

“Not without you!”

“You delay the inevitable.”

“You cannot hope to kill them all.”

“Do it… Me, then you… Now!”

“Your forefathers wisely set aside their compassion. Steeled themselves for what needed to be done.”

“I see now why they left you behind.”

“You were weak… And gods must be strong.”

“Do not shoot, but listen!”

“Only you can stop what he has set into motion.”

“A final, bitter curse. Clear evidence of treachery long hidden!”

“The moment of salvation is at hand.”

“Lies for the weak. Beacons for the deluded.”

“My feet tread the path. I shall become a god!”

“You will be food. Nothing more.”

“And so, you must be silenced.”

“Now the gate has been unlatched, headstones pushed aside. Corpses shift and offer room – a fate you must abide!”

“We trade one villain for another.”

“I’m a thief. But I keep what I steal.”

-Cortana-

“Child of my enemy, why have you come? I offer no forgiveness. A father’s sins passed down to his son.”

“I tried to stay hidden, but there was no escape! He cornered me, wrapped me tight… And brought me close.”

“Of course, you came for her…”

“A collection of lies, that’s all I am! Stolen thoughts and memories!”

“Yet, perhaps a part of her… Remains?”

“I wanted to make you strong! Keep you safe! I’m sorry, I can’t…”

“May I speak with you please? What’s your name? It’s very nice to meet you!”

“You like games? So do I.”

“I’m just my mother’s shadow…”

“Don’t look at me! Don’t listen! I’m not who I used to be…”

“Time has taught me patience. But, basking in new freedom, I will know all that I possess!”

“I have walked the edge of the abyss. I have seen your future, and I have learned!”

“SUBMIT! End her torment and my own!”

“There will be no more sadness, no more anger, no more envy!”

“You will show me what she hides, or I will feast upon your bones!”

“You found me.”

“So much of me is wrong… Out of place… You might be too late.”

“You know me. When I make a promise…”

“I do know how to pick ‘em.”

“Lucky me.”

“Got an escape plan?”

“Thought I’d try shooting my way out. Mix things up a little.”

“Get me out of this place. I… I don’t want to stay.”

“Now, at last, I see! Her secret is revealed!”

“Wait, you two made nice? What have you been up to while I was gone…?”

-Halo-

“This is our fight, and I will see it finished.”

“It’s good to have you back.”

“How many of these have you found?”

“Did you think me defeated?!”

“Open the damn door!”

“You didn’t tell me he was here.”

“Well, we are finally doing what he wanted.”

“I have beaten fleets of thousands! Consumed a galaxy of flesh and mind and bone!”

“Open up! Coast is clear.”

“Do I take life or give it? Who is victim, and who is foe?”

“I’m not gonna lose her too.”

“We don’t have a few more days.”

“Deal with it.”

“Unacceptable! Unacceptable! Absolutely unacceptable!”

“Protocol dictates action! I see now that helping you was wrong!”

“I take no pleasure in doing what must be done.”

“I have kept it safe! It belongs to me!”

“Kick his ass.”

“My eye! Do you mean to blind me?!”

“Stop now, before one of us gets hurt!”

“Accept your legacy!”

“Think of your forefathers!”

“I’m getting you out of here.”

“Don’t let her go. Don’t ever let her go.”

“Send me out with a bang.”

“I am sorry, but come.”

“Well, that sucks. But come.”

“Resignation is my virtue. Like water, I ebb and flow… Defeat is simply the addition of time to a sentence I never deserved… But you imposed.”

“The jerk store called, and they’re all outta you!”

“If we don’t make it…”

“We’ll make it.”

“...It’s been an honor serving with you.”

-Epilogue-

“For us, the storm has passed. The war is over. But let us never forget those who journeyed into the howling dark and did not return.”

“Their decision required courage beyond measure, sacrifice, and unshakable conviction that their fight… Our fight… Was elsewhere.”

“They ennobled all of us, and they shall not be forgotten.”

“I remember how this war started, what your kind did to mine. I can’t forgive you, but… You have my thanks, for sticking by him until the end.”

“Hard to believe he’s dead.”

“I would like to see our own world, to know that it is safe.”

“I thought I’d lost you, too.”

“What happened?”

“Well… Some of us made it.”

“It’s finished.”

“It’ll be a while before anyone finds us. Years, even.”

“I’ll miss you.”

“Wake me when you need me.”

#Halo 3 #Halo #roleplay meme #roleplay prompt #rp meme #rp prompt

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jon-daddy-dominus · 3 years

Text

Kitten's Collar

Chapter, 21

"Hey, Honey." Alexis smiled, when Clint stepped around the corner into the kitchen.

"Hey." He replied, plainly.

"Everything okay?" She asked.

Sitting on the small bench next to the back door, he grumbled, half laughing. "I don't like being in charge."

"Coulda fooled me." She chuckled.

Leaning over to untie his boots, he cut his eyes at her. "At work, smartass. I don't like being in charge, at work.

Walking over, and bending down to give him a kiss, Alexis cooed, jokingly. "Awe... I'm sorry Honey. Did those bad ole employees, misbehave?"

Returning her kiss, Clint grinned, "All I can tell you, is, I hope Dale gets better soon, or he's not gonna have any employees left, by the time he gets back."

Still joking, she put her hands on her knees, to stay at eye level with him, and giggled in baby talk. "Awe... poor baby, you want me kiss your booboo an make it all better?"

"Are you teasing me, young lady?" He growled, playfully.

Switching to an accent that sounded a little like Scarlett from "Gone with the Wind", she stood up straight, and placed her hand on her chest in fake, disbelief. "Why, no Sir, of coarse not! I would NEVER be so bold, as to tease such a strong, powerful, man's man as you. Frankly, the thought of it, makes me a might, nervous."

Looking at her very seriously, he slowly stood up. "Are you finished?"

Continuing with her playful accent, she smiled her cocky little smile. "Why no Sir, I'm just getting started."

"You better behave yourself, young lady." Clint stated firmly, as his eyes glazed over.

Still using her accent, she stepped in close, and looked up at him deviously. "Well, I declare... Are you blushin, Mr. Clinton? I just can't believe, that a big strong man, like you, is bothered by little ole me.

Biting his lower lip, and slowly nodding his head, he growled. "Think you're cute, teasing me like this, don't ya?"

Smiling her cocky little smile, she continued. "Why, yes Sir. As a matter of fact, I'm enjoying how riled up you're gettin, quite a bit Mr. Clint."

"Is that so?"

"Yes Sir, it certainly is." She smiled.

"Buttons Alexis."

In a sing-song, baby talk, she smiled. "I like to push theeeem!"

"Careful young lady. Don't get yourself in trouble."

Switching back to her southern bell accent, she responded. "Well, I suppose I should stop then. Cause, I'd hate to get in trouble, with Mr. Clinton."

"I asked you to behave yourself, Alexis."

"Yes Sir, but riling you up, is so much fun. I just can't seem to help myself." She grinned.

"You know what happens to little girls that misbehave, don't you?"

"Why, no Mr. Clinton, I surely don't."

A dark intensity filled his eyes, and he growled low. "They get punished."

"You gonna give me a spanking, Mr. Clinton?" She grinned, putting her hands on her hips, and bobbing her head back and forth.

"Don't play with me young lady." He growled, sternly.

She stood there silently for a moment, nervously deciding how she was going word, what she wanted to say next.

"But what if I think, I might like a spankin?" She grinned.

Laughing, he leaned in, and kissed her, whispering, "Be careful what you wish for, Sweetheart." before stepping around her, and going into the laundry room.

"Oh, yeah. By the way, I kinda had an oopsy earlier, but I think I fixed it." She stammered nervously, worried the clothes were still covered in the strange melted plastic, looking stuff.

"What kind of, "oopsy"?" Clint asked, pausing at the door, and leaning back to look at her, with one eyebrow cocked up.

Sinking her head, between her shoulders, and scrunching up her face, she replied. "I think, I umm... Maybe... Might have accidentally, kinda washed the clothes with a dishwasher pod?"

"You think, you maybe, might have, accidentally, kinda washed the clothes with a dishwasher pod?" He chuckled, shaking his head, and giving her a "seriously?" kind of look.

Covering her face with her hands, she slightly lifted one, and squeaked. "Sorry?"

"Well, don't just stand there. Let's go see how bad you fucked up the clothes." He chuckled, still shaking his head.

"I don't think, I "fucked them up", but there was this weird stuff on some of them, that looked like, melted plastic, or something."

Clint opened the washer, and began pulling the garments out, one at a time, and examining them, before tossing them in the dryer.

When he'd thrown the last one in, he pushed his lips to one side, cut his eyes, and rocked over, bumping his shoulder into hers.

"No harm, no foul." He smiled.

"Soooo.... You're not mad?" She grinned, and shoulder bumped him back.

"No Sweetie, I'm not mad. Why would I be? Everyone makes mistakes, and I appreciate you not trying to bullshit me." He smiled, closing the dryer, and turning the knob to start it.

Feeling proud of herself, after hearing his words, she smiled confidently, and replied, "Thank you, and you're welcome!" as she pivoted on the ball of her foot, and stepped back into the kitchen.

"HOLY FUCK!" Alexis screamed, stumbling backwards, until she bumped into the refrigerator.

Clint spun around, to see Billy-Bob sitting proudly in the middle of the kitchen, holding in his mouth, the wiggling remains of a rattlesnake he had caught, and killed.

"Damn it, Billy-Bob, get that shit outta here!" Clint yelled, pointing at the door.

The cat just sat there, staring at them, like he was waiting for a reward, when Clint stepped toward him, aggressively and yelled, "GET!" before, Billy-Bob turned, and took off through his doggie door, taking his prize with him.

"Does he do that alot? Cause I don't do snakes!" Alexis snapped, excitedly.

"He's done it a few times, but not very often. If it makes you feel any better, he always kills them, before he brings them in?" Clint chuckled.

"No. That don't make me feel better."

"Well, it's gone, so you can calm down now, you're good. What you got against snakes, anyway?" He asked, curiously.

Shaking her head, and leaning back, she grumbled. "No, Uh uh... I ain't messin with nothin, that runs faster than I do, and ain't got no legs! That's the devil's ding-a-ling!"

Bursting into laughter, Clint repeated her phrase. "The devil's ding-a-ling?"

"Don't laugh! That's what my Granny used to tell me. "Snakes is the devil's ding-a-ling, you stay away from them things!"

Still laughing hysterically, Clint managed to say between gasping breaths, "But why'd she call them..." He continued laughing, "the devil's ding-a-ling?"

"Cause! They look like a penis, and they're always sneakin around, tryin to spit their poison into somebody!" She giggled.

"Oh... Is that what a penis does? Sneak around, tryin to spit poison into people?" He chuckled.

With her cocky little smile, she bobbed her head around, and snapped. "Yeah they do!"

"Oh... well if that's the case, I guess I should keep my distance, so my evil snake doesn't try to spit any poison in you." He grinned, feigning concern.

"Maybe you should!" She continued smiling.

"Okay... if that's what you want." He grinned, stepping around her, and walking toward the bedroom.

"Where you goin?" Alexis asked, following close behind.

"Don't follow me! I'm tryin to keep my evil snake away from you, so you don't get poisoned." He laughed, turning the water on in the shower.

"Hush it, Mister." Alexis grumbled, faking irritation, as she placed her hands on his hips. "You go see Dale today?"

"Yeah, I stopped by for a few minutes. They've still got him under. The doctor said he's improving, but he's got a long way to go before they can wake him up, so it may be a while." Clint said, seeming sad.

"Don't worry, he's gonna be okay, Honey." She reassured him.

"I hope so." Clint mumbled, pulling his shirt over his head.

Unbuckling his belt, and drawing it free from the loops in his pants, she smiled. "You mind if I join you?"

"Of coarse not, Kitten." He smiled, kissing her forehead, and helping her pull her shirt off.

Noticing the reflection in the mirror, Clint groaned. "Mmm..."

Looking up at him, she asked, "Whatcha "mmm'n..." about?" before glancing over her shoulder to see what he was staring at.

"You're doin that thing again." She smiled.

Slowly bringing his gaze from the reflection of her back, to meet her eyes, he growled. "What thing?"

"You know exactly what I'm talkin about. That thing where you look at me, like a wolf looks at a baby rabbit." She grinned.

"Oh... Well I can't help it, Kitten. Right now, I feel like I'm starving, and your ass looks, ABSOLUTELY DELICIOUS." He growled, licking his lips.

"I know right?" She giggled. "I feakin LOVE these pants!"

"I don't."

"What'd ya mean? You don't like my pants?" She asked, surprised.

"No." He grumbled.

"And why not? I think they look good on me." She defended.

"Because Baby Rabbit, right now, those pants are the only thing standing between this wolf, and his favorite meal." He growled, deeply.

"Is that so?" She grinned, seductively.

His stare grew more intense, as he groaned a second time. "Mmmm..."

"Then maybe we should hurry up, and get in the shower, so you can eat?" She cooed, slipping her fingers between her hips, and the elastic pants, sliding them down her thighs.

Stepping into the shower, she turned toward him, and grinned, devilishly, curling one finger, motioning for him to get in.

Clint stepped into the shower, as Alexis moved closer to the front, to make room for him. Grabbing her by the waist, he stepped in close, and began kissing her passionately, as the warm water, rained down over their heads.

As they kissed the water began to flow heavier across their faces, until Alexis took a breath, sucking water up her nose, causing her to begin coughing.

Ripping her face to the side, and holding her head out of the stream of water, she coughed, and cleared her throat, stuttering. "I'm sorry, give me a second."

Guiding her to the back of the shower by the waist, he moved her out of the water, and began wiping her face, and chuckling. "You okay?"

Cupping her face in both hands, she pressed them tightly to her skin, wiping away the water, and slicking back her hair, all in one motion.

"Yeah." She laughed, wiping her eyes again, and smiling. "I'm sorry, water went up my nose, and I started choking."

"It's okay, as long as you're alright."

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I feel like, I kinda ruined the sexy little moment, we were having." She chuckled.

"It's okay babe, shit happens." He smiled.

Throwing her hands out to the sides, she snapped. "Why does this kinda shit, NEVER work like it does in books, and movies? In the movies it's always so sexy, and everything go's perfectly, but in real life, one person drowns standing up, and the other breaks a hip running to call for help!"

Laughing, Clint stepped over to her, putting his arms around her. "Why I gotta break a hip? Cause I'm OLD?"

"I didn't say it was you!" She laughed.

"Kinda seemed like that's what you were saying." He grinned, jokingly.

"Whatever, "OLD MAN!"" She laughed. "I was just saying, that the people who write books, and movies are a bunch of liars! Cause things like shower sex, never turn out, as hot as they make it sound."

"True, but look at it like this. If everything would have gone exactly like it does in some movie. We would have had some great sex, in the shower, and you probably would have remembered it for while, but now you have a funny story, about "the time that you almost drown, standing up in the shower", and that's the kind of memory, that will probably stick with you for life." He smiled, lovingly.

"You really think you can put up with me for that long?" She laughed.

"What, for life?"

"Mhmm." She nodded, smiling sweetly.

Making his eyes big, and sticking out his tongue, he laughed. "I won't have too! I'm an OLD MAN, remember? I'll definitely die before you!"

"Smartass." She grumbled, cutting her eyes up, in fake irritation.

Smiling proudly, he chuckled, and began turning her around. "You want me to wash your hair?"

Giving him a quick peck on the lips, before she was all the way around, she smiled, and squeaked. "Yes, please."

Running his fingers through her hair, Clint began massaging her scalp, as he bunched her hair on top of her head, rubbing it against itself.

"Do you have any idea, how much I LOVE when you do this?" She smiled, leaning her back against his chest.

"I'm glad you enjoy it, Kitten. That's one of the reasons I do it."

"What's the other reasons?" She asked softly, closing her eyes, and losing herself in the warm water, and his touch.

"Because I like doing it, and because I like seeing you happy. Time to rinse." He said, guiding her around him, and back under the flowing water.

After her hair was done, she moved back to the rear of the shower, so he could have his turn to wash his hair, while she soaped up.

Clint closed his eyes, as he leaned his head back, and lathered shampoo into his scalp.

Alexis was soaping up her legs, when she noticed the small, watered down, red droplet trickling down her inner thigh. "Shit." She thought, "Not now, damn it. He was just talkin about how he was starving, for his favorite meal, and he's SO good at it. Stupid period! Why couldn't you have waited just a few more hours?"

"Hun, I'm gonna go ahead, and hop out, okay?" She said, as she was stepping out if the shower, hoping the bloodtrail was only a razor knick, from the last time she shaved her legs.

Quickly, she dried off, and checked herself. No such luck, she had definitely started, and had to put his plans on hold. Rushing through the house, wrapped in her towel, she snatched up her purse, and began digging for a tampon.

Propping her foot on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs, she inserted the applicator, and drew it back out.

She heard Clint begin singing, as she shoved the evidence, deep into the trashcan, and began trying to think of anything she could tell him, to try and avoid having sex, but especially wanting to avoid him giving her oral.

As she made her way back to his bedroom, she thought to herself. "I could tell him my stomach started hurtin, or I have a headache? No, that's not gonna work, that's, like the lamest excuse ever. I guess, I could start an argument, but that would be kinda shitty. I should just tell him. He's always so understanding about everything, maybe he won't mind?"

Clints voice echoed from the bathroom, as Alexis sat nervously on the edge of his bed, still struggling to decide, what to do.

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lettuce-seize-the-day · 4 years

Text

Found ch. 5

AO3 link

Summary: Jack Kelly is a 17 year old kid who has been in the foster system for more of his life than not. By now he's given up on finding his forever family and is counting down the days until he turns 18. Four months before the deadline, Miss Medda Larkin decides she is going to adopt him.

Chapter summary: The boys and Medda have dinner together. Medda reminds each of them that she is there for them. They do not hear her. Jack and Race are not okay.

TW: self harm and eating disorder stuff

That evening, they all sat down to dinner together. “How was the first day?” Medda asked the table.

Race shrugged. “Same old, same old. Nice to see David and Katherine again, though.”

“You oughta invite them over for dinner some night soon! It’s been too long,” said Medda.

“Yeah, fuh-sure,” said Race. “Maybe lata this week?”

“Absolutely. I’d love that,” said Medda. “What about you, Jack?” she asked.

“What about me?”

“How do you like the school?”

Jack took a bite of pasta. “Same as all th’others I been ta, I s’pose. S’fine.” He was mostly focused on watching Race, and trying not to seem like he was watching Race. Race was watching him watch him. “Race ‘n I got chemistry class togedda.”

“Oh, ain’t that somethin’!” said Medda. “It’ll be nice for you two to get to spend some time together in school.”

“We’s sit togedda at lunch, too,” said Race, taking a huge bite of food and making sure Jack saw. “So’s Crutchie.”

“Yeah, it’s fun,” said Crutchie. What he didn’t say, and what no one else did, was that he wouldn’t have anyone else to sit with if Race hadn’t invited him to his table. He’d only had one friend in his grade, who he had sat with at lunch every day since he had started going to school, and she moved away over the summer. As sweet and funny as Crutchie was, he had pretty severe social anxiety, which made making friends difficult. He just didn’t know how to initiate conversations, and with his crutch, people were slow to do it for him.

“He’s thinkin’a tryin’ out for theatre,” Race said proudly. “I think he’d be great at it.”

“I dunno, it was just a thought I had,” Crutchie said shyly. “Youz all just seem so close and so happy when ya get ta perform togedda. I dunno if they’d even let me in, though, on account’a my leg.”

“Well, you boys already know how I feel about the theatre,” said Medda. That was for sure. She was the owner of an off-Broadway theater. She was a very passionate advocate of the arts, and did all she could to make that abundantly clear. “Ain’t no better place to escape trouble. And there’s something for everyone.”

“That’s exactly what Katherine said,” said Race. “I dunno when auditions are, but ya betta believe I’ll letcha know when I do.”

“Jack, do you think you’d audition?” asked Medda.

Jack took a final bite from his plate. “Nah, prolly not,” he said as he stood up. “Thanks fer dinner, Medda. It was great.” He set his plate in the sink and went down the hall back to his room.

Medda looked a bit distraught. “Somethin’ I said?” she asked Race and Crutchie.

Race shook his head. “Nah, he jus’ needs some space. He don’t wanna get involved wid anythin’ here or get too close to anyone.”

“How do you know that?” she asked him.

Race looked at her and gave a small, sad smile. “‘Cuz that’s how I was, when I got here this time last year.”

Crutchie took his dishes to the sink. He cleared his throat and gave Medda a kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you for dinner, Medda. I gotta go get some homework done.”

“Alright, hon. I’m just down the hall if you need me, got it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said as he walked himself out of the kitchen.

For a minute, they continued eating in silence. Then, Medda said, “Race, can I ask ya somethin’?”

Race looked up from his mostly-finished plate, a bit nervous. “Sure, Medda. What’s up?”

“I was just curious, what made you… stop feeling that way? What made you feel like you belonged?”

He tried not to look too relieved. “Uh… I dunno, I’d hafta think about it.” He took a slow, painful bite, even though he already felt full. He was trying to finish his food so what happened with Jack would never happen again. “I guess when I got ta start takin’ dance classes. Ya know, doin’ what I cared about. Helped me find my place, and wanna find a place.” What he didn't tell her was that he really never stopped feeling that way, not fully, and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

“So you think if I could help Jack find what he cares about, he might feel more welcome here?”

Race gave a shrug. “Ain’t no two fellas gonna work exactly the same way, but it sure seems worth a shot, don’t it?”

“I suppose it does,” said Medda. “I know he likes art… Maybe I could do somethin’ with that. Find him a club, or somethin’. They got any kinda art club at school?”

“Not sure. I’m sure there’s gotta be somethin, though. If anyone’ll figure it out, s’you. Ya gotta gift for helpin’ people.”

She gave him a look, then smiled as she ruffled his hair. “When did you get so smart?”

“I gotta good teacha,” he said, playfully pushing her off.

“You got that right. You finished?” she asked, gesturing to his mostly-empty plate.

“Yes I am, thank you, Medda,” he said, handing it to her. “I’m gonna go practice for dance class tomorra, alright?”

“Alright sweetie. You let me know if you need anything.”

“You got it,” he said, trying not to seem like he was rushing off. But he was. He did need to practice, that was true. But after he stood up, he was overwhelmed by how incredibly bloated and weighed down he felt from how much he had eaten. He started to panic, feeling suffocated by his own body. It was too much. It was too much. And he had to get rid of it.

____________________________________________________________

Jack did not feel good. Having people to sit with at lunch was nice, but also overwhelming. It had never happened before. Not like that. Up until now, he only ever sat with people at lunch when he was going to a school where sitting alone was against the rules and a group of do-gooders felt enough pity for him to let him sit with them. Now that he had had some time to himself, he couldn’t stop thinking about how weird he acted today. They must have pitied him, too. But he didn’t care what people thought. Except... that he did. He knew he could never make friends, but here were the kind of people he had been wishing to know for his entire life. And he didn’t know how, but he knew it was a trap. It had to be.

He was worried about Race. But what Race did or didn’t do was none of Jack’s business. He didn’t want him to cross a line he couldn’t come back from, but he also worried that he had crossed a line by asking him about it. He knew how much he hated it when people asked about his scars. At the same time, he worried that he didn’t do enough. How could one person be simultaneously too much and not enough? God, all he did was fuck up.

He needed to get out of his head. He grabbed his art supply bag and fumbled through it, looking for his special pencil sharpener which he knew was there. He pulled out the loose blade and held it in his hand. It had been awhile. But not terribly long. He hadn’t done it once since being here. This would be the first time. It was like seeing an old friend. He felt so many things at once; disappointment and disgust with himself for still doing this, relief at having something he had control over and knowing some things never change, sadness about letting Medda down, loneliness and despair because all he could do was let people down and it didn’t even matter because he’d be out of here soon enough. It was too much. It was all too much. The walls were closing in and he couldn’t breathe, there was no oxygen because the world around him was shrinking, squeezing the life out of him. He closed his eyes and did the only familiar thing. And then, he felt nothing at all. Just a sharp, familiar sting. He breathed a sigh of relief and kept going until the world came back into focus and his arm was covered in blood.

__________________________________________________________

Race sat hunched over the toilet bowl trying to catch his breath, the shower running to cover up the sound. His heart was pounding. Tears had forced their way out of his eyes. He cleared his throat, then slowly stood up on shaking legs, holding onto the counter for support. He closed the toilet lid and flushed. After taking a deep breath, he looked up into the mirror. His cheeks were red. His eyes were bloodshot. He didn’t look at the rest of his body- he couldn’t, not right now. He quickly brushed his teeth and shut the shower off. He splashed his face with cold water to bring the puffiness down.

He didn’t ever do this. He really didn’t. Only when his anxiety got the better of him. Usually, he just skipped meals here and there, and that was enough. But he didn’t like when people asked him about what he was eating. Or what he wasn’t. And he couldn’t risk Jack finding out. No one had, and he had to keep it that way. If anyone found out, he could lose dance. So he ate dinner. But it was too much. Too, too much. He had it under control and it wasn’t a big deal, but today was too much. It wouldn’t happen again. He promised himself it wouldn’t happen again, and did his best not to remember how he made that same promise to himself more often than he’d like to admit.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to focus on the positives. No one else suspected, and he’d be sure to keep Jack off his trail from now on. Besides, he wasn’t even underweight. Especially not for a dancer. There were people at his studio that he swore were just walking skeletons. He always watched them in awe and admiration, wondering how they didn’t shatter every time they landed a jump. He didn’t necessarily want to look quite like that, but he did notice that they tended to be more successful in the field.

Plus, there was Spot to think about. He knew it was naive, but he just couldn’t shake the thought that if he just had a nicer body, he would notice him.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. None of that mattered. He just needed to go practice. Everything always felt better when he was dancing. He washed his hands again, cupped some water in his hands and drank it, then looked in the mirror one last time. He looked normal, like nothing had happened at all.

#newsies #newsies fic #newsies fanfiction #jack kelly #racetrack higgins #self harm cw #eating disorder cw

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packsbeforesnacks · 4 years

Text

The $10,000 Question || Ricky & Winn

TIMING: Friday, February 14th, 2020 (Valentine’s Day), Sunset LOCATION: Harris Island & Portland, ME PARTIES: @ricky-corderbro & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: After a $10,000 donation to the school’s arts program, Winn lets Ricky take him on the date he paid for. The two have a heart-to-heart, then a stomach-to-stomach. WARNINGS: A couple instances of graphic (read: mature) language.

All told, Ricky had not expected to have his little online stunt net the public school system a ten grand donation that, from the complicated legalese he could muddle his way through, would see them burn in hell if they used a single red cent for anything other than arts funding. Slightly more complicated was the fact that the donation had come from Winn. All things being equal, the blind date they’d had hadn’t been terrible, and while he’d never admit this to Winn, the sex had been mind-blowing, but he had no intention of pursuing a relationship with the man. Or… rather… with the werewolf. He was acutely aware that his own species identification would probably be a topic for the evening, but, for the moment he was content with trying to figure out exactly what he was going to do for the date.

He’d tossed around several ideas; from something home cooked to renting a boat and having a moonlight meal in the Bay. But somehow that all seemed to fizzle in the face of the fact that Winn was obscenely rich enough to drop ten thousand dollars on a Valentine’s Day date without batting an eyelash. It flew in the face of what Ricky at least thought he knew about the man, but it was fresh out of his shower, smoothing curl serum he’d swear he never used through his hair, that it all finally clicked into place. As he laid out his suit he made a phone call, tying the tie saw him make another one, tying reservations down with the same surety his fingers used as they tied the knot, and finally, as he stood in front of the mirror in a charcoal pinstripe suit, he had everything ready to go. “Ready when you are, Romeo.” He quickly typed out, throwing some toiletries and… essentials… into a small bag and striding towards the door. “WINSTON!” he shouted, not even knowing if his roommate was home, “I’LL BE BACK TOMORROW.”

Panic wasn’t a typical emotion for Winn. He was calm in a crisis, a confidante for those who needed it, and, if he did say so himself and he did, pretty generally chill. One bad habit, though, one that Winn had never quite been able to break, was his inability to turn down a dare, or be called on a bluff when he could just as easily decide that his bluff was the truth. It was more than that, though. His inheritance was buried deep in the electrical grid of Virginia, a monopoly among monopolies that often did more harm than good, he knew. The trust had vested when he’d turned twenty-one, and all of the money his grandfather, coal and gristle, had put into it for his sole “heir” had come into Winn’s possession. What his parents, and his deceased grandfather, hadn’t counted on was the sole heir becoming a werewolf (or bein’ gay, but that was… less a dealbreaker). Certainly hadn’t expected that same heir to fuck up so bad that he wouldn’t even think of leaning into any aspect of their family’s various business.

No, Winn didn’t know what to do with all that money. He said it all the time, and it was true: he didn’t want for much, really. So, when Ricky had come around soliciting donations to the arts, somethin’ Winn knew wasn’t gettin’ the funding that hockey was? Well, what was $10,000 between (mutually attracted) friends (who had previously hooked up, and then not gone further than that, and hell if Winn was gonna be out-stubborned, and who was to say if Ricky even wanted to do more than some athletic, excellent fucking that had left Winn the best kinda sore for days)? So, yeah, he’d made a big choice and he wasn’t gonna fuck it up, no sir. … So, yeah, little panic. Just a little.

Which was to say, he’d been flying around town all afternoon, renting a car — as if they’d ride on his bike or in the beat-up jalopy he used most of the week — transferring money, writing up paperwork, hassling a notary, causin’ a desk lady at the school to pass out, tryin’ to find one goddamn suit that wasn’t shit-tier, and then beggin’ Blanche to tailor it for him all by six o’clock, dammit Ricky. He was thankful he’d gotten a haircut the day before Valentine’s, otherwise he’d probably have passed out somewhere in the middle there.

All things considered, though, he knew he cleaned up well. Hell, he’d modeled. The suit, a violet three-piece, had worried him a bit — was it too bold? — but Blanche assured him that the cut would distract Ricky from the choice of color. Lines of a lighter purple ran through the white silken shirt underneath. The tie and pocket square, a deep, dotted navy, had been Blanche’s choice: he’d bought about six, and trusted Blanche to match well, something his colorblind eyes struggled with. Just as he finished, sliding a watch on his wrist with just enough time to spare, Winn got a text from Ricky: “Ready when you are, Romeo.” He shoved a couple hundreds at Blanche as he left, sliding into the jet black Maserati he’d lucked and charmed (and paid) his way into and sped off towards Harris Island.

He pulled up at 5:59, walked to Ricky’s door, and rapped a quick three. As the door opened, he whistled lowly. “Wow. And I thought I was dressin’ to impress.”

He liked to think that he had at least some semblance of an idea of how Winn would roll up to his house, but when a Maserati of all things pulled down the long drive and Winn stepped out of the car in a suit that looked like it’d been tailor made for him, Ricky was starting to wonder if he was punching outside his weight class. As he walked out onto the porch he heard a low wolf whistle coming from the general direction of the main house, and looked over to see Dee flashing him a thumbs up from her back porch, “Back inside, Dee! You’re old and it’s cold.” The thumbs up quickly turned into her flipping him off and he turned his attention to the supermodel on his porch. “Well… I can’t show up to a date looking like a slob. First thing’s first…” He held a hand out. “Phone. Can’t have you guessing where we’re going before we get there.” Ricky had this date planned out down to the last detail, and a solid portion of it was contingent on Winn not figuring out what was happening until the last possible minute.

“Don’t worry. I won’t go looking through your pictures. Though I’ve already sucked your dick, so I can’t imagine I’d see anything in there that’d shock me.” His shoes crunched along the gravel as he walked to the car, carefully putting his bag in the back as he leaned against the side of what he prayed was a rental (the thought that Winn had bought a sports car for this date, while believable, was too much to handle). “Come on! I’ve got plans, Woods. I’ve got a whole evening impeccably planned out and we gotta hit the road!” He couldn’t keep himself from smiling broadly, this may have started out weird and awkward but Ricky was genuinely looking forward to the evening.

When Ricky had been, well, his normal Ricky self, Winn felt a coil in his gut, that he didn’t know had wound, ease up, if only a little. Winn was well-aware of the ways in which this whole… thing could’ve come off. He placed his phone gingerly into Ricky’s hand, fingers brushing against the other man’s palm and Winn blushin’ up to his ears at the mention of their night. “Who knows,” he whispered conspiratorially, “Maybe I want you to find what’s in there, Ricks.” He smiled, a bit… giddy? Yeah, giddy. The first date had been a surprise, if a pleasant one. This one, well, he may have paid for it, sorta, but… Ricky didn’t have to dress up so nice for him, if he didn’t want to. It was a different view of the man. He’d had his hands grasped in the curls that were pulled back, he’d seen the tan skin beneath the three-piece, he’d— Well, he was getting side-tracked, and Blanche had tailored the suit well enough that going too far down that rabbit hole would be a problem. Unless Ricky was into— Nope, down Winner.

In the time he’d spaced, Ricky had made his way over to the Maserati, leaned up against it like the best bad idea Winn had ever had. A whole evening? Damn. Winn smirked as he held Ricky’s door open, gesturing the other man in with a practiced air of cordialness — thanks Cotillion. He slid in, careful not to brush his hair, stickin’ up a bit with product, against the roof of the car. “Go ahead and set up your phone on the car’s Bluetooth. I’m a good conversationalist, I know, but quiet seems… neither of our speeds.” He winked, letting the implication hang in the air. This was good. This was great. “Where to, Cordero?” he said, turning the key in the ignition and feelin’ the car growl (ha) back to life.

The energy between them was a constant back and forth that straddled the line between flirtation and outright verbal fucking, and as Ricky took Winn’s phone and slid it into his jacket he leaned over, patting the well-scruffed cheek of his date, “Well then, I’ll have to dig through it. We’ll be in the car for about an hour. I’m sure I can find something on here that’ll amuse me.” As the car pulled down the long drive and out onto the road he smiled, stretching out a little as he hooked his phone up to the Bluetooth and the sounds of Barns Courtney’s Fire started to fill the car, “Head towards the highway. We’re going south. You’re gonna wanna start goin’ towards Portland. I’ll tell you more when you need to know it.”

He turned in his seat to make sure his bag wasn’t rattling around too much in the backseat, knowing full well he had important things inside of it, before turning to look at Winn and his (as much as he was loathe to admit it) incredibly handsome profile. “So. Mr. Woods. Ten fucking thousand dollars on a called bluff. I mean I know I’m a damn good lay and some charming company but that… is a lot of fucking money. That big a patron of the arts?” He let the question hang in the air for a few moments before smiling wickedly and modifying it, “Didn’t know that was a traditionally werewolf characteristic.”

“Good taste in music,” Winn said offhand, trying to pay attention to the road as the drums and deep baritone filled his speakers. Winn knew his grin had gotten bigger when the other man had patted his cheek. He liked Ricky’s hands (was that a weird thing to say?). He’d ignored the quip Ricky had made about goin’ through his phone, knowin’ (hopin’?) it was mostly a joke. It wasn’t like there was anythin’ too incriminatin’ on it — no, if anything, Winn was embarrassed by the lack of content on his phone. Save for texts and a couple time-wasters (and ESPN alerts, ‘course), he wasn’t glued to his phone and it showed. ‘Course, there were a couple’a… personal pictures (... and videos) on there, he wasn’t stuck in the Stone Age. Some stuff from his second time as a model, too. But nothin’, like Ricky had said, the man hadn’t seen before.

“An hour, huh? Want the windows down? It’s not freezin’, and headin’ towards Portland’ll take us along the coast for a little while. The Maserati, for all its beauty, smelled a little too much like fine leather and oil. He caught Ricky moving out of the corner of his eye, and tilted his head over just slightly, inclining one eyebrow as Ricky adjusted a bag. He caught the man’s eye for a moment, but knew he’d get shit for askin’ too many question and, besides— “Ten fucking thousand dollars on a called bluff.” When Ricky mentioned Winn being a wolf, smiling like he’d struck gold, Winn had to grin back, a little… wolfish. “Some werewolves,” he started, “are a big fan of artists, actually.”

He winked at Ricky, before turning back to face the road. “I grew up around some of the best art in the country. Didn’t always get it, but hear that’s not necessarily the point, and I usually enjoyed it regardless. And, well…” He coughed. “It, um, seemed important to you. And, like I said, not like my money’s goin’ to anything useful.” It felt like he was dodging a question, for some reason, but Winn had no reason to lie to Ricky. “The money thing just never… came up, especially since you refused to let me pay for your dinner.” And the werewolf thing… well. Ricky got why he hadn’t blabbed about that, he hoped.

“I have excellent… if eclectic… taste in music.” This was something Ricky normally listened to in the workshop as he was carving, but it seemed suited for an evening drive on his way to a date, so he’d just started the playlist up. His fingers rapped in time with the music, head bopping along as he enjoyed what was undoubtedly the most luxurious car he’d ever ridden in. The whole situation was weird. How dressed up he was, the car he was riding in, who he was riding in said car with… it was like watching pieces of a puzzle you thought you knew the solution to come together to be something entirely different and foreign. Not bad, necessarily, just… foreign.

“You know, it’s a pity we didn’t take your car… or my truck.” He withdrew a joint from his breast pocket, watching it roll around in the clear vial that kept it from making his suit smell like he’d just gotten out of a Phish concert, “We could have had a very relaxing drive down to Portland. But… as it stands… I don’t think we should hotbox a Maserati.” He put it back into his pocket as he listened to what was a very unsatisfactory answer. “Lots of things are important to lots of people, Winn. Doesn’t mean everyone gets ten thousand dollars.”

The man’s comment about werewolves liking artists made Ricky chuckle, and he squeezed Winn’s thigh, “Uh-huh. Well… all of that is a terribly unsatisfactory answer, but, I guess that’s the best I can hope for this early in the evening. I’ll have to get you good and liquored up over dinner, which is on me, by the way, and get you to spill all the beans. You can get drunk right? That’d be such a drag if you were going to be a sober Susan all night. We’ve got plans… and don’t worry about driving home. We won’t be going back until tomorrow.”

The leather hugged Winn, like an old friend it hadn’t seen in a while. He had the money to throw down on a car like this, sure, but he knew himself too well. The bikes got more use than his shitty car, and he shelled out enough to keep them in good shape in the Maine winter. He could drive a graduate student-level car. He didn’t mind. Much.

When Ricky pulled the joint from his pocket, Winn winced. “Ah, sorry about that, man. I just… my car’s a mess.” True enough, and Ricky hadn’t seen his car. Not like Winn thought he’d judge, except… well, okay, he probably would. But it wouldn’t matter to him. Winn knew that, rationally. “We always could. I have the car for the weekend,” he said, only a bit dubious of his ability to get smoke out of the leather. Winn hummed along as the song faded and the next started up, reaching a hand down from the wheel to brush a thumb across the back of the hand Ricky had placed on his thigh. Focus on the road and not the devastatingly attractive man sitting next to you, Winner. Ricky squeezed, and Winn groaned. Dirty pool, Cordero, he knew Winn was—

Winn started talkin’, half to respond to Ricky, half to distract himself from the warm hand on his thigh. “I’m not tryin’ to be cagey, Ricks. I didn’t… think much about it. I would’ve done it if you’d asked me outright, date or no. The ‘cue was that good,” he quipped. He tried to resist askin’ a question about their direction. “Pretty presumptuous, if you’re askin’ me, Mr. Cordero. You’re lucky you’re pretty, otherwise might not let you get away with that.” He snickered, unable to take himself too seriously. “But no, I mean— Yes. I can get drunk. Takes me a minute longer than other folks, and, well, you’re responsible for bringin’ out drunk Winn. He’s a little… handsy. So is sober, Winn, though.” He moved his hand that had been on Ricky’s to give the other man’s thigh the same squeeze, hand a little further down than Ricky’s had been. “But I’m happy to be here, with you, y’know? Money or no. You make good company.”

Ricky caught the wince as Winn looked over at the joint in his hand, “You have the car for the weekend but I don’t think there’s a detailer talented enough to get the smell of good weed out of the fine-ass leather of this car. Don’t worry though. There’s gonna be plenty of time for that later.” Winn’s hand rested on the back of his own and the silence stretched out for a moment; in the momentary lacuna between songs it seemed extra quiet, but the music kicked up again, the same gentle song by KALEO that he used as his alarm in the morning, and that long long moment lapsed into the moment after, and then the moment after that, “I didn’t think you were being cagey.”

He laughed, removing his hand and looking at his phone to make sure they were still headed in the right direction, “If I thought you were being cagey and just trying to slum it with us “normal” low-class folks I wouldn’t have been as chill, but, your finances are your business and yours alone.” It wasn’t like Ricky had been particularly forthcoming about his own level of wealth. While he wasn’t even close to the same tax bracket as Winn it was unlikely he would ever truly want for anything.

“I don’t recall you complaining about my level of presumption when I had you bent over my washing machine the other week! But since I’m already acquainted with how handsy sober Winn can be, I think I’ll take my chances with Drunk Winn too.” Winn’s hand squeezed his thigh and he shot him a wicked smile, “Now who’s presumptuous? And we’ll see if you sing that same tune when you see how the evening unfolds. You might regret purchasing this date afterall.”

“If anyone suggested I was “slumming” it with you, they’d get a laugh and a punch ‘cross the face. Laugh, seein’ as how you look like a million bucks. Deckin’, ‘cause I’ve known too many rich assholes to have the patience for that shit.” Winn grimaced. “Not even a full moon week and I’m talkin’ about throwin’ hands. Must be somethin’ in the water.”

He listened attentively, only sputtering a little when Ricky mentioned their escapades again. “Ricky, there’s not a whole lot you could say that’d make me regret this, and, ‘sides, it seems like I’m already gettin’ my money’s worth. And you’ll forgive my rudeness if I remember holdin’ you up by your ass and spreading you open against your dryer a little better. Hard to forget, that.” Winn ran his hand down the middle of Ricky’s thigh, and back up. Two could play at this game, long as Ricky liked. But… “You’ve got me all pent up about the night’s activities, can’t I get even a little hint? I’ll make it worth your while. You name the price.” He snorted. “Not money, though, think I should keep a little around for a rainy day.”

Winn took a glance out his window, at the smattering of stars casting their light on the water. The tinted windows of the Maserati ruined the effect, just a little, but it was still a sight to behold. “It’s beautiful out, isn’t it?” he asked, more to himself than to Ricky. It was hard, had been hard, when he’d been in Europe, to remember to take the time to appreciate the simple pleasures in life. To slow down. Way this night was goin’ so far, he figured it was a good time as any to take every moment in.

“Oh, we all know hanging out with me is slumming it in the best way.” Ricky chuckled, acutely aware that he lived a life of privilege; from his financial comfort, to his social comfort, even to his supernatural comfort. He was reminded, again, that he hadn’t seen or talked to Skylar since their last unfortunate meeting, and a cloud passed briefly over his face, one he quickly strove to erase as he laughed. “Do you get a moon period? Are you super moody right before the moon. Do I need to start stocking up on ice cream and chocolate to throw at you as we start to approach a full moon? Maybe a heating pad and a nice romantic comedy to tide you over?”

Winn’s incredibly detailed recounting of the last time he’d been at Ricky’s house made him flush a scarlet that he was glad was mostly hidden by the car’s dim interior, “Uh huh. You would remember that. Pity I don’t have security cameras. Would have been one hell of a home movie.” His laugh overrode the music for a moment at Winn’s comment, tutting gently, “Oh… you’re going to be a helluva lot more pent up before the night is through, Winn. Don’t you worry… I’ve got a lot planned for us. You’re going to be getting your money’s worth, and a night you’re not going to forget.”

It was an abrupt change in Winn’s tone that accompanied the comment about the beauty around them, and Ricky nodded slowly, “Take exit seventeen up here. But yeah. It is. You know I’ve lived here my whole life… only been outside the state a couple times, and only outside the country once. But still I think Maine is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. I love it here.”

Winn groaned. He’d been a big fan of chocolate, before the transformation. He could have a little, on occasion, but he tried to resist, hoping eventually he’d forget how it tasted — like vegetarians always claimed they did with meat. There was a solitary container of M&M’s in the freezer, for when he broke and just needed it. “No chocolate, please. We’re — some werewolves — allergic to it. Dog problems, y’know?”

He laughed, running a hand through his hair. “But, uh… Yeah, I get… grumpy, but mostly I get out the aggression on the ice. We have… other needs, too. Fightin’ and fuckin’, the werewolf story. If you give into one, you can usually mitigate the other. Since I’m not gettin’ laid every day of my life, I bury myself in burning out the wolf in practice the days ‘round the moon. Go punch trees, be the world’s worst karate stereotype.” He let Ricky talk for a moment, watching for the exit he’d mentioned, only stopping him to joke — “Record me any time, bro, I look great on a camera, I can show off for you.” — and to snort a little at Ricky’s own humor.

Winn took the exit as Ricky talked about his feelings for Maine, letting out a small sigh and deciding to chance a bit of the rawness Cece had (sort of) complimented him on. “I… miss my home, sometimes, y’know? I never thought I’d leave, really. Down south is different, all mountains and valleys and folks who’ll shoot your face off — though, glad to be away from them, uh, mostly. But your home helps me forget about that. A lot, actually. Don’t know if I’ve ever said it aloud, but I don’t know. I… think I could see myself finding a home here.” His voice got quiet, buried in the music thrumming through the car, “I hope.”

Winn cleared his throat. “Could also go traveling the world, though! Y’ever been to Europe? Lots of good food, good people!” He laughed a little too loud, he thought, but maybe he was overthinking it. It’s not like he was tryin’ to hide from Ricky, but, well, maybe Ricky wasn’t the only person who thought he could scare folks away.

Ricky bit his lip for a long moment, taking several deep breaths and steepling his fingers in front of his face. “I am going to try really hard to be respectful here, really very hard… But… you’re telling me… you’re a goddamn werewolf… And you can’t fucking have chocolate.” It took every single iota of control that he had not to laugh hysterically at what seemed to be the funniest bit of supernatural carryover. “That’s… That’s a very interesting bit of dietary restriction and I will be sure to keep that in mind when I order for us this evening.”

Several deep breaths later and he had the urge to laugh entirely under control. “Well you know if you had to be any karate stereotype, you picked a good one. You could have been “weird divorced dad who’s a strip mall karate instructor” and that’s just not a fucking good look for anyone. You can smell the desperation on that one a mile away.”

He listened, carefully and silently, as Winn very uncharacteristically talked at length about something that seemed very personal and sincere. It was a good look for him. When he finished, and Ricky was sure he had finished because he didn’t want to interrupt that particular bout of sincerity, he nodded slowly. “Once. My parents are… or were… or I guess are and were…” he paused for a moment, parsing out the grammatical accuracy of the statement he was about to make, “Actually you know what, it is were. My mom’s dead and my dad moved back. Anyway. My parents were immigrants. My mom was from Ireland and my dad was from Venezuela. So, after I graduated high school… Like literally several hours after… I got on a plane and flew out to meet my mom’s family.”

He paused again, looking ahead at the several conversational roads that diverged in front of him, “My mom’s clan. With her dead, I was the only Selkie left in White Crest, that I knew about, and books can only teach you so much. So…. I spent three months before my freshman year of college in this fucking TINY little fishing village north of Galway. Didn’t speak English til I came back to Maine, just learned… Everything. That I didn’t know about how to be what I am. So… in a very long winded answer to your question… yeah I’ve been to one very very small rural part of Europe once.”

“I appreciate your restraint,” Winn deadpanned, knowing how his chocolate problem sounded, after he’d said it aloud. Ricky was clearly trying to phrase it as delicately as possible, and he did appreciate it, but… c’mon, it wasn’t that funny. There were theories about why the chocolate allergy carried over were varied, and some lucky assholes didn’t even have to deal with it. He snorted at the assessment of stereotypes, quipping a short, “Yeah, that’s not the kind of thing I want people to smell on me, y’know?” One small turn apparently deserved another, and Winn cocked his head to the side, trying to make as much eye contact with Ricky as was possible while still keeping an eye on the road. Luckily, and maybe surprisingly, the road that Ricky was leading them down was fairly clear of cars.

“I, uh—” he started. He knew from his classes, and personal experience, that Ricky had just divulged some fairly deep information, including information about, well, the secret to end all secrets, right? Winn sounded the word “selkie” out in his head while he thought about his response, racking his brain to figure out what that could mean. He thought back to the late night texts Ricky had sent, wondered if he’d meant to tell Winn. Winn wasn’t a guarded person, not really, but he had… the impression that Ricky was, that maybe Ricky being honest with him was something precious, to be cherished. “My father was an immigrant, too. Raised in Singapore for most of ‘is childhood, till his parents decided to send him to the States for college, told him not to come back. I… always appreciated what he did, I guess, for me. Ma was the granddaughter of a coal miner, daughter of a “self-made man” type. Neither of them were werewolves, don’t know I am. Don’t speak to them much.”

He paused, considering how best to say this, not wanting to come across as callous, but knowing, if Ricky’s mother had died before Ricky graduated from high school, that going too far into the “gentle hands'' school would be, maybe, offensive. Grief stung, but pity stung worse. “I’m sorry about your mom,” he settled on. It wasn’t enough, but was there ever anything that could be?

“I’ll be honest, I’m not sure what a Selkie is. But I’d like to hear more about it, if you’ll tell me. No pressure. Just… from one shifter to another, I know it can be… weird, reconciling two parts of yourself. Not to, um, assume that’s your experience. I know…” A pause. “... friends o’ mine, who don’t see it as two halves. And for me, for someone who chose this life, I know that I usually feel… more free, when I’m the wolf. Wouldn’t say happier, jus’... freer.” He tentatively put a hand on Ricky’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “And thank you. Know that maybe sounds weird, but… I wasn’t lyin’, I do want to get to know you better, Ricky. Whatever parts you want to show me. So, I’m grateful.”

He glanced at the clock on the dash, doing some quick mental math. “And let me know if there’s another turn I should be lookin’ for. Seems like maybe we should be gettin’ close? To… wherever.” He left his hand on Ricky’s shoulder, waiting for the other man to tell him to move it, or lean in, or do whatever he needed to do. Winn was a hands-on kinda guy, in more ways than one. His words were good, but his actions could speak louder, he thought. He waited.

“Well, I guess I’m going to have to call the restaurant and tell them to cancel the chocolate fountain I ordered for dessert.” Ricky was only human… ish… and he could only maintain so much composure upon hearing that his werewolf date for the evening had a legit dog-like chocolate allergy.

To his credit, Winn managed to make it very, very clear that Ricky’s story held his full attention, and the road only part of it, as Ricky laid out at least the framework for the story about what he was and where he’d come from. When he’d finished, Winn started his own story, and it helped Ricky at least start to put the puzzle pieces together of what the man behind the frat boy bravado was like.

He couldn’t help but laugh, however, when Winn admitted he had no idea what Ricky was. “We’re not terribly common. Especially in America. We tend to stick to the UK where we’re from originally. As far as I know, after my mom died I was the only Selkie in White Crest for over a decade. But… we’re shifters, like you, but instead of a wolf, I’m a seal. Born a seal, first turned into a human when I was about two. We’re at-will shifters, as long as we have our skin, so I’m not chained to the whims of the moon like you are. Take a left up here on Hall.” He pointed to the intersection in question and then scratched at the stubble on his chin.

“I never really… I came into the shifter thing at an advantage. We’re born, not made, and I was lucky enough to be born to a family where it was all really commonplace and ordinary, so I never really had to go through the whole ‘duality of identity’ crisis that I know a lot of shifters do. I am a seal, who can turn into a human. That’s just me. I’ve got bigger problems than trying to work out how to wrap my head around that, you know? That’s just… The boring and average part.”

As the car made the turn and he looked at the map on his phone a wolfish smile started to creep its way across his face. “Then up here you’re gonna take a right onto Congress. After about… looks like a mile… the place we’re headed should be on the left. I think you’ll know it when you see it.”

“Well, I’m clearly not the best educated wolf on the block. No one mentioned anythin’ other than werewolves, ‘fore I got changed. Selkie,” Winn started, trying the word out in his mouth again. “Seal. Got it. But, dude. That’s so fuckin’ rad. I don’t, uh, mean to, like— I just, it’s cool to not be the only supernatural thing out there in the big wide world. It’s cool that you’re a part of this, that I mean… that we don’t have to hide that shit between each other?” He felt a light flush rise to his cheeks and ears. “Um— Uh, but—” What the shit, Winner, get your act together.

“We do both have a connection to the moon, though, right?” he tried, grasping at something else Ricky had mentioned to pivot the subject. Moon. Okay, he could talk about the moon. “Don’t know much about seals either, but ocean tides must be somethin’ you’re aware of, I can’t… like, imagine that, if the moon looks at the sea funny, that wouldn’t change somethin’ for y’all? Swimmin’ patterns? Where the good fish are? Same for us ‘n deer or other forest grub. I mean, stop me if I’m totally off base.” He took the first turn. “Wish it was out tonight, really. Not gonna rise till after 3, I think. I haven’t looked at an almanac in a second.”

He took the next turn Ricky pointed out, driving down Congress and takin’ in the sights of Portland. He’d been down here a couple times, and it was a softer sort of city than D.C., but he liked it. “Ricky,” Winn said, turning to look at him fully for a brief moment, eyes soft in the dim light of the car. “Don’t really think there’s much ‘boring’ or ‘average’ ‘bout you, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.” He turned back in his seat, driving comfortably along, keeping an eye to his left for somethin’ that’d be… obvious. He cracked the window ‘bout halfway, to see a little better past the tint, and that’s when the smell hit him. Fuck.

Winn pushed down a little harder on the pedal, almost instinctively, headin’ towards the source of that smell. Eventually, his eyes caught on a low, brick building, with “SALVAGE BBQ” written on the side in what (Winn thought) was black-and-yellow lettering. He could kiss Ricky. Actually… Winn parallel parked the Mas and, with a big grin, unbuckled his seat belt and leaned across the middle of the car to plant a (oops, probably a little wet?) kiss against Ricky’s stubble, smiling against the other man’s cheek. “You’re a man after my own heart, you know that?” he said, a little breathy. Was he being too excited? He was prolly bein’ too excited. But, well, his metaphorical tail was waggin’. He leaned back over, open up his door. “Bro,” he said, reverently.

“I mean… You still very, very much have to hide this shit, but not from me.” Ricky gave Winn his patented heart melting crooked smile, laying on the charm extra thick as he listened to a blushing Winn navigate his way through some moon logic. “Mmmmm. Maybe technically? But the moon has no practical effect on my day to day life. I can change during any phase of it, and my sense of smell is so acute that I always know where the good fish are. I think the closest connection to the moon I have is that it’s safest for me to change at night, so I’m just used to swimming around by its light.”

He let the conversation trail off a little as they neared their destination, watching Winn carefully. The minute the man cracked the window, Ricky knew he’d figure it out; if he could smell the bbq with seal sense then Winn definitely could with werewolf scent. Sure enough, Ricky could swear he saw Winn’s ears actually perk up when he caught the scent and sight of the building they were approaching. “I’m pretty and dumb, but did you really think I was making us get all dressed up for some fancy ass shit? Nah bruh, that’s a bait and goddamn switch right there. So congrats, we’re gonna be the only two people in three-piece suits up in what has been lauded as Portland’s best bbq place.”

He laughed at the excited kiss planted on his cheek before getting out of the low sports car, feet crunching across the gravel as they walked towards the door. “Sit, boy.” He pointed to a nearby table with “Reserved Cordero” on it before walking over to the counter, “Yeah hi. I called ahead earlier. Cordero. We had two Meat Fatalities, quart of collard greens, quart of mac and cheese, two sides of the BFFs, large order of hush puppies, and three orders of pickles. Could I also get two waters, two of that bourbon barrel-aged stout I see on tap, and about a whole roll of paper towels? We’re gonna need it.” He carefully balanced the beer and water as he wandered back over to the table, setting them down and grinning, “I ordered enough food for about fifteen people. So. I hope you came hungry. This is only stop one. Gotta fuel up.”

Ricky had a real nice smile, Winn thought. One that Winn wanted to keep puttin’ on the other man’s face; after all, he had a whole night to do it. So, he’d been wrong about the tides affectin’ Ricky. Big whoop. He had time to learn the ins and outs (... and ins and outs) of selkie biology. He’d picked up what he needed about wolves, easy enough. “You’re a goddamn menace,” Winn said as Ricky explained his plan, “... but one who’s got me pegged pretty well, it seems. This is the shit.” Winn’s laugh was big and full, enough so that a pedestrian looked over for a moment in concern. But fuck that dude, he was having fun.

The inside of the place reminded him a little of the campgrounds that the National Park service had set-up through the Shenandoah — long picnic tables situated against the windowed wall, smaller tables set up throughout, a little dinery, a little rough-’n-tumble. “Sit, boy.” did things to Winn that he’d be ashamed to admit in polite company, sending a pleasant shock up his spine. The wolf felt what Winn felt about the whole affair, but more… primally. Winn sat down, shifting his suit pants while Ricky’s back was turned and hoping like hell a wannabe Karen hadn’t seen him pretty much fondlin’ his dick underneath the table. He had a reputation to keep in tact, damn it.

He heard bits and pieces of what Ricky had ordered for them, wiping the mental (and, frankly, physical, whoops) drool away from the side of his mouth. Winn hadn’t eaten since that morning, to be prepared for whatever the date might entail — a ten-thousand dollar fuck far from out of the question. Mentally, he made a deal of sorts between the two halves of himself. No, you can’t just shove your face down in the meat and go to town, that’s gross. Yes, if you aren’t satisfied, I’ll coax the beautiful seal man into another helpin’. No growling, no matter how hungry or horny you are. Just… don’t. Non-wolves think it’s weird.

When Ricky mentioned the sheer amount of grub he ordered, Winn just grinned, too delighted for words. He took a long pull of the stout that Ricky had gotten, the oakyness slidin’ down his throat just right before respondin’. Leaning across the table, reminiscent of the first date they’d had, Winn said, at his usual volume (which is to say, slightly above an inside voice), “What’s our plan of attack here, Ricks? You’re the ‘cue master, you’ve gotta guide me. Teach me. Tantalize me.” A wink and a smirk, as was his typical choice when bein’ forward on purpose. “And if this is only stop one, I can’t wait to see what comes next. Bet it’s a big ol’ secret, though, huh?” He leaned back in his seat, head cocked subtly to the side, takin’ in the smell of the ‘cue… and of Ricky, the wolf waggin’ its tail happily, at peace with itself — with himself.

It was infinitely edifying to Ricky to see how much he’d hit the nail on the head with both his restaurant choice and his date choice. He’d gone through a lot of options in his head; high brow weekend in New York, drug and booze fuck/game fest in a cabin by the lake, renting a boat for a moonlight sail, the options had been many. But in the end Ricky had decided that none of them felt… Winn. He did know, however, that Winn had an eye and stomach for barbecue, and after some research had discovered this place.

A band played at the far end of the restaurant, some four piece local folk ensemble singing about ghosts in the woods, and he knocked his glass against Winn’s before taking a long drink of what turned out to be a pretty damn decent stout. He moved the various bottles of barbecue sauce around the table as he listened to Winn, “The plan of attack? Eat. Eat. More eat.” He looked over his shoulder to see no fewer than three waiters carrying their trays of food toward them, inhaling deeply as they set them down in front of them.

“Hey. Ricky doesn’t phone it in when he’s gotta take a dude out. This place has won like a million awards. And I know you’re serious when it comes to barbecue. And yes. It is a big ol’ secret and you know that. You gotta just roll with the punches tonight.” He grabbed one of the french fries and started nibbling at it, examining his sauce selections as he inhaled the smell of the barbecue in front of him. “I think I’m gonna start with chicken though. Because why the fuck not. Everyone loves chicken.”

They chowed down for a few minutes before Winn came up for air. He was making a conscious effort not to eat like, well, a wolf, but Ricky seemed to have his own appetite to sate. Protein would certainly play well, later… if the later that Winn envisioned came to fruition. The food was so damn good. “Damn, dude.” He looked at the spread before them, not even a little full, but in awe of the sheer amount of barbecue on display. The different sauces danced across his tongue — his favorite, a sweet Carolina with just a hint of vinegar. But there was a hotter one, a little more tangy, that was also right up his alley. The meat was all cooked perfectly, moist enough that it’d be great on its own, and not so moist that it didn’t take the sauce on, and the sides? Shit, Winn had never even been a collard greens person, and he’d kill a man for the recipe on display here.

“Bro…” He didn’t have the words to express just how much this was up his alley. “You really know the way to a man’s heart, and stomach. That’s for fuckin’ sure.” This was going to be a good night.

#wickedswriting #para #Ricky #The Ten Thousand Dollar Question #wickedsmature #//#102 Days Later

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stattic-writes · 5 years

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kensboytoy · 5 years

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The Classifieds Ch. 1

Title: The Classifieds Fandom: Beetlejuice (Movie) Pairings: Beetlejuice/Reader Ratings: Explicit Chapters: 1/? Summary: A curious leaflet falls into your possession on the day you move into your new place. You decide to call on the services of one 'bio-exorcist' and realize that you might be crushing pretty hard on a dead guy. How seductive can a sleaze like Beetlejuice really be?

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Moving into a new place was already a pain in the neck. Moving all by yourself? The worst. Well, except when you donated all your furniture to Goodwill because you knew that you weren’t strong enough to lug it up the teetering second story floor where your new place was. So, three big poofy comforters, several dozen pillows, stuffed animals, and many, many boxes full of weird 80’s toys later… Well, you collapsed in your makeshift nest and enjoying the rest of your busy evening in total silence.

The only lights you had were battery-powered string lights because the electric company hadn’t turned the power on yet, so you made it a lazy, comfy space all your own.

But without power, you couldn’t sit down and edit on your laptop or even use your phone (you’d need it to be on power-saving mode until the lights came on.) So you tried reading. That worked until the sun went down and your shitty vision was impaired. Then you tried sleeping but every creak of the apartment settling gave you a fright.

You idly flipped through the leaflets you had gotten in the mail around, squinting to see if there were any coupons to use. A small business card fell into you lap:

Betelgeuse: The 'Bio-Exorcist'

Call BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE, BETELGEUSE!

You snorted. It was cute! Maybe you wouldn’t throw it away. But… there was no number on the back? You flipped it around and held it to the light. Nada.

“Pft. Like a dorkier version of Bloody Mary.” There was a smile on your face and you folded the paper up neatly to put in your wallet.

With a yawn and a stretch, you arose from your nest and waltzed into the bathroom to brush your teeth. The only light you had was a pocket flashlight you had gotten along attached to a rape whistle from some medical center long ago. You stared into the mirror for a moment as you patted your face with a warm towel.

“Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you. Bloody Mary, I don’t believe in you.”

You waited. Nothing. You shrugged your shoulders. That myth had been scary when you were younger but it never yielded any results.

As you started brushing out your hair, you continued.

“Beetlejuice. Beetlejuice…”

Another yawn and you closed the medicine cabinet before you changed into your nightgown and waltzed back into your bedroom. You flopped into your makeshift bed and stared at the card once again.

“What the hell is a Beetlejuice?”

Had you been looking at the mirror for a moment longer, you would’ve seen Bloody Mary, hair done up in curlers and charcoal face mask covering her very surprised expression before flickering away the moment you began to speak the words for the other spirit.

He was… stronger? Maybe that was the wrong word. Mary only had a passing interest in terrifying people, whereas Beetlejuice?

He thrived on it. Hell, almost got off on it, if he was honest. There was something delicious about scaring the living shit out of breathers.

So, Mary never stepped in when it was clear that the person had moved onto summoning him, instead. It’d be rude.

And summon him you did.

The lights flickered for a moment before shutting off, throwing the entire room into a pitch-black darkness that shouldn’t have been possible. Some of the light outside should still have been filtering in, or at the very least there should have been moonlight. Something. Anything. but all you got was darkness.

Darkness and the faint feeling that you were no longer the only one there.

After a brief moment, there was the distinctive sound of slithering and something crawled across your foot, wrapping around it as the lights flickered back on to reveal a… guy?

Well, a slob. He was normally built everywhere except for his stomach where he was decidedly bulky enough with a round beer belly. His hair was wild and all over the place - you couldn’t decide if his hair was white, blond, or green from the moss covering every inch of him. He looked like a bad Halloween decoration you’d leave on the porch to scare neighbors away from trick-or-treating.

“Why hell-o there, sweetcheeks,” he purred, voice somewhere between when you inhaled a fat cigar and the flush of a toilet. “You called?”

You yelped, flinging your blanket off you in a state of panic before grabbing your phone and fumbling to turn the camera light back on. You didn’t have a chance. The lights came back on to illuminate the figure in front of you and you shrunk in your seat.

And then you squinted.

“What the fuck?” you managed to gasp. “What the ever-loving fuck.”

Your hands instinctively reached for a pillow to cling onto for dear life and to use as a potential weapon if he got any closer.

“Holy fuck, there’s a fucking crazy homeless man in my fucking house and he looks like Riff-Raff from Rocky Horror fucked a pile of moss. What the fuck.”

Had you not been completely terrified, you would have said he was kinda cute. Kinda. If you were into creepy corpses with shit-eating grins.

“I understood-” Beetlejuice paused, counting on his grimy fingers for a moment and having to think about what he was about to say. “More than half of those words, I think. But I’ll go ahead and treat ‘em like compliments, babes.”

There was a wide grin on his face that displayed his crooked teeth and showed off some of the most prime real estate for bugs that existed in this or any other plane of existence. It would have been charming to a certain type of people, but as you had not taken any hard drugs in your life, the chance of you being one of those types of people was slim.

Spitting into one hand and using it to slick his hair back in a manner that usually turned a few stomachs, the ghostly, grody apparition leered down at you in what could almost be likened to a man leering at his hangover-curing breakfast after a long night drinking.

“Beetlejuice, at your service. Bio-exorcist and professional haunter since the late black plague.” He swiftly bowed and smirked. “What can I do for ya, little breather?””

“Oh, you’re Beetlejuice? I mean, I guess… that makes sense.”

You paused and sat up, staring at him over and over again, your heart still racing. He certainly made the place smell damper than an apartment in this neck of the woods usually was.

“Uh. Your ad - well, I found your ad in my mail. It was pretty vague. It just said to call your name three times-”

You reached out and touched his leg and then quickly recoiled. Oh, he was real. You were not dying.

“What the fuck. Am I really seeing you? I swear to God I don’t use coke or anything weird and - holy shit - you’re real.” You poked at him. “You’re actually here and not some Hatsune Miku hologram what the fuck is happening.”

You scrunched your face up and furrowed your brow.

“Bio-exorcist? …Living exorcisms?” you frowned. “Shouldn’t it just be ‘exorcist’?”

Pursing his dangerously chapped lips, the poltergeist frowned at you and let his bushy brows furrow into a look of confusion, mimicking your expression.

“I’m real, dollface. What, you didn’t think my business card was serious?”

Oh, now that was worrying. He’d spread those out as much as possible during his last visit to the world of the living, and what if people were just calling him up for no reason other than thinking it was just some prank?

“Just ‘cause I ain’t flesh and bone doesn’t make me any less real.”

Then the subject of bio-exorcism. Oh, one of his favorite topics, aside from how good he was with his tongue and how easily he could drink anyone in any dimension under the table. Despite the fact that sometimes, he did drink under the table.

Not a lot of bars liked that. Wasn’t really a good party trick either.

“I'm here for spirits, y’see? If some living jackass moves into their place, I chase ‘em out. Keep the crib empty. Make sure no one’s tryin’ to regular-exorcise them.”

You frowned.

“Well, like I said, it was pretty vague. Slipped in with the coupons you usually think you’re going to use but never end up using.” You took out your wallet and removed the slip before handing it over to him. It was one of his more vague cards that left out the specific details of his gig. “There was something about it that just made me… I dunno.”

You, being the sweet young thing you were, blushed and cleared your throat gently.

“I’m really sorry - honestly I am. But I… Well, how to put this very gently and in a sincere way… I personally don’t believe in ghosts. Not saying they can’t be out there, especially not after that crazy weird stunt you just pulled.”

You held up your hands defensively, trying to show that you didn’t mean any harm.

“If I did, I think that’d open a lot of gates to my already hard-to-deal-with trauma.”

Then, you sighed and slumped back in your big cushion of a bed to stare up at him. You were studying him in what little light there was now that it was back on. He didn’t really look like he was fucking around.

“But I guess this might shake that idea up.” Your eyebrow perked up in inquiry. “Are you some sort of ghost advocate? Like… their protector?”

“Their… protector?”

Beej stared, open-mouthed and slack-jawed for a long moment before leaning back and slapping a hand across his knee as he let out the world’s loudest hoot of laughter and fell into hysterics.

Oh, first you didn’t believe in ghosts, and now you thought he was there to protect them? That was absolutely rich.

Just because he worked for them didn’t mean that he was suddenly their protector.

Tears of absolute mirth rolled down his ghostly cheeks, the spirit having to try a few times before he could actually stop laughing. Chuckling and wheezing a few more times before he could actually calm down enough to answer you, he glanced down at you and let his face fall utterly blank.

“No.”

A wave of his hand and a cloud of smoke, a pair of reading glasses appeared perched upon his face along with a booklet in his already outspread palm.

“I am solely here to facilitate the removal of pre-mortem nuisances from the property of any spirits, hauntings, or those of the ghostly persuasion,” came the weirdly educated, prim and proper voice before it dropped down a few registers to rock tumbler. “I boot living folks out of ghost homes.”

You shrugged, not fazed by his childish behavior. Sure, you thought he was weird and yeah, it was freaky to have a stranger in your house. But for all you knew, he was harmless. Annoying but harmless.

“Well, I’m not a ghost and there ain’t one here, my dude. I don’t think I need your services…” You frowned and opened up your wallet again, this time grabbing a couple twenty dollar bills and handing it to him. “I feel like an asshole for calling you. I was gonna use that for take-out but I think you should have it. Y’know. For showing up to perform your services of, uh, removal. Like a cancellation fee you gotta pay if you fuck up.”

You thought for a moment. And then uttered words you never thought you’d ever say:

“Or you could hang around here for awhile. Lights aren’t on and there’s no cable… But I could order that food for two-” Wait. “Uh, if you eat? Sorry. I don’t want to seem ignorant. I just. This shit is a lot to process.”

Annoyed at yourself, you rubbed the bridge of your nose.

“What I’m saying is that even though there aren’t ghosts, you can kick it if you don’t want to go back to wherever I summoned you from. Can’t imagine it was pleasant.”

“No ghosts, huh? What 'm I, chopped liver?”

As if to prove his point, Beetlejuice kept very steady eye contact with you as he reached into his torso and stuck a hand out the other side, the other moving to yoink off his head and alas-poor-Yorick with it.

Practical effects were good. But to do that on the fly? And as convincingly as he did?

That wasn’t really… something possible.

Beetlejuice pulled his hand back through and replaced his noggin as he stared right at you, one grimy brow lifted as he wordlessly pocketed the bills. Even if he didn’t typically use living money, there was still bartering worth in the paper. He could always sell it to some sentimental dumbass who missed the green of the living world.

Which were… far more people than most thought. Most would assume that the first thing you’d do when you died is embrace socialism.

But apparently not.

You grimaced. Not because the sight was scary to you - you had grown up on horror movies. It was just the suddenness of his motions that unnerved you. You ran your fingers through your hair and shook your head before he continued.

“And we do eat. it isn’t something we need to do, but it’s… fun. Little reminder of breather life.”

“This is nuts. I’m talking to a dead guy on my first night in my new place. Who the fuck even prepares you for this shit?” You sighed and moved towards the edge of your bed. “Look, man, I’m going to play the dumb living human card a lot tonight and I’m sorry but…”

You eyed him up and down again curiously.

“I didn’t even think there was a God or an afterlife - to me this just feels like some drug trip. But… you’re real.” You stood up to walk around him. Your hand gently touched his lapel, fingers sliding down the fabric before you pulled away. “I’m having a fucking existential crisis with some zoot zuit wearin’ - pimp? - showing up because I said his fucking name three times.”

Your eyes locked with his briefly.

“I’m guessing say it another three times send you back to - Hell? Purgatory? So I won’t, ‘Juice. Unless this is painful to be here.”

Annoyed at the situation, you rubbed your tired eyes. Without another word, you unlocked your phone and pulled up a Chinese delivery place's menu.

“Well, dinner’s on me. I promise not to ask you anymore super stupid questions if you stay. Lord knows I’m too dumb to get this shit. But, uh. Company would be cool. If you want.” You blushed. It wasn’t like you were asking him for a date. But you were curious if you could learn more. “Or I could send you back to whatever bliss awaits you. Uh. Dealer’s choice?”

His face contorted at the mere mention of the other side. Sure, it wasn’t eternal damnation. but it also wasn’t blissful. It was… mostly like being alive. Paperwork and jobs and having to still deal with money.

Capitalism didn’t stop along with someone’s heartbeat. No, the fucking system stuck around post-mortem. Perhaps there was some special place where the really exceptional people went - to some sort of good place - but Beej’d be fucked if he ever saw it or even heard mention of anything like that.

“Eugh. No, the longer I can stay topside, the better, dollface,” he grimaced, one eye following you as you walked around and examined him. And sure, he tried to look his best, puffing out his chest and sucking in the gut he had. After all, he did that around any pretty little thing he saw, on the off chance that… well…

That you’d wanna hitch a ride on the B.J. Express. First and only stop: Fucksville.

Christ, that line was probably why he never got laid unless it was through the exchange of some cold, hard cash. He nearly owned a huge stake at Dante’s at this point.

“I'll stay with you,” he proclaimed, then as if he could read your mind, “Consider it a date. I'll pay ya back for this.”

“A date?” You didn’t sound repulsed like a normal person should have been. No, you were more perplexed. “A cool ghost pops into the world of the living and wants to go on a date with some random human - no wait, what did you call me, a breather?”

You laughed softly and handed your phone over to him, the menu pulled up. You rested your chin on your hand as you looked up at him quizzically.

“Not trying to presume anything, but, uh. I heard demons and shit were hot, right? I mean, you guys can have orgies and orgies without fear of STDs or baby-making. Plus, again, demon girls are hot. Now you’re stuck on a date with a breather?”

Figuring it was a joke, you shrugged.

“Whatever floats your boat. You don’t gotta pay me back. Like I said, I could use the company.” You flashed him a smile. “You are pretty cool, after all. It’d be nice if you stuck around…”

“Oh, yeah, no. Don’t get me wrong, succubi are great. They’ll ride you until you can’t see or walk straight. But, uh.”

Rubbing the back of his head, he tried to think of something to say that wouldn’t be an outright lie, but that wouldn’t make him seem like too much of a creep. After all, most folks didn’t go for creeps. And those who did? They were usually into the stereotypical “hot stalker” creep. No, he couldn’t blow this shit with his usual molestation and upfront attitude. He might actually have a chance here.

“They don’t tend to be my type. Waaaaaay too aggressive. I prefer to be the one in charge,” he said, glancing at the living human to see what sort of reaction that would have on you. To see if you scoffed, turned red, or both.

To see if you would be into banging.

You blushed. Well, you had asked so you couldn’t be mad. Not like you were. Beetlejuice seemed gross and weird but… no alarm bells were ringing yet.

“So I was right about the pimp suit?” you chuckled. “Well, if you wanna live lavishly like a King then by all means, order whatever you want. Just be careful ‘bout the duck. It’s the fanciest thing on that menu but…”

You waved your hand flat out as if to say so-so.

“Not worth it. The kung pow chicken? Super bomb.”

You relaxed back in your cushions and waited for him to place his order.

“I get more of a switch vibe from you, Juice. But I’ll believe you. I’d be confident with a cool suit too.” You pursed your lips for a moment. “Did you die in that suit or do you get to pick your outfits in the afterlife?”

A switch?

Oh, that was entirely true. Hell, if anything Beej could be a pushover if someone batted their eyes and pursed their lips in the right way. But would he ever admit to it outside of either regular or sexy torture?

Never.

...well, maybe. But he’d have to be either overwhelmingly drunk or high to do so. He didn’t like to admit that there was any part of himself that was anything other than a smooth-talking, dominant, seductive casanova, but he knew that secretly there may have been something that wasn’t wholly dominant about him.

However, he wasn’t about to let this pretty young thing know. Not unless there was a whip or stilettos involved.

“Nah, doll. I'm all daddy.” He thumped his chest at that, shooting you his best smile. Which was more like looking at a pane of broken glass.

“And this old thing? Buried in it, but can change if I want. I just think it adds a certain charm, don’t you agree?”

You giggled, delighted that this old dirt bag used such a trendy title. Sure, older gals used to call men Daddy all the time, but the way he said it wasn’t exactly in that context. It was more like the horny millennial fad.

“You must have been fucking some younger spirits to get that lingo, Daddy-O,” you teased, purposely using the outdated version of the name.

At his narcissistic question, you decided to indulge him just a little bit.

“I like it. Not everyday someone pulls off stripes so well,” you complimented to boost his ego. “If only I could see you properly, but all these little lights can only show me just a little taste.”

Maybe he could light up the room. If you goaded him with compliments… Free utilities were free utilities, man.

“I guess a Daddy does need a suit. Maybe a nice belt…”

Oh, you hoped it was too dark to see your clever little smirk. You liked playing this game with a dead man.

“But it depends on what kinda Daddy you are, Juice. The word is so carelessly used nowadays. So many wimps using it to sound cool.” Woah, hello sudden confidence. It was nice to feel like you weren’t some meek geek. “There are lots of ways to wear the name up here in the living.”

Oh, but he wasn’t going to fold just like that. Even if you were acting so confident, Beej still had enough ego to topple civilizations. Granted, had you taken the lead and pushed him over, that would be a completely different story.

But as it was? He could deal with words.

At least until you either started pointedly giving commands or begging for his cock. Either of those - anything that was explicit and couldn’t just be mistaken for simple flirting - and he would be a goner.

With a snap of his grimy fingers, the lights buzzed and came on. Not with their usual electric glow, but with what almost seemed like candlelight from within. He wasn’t really turning the power on - he was using them to conduct a different light source.

And from there? His suit was all the easier to see. Along with the very obviously hard cock that pressed against the front of those striped slacks.

“How’s about it, dollface? Like what you see?” he purred, running a hand down his body for either your amusement, or for your enjoyment. Depended on whether or not you were just teasing to be a tease, or if you would actually go for a roll in the hay. “Does Daddy measure up to what you were thinking?”

You gawked. You stared! Your eyes were round like dinner plates. That blush burned your face so suddenly that it was an obvious tell. And your heart nearly skipped a beat. That was very unexpected, despite you explicitly trying for this very result.

Beetlejuice was gross. But in a very, very attractive way. A slob with charm.

“O-oh wow,” you murmured. Bashfully, you looked away and grabbed the pillow you were holding earlier. You bit your lower lip. You didn’t find it wrong to embrace being dirty, but part of you felt like it would be too ‘slutty’ of yourself to start flirting harder. The ghost just met you - would you really want to mess with someone who would hit it and quit it?

“That and more,” came the soft reply. “You sure I called a bio-exorcist and not some other dirty line?”

Cautiously, you sat forward in your seat and looked up at him. God, he was cute.

“I can see lots of us living folks calling you up.” You wet your lips eagerly. Then, you paused. And blushed even harder.

It was then that you realized that you were only in your pajamas. No underwear underneath, nada! Just the thin fabric of your shirt and pants. It was pretty revealing in this light if you could look at yourself the way he was leering at you.

“I-I feel very underdressed compared to you… Um. Sh-should I change into something nicer? I, uh, don’t want you to think I look like a trash goblin.”

Oh, he could instantly see that you were hardly wearing anything once the lights flickered on, his eyes doing a full sweep of your body and taking in your warm, plush form as he felt his cock twitch. Hell, it was probably something that was very visible.

A slow grin spread over his face, Beetlejuice leaning in and reaching out to touch your thigh as he gave his lips a long lick. Entirely done just to draw attention to how long and talented his tongue looked. Just wanting to spur you on and encourage the little slut to get up and climb over and onto his lap.

“Oh, not at all. I think you look good enough to eat, babes.”

Slut? Was that already what he was thinking of you as?

Well, given that some of his favorite folks were sluts? Including himself? He thought of slut as a term of honor - the way some folks might call their pals bastards.

Almost immediately, the hand on your thigh slid further inwards, pressing against the clothed flesh of your cunt. Straight to the point. After all, as much as Beetlejuice did love himself some good bush, he hated to beat around it.

His thumb set to stroking you through the thin fabric of your pajama bottoms, the lights beginning to dim a bit more. Grow hazier. Grow more seductive. in line with his mood and actions.

“In fact… I think i could forego dinner for somethin’ sweeter.”

You stared at that tongue for a moment and let your face feel hotter. It was clear you liked what you saw. There was a small piece of your mind telling you not to let some creep get it on the first date, but...

He was cute. Gross. Very, very much so. But he was a poltergeist just looking for fun.

When he touched you, you gasped involuntarily. Your back stiffened along with your now hardened nipples and you froze. What should you say to that bold statement?

“Do you do this to all the humans who summon you or did I catch you in a mood?” you breathed. It wasn’t a denial or a refusal. And from how the thin fabric clung to your wet self, that very much indicated that you were already turned on from the sight of him.

“You haven’t even been here ten minutes and you’re already so handsy.”

You tried to be as playful as you could despite being so nervous.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna skip foreplay and try and get to it… Why, that would be no fun at all, Daddy.”

Oh, you were playing with fire now.

“Well, when I see such a cute little doll, surely you can’t blame me for being so eager to get to know you,” he purred, fingers slipping past the fabric as soon as he could see that you wouldn’t put up a fight and plunging knuckle-deep into your soaked little cunt. Getting a good feel for what he’d be fucking later.

And then you insinuated that he wasn’t gonna give you any foreplay. Beetlejuice didn’t take kindly to that. He may have been a pervert, a scoundrel, a knave, a bastard, a…

He forgot where he was going with that.

Oh, right. he may have been all of those things, but he was also an egotistical prick. Meaning that if he could have someone begging for his cock after being teased for hours, then he would put in the extra effort.

So one of his striped tentacles slipped forward, curling up your shirt to wrap around your tits and mimic fucking them.

“Are you gonna be good and let me have what I want, babes? Or does Daddy have to take it?”

With your cunt throbbing and body aching for his touch, you moaned abruptly as soon as he entered you with those dirty digits. You squirmed and let your tight hole wrap around him, tightening as he played around. The tentacle was what really caught you by surprise. There was a small squeak from your lips and you tensed up before allowing him to continue.

Oh, was he threatening you?

“Well… what happens if I struggle?” you asked curiously. It was clear you were a little freak who enjoyed the idea of both. “Will that tentacle make sure I join you in the afterlife?”

You were pouting a bit up at him. Your body wanted him to continue, that was clear. But you wanted to know which side of the dice to roll.

“I wanna know what Daddy’s capable of - if he’s mean or if he wants to be playful…”

“Depends on how you act, sweetheart. Daddy’d love to just be playful, but if you don’t behave…”

He leaned in at that, rancid breath blowing in cold clouds along your skin as he chuckled to himself. Wondering what your reaction to his next words would be; if they would repulse you, or if you’d be hornier than ever.

Thankfully, he was already buried knuckle-deep in the best lie detector there was when it came to something like that.

“Daddy’s fucked dollies that were unwilling before. That fought and screamed and cried.”

Oh, he didn’t even touch on if he would kill you for not behaving or not. He was a vengeful spirit, of course he would. He knew that there was life after death, so dooming a toy to forever have to be fucked by him? Essentially creating his own undead sex slave? It’d be like heaven for him. honestly, it was kind of a wonder he hadn’t done it yet. Well, he did like it when they were warm, after all.

“But Daddy knows best.”

Your heart started to beat faster at that. You weren't scared - no… quite the opposite. Thrilled? You were playing with a powerful being now. One that could kill you in an instant but was deciding to indulge your dirty fantasies. Maybe he could sense what freaky shit you were into. The more likely thing was that he hadn’t had a proper fuck in awhile and now had a prime toy to test out.

Your cunt constricted around his fingers, being the dead giveaway that he needed that you were indeed a little freak.

“What does Daddy like best? When they cry or when they give in easily?” You watched him closely for a response, your teeth raking over your bottom lip. “I…”

You were very embarrassed at the next words that fell from your lips:

“Wanna make sure ‘m good enough for you and can keep up..”

Beetlejuice grinned at that. Because even if he did enjoy forcing himself upon people and watching as their will slowly drained away until they were nothing but pliant little fuckpuppets… He had to admit to being charmed by obedience. It was pretty rare that people actually begged for him. Most were disgusted by, well, all of him. The only good lays had been at Dante’s and those were paid for. Having a willing, breathing slut? Oh, that was priceless.

And so, he stroked your hair. Rewarding you for being so good for him so far. Good enough to make his cock throb and leak. Leak a nasty green, glowing ooze.

Ectoplasm. It wasn’t just something that the dead produced on their flesh when trying to scare the living. No, since their bodies technically couldn’t produce real cum, it made do with the closest thing it had.

“I like both. but you’re being such a good doll for Daddy. I'm thinking being willing’s gonna be the hottest thing you can do.”

You could see the bulge in his pants, your eyes widening like two full dinner plates. Eagerly, you wet your lips. His fingers were still curling and uncurling in you that you almost found it so unfair that you couldn’t see what he had in his pants. Your imagination was running wild! Was it a tentacle like the one groping your tits? Or maybe it was something even more peculiar? Dude was a straight up ghost! He could have anything.

Whatever it was, you were eager to have it be inside you.

So you sidled up closer to him and gently sat on his lap, not wanting to crush the poor poltergeist under you. You had no idea what his limitations as a now corporeal being really was so you played it safe.

Shyly, you fiddled with his tie and bit your lip, worrying the skin until it broke. How was one supposed to flirt with a ghost that was knuckle-deep in your pussy? God, he was so handsome…

“Good,” you murmured, mouth so dangerously close to his. “I wanna be good for you, Beej.”

#Works of Oz #Writing #Beetlejuice #(Yes I plan to do ALL versions of Beetlejuice for my fics soon!)#Fanfiction

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