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austinsmutler · 2 years ago

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EEK i’m so happy you answered the request so i’m sending another one🤯🤯))

Austin! Elvis going to a press conference and seeing reader who is a famous singer. they grew up in tupelo but instead of going to memphis, reader was big in New York. After finally meeting again, they become as good of friends as they used to be. elvis begins harboring feelings for reader again?

during this press conference, reader gets a lot of “who’s your s/o” or “are you married yet” questions. Elvis can see the visible discomfort and sadness from the reader so he decides to step in. He asks for different questions and holds her hand under the table in a way to comfort them? at the end of the conference, elvis kisses reader and says some cheesy stuff like “for the next conference, you can answer yes to all the boyfriend stuff”

thank you so much EEK

Anon, did we just become best friends? I think we did. Thanks so much for this ask, and keep 'em coming! This one was such a cute idea, and so fun to write.

Thinking About You - Austin!Elvis x Reader - 3,900 Words

What you’ll like: Protective Elvis, 70s Austin!Elvis, BDE Elvis, Elvis stands up for reader, second-chance romance between old friends

Warnings: Period-typical misogyny (in SPADES)

Masterlist | Requests are currently open (Please tell me everything you want!)

The press conference wasn't until tomorrow, but the hotel was already packed. Just take care of business. That was the only thing Elvis could think through all the noise, the shouting reporters and camera flashes.

But he had an evening to prepare for the worst of it.

He’d been first to arrive at the hotel, But he was only one of the big names up for an interview. The other artist and the conference moderator were arriving tomorrow. He didn’t even know who they were- hadn’t looked at the conference program or really anything to do with the press event. He just knew it was about music, that the Colonel was trying to set up a collaboration between Elvis and this other artist. The Colonel said it was vital to make an appearance. So here he was, appearing.

Answering a few questions (“I’m so excited for the conference, we have a real talented musician coming out tonight and I can’t wait to meet ‘em”) he made a few excuses (“My manager’s calling me, sorry honey”) and went up to his hotel room. A penthouse suite that was big enough to feel empty.

Graceland might have been a mansion, but Elvis liked to keep it full of family, friends, and music. This was the worst part of being on the road, Elvis thought as he pulled back the curtain to look at the New York skyline. The city was beautiful, but compact; crowded and cold. The Memphis Mafia were crashing on another floor entirely, exhausted from the day of traveling. This floor was reserved for VIPs only.

Elvis wandered around his suite: a small kitchen area with fully-stocked cupboards catered to his tastes, a large bed with thick covers of purple satin and velvet, gold trimmings on the walls. Floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked half the city, the black roads dotted with yellow cabs and the gray sky above.

“Although it's always crowded,” Elvis sang to himself softly, smiling down at the streets below, “You still can find some room… For broken-hearted lovers to cry there in their gloom…”

He shrugged the emptiness away, deciding to stroll along the floor instead of hanging there like a ghost in the gloom. The VIP lounge had a fully-staffed bar and a private kitchen, all fully-stocked with anything he could hope to order.

“Whiskey and coke.” Elvis sat at the empty bar, surveying the green velvet booths. From this angle, there was a view of the brownish-grey Hudson river, just beginning to glow orange as the sun set over New York City.

The bartender poured the drink just as the door to the lounge opened. Elvis turned in time to see a woman taking reluctant strides into the empty room, hair perfectly-coiffed, eyes darting around the room, only to freeze on him. His fingers tightened on his glass as he recognised who it was.

You.

** ** ** **

“Elvis Presley,” A smile broke over your face, “It’s been a while, huh?”

Your heart hammered in your chest as Elvis got up, drink forgotten on the bar, and gave you a hug. Almost a decade since you last saw each other, but his arms hadn’t changed a bit.

“Wow, look at you.” Elvis pulled back, looking you up and down. It was hard not to feel self-conscious as he drank you in. You wore your best New-York-casual outfit. It glittered like the city lights with every movement, the egg-yolk orange sunset haloing you and Elvis as everything else seemed to melt away.

You were glad you’d come dressed to impress- granted, that was due to the vultures outside with their cameras. Press conferences weren’t your thing, but your manager had insisted on coming here.

Then you’d seen Elvis’ name on the program, heard about a possible collaboration, and your mind was set.

“You’re not so bad yourself, E.P.” You grinned, using the old nickname everyone had called him in high school. Elvis returned the smile with his now-famous lip curl. He wore a red button-up that rose high on his neck, black flares and shiny boots that added to his already-considerable height.

“C’mon, let me get you a drink.” Elvis ushered you to the bar with one hand on your upper back. A respectful touch, but one that sent electricity sparking up your whole body. You fought it away with a shiver, which Elvis caught. “Are you cold? I can ask them to check the thermostat.”

“No, I’m fine, thanks.” You grinned. Protective as ever, after all this time. “I’d ask what you’ve been up to since moving to Memphis, but I think there’s not a soul in America who doesn’t know that.”

He laughed, “You could say I’m a modest success.”

“You must be proud.” You smiled, ordering a gin and tonic. Anything to loosen up under the way he looked at you, blue eyes focused on nothing else.

Elvis shrugged. “I always wanted to make music, and I’ve been doing just that. Rock ‘n Roll, Gospel, Rockabilly, Country. I’ve done a little of everything at this point.” He sipped his drink. “What about you? I heard you were doing well, but I haven’t heard from you since…”

“High school?” You could still remember the last time you’d seen each other: a tearful goodbye as Elvis went on tour and you went to college, certain never to meet again. “Well, you know I was supposed to go to college here, but I actually dropped out. Realized medicine wasn’t for me.”

You smiled at the memories of that simpler time, when you had no idea how the music industry worked. “My first album didn’t do too bad, if I do say so myself. I’m not exactly touring all 50 states, but I do alright for a lil girl from Tupelo.”

“I’ve seen you on magazines. I almost didn’t recognize you at all the first time, when you did that cover for Modern Woman…” He trailed off, slack-jawed.

“Well,” You chuckled, “They slap a lot of makeup on me. I use my pseudonym, and I never talk about my personal life. As far as anyone knows, I was born in New York at the ripe old age of eighteen.”

“I have your album at home.” Elvis murmured, looking down at his drink. Were his cheeks lightly pink, or was that the light? You couldn’t tell for sure. “S’nice. Your voice- I’ve never forgotten it. Always thought that record sounded just like you.”

“Wonder why.” You laughed. “It’s so good to see you again, E.P.”

“You have no idea.” The smile on his face was happy, but not entirely. Sadness echoed in his eyes for a minute- if you didn’t know him so well, you might not have caught it. You pursed your lips but didn’t ask.

Even after years apart, conversation flowed between the two of you all-too-easily. Eventually the two of you moved from the bar into a booth, still sitting side-by-side instead of across from each other. It was as if there were an unspoken agreement between the two of you: no more distance. A decade was more than enough.

“You never told me you wanted to be a singer.” Elvis coked an eyebrow at you. “Any other secrets I should know about?”

You shook your head with a grin. “I didn’t know myself, to be honest. You taught me how to play guitar, and when I moved to New York I had nobody to talk to, so I spent all my time in my dorm, playing until my fingers bled.”

You showed him your calloused fingers, the sure mark of a musician. They matched his perfectly.

“Anyway, one night my roommate pretty much forced me to go out with them to this bar, and they were having an open mic. I didn’t want to do it at first, but my roommate was like ‘You’ll keep me up all night playing, but when you have a real audience you’re suddenly shy? Come on!’ So she shoved me up and I played some Big Mama Thornton. Started with Up Above My Head, then Ball n Chain, Hound Dog... They didn’t let me off the stage till dawn.”

You smiled at the memory. The crowd, the encouragement when all you’d felt before was fear, everything about being a musician pulled you in. Almost everything.

“The rest is history. Thanks for those guitar lessons, by the way.” You nudged him with your elbow. “You could really make a career out of this music thing.”

He laughed. By now the sun had long since set, and Elvis’ face was perfectly framed in the purple neon lights of the lounge, making him look dark and mysterious. Masculine and sexy. You squeezed your thighs together under the table, trying to fight the more inconvenient memories away. That would hurt too much.

The last time Elvis had kissed you was the day he left for tour. He left first, leaving your hometown empty. Letters had hurt too much to write, phone calls became too strained and distant, so you’d agreed to stop. But there were no hard feelings- you’d always understood each other, and that hadn’t changed, even though everything else had.

But here you were. Older, established artists, with separate lives that parallelled perfectly. When Elvis’ hand brushed over yours, you didn’t pull away. He shot you a shy smile- the same he’d had when he asked you out to prom all those years ago. Young, naive, vulnerable. Some things never change.

You stayed in the VIP lounge, talking about life. The music you both enjoyed now, experiences with other celebrities (you’d made an infamous movie with Marlon Brando, leading to a lot of unfounded rumors). Eventually you got to ask how things were back in Memphis. You hadn’t visited in years.

“Well, we’ll have to change that.” Elvis gave you that curled-lip smile, the one that melted every heart in America- but it had touched yours first. A spark of pride flamed in your chest, but you squashed it down.

“Is that an invitation?”

There was his hand again, fingers warm on yours.

“You come to Graceland whenever you feel like it. Just rock up, I don’t mind.” Elvis chuckled. “When they ask, tell security at the gate your name is Blue Suede Shoes. They’ll know you’re alright.”

Your heart fluttered. “Elvis Presley, you can’t just go giving anyone and everyone your secret passwords.”

“You aren’t just anyone.”

You did your best to ignore the gleam in his eye. You’d probably just imagined it anyway. So much had changed- too much- and yet he was still the same man you’d loved all those years ago.

Loved. Suddenly none of those feelings felt past-tense.

“I should go to bed.” You pulled away, ignoring the flash of hurt in his eyes. “You should too, conference starts early tomorrow.”

“I don’t sleep much these days anyway.” Elvis offered a weak smile. “Can I walk you to your door?”

You stood on shaky legs- how many gin and tonics had you ordered?

“If you like.”

He frowned at your cool tone, but nodded. When you stumbled in your heels, he watched as you kicked them off without ceremony, padding along the luxurious, carpeted corridor in bare feet.

“Remember when we’d drive down to the creek, in summer?” He spoke softly, and your pace slowed. “You wore those shorts your Momma hated.”

“You loved ‘em.”

“Wonder what she’d say to those shoes.”

You shared a chuckle- while Elvis’ family maintained traditional Southern values, they also had a rebelliousness your family didn’t understand. Your mother went to special pains to ensure you kept your shoulders covered at all times, never touched makeup or booze, never wore a skirt north of your knees.

The hotel room door loomed over the two of you, ornate and inviting.

“Well, goodnight.” You turned to go, but Elvis’ fingers wrapped around your wrist, pulling you close. You looked up at his eyes, clear blue and inches from yours. His breath fanned hot across your face. He hesitated for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, tucking your head beneath his chin.

“It’s been good to catch up, darlin’.”

He was still standing there, easygoing smile on his lips, when you locked the hotel door behind you.

** ** ** **

Sleep didn’t come for you that night, and by the time sunlight streamed in through the ornate silk curtains you were kicking yourself for letting Elvis back into your head. The press were ruthless, ready to take any crumb of what you could give them and spin it into a national headline. You needed to choose your words carefully, to be ahead of whatever questions they could ask, but you weren’t.

You put on a white suit with sharp shoulders and golden embroidery down the sleeves. It made you feel like a queen, but it didn’t take away any of the grogginess. You placed dark aviator glasses over your eyes and headed out with a sigh.

“Excuse me?” You manager, Joey, ripped them from your face the minute he saw you. “We want them to see your face, sweetheart.”

They were about to announce names in the next room, the moderator taking initial questions from reporters. Your heart thumped so loud it drowned out every other noise.

“The cameras flash really bright in there. I’ll look worse if I’m constantly blinking the lights out of my eyes.”

“Why do you think people buy your music?” Joey said with an exasperated sigh. “You’ve got a unique sound, sure…”

He gripped your chin and you fought the urge to pull away. “But your face? There’s a reason we call that the moneymaker.”

“Is there a problem here?” Suddenly a large presence was behind you, and Joey released your chin so he could take two steps back. When you turned, Elvis was glowering at the other man.

“No problem!” You squeaked. The situation with your manager was… standard, from what you could tell. Other female singers went through it all the time. “Joey was just giving me a… pep talk, before we get started.”

Elvis quirked an eyebrow, but his shoulders relaxed a little. “You’ll do great. You’re the queen of New York blues.”

Those two sentences filled you with pride, and your heart slowed, just a little. Elvis studied your face like he was trying to read your mind, and it was all you could do not to blush under those blue eyes.

Then someone called his name, and he disappeared through the curtains to greet the crowd. There was only one rule at the press conference: each performer would have the spotlight, on their own, for ten minutes. Elvis’ manager swung it so he was on stage all by himself for the first ten minutes- even if you wanted to steal the spotlight, it would be impossible. Smart.

His solo time was over in a flash though. Your name was called and Joey all-but pushed you out in front of the sharks.

The flashes instantly blinded you, and you almost stumbled on your way to the table, but you sat down without a hitch. Step one, check.

“Howdy.” You smiled into the microphone, prompting another roar from the crowd. Then the questions began.

“When are we going to see another album from the queen of New York Blues?”

“Keep an ear out. My new single will be out next week, and an album not long after.”

“Your last album had a whole lot of love songs, can you tell us what - or who - your inspiration was?”

The question would have made you stutter, but with a glance to the moderator, you knew you were on your own.

Then a warm hand found yours under the table. You could feel the cool metal of his signet rings, and it relaxed you. Elvis.

“Inspiration is a funny thing for any artist.” You managed to keep your voice steady. Almost friendly. “Blues comes from the South: work songs, field songs, church music, folk and pop all coming together. It’s full of pain and love. It just so happens that when I write a song, I draw more from love.”

Your fingers dug into your knees under the table as you realized your mistake. Too specific. It gives them too much of an in.

“So is it safe to say you’re in love?”

“With my music.” You said with a firm smile. “Every Friday I put on my red shoes and dance the blues, gentlemen.”

A chuckle spread through the crowd, but one reporter wasn’t ready to drop it. “Are you currently seeing any men?”

“Yes, a whole lot of them. Right in front of me.” Another laugh from the crowd, Elvis’ hand gave you a reassuring squeeze under the table before withdrawing. When you chanced a glance from the corner of your eye, he was smirking.

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

“Why, are you interested?” Your chuckle was a little high-pitched, forced. You could keep your cool well enough, but this was the part of the job you hated: the scrutiny of everything personal. It wasn’t enough to put your soul into your art, people wanted a piece of everything else too.

“Just interested in the truth.” The reporter smiled, but it was more of a sneer. “Who are you seeing?”

“Nobody.” Eloquent answers hadn’t worked, maybe short ones would.

“Dating around?”

“No.” You shifted in your seat.

“What do you have to say to the rumors about your secret marriage?”

You rolled your eyes. “I starred in one movie with Marlon Brando. As a background character. We never even spoke.”

“Is that a hint of bitterness there?” A laugh- at your expense- broke through the crowd. You forced a smile.

“Well-”

“Could we get some questions about her music, please?” Elvis leaned forward with a pointed gleam in his eyes. “C’mon, this is the queen of New York Blues here, fellas.”

He glared at the moderator, who checked his watch. “Actually, it’s time to open up the floor to questions for both artists. Who would like to begin?”

The next few hours went by in a blaze of questions- mostly for Elvis, but a few about your upcoming album and collaborations. If any reporters asked personal questions, you deflected them- or Elvis glared at the reporter until they decided to change tactic.

By the time the event was finally over, you just wanted to go back up to your hotel room and collapse in bed. Maybe cry. Definitely cry. Something about giving away so much of yourself at once felt like being ripped to shreds, even if it was your job to feed the frenzy.

“What were you thinking?” Joey said as he walked you to the elevator. He put on an insulting falsetto, “‘Oh, I’m not seeing nobody’, ‘No, I don’t date’- what was that? We need the fans to think you’re available, not a nun.”

“Yes sir.” Irritation knit your eyebrows together, and Joey pointed at your face.

“And that. What have I told you about smiling? People want to see you as their happy girlfriend, not their miserable old crone of a wife.”

“I’ll get it right next time, Joey.” Your smile was all teeth. “They seemed excited about my next album.”

“Humph.” He grunted as you reached the elevator, you stepping inside while he hung in the doorway. “I’m going to be taking follow-up questions. I’ll try to sow some actual intrigue around your personal life, see what I can do to salvage this.”

He took your aviators out of his pocket and tossed them at your feet. “You forgot these.”

A growl interrupted the moment before you could think of a reply.

“You gonna get in that thing or what?” A low voice drawled from behind Joey, who turned to see Elvis glowering at him for the second time that day.

“Not at all, Mr Presley. Fantastic job today, by the way.”

“Hmm.” Elvis dismissed the man with a wave of his hand that left no room for discussion.

Once the elevator doors closed, he knelt to pick up your sunglasses. “You drop these?”

“Um. Yeah.” You blinked back tears, pasting on a smile. “Thanks, E.P.”

People want to see their happy girlfriend, not a miserable crone.

Joey was a good manager. He could book you in anywhere- all the bars and clubs and even a few theatres, which was almost unheard of for a Blues artist, much less a female one. But the price you paid for that - aside from 40% of your royalties - was being ground into the dirt after every performance, musical or otherwise. You knew he enjoyed it, got a thrill out of tearing his performers down after seeing them built up. But there was nobody better in the business.

“You could do better than him.” Elvis said as you rode the elevator to the penthouse.

“Who, Joey?”

“I know it’s not my place, but you’d really be better off with a player like Brando.”

“Me and Joey?” You laughed. “We’re not a couple. He’s my manager- just my manager. I wasn’t lying about being single.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, clamping a hand over your face. “But I can’t believe they asked about Brando. When I heard that rumor, I never thought they’d actually say it to my face.”

“Unprepared paps.” Elvis mumbled with a roll of his eyes. “Always ask stupid questions.”

“I hate them.” You spoke without thinking. It felt good. “Every time they ask me anything, it always goes the same way. Who am I dating? What does my non-existent boyfriend think of the album? When am I getting married? If I wanted to answer those questions I’d call my Momma."

Elvis smiled at his shoes, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. The elevator pinged and the doors opened on your floor. You both got out, but didn’t make a move. His room was on the right, yours on the left.

"It’s not like anyone’s interested, anyway.” You'd meant it as a joke, a parting word, but Elvis stopped you before you could turn around.

Before you could open your mouth, his lips were on yours, hands cupping your face gently. Like you were something precious. He was the only man who’d ever touched you so reverently, like he was lucky to be so close to you.

The kiss was soft, but hungry. Before you knew it, Elvis had you backed against the wall, his hands on your hips as he devoured your lips until you had to break apart to breathe.

“Consider me interested.” Elvis breathed, thumb stroking over the small of your back.

“E-” His name turned into a gasp as Elvis’ lips found your neck, finding the sweet spot where your neck met your shoulder, as easily as he had when you were teens in the back of his truck. He remembers everything, doesn’t he?

“Next time they ask,” Elvis kissed just below your ear, “You can answer yes to all those questions."

He pulled back to look in your eyes.

“Please.” He said, even though he hadn’t phrased it as a question.

You nodded, leaning up for another kiss. “I forgot what it’s like.”

He looked at you curiously.

“You. Being close to you. E.P, I’ve never stopped thinking about you. I know it’s only been a day, but you still make me feel… safe.”

His arms tightened around you. “I should’ve called you more, on that first tour. I was an idiot, darlin’. I hope you can forgive me.”

“Kiss me again. I’ll consider it.”

#elvis x reader #austin butler fanfic #austin!elvis x reader #austin!elvis x y/n #austin!elvis imagine #elvis imagine #elvis fanfic #protective elvis #protective austin!elvis #70s elvis #fluff

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wenwenbittercake · 2 years ago

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Cherry of my Eyes🍒

Chapter 1: Worst Mistake 🍒🍒

(So in this fanfic, I can’t find who’s the Norman’s daughter is so we will just call her Evelyn. TW: death and kidnapping. Other than that, I hope you enjoy it.)

It was a horrible Idea. Your life flips upside down the moment you decide to make a silly decision that isn’t even worth the price you have to pay. It was a chilly night in January. Cindy, your best friend since high school, came up with a plan to hook you up with a date. Her idea of getting a date is going to a frat party, getting booze up and make up. You’ve never had experience with dating, let alone booze and frat parties so you rethink the decision. But again you trust Cindy, she has always been there for you even though your live styles were oil and water. She is a rich girl from the suburbs where you are raised by a middle class family. Still, Cindy had never discriminated against you for your differences. This led you to amuse the idea of going to that very frat party.

Cindy’s plan was a disaster. Every guy she hooked you up with has 0 interest in what you are saying and obviously not looking for a relationship. You may have no experience in dating but you do know when a guy only sees you as something to fuck with. So, you decided to wait near the pool for Cindy to be done with her partying. A few minutes later, Cindy came out angry. She stormed towards you, wobbling in her way as she’s obviously drunk.

“We are leaving.” She said as she grabbed my arms and pulled me out of the party.

Her so-called boyfriend looked disheveled with lipstick marks all over his face, clearly not Cindy’s color.

“That bitch of a guy, I can’t believe he would cheat on me, let alone with a BLONDE.” She steps on her gas hard.

She steps on her gas hard. Causing a roaring engine noise. Now you are scared. She doesn’t look to be in the right mind to drive. She’s drunk and angry, not a good choice to drive.

“Cindy, don’t you think we should just call the cab? I mean your drunk and-“

“Can you just shut up (Y/N)! I got this!”

She recklessly sped through the street. Your heart is stuck on your throat with your hand gripping on the seat for dear life. Cindy continues to rant about her boyfriend but that is the last thing you are worried about. The speed she’s going with is fast enough to run over a deer without stopping. Just as the thought goes through your mind, Cindy swerves to the right, running into a tree on the sidewalk. Your body didn’t inflict much damage thanks to the seatbelt but the glass shards had cut your forehead, leaving a hot sensation. Did she hit something?

Your got out of the car in a hurry. You walk slowly in front of the car not ready for the sight you were about to witness. A girl in a yellow dress lay on the sidewalk, her head bloody and her leg seems to be broken. You ran to the girl, flipping her on her back and you were hit with a realization. Cindy hit Evelyn.

Evelyn is a girl you know in your crocheting class. You decided to join the class just to put your mind off your home life. She is a friendly girl, she’s shy but bubbly if you know her. However, she’s not so bright in the craft as you needed to help her outside of classes. That’s how you guys bonded. You guys are quite similar to each other. You both share similar interests in a lot of things. You even consider her to be your best friend. However, you guys stopped contacting me after you went to college. But this is not how you want to reunite with Evelyn again.

“Evelyn? EVELYN! Cindy calls the ambulance!”

“Call the ambulance? Are you insane?! We are going to go to jail.”

“But she’s going to bleed to death, hurry!”

You grip her head, the area where blood was dripping to stop the bleeding.

“Ok OK wait.” Cindy ran back into the car to call the ambulance.

You hold Evelyn in your arms, your hands are shaking like crazy and your breath rapid. You hold her in your arms to give some comfort in the pain. Then you hear the barks of a dog. You look around and see an old man standing with his dog. He runs towards Evelyn and checks her injuries.

“Oh, my baby. What have you done?!” You were shaken by his hoarse voice.

He took Evelyn in his arms and cried. Uttering Nos and pleads for her to stay. You can help but feel guilty even though it wasn’t you who was driving recklessly.

“W-we called the ambulance; she might make it.” You manage to say something through your sobs.

“Did you do this?” He said in a low and threatening tone. Your heart caught your throat.

“IS THIS YOUR DOING?” He yells this time, looking straight into you.

You can’t see his face due to the dimly lit street lights but you can imagine the anger by his voice. Cindy snapped me out of my fear, she dragged me away from the scene,

“We need to go, Now.”

“TELL ME DID YOU DO THIS?”

“I’m sorry, I-I am really sorry.” You utter whispers of sorrys as Cindy drags you back into her car.

We drive off fast leaving the scene, Your body soaks in the blood of Evelyn. You are sure no matter how hard you try to wash them off, the blood will still stain your hands.

It’s been weeks since Evelyn’s death. There was a trail for her murder and Cindy was found not guilty. Not only that, Cindy’s parents paid a large sum of money to your parents to cover up Evelyn’s murder. You both haven’t talked since that night. You never want to talk to her again knowing the truth. You felt sorry for the old man, Evelyn’s father. You know the type of bond they both share over the months of being friends with Evelyn. And now you felt guilty for partly taking that bond away. You spent your days in your room, the media was all around your house, asking for answers only you and Cindy know. Finally when the media dies down about the case, you finally have the courage to step out of your house again.

You decided to go back to college catching up with your studies, but school didn’t feel like it used to be anymore. Cindy was nowhere to be found but all the student’s eyes and whispers followed you through the day.

You walk back home feeling broken down, you walk don’t the street wrap in your own thoughts not realizing the footsteps behind you. When you finally realized it, it was too late. A cloth covers your face, the smell of chloroform hits your nose, your vision blur and you fall into a deep sleep.

Please tell me if u enjoy it I am planning to write more but I am unsure if I should or not. Sorry if there's grammar mistakes. Hope u enjoyed reading it. 🍒✨🍒✨🍒✨🍒✨🍒✨🍒✨🍒✨🍒✨🍒✨🍒

#norman nordstrom x reader #don't breathe #oldermen #daddy issues

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rowiewritesstuff · 2 years ago

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Hello there ! I would like to ask for a match-up please♡ <:) possibly with TFP Autobots or Cons (only if you feel like doing it♡)

My name is Michaela and i'm 19. My height is 5'3 (159cm) and i am a ginger with mid long hair, freckles all over my face and honey brown colored eyes. My skin is pretty pale so i ususally wear light colored clothes like soft green and cream colored shirts (i mostly wear very baggy clothes cause i'm pretty slim) etc.♡ ^^

I'd say i'm pretty calm/shy person but sometimes my zoomies hit in and i have the urge to run around and playfight with anyone and anything i see (i love playfighting) :D i also very much enjoy spiritual conversations, stargazing, playing games and i'm also a sucker for atronomy. I love learning all about space. I'm pretty loyal and affectionate (ahem touch starved ahem) person what comes to friends and family i'm very protective of them. I am used to helping people so of course if you ask me for any help or anything in particular i am here to help. <3 I often try to play things cool and calm when anything bad happens but i am actualy screaming on the inside. I'm very careful and fearfull. I'm also trying to be open minded as much as possible and kind to everyone as long as they are kind to me back. I am basically your mirror. I also LOVE animals. Mostly parrots😭❤️ they are just so adorable when they show you affection🥺 the type of person when they see a random cat on street to stop by and just pet it or any animal😭❤️

Now what comes to my body i have a pear shaped body with pretty thin waist and a lot of small and big marks all over my arms, hands and legs. I sadly suffer from asthma so i need my inhaler at all costs if i ever get a asthma attack <:/ i am also lactose intolerant so milk is another no no for me. I rather spend time indoors but still i'm open minded for a nice car ride to any lake or water. I love swimming especially in sea.^^♡♡ my fav colors are orange, yellow, turquoise, black, soft green and white♡

I think that's all. I apologize if this is chaotic but i've never wrote a request :( i hope it's not too much♡♡ if you couldn't come up with anything feel free not to write anything at all <3 thank you so so much !♡♡♡♡

A daily note to take care of yourself, to drink water and eat enough food to keep yourself healthy !♡ ^^

I match you with: Optimus Prime!

You met Optimus during a Decepticon attack. You of course were taken to the base and assigned a guardian- Optimus Prime himself. Optimus first kept you at a distance, not wanting to get too close to you in fear you’d be used against him by the Decepticons.

One day when Optimus was driving you home you yelled at him to stop. You were both in a secluded area out in the country. You jumped out of his cab as soon as he came to a stop and squealed in delight. He transformed thinking something was wrong but saw you looking at the sky.

“What are you looking at?” Optimus asked.

“The stars, the moon- everything.” You sighed happily. “In the cities, the smog makes it hard to see the stars. Here, you can see everything. It’s amazing.”

Optimus looked at you in awe, then to the sky. He’d forgotten what it was like to just enjoy the wonders of the world. He sat down and looked down when he felt something on his hand. You were cuddling to him for warmth as you fell asleep. He made sure that you got home safely, even going as far as placing you gently in your bed from your open window.

Optimus began taking you on regular trips to see things you liked. One time he took you to the ocean so you could play in the water. You didn’t care you were missing your swimsuit and simply ran in head first. Ratchet later scolded you when you got sick.

One day he took you to the jungle to see some monkeys and parrots, and you ended up being attacked by a tiger. He quickly scooped you into his hand and away from the tiger trying to eat you.

When you started to breathe oddly after the tiger attack, he ran to Ratchet. Ratchet shook his head at you and handed you your inhaler. Optimus asked you what it was, and Ratchet explained. Optimus was concerned and began treating you even more like precious glass.

When it came to Decepticons, you were very cautious. You would always run and hide and call the base. One day a Vehicon scooped you up to hold you hostage against the Prime and you were terrified. You were frozen in their servo while they mocked Optimus.

“Let them go!” Arcee growled out.

“Fat chance Autobot scum!” They squeeze you tighter and you begin to panic. Your asthma begins to act up and the Vehicon looks down at you in confusion. “Is it broken?”

Bumblebee takes the opportunity to slam into the Decepticon and snatch your body flying through the air. The rest of the Autobots quickly defeat the Vehicons and take you back to base to get your inhaler. From that moment on, Optimus was so scared you’d die before he could confess his feelings.

Optimus picked you up and placed you on his shoulder as he went to the top of the base. He sat down and offered his hands to climb on. He looked down at you with love. “I… must confess something.”

You looked up with a knowing expression. “I love you too, Optimus.”

The shock on his face was priceless. He then smiled softly, pulling you closer to his face. “Thank you, little star.”

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wizardofarles · 1 year ago

Text

Lord, You Keep Me Crawling

Chapter Five: The Devil You Know — Part One (Auguste)

Cold stars stared down on Auguste from the great bowl of blue-black sky like a thousand uncaring eyes. He tore down the sidewalk, passing through intermittent pools of yellow streetlights and black night; never remaining long enough in either for his eyes to fully adjust before he burst through to the next. His breath was coming hard and fast. He could not put that house, and Laurent, and their uncle, and that whole mess of a dinner behind him quickly enough. He felt like such a fool. He shook his head roughly. He didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t think about it; the betrayal stung like grief, and Auguste had no room in his heart for more grief.

A chill wind was rising, tugging at his clothes and hair with cold fingers until he shivered. A drink will warm me up, he thought, as well as clear my head. I need a drink.

With a mind to call Jord, he reached into the inner pocket of his blazer. His heart sank as his hand closed around nothing but the empty inside of the pocket. “Oh, fuck me,” he swore aloud. He’d left his damned phone at the dinner table.

Tugging at his hair, he spun in a helpless circle. Jord’s apartment was in the city, and Auguste was still in the suburbs, not yet a mile from the house that now belonged to the DiAkielos family. This area was sleepy at night. No one else was out on the sidewalks, and only a handful of cars had rolled by since he’d left the house. Even if he’d had any way to pay them, there weren’t any cabs crawling these streets at this hour, and without his phone, Auguste couldn’t even call an Uber.

He grabbed a stone from someone’s rock wall—a ragged thing about the size of a baseball—and hurled it into the blackness of the road with all his might. He let out a wordless scream of frustration, followed by a string of colorful curses that would have made the devil clutch his pearls, if Auguste had still believed in such fanciful things as heaven and hell.

A bang like a gunshot rang through the dark street. Auguste ducked, his heart leaping into his throat. His hand flew reflexively to the back of his waistband, reaching up under his blazer where his fingers curled around cool and reassuring metal. He strained his eyes against the dark but saw no movement. He listened, and heard only the blood drumming in his ears. Then he remembered the stone. Relief swept over him like a warm breeze. It had only been the stone, crashing into the pavement somewhere far ahead along the road.

Just like that, he came back to himself, remembering where and when he was. The sound of gunshots was unknown to uptown Arles suburbia. There was no enemy lurking in the shadowed street. A breath of embarrassed laughter rushed out of him. He uncurled his fingers and smoothed his blazer back down into place, reconsidering his current predicament.

There was nothing to be done for it, he realized with a kind of bleak acceptance. He couldn’t go back, so Auguste walked forward, toward the lights of the city.

He showed up at Jord’s some hours later; cold, sore, and thoroughly miserable. His friend didn’t need to look at him for more than two seconds with his wise gray eyes before he declared, “You look like you could use a drink.”

Auguste had never come so close to kissing another man on the lips in his life. Instead, he tried a weak smile. “You could say that.”

The bar Jord took him to was dirty and loud. Some trashy song Auguste didn’t recognize blared from unseen speakers, competing with the sounds of various sports game reruns on the television screens hanging above the bar, and boisterous waves of human laughter and conversation. Auguste’s shoes stuck to the floor with every step as he followed Jord to a booth at the back.

Auguste had always liked places like this. He had started going out to seedy bars and clubs back when he was still a teenager using a shitty fake ID to buy his booze. Jord had been by his side then too, as well as Orlant, with shitty fake IDs of their own.

Though, much of the appeal back then had come from the knowledge that he wasn’t supposed to be there, and that places like that would frighten and repulse his old-money parents. Now, all he cared about was the beer in his hand. And Jord, he reminded himself belatedly, I still care that Jord’s here.

He took a slow swig of his beer. It was a thick stout, dark and yeasty just the way he preferred. It wasn’t strong enough to get him truly drunk on its own, he knew—even as he worked on his second pint—and the hangover would be killer, but the buzz was pleasant and it calmed his mind. He took another long gulp, savoring the rich taste and feel of the beer on his tongue. Hangover-be-damned, he thought to himself, that’s a good beer.

“It just doesn’t make any sense,” he said around a thick swallow of beer. He had been recounting the events of the disastrous dinner to Jord. “He’s so good, you know. He’s really fucking good—like, prodigy good. And he’s throwing it all away. His whole future.”

“He’s just a kid,” Jord reminded him gently.

“I know. I know he is,” Auguste sighed. “I just always thought that his future was secure. That was one thing I never had to worry about. He had such a clear place in the world. And now … now what’s he going to do?”

“Anything he wants. Look, Gus,” Jord said and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “If I can be blunt here for a second?”

Auguste bowed his head in a go ahead gesture.

Jord rubbed his chin idly, his watchful gray eyes on Auguste’s face. “I don’t think that Laurent quitting the violin is what’s making you so upset. I think this has more to do with him not telling you that he quit.”

“He should have told me,” Auguste agreed. “Something so important …” He ran his thumb through cool beads of condensation on the side of his glass. “We used to be so close.”

“Maybe he was worried you’d be disappointed in him. Shame makes people do all sorts of things that don’t make sense.”

Shame? Auguste shook his head. “No, not Laurent. He does what he wants and doesn’t give a shit what anyone else thinks of him.” I wish I had half his confidence, especially at his age.

Jord shrugged. “Maybe he was afraid you would be angry.”

“I am angry,” Auguste bellowed over the din, causing patrons’ heads around the bar to turn in his direction. He lowered his voice, “Why shouldn’t I be angry? He lied to me for years.”

Jord gave him a long, knowing look.

“That’s not the same,” Auguste jumped to defend himself. “What happened in Marlas—”

“You nearly died.”

The scar on his chest itched accusingly. “Well, clearly I didn’t.”

Jord did not relent. “You don’t think your family deserves to know? You don’t think Laurent deserved to know a year ago that he might have lost his brother?”

“I kept it from him to protect him,” Auguste growled. Heat simmered beneath his skin, boiling up into his face.

“Protect him from what? His chance to say goodbye?”

“I didn’t die!” Auguste didn’t realize he was shouting again until three burly men seated at the bar turned to stare. One was a giant of a man with lank black hair and a grisly beard. Judging by the crookedness of his nose, he’d seen more than his fair share of fistfights. His two companions were dwarfed by him, though they were not small men by any other measure. One had close-cropped red hair and red cheeks to match, and the other had a jaw so square it could be used as a straight-edge. Those two quickly went back to their drinks and conversation, but the huge man with the grisly black beard continued to stare.

“What?” Auguste snapped at him. The man slowly raised a thick black eyebrow, then treated him to a blood-curdling grin. Auguste turned back to his beer with a shiver and took another long swallow.

“But you could have died,” Jord said, expertly ignoring the man at the bar. “By all rights you should have. I saw the shot. I saw you fall. And all the blood. So much blood … Half an inch to the left and your life would have ended before the sound of the gunshot hit my ears. It’s a miracle you’re still here.” Jord’s voice had gone soft and tight. He was no longer looking at Auguste, but off toward the windows with a distant look in his eyes.

Auguste was struck with a wave of guilt. “I don’t believe in miracles,” he replied, suddenly feeling deflated. “It was you who dragged me out of there. But I don’t want to talk about Marlas.”

He visited that godforsaken place every night in his dreams, and sometimes even when he was awake. Those times were scarier. One moment he would be sipping coffee on his back porch, and the next he was caught in the ambush on that dusty street in Marlas, pinned between the enemy troops advancing from the east and a barrage of unexpected gunfire exploding out of the forest on the far side of the river, with no cover and no escape but south, through a village full of blind spots and potential hostiles. He was running blindly through a rain of a thousand tiny metal deaths, shouting to his men as they dropped in droves around him with twitches and violent jerks as clouds of blood and gore burst from their bodies like grotesque red fireworks. No hand of God reached out to shield them. Auguste had buried his faith that day, along with twenty-three of his brothers-in-arms.

Worst of all were the dreams of the alley behind the church in the village. Every time Auguste’s nightmares brought him to that alley, he was terrified that this time Jord wouldn’t find him, he wouldn’t get out, and he would be trapped there forever with blood dripping from his hands while those wide brown eyes stared into his soul accusingly. Perhaps I do believe in hell after all, he reflected with a shudder.

Laughter exploded from a table at the other end of the bar. Auguste expelled a ragged sigh, rubbing his palms roughly over his face. His cheeks were scratchy with stubble he’d have to shave off in the morning. “I just didn’t want Laurent to worry,” he said at last. “I wanted to save him some pain.”

“Gus,” Jord said, placing a warm hand atop his own on the table, “it’s his right to worry about you. That’s love.”

“Love is exhausting,” Auguste said wearily.

Jord breathed out a laugh. “It is. And it’s invigorating.”

Auguste smiled. “You and your contradictions.”

Jord’s tone was solemn. “I’m not the only one. You say you were protecting your brother. What about now? Why have you still not told him? He’s not in danger of losing you anymore.”

Auguste pulled his hand back, feeling his mood turn sour again. A small, vigilant part of his mind registered that the man at the bar was still watching him and Jord. The hair along Auguste’s arms stood up. His fingers twitched, itching for the cold grip at his lower back.

Jord didn’t seem to notice the men, or didn’t care. He caught Auguste’s eye again. “You know what my therapist says? He says that we don’t keep secrets to protect other people. We keep them to protect ourselves.”

“I don’t think I like this therapist of yours,” Auguste grumbled. “And I don’t want to talk about Laurent anymore either.” He chugged the last of his beer and flagged down a waitress for another.

“All right. What do you want to talk about?”

“How are things with Orlant?” Auguste asked.

Jord sighed deeply. “Oh, you know,” he said. The vinyl booth squeaked as he slouched back against it. “Great. Except he still doesn’t want to tell anyone that we’re dating.”

“Jesus, it’s been how long now?”

“Four years in November,” Jord said with a bitter smile.

“I thought the hiding was supposed to be over once he signed with a team.”

“That’s what he always promised, but now another year has passed and,” Jord spread his hands helplessly, “here we are.”

A waitress glided over to the table with Auguste’s beer. She was beautiful, with a dancer’s perfect posture and long blonde curls. She smiled at him when she set down the glass, but it was a shy smile. Auguste couldn’t say why he found that disappointing, or why he had expected her eyes to be ice blue, but when he saw that they were hazel and guileless, he lost interest. He offered her a tepid smile in return, which seemed to leave her almost as disappointed as he felt.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said to Jord when the girl had gone. “Do you want me to talk to him?”

“Nah,” Jord said, and smoothed his palms over the table. “I’ll talk to him. My therapist says I need to work on confronting the conflict in my life rather than avoiding it.”

“Speaking of which,” Jord said with forced brightness and pulled a small white card out of his wallet. “I have something for you.”

He held the card out between two fingers, and Auguste took it hesitantly. Silver foiled letters were printed onto the thick card.

Dr. Paschal

Adult, teen, and child psychiatrist, family therapist, marriage counselor.

A phone number, address, and email were printed below. Something sour twisted in Auguste’s gut as he stared at the little card.

“I’ve got all the therapy I need right here,” he grumbled, raising his glass of stout in mock toast.

“I think you would really benefit from what he has to offer,” Jord plowed on, heedless of Auguste’s darkening mood. “His advice is really solid. He could just be a friendly, professionally-trained ear to talk to, at the least. Someone who’s paid to not judge you. He could help you deal with Marlas, and your—”

“I don’t need a shrink, there’s nothing wrong with me,” Auguste cut him off sharply, his temper shortened by the drink. Then, seeing the hurt on his friend’s face, he backtracked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“That there’s something wrong with me? No, it’s cool. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Can’t say I ever imagined hearing it from you, though.”

“Jord,” Auguste began. He searched for the right words to repair the damage he’d done. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Actually I don’t, Auguste. You haven’t been yourself lately. Maybe not for a long time.”

“What are you talking about? I’m the same as I’ve always been.”

Jord’s gray eyes were full of sorrow. Auguste was overcome with an absurd wave of guilt. He had no intention of using the card or going to therapy, but he slipped the card into his pocket anyway.

“We should go,” Jord said. “Early report at the base tomorrow, remember?”

Auguste hadn’t forgotten, but he wasn’t nearly as drunk as he needed to be before he could even consider going home. “Not yet. Come on, let’s stay a while longer.” Then, with a grin he wished was real, “Let’s do shots.” He waved the pretty waitress back over enthusiastically.

“No, no way,” Jord protested. “I can’t handle hard liquor like when we were young.”

In the end, Jord acquiesced and allowed Auguste to order a double round of tequila shots, but when he tried to order another round, Jord cut him off.

“No, Gus, that’s enough,” Jord said through his tequila-induced grimace. “Besides, I didn’t inherit deep pockets like you.”

“Come on, Jord,” Auguste pleaded, “I’ll pay you back. You know I’m good for it.”

Jord shook his head. “No, I’m calling it. It’s time to go.”

Auguste leaned back in the booth, the vinyl protesting with a squeak beneath him. “Go, then. I’m staying.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jord flashed him a mocking grin. “How are you going to pay without me? You don’t have your wallet. How are you going to get home? You can’t show up to base tomorrow hungover.”

“Fuck you, man,” Auguste grumbled. “You used to be fun.”

Anger flashed in Jord’s gray eyes like lightning behind a cloud. “Fuck you. You used to be my friend.” He scooted to the edge of the booth, as if to leave.

Auguste slid along with him, holding out a hand in a request for Jord to stay. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

Something bumped hard into his elbow, jostling him in his seat. “Watch it,” Auguste barked at the big man who’d brushed by their table.

The man stopped and turned around slowly. It was the black-bearded man who’d stared at him from the bar. “You watch it, prettyboy,” he grumbled in a voice like gravel poured over a mountain.

“Excuse me?” Auguste felt his blood rising.

Jord grabbed his wrist. “Gus, don’t.”

The man lumbered closer, eyeing Jord’s hand on Auguste’s wrist. A vicious grin split his face. “I’m curious,” he growled. “When you two fairies fuck, which one of you is the man, and which one takes it like a woman?” His two companions moved up behind him, snickering.

Auguste shot up from the table. “The fuck did you say?”

“Auguste, please,” Jord hissed between his teeth.

The black-haired man’s laughter was cruel and mocking. “Why so angry, princess? You got something to prove? I bet your little boyfriend here is the man, out of the two of you. You act real tough, but I bet you squeal like a sow in heat when he fucks you into the mattress.”

Auguste sprang at the man before he had finished the last word. He had quick reflexes for such a large man, and caught Auguste’s fist in the air, clasping it in a meaty hand as big and hairy as a bear’s paw. Auguste pushed against the iron grip, and shoved at the man’s other shoulder with his free hand. They struggled, grappling with each other’s arms. The burly man’s arms were like corded stone beneath the rough sleeves of his jacket.

Jord was tugging on his sleeve and shouting at him to stop. Auguste ignored him, grit his teeth, and threw his whole body weight into the struggle, feeling the strain in every burning muscle, but his feet were starting to slip backward. The other man was stronger than him. He wasn’t going to win a battle of brute force.

To drive the point home, the burly man shoved hard, seeming to gain more strength out of nowhere, and sent Auguste reeling backward. He slammed into a table, the edge of it bruising his tailbone instantly as dishes clattered and a glass shattered to the floor.

A woman who was seated at the table shrieked, and her companion fell backwards out of his chair. Other voices added to the cacophony; wordless cries of shock and excitement, and others yelling encouragements or dissuasions.

“Fuck him up, Govart!” the red-haired, red-faced man shouted as Auguste pulled himself to his feet.

The black-haired man—Govart—took a menacing step forward, but Auguste ducked up under his guard, swinging his fist. His knuckles struck home, connecting with Govart’s mangled nose with a satisfying crunch.

Govart’s head reeled back, and he stumbled a few steps backward, clutching his nose. Thick blood poured out between his fingers.

The bartender was shouting something Auguste didn’t catch, likely calling for security.

Auguste’s victory didn’t last long. His next swing was clumsy, which he had his three beers and two tequila shots to thank for—plus the wine at dinner, and Govart dodged it easily.

The blow that Govart landed on his left eye nearly took his head off his shoulders. Auguste went sprawling to the floor, ears ringing. The bar was spinning around him. He grasped at the sticky wooden floor for support, but it didn’t stop, only kept on spinning. His stomach lurched dangerously.

Pain burst along his side as a boot slammed into his ribs. He barely had time to register the first kick before another followed, and another, each more brutal than the last. He curled into a ball in a primal attempt to protect himself.

The ringing was fading from his ears, and he heard Jord screaming, “Stop!” Then Jord was down on the floor in front of him, falling on his ass with a thud that Auguste felt through the floor.

Auguste didn’t remember losing consciousness, but when he came to he was on his feet, being herded out the door by the bar security guard. He glanced around frantically for Jord, and was relieved to find him shuffling along behind him, seemingly unhurt.

Govart and his buddies were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully they’d already been thrown out, or left the bar on their own.

Outside the bar, the blue night rushed up to meet him, enveloping him in its cool embrace. Auguste took in a deep breath, allowing it to refresh him.

Jord brushed past his shoulder, storming down the sidewalk in a silent fury.

“Jord,” Auguste slurred, jogging to catch up to his friend, “I’m sorry.”

“Your goddamned temper is going to get one or both of us killed one of these days,” Jord snapped, but he slowed down to allow Auguste to fall into step beside him.

“That guy was an asshole,” Auguste protested.

“Yes,” Jord agreed, “a very big, very strong, very violent asshole. Not someone to pick a fistfight with.”

They turned a corner down a quiet alleyway. The hairs on the back of Auguste’s neck stood up, but Jord seemed confident in his navigation, and Auguste trusted his friend’s knowledge of the city above his own, so he followed without complaint.

“I could have beaten him if I was sober,” Auguste said.

Jord slowed and leveled him with a significant look. “But you weren’t sober.”

Anger clawed up Auguste’s spine. “You’re the one who suggested drinks.”

“A drink. I suggested a drink, in the singular” Jord retorted. “And how the hell are you planning to explain that black eye to—”

“Did you hear that?” Auguste cut him off, spinning around. He thought he’d heard a noise behind them, but when he squinted into the moonlit alley, he saw nothing but shadows. They listened in tense silence. Distant laughter rolled down the street they’d come from like thunder, and music was playing faintly from somewhere far off to the right—the bass thumping like the city’s heartbeat. “I thought …”

“It’s nothing,” Jord decided. “Let’s go. I’m tired.”

They hadn’t taken two more steps before Auguste heard it again. It was unmistakable. Footsteps echoing behind them, moving just slightly out of pace with their own. He whirled around again, without warning, and this time, he saw the shadows move.

“Who’s there?” he called out. “Show yourself, coward!”

“There’s no one there, Auguste,” Jord said with a hand on his elbow.

“No, I heard footsteps,” he insisted. Adrenaline was hammering in his veins, making it hard to hear anything now over his own heartbeat. Fuck it, he thought, and pulled his gun from the back of his waistband.

“Show yourself, or I start shooting,” he bellowed, creeping toward the shadow with his gun trained on the shifting darkness.

“What the fuck?” Jord’s voice was shrill. “You had a gun on you this whole time? Why the hell do you have a gun? Put it away!”

Auguste heard another sound, closer now, like gravel shifting beneath a shoe. He stepped closer to the shadow, not even daring to breathe, his finger hovering over the trigger.

An ambulance raced down the street at the mouth of the alley, temporarily flooding it with light. Two more guns materialized out of the darkness to match his own, the barrels reflecting the flashes of red and blue emergency light, and both pointed directly at Auguste’s face.

“Freeze,” Square-jaw shouted, as the redhead yelled, “Drop the weapon!”

The world slowed to a crawl as the redhead pulled out a badge, and Square-jaw pulled a pair of shiny silver handcuffs out of his pocket. Moonlight glinted coldly off the metal.

Govart emerged from the shadow last, and stepped up behind his two gun-brandishing cop friends, smirking. “Oops.” Blood dripped down from his crushed nose into his mouth, painting his teeth red.

The ride to the jail in the back of the police car was a blur. He’d lost Jord somewhere along in the process. Which was good, he supposed, because if Jord wasn’t here, it meant he hadn’t been arrested.

Auguste stood in front of the wall-mounted rotary phone, where an officer had told him he could make his one allotted phone call. By now, his eye was beginning to swell and his head throbbed with every slight movement. The handcuffs had left angry red rings around his wrists that burned. Auguste picked up the grimey black receiver, and hesitated.

He almost called Jord, then stopped himself. While he didn’t think Jord was the kind of man to let his best friend rot in jail just because he was angry with him, Augsute knew he couldn’t afford the bail. Orlant could, but probably wouldn’t answer the phone, and there was no way Auguste was going to call his uncle. He floundered for a moment, racking his brain for another friend with deep pockets he could call, until the answer came to him like a ray of sunlight in the dark, and he dialed the number. The phone rang three times, and Auguste began to worry that he wouldn’t pick up.

“Hello?” His godfather’s voice came through at last, clear and steady, untouched by sleep. Auguste vaguely wondered what he was doing up at this hour.

“Berenger,” he breathed out with palpable relief, “thank God. It’s Auguste. I, uh, have a small favor to ask.”

Within the hour, Auguste was ushered through the release process and handed over to a very disappointed-looking Berenger.

“What were you thinking?” Berenger chastised from the driver’s seat as he drove them down the streets of Arles. The night grew darker as they left the city behind and drove farther into the suburbs. “This kind of behavior will get you kicked out of the military, Auguste. I imagine you’re in for a world of trouble as it is.”

Auguste ground his teeth and tried not to pout like a child. In truth, he hadn’t been thinking at all. He had been specifically trying not to think, but he couldn’t say that to Berenger.

The song playing on the radio caught his attention. He cranked up the volume to its maximum.

“Rocket maaan,” he belted along with Elton John, “burning out his fuse up here alone!” He drummed on the dashboard, grinning at Berenger and encouraging him to join in. “And I think it's gonna be a long, long time, ‘til touchdown brings me 'round again to find, I'm not the man they think I am at home, oh! No, no, no! I'm a—”

Berenger reached across the steering wheel and hit the button that controlled the radio, killing the song instantly. Auguste blew out a long breath through puffed cheeks. “Okay,” he muttered.

After that, they rode in silence for a while. Berenger had always possessed a grim, stony sort of face, though handsome in its own way, but it was made grimmer now by the disappointment etched into the lines on his forehead and beside his mouth. Shadows hung beneath his eyes. He looked a decade older than when Auguste had last seen him, two years ago.

“How many drinks have you had tonight?” he finally asked, keeping his eyes firmly on the road.

Auguste scratched at the base of his neck. “A few,” he mumbled defensively.

Berenger’s sigh was deep and weary. “I worry about you, Auguste. You know what I see here? I see you walking in your father’s footsteps, and not down a good path. I loved your father like a brother, and there was plenty to love about him, but he wasn’t perfect. He made mistakes. Mistakes that hurt the people who loved him. I don’t want to see you making the same kind of mistakes.”

Auguste’s head was suddenly full of his father’s roaring voice. His muscles twitched—his body trying to cower from remembered fists. The smell of alcohol on his own breath turned his stomach. He ground his molars together, his jaw tight as a steel trap. “I’m nothing like my father.”

“Aleron raised you to fill his shoes, Auguste,” Berenger said, matter-of-fact, but not unkindly. “He created you in his image. That doesn’t mean you have to pray to him every night, or follow the path he laid out for you. You are your own man. Make your own mistakes; don’t repeat your father’s.”

Auguste had nothing to say to that. He stared out the passenger side window, watching the streetlights zip by overhead like falling stars. It was beautiful, and dizzying—or maybe that was the alcohol. Sleep tugged at his consciousness like a siren, pulling him slowly and sweetly under the waves.

He had almost forgotten Berenger was there when he spoke again, shaking Auguste free from the siren’s grip. “Jord told me you walked straight to his apartment from a dinner party.”

“Jord talked to you? When?”

“He called me just before you did,” Berenger said. “Why did you have a gun on you?”

Auguste shrugged, feeling embarrassed about it now. “Never walk into enemy territory unarmed.”

“Enemy territory?” Berenger repeated softly. “The war is over, son. You’re home now.”

As if to prove his point, Auguste’s parents’ house rolled up into view, the blue paint ghostly gray in the moonlight. My house now, he reminded himself. But he was pretty sure he would always think of it as his parents’ house, regardless of the name on the deed.

The car ambled to a stop in the driveway. Berenger had a pensive look on his face and seemed as though he were going to say something more, so Auguste waited. Drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, Berenger asked, “How’s Laurent doing?”

“Oh, he’s good,” Auguste said, “yeah. I mean, I just found out that he quit the violin years ago, but yeah, he’s, uh … No, he’s all right, I think.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” Berenger studied the house through the windshield, a frown creasing his forehead. “It must be lonely, just him and your uncle in that big house. Not an ideal situation for a young boy. I’m sure he’s thrilled to have you back.”

Don’t ever leave me again, Laurent had whispered into their hug at the airport. But he felt colder than the bright little brother Auguste remembered; a distant star, his light only a thin memory by the time it reached earth and human eyes. And there had been that look he’d exchanged with their uncle the night of Auguste’s return. It had been only a little glance, but Auguste had felt the weight of it like a freight train slamming into his chest.

“I don’t know,” he said, staring at his hands in his lap. The knuckles on his right hand were split and bleeding. He hadn’t noticed that until now. “Uncle and Laurent have their own … whole thing. I’m an intruder in my own house.”

Berenger sighed again. This time, it sounded pained. “Nonsense. Auguste, look at me.”

Auguste did. Berenger’s expression was solemn, his brown eyes holding Auguste’s gaze with intensity. “I work in journalism,” he went on. “It’s my job to see the truth behind the smoke screens. And if there’s one truth I’m certain of above all others in this world, it’s that your brother loves you.”

“Sure,” Auguste said with a sad smile, “but loving someone and wanting them around aren’t always the same thing.” His gaze fell back down to his bloody knuckles. “I make him nervous.”

The purring of the engine was the only response. Berenger seemed to have run out of life-lessons and reassurances, or maybe he was cooking up a big one. Auguste decided to change the subject before he had the chance.

“Speaking of Laurent,” he said lightly, “can you make it on Saturday?”

“Saturday?”

“The thirtieth. Laurent’s birthday.”

“I remember.”

“He’s having a party. Well, really, our uncle is having a party and using Laurent’s birthday as an excuse.” At the mention of his uncle, Berenger’s frown deepened to a scowl. “Did you not get an invitation?” Auguste asked.

“I didn’t.”

“Huh. That’s weird. Well, consider this your formal invitation,” Auguste said with a grin. “Brunch is at ten, can you make it?”

“Auguste,” Berenger said slowly, “I don’t know if that would be appropriate.”

“What? No, I’m sure your invitation just got lost in the mail or something. Come on, Berry,” he pleaded, “we haven’t seen you in forever. I miss you, and so does Laurent. He would be thrilled if you came to his party.”

Berenger considered in silence, frowning out at the house. He looked back over at Auguste, something in his face softening, and he sighed. “I suppose I could make time to stop by.”

“Fantastic,” Auguste grinned. “Laurent will be so happy to see you.”

“All right, off you go. Be sure to ice that shiner,” he advised.

“Yeah, I will,” Auguste said as he climbed out of the car. “Thanks again, Berry. I’ll pay you back in full.”

“No, really. Don’t worry about it.” He cut off Auguste’s protest with a wave of his hand. “I’m serious, I won’t accept repayment. This is the least I can do for you and your brother. Let me do this one good thing.”

Auguste was going to protest, but the earnestness in Berenger’s face and tone of voice made him drop it and accept the kindness. “Thank you,” he repeated, more solemnly this time.

Berenger nodded. Auguste closed the car door and started walking away toward the house.

“And stay out of trouble!” Berenger called out his window when Auguste had the handle of the front door in his grip, “Next time I will ask for repayment! With interest!”

Auguste laughed and waved him off. He stood on the front step and watched Berenger’s silver car disappear down the road, leaving him alone in the pre-dawn hush, with only the pale moon and fading stars for company, and the promise of a sunrise on the horizon.

He struggled with the front door until he remembered that it was a push and not a pull, and fell stumbling forward into his house, laughing. The darkness inside the house reminded him to be quiet, so he swallowed his laughter and tried not to slam the door as he closed it. Only after did it occur to him that he had no key on him, but luckily the door had been unlocked.

He saw soft light in the living room, a lamp turned low. A shadow shaped like his uncle sat on the couch in the near-dark, blocking the lamp from view.

“Uncle—”

“Shhh,” the shadow shaped like his uncle shushed. It sounded like his uncle too.

Auguste teetered into the living room and threw himself over the back of the other couch with a sigh. When he rolled over to look at his uncle again, he was no longer blocking the lamp from this angle. Auguste was able to see him where the light fell on one side of his pale face, cutting his profile as sharp as a knife. His eyes traveled down, pulled by a spill of pale hair in his uncle’s lap. Laurent was curled on the couch, using their uncle’s thighs as a pillow. His face was smooth and peaceful with sleep, and his breaths were deep and slow.

“He wanted to wait up for you,” his uncle whispered. He stroked his fingers through Laurent’s hair like he was petting a cat.

“Well, I’m—”

“Shh!” Uncle snapped.

“I’m here now,” Auguste whispered.

“Better that we don’t wake him,” his uncle said softly. “He sleeps little enough these days. You’ve been drinking.”

“I went out with Jord.”

His uncle hummed without expression. Auguste wished he could tell what the man was thinking. Laurent was always better at reading people, especially reading their uncle. The two of them had some sort of connection that Auguste didn’t understand. It seemed even stronger now, like it had grown in his absence. He had been jealous when he first noticed, but now, watching Laurent sleep in his uncle’s lap, he realized he’d been selfish.

“Thank you,” Auguste said solemnly, “for always being there for him. For protecting him when I wasn’t around.”

His uncle tucked a wisp of Laurent’s hair behind his ear with a slow trail of his fingers. “I only did what anyone would do for someone they love,” he murmured.

“No,” Auguste insisted. “You did what I should have done. You’re a far better man than me.” Maybe he was drunker than he’d realized. The warmth of the alcohol in his blood had loosened his tongue, making it easier to say things he had never put to words before. “When Dad died, I thought … Part of me was relieved,” he said with a laugh that was half a sob. “I thought, ‘there’s one less thing to protect him from’. That’s horrible, I know. But I was only thinking about … I should have stayed with him a little longer. He was only a kid … He’s lost so much. I’m glad he never lost you.”

Laurent’s long golden eyelashes fluttered. Auguste wondered what the boy was dreaming about. He hoped it was a pleasant dream.

“Here,” Auguste mumbled as he staggered to his feet, fighting against the way the room swayed around him, “I’ll take him upstairs.”

Uncle smiled. “You just worry about getting yourself safely up the stairs. I will take Laurent to bed.” He placed a proprietary hand on the crown of Laurent’s head.

Auguste was relieved. The stairs did seem daunting enough on their own in his current state, without having to worry about dropping his brother. “Thank you, Uncle. Good night,” he said, and began stumbling up step-by-step.

In his room, he belly-flopped onto his bed with a sigh. As an afterthought, he pulled the card Jord had given him out of his pocket and tossed it onto his nightstand. His eyes closed heavily, and he careened toward a deep and dreamless sleep.

Auguste woke to violent explosions of pain in his head. It took him several seconds of agony to realize that the source of the pain was a sound—and the sound was coming from his alarm. Groaning, he squeezed the lock button on his phone to snooze it. A knife of white light streamed through the seam where his curtains met in the middle, stabbing through his eyes directly into his brain. He wrapped his pillow around his head to shield his eyes and snoozed his alarm again.

The third time his alarm went off, he peeked an eye open to check the time. 6:18 a.m. He had to report to the base today at 0700 hours sharp. If he had any hope of making it on time and not looking (and smelling) as thoroughly hungover as he was, he had to get up now. When he dragged himself to his feet, the room lurched and swayed around him like a ship caught in a storm.

I need a drink, he thought foggily. A little hair-of-the-dog should steady me.

He rummaged through his desk. At the back of the lower right drawer was a bottle of rum he had hidden there before leaving for active duty. He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. The burn was satisfying and seemed to lessen his headache immediately—though that was probably just the placebo effect, but Auguste didn’t question it. If it worked, it worked. He replaced the cap, then hesitated. He removed it again and took another gulp of rum, just to be sure he drank enough to rid himself of his hangover.

Drinking before breakfast wasn’t a habit Auguste was proud of. Though, it did provide him with some insights. For one, he finally understood why his father used to pour whiskey in his coffee in the mornings.

Auguste studied his reflection in the mirror as he brushed his teeth. His left eye was throbbing and swollen almost fully shut, the skin around it puffy and purple.

“Just like old times, eh, Dad?” he asked the mirror with a bitter smirk.

He spit and rinsed his mouth and vowed to never get so bad as to drink his daily coffee with whiskey. A little rum before breakfast once in a while was completely different. He needed it today.

He scrubbed the bar stink off himself in the shower until his skin was pink and stinging. Then he dressed and rushed out the door without a word to his uncle or Laurent who were sitting at the kitchen table, refusing even to turn around when Laurent called out to him so that his brother wouldn’t see his bruised face. That’s a problem for later, Auguste told himself in the solitude of the garage, and climbed onto his motorcycle.

#last one for now!#check out the sneak peek of chapter 6 if you haven’t already #lykmc #captive prince #my writing #auguste of vere #capri fanfic #captive prince fanfic #lamen

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invisibleraven · 2 years ago

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It's not what you lost, it's what you gained

Written for the Year of the OTP challenge prompt: No, I'm not dating your brother

Pairing: Julie/Luke/Reggie

On AO3!

Man, took long enough for me to get to my OT3 with this series huh?

Reggie has a brother when it's plot convenient, so I'm using my OC Alfie because no parents who name their first child Reginald are going with the name Steve for their second.

Hand waving any medical inaccuracies, and please enjoy!

Alfie is on his way to class when his phone rings and he almost ignores it. This final review is paramount to him passing this Chemistry class, and he’s running late as it is. But it’s an LA area code, so he reluctantly swipes to answer it.

“Mr. Peters? This LA County General. We have your brother Reginald here as a patient…”

The rest of the words are eaten up by the rush in Alfie’s ears as the fear rushes through him. The thought of Reggie, lying alone and broken in some hospital bed, he can’t even think about it. He thanks the nice nurse and books the first flight he can back home, rapidly throwing things in a duffel bag. Screw classes, screw his finals, his brother is more important than anything.

He’s sure Reggie would disagree, having slaved away at a million dead end jobs to afford Alfie’s tuition, but the man had practically raised him when their parents failed to be present, and then fought to be his legal guardian the second he turned eighteen. Alfie owed him the world. So it was off to LA, hoping and praying that he wasn’t going to be too late.

He doesn’t remember much of the flight or the cab ride from the airport, only that it seems to take forever. He hasn’t missed California traffic, nor the intense heat, part of him longing for his cool Portland spring, but at least he had the sense to pack a few lighter shirts in his bag, pulling one on as the taxi rounds the bend to the hospital. He’s sure he overtips as he all but shoves bills at the cabbie, but he doesn’t care, he barely remembers to take his bag as he rushes to the front desk.

“Hi, I got a call about my brother? Reggie Peters? Can you tell me where he is?” he asks at the front desk. The woman purses her lips but nods, typing into her computer, and with each clack of the keys he prays she isn’t about to tell him he’s too late or that he can’t see Reggie after all this.

“Fourth floor, room 450. Follow the yellow line to the elevators, then the blue line once you’re up there. Visiting hours are over at 9.”

Alfie nods in thanks and quickly locates where he’supposed to go, heart pounding as he finds the elevator, jamming repeatedly on the button, as if that had ever made them go faster. He’s tapping his feet and is just about to give up and find a stairwell when the doors open and he enters, pressing the 4 harshly in hopes it will hurry things along. The mindless music is grating, but Alfie’s brain is too full of thoughts to even register it.

He knows Reggie was in a car accident, had multiple fractures and a concussion. There had been some worry about a bruise to his kidney, and they had already done a surgery to clean up some internal bleeding. The prognosis was good, but Reggie had yet to wake up.

That’s what worried Alfie the most.

What if he didn’t wake up? What if he woke up and didn’t remember anything? Remember Alfie? What if he woke up and he was all alone and scared?

His thought spiral was interrupted by the doors opening, and Alfie frantically looked around for the blue line, finally locating it and counting off the numbers of the rooms as he went. 415, 423, 437… 450!

The door was partially open, and Alfie peered in, not wanting to interrupt if a doctor was seeing Reggie. But no, instead he saw people on either side of Reggie, a Latina woman with dark curly hair who is clutching his left hand, and a guy with shaggy chestnut hair on his right, hand on Reggie’s shoulder since that arm is in a sling.

Alfie has no clue who either of them are.

Look, between his classes and Reggie’s jobs, they haven’t had a chance to catch up lately okay? But still, these people seem to be very concerned for his brother, and neither of them are in scrubs, so that rules out medical professionals. “Hello?” he calls out and they both look up at him with wide, red rimmed eyes.

“Oh, you must be Alfie,” the woman says. “You look just like your pictures.”

“I am,” he says. “Who are you?”

“I’m Julie, this is Luke. Reggie is our best friend.”

“Jules-” Luke starts, but she waves him off. Alfie can question all that later, and how close the two of them could possibly be to Reggie when he can’t recall either of their names being mentioned. But they were here, and maybe they had answers that the doctors wouldn’t give.

“How is he-really?” Alfie asks as he looks over Reggie. Aside from the arm in the sling, he can see his left leg in a cast, bruises littering his exposed skin, a collar around his neck and a plethora of machines whirring and beeping away.

“He’s tough,” Luke says, “But he got pretty beat up. The other driver was drunk, plowed through a red light, he’s equally messed up, but his family is covering Reggie’s care, since he was at fault.”

“Well that’s a relief,” Alfie said as he took Julie’s spot, grasping Reggie’s hand tight. “I’m here bro, I’m here.”

Reggie’s pulse is there below his fingers, and Alfie finally felt the tension flood from his body. Yes, Reggie is bruised and broken, and there is a hard road ahead of him in terms of rehabilitation, but he’s still there. Alfie just needs him to wake up now, smile that crooked grin of his and lambast him for taking time off from school when he’s perfectly fine.

He looks up, seeing Luke and Julie still there, Julie standing beside Luke’s chair, pushing Reggie’s hair from his face.

“Thank you both for being here for him,” Alfie says quietly. “I would hate to think he was here alone.”

“Of course,” Luke replies. “He’d do it for either of us.”

“It was the least we could do for him,” Julie finishes, sending Reggie a fond look. A look that Alfie had only seen in movies, in fairy tales really. It’s the look of someone who genuinely loves the person they’re looking at, in the deepest way you could love someone. He hadn’t had much experience with it in his own life, but he still knows it when he sees it.

“Are you dating my brother?” Alfie asks. Julie and Luke exchange a worried look, and Alfie doesn’t know what to make of that. “It’s just… he never talks about himself. He tells me this and that, but he’s never mentioned either of you, and if it’s new that’s fine, but I need to know.”

“No, I’m not dating your brother,” Julie finally answers. “We… we both wanted to. Took forever to convince him we loved him like that.”

Alfie got that. After their parents it had taken years and lots of therapy for him to believe that he could be lovable to anyone, so it stands to reason that Reggie would also have a harder time believing anyone could want him. Or that romantic love could be anything but toxic. So no wonder he had a harder time convincing himself that two people could want him like that.

Luke reaches up and squeezes Julie’s hand on his shoulder. “But we finally did. He was driving to our first date when he got in the accident.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alfie says, as if that will assuage the guilt they’re surely feeling. “He might have been out getting groceries or going to work, the fault is with the guy who decided to get behind the wheel drunk.”

“I just wish it had never happened,” Julie says with a sniffle.

Luke gathers her into his arms at that, soothing her. “Sssh, it’s okay boss. We’ll be here for him the whole time right? Take him to every appointment, help him with whatever he needs help with. He’ll be sick of us by the end of it right?”

“Right,” Julie says wetly, giving Luke a weak smile.

“You two don’t have to do that,” Alfie says.

“Of course we do,” Luke says. “We love Reggie. He’s our whole world. And he’d kill us for letting you take more time off of school just to take care of him.”

“He’s so proud of you,” Julie adds. “Always going on about his genius baby brother and how he’s going to change the world.”

Alfie looks down at Reggie’s sleeping face. “He really talks about me?”

“All the time,” Luke promises. “I think he was waiting until after our date to tell you about us though.”

“Don’t hold it against him for keeping it secret, not everyone understands polyamory,” Julie says.

“I could never-Reggie is the greatest guy there is,” Alfie says, wiping away a tear. “I don’t care who he loves, or how many people. His heart is big enough to hold the whole world, I’m just happy he found people who realize it.”

Julie and Luke smile at him, and then they all look at Reggie, willing him to wake up. But he stays stationary, the machines still beeping and whirring around them. They sit there, getting to know one another as time goes on. A nurse reminds them about the end of visiting hours, but none of them move.

None of them want Reggie to be alone.

Finally it ticks over to 9, and another nurse gives them a stern glare, the three of them exiting the room, each promising to be back the next day. Alfie looks away as Luke and Julie press kisses to Reggie’s face. Then they invite him to stay at their place, or a ride to Reggie’s, if he wants. He decides to stay at his brother’s, and is shocked by the tiny studio apartment. There’s a cherry red bass in the corner, plants on every surface, and a dog dish in the corner. “Dolly is with my dad until Reggie can come home,” Julie says.

Alfie can see the walls covered in photos; shots of Reggie and the pit bull mix he’d adopted after finding her hurt on the beach during a lifeguarding gig, pictures of him playing his bass alongside Luke and a blonde guy playing drums while Julie is singing behind a piano.

“We’re in a band together,” Luke explains. “Julie and the Phantoms.”

“Tell your friends,” Julie says, though the phrase makes her a little melancholy.

There’s a bunch of shots of Alfie, and he almost cries when he sees the one of him and Reggie at his graduation, beaming faces smiling wide as MeeMaw took the shot. Plus another with her hugging them both tight that he touches reverently. God, he needs to call her in the morning, she’s in a home now after breaking her hip one too many times, but she’s still in full capacity of her senses.

“We already called Chavala,” Julie says. “She made us promise to take good care of you both.”

“Thank you,” Alfie says. Wonders how much more of Reggie’s life he’s missed out on, if even their grandmother knows about Luke and Julie when he’s been in the dark.

But the evidence is there, staring him in the face, because the bulk of the photos are of Luke and Julie themselves. Some alone, some together, a great deal more with Reggie. They look so happy together, all smiles and lovelorn expressions. Without going on a single date, if he looked at these photos, he would have assumed they had been together for years.

“The fridge is stocked, but if you need anything, you can call us,” Luke says, writing down their numbers on a piece of paper. “We’ll pop by in the morning, we can all go in and see him tomorrow.”

Alfie nods, and sees them out, but when he crawls into bed that night, he breaks down in tears, relieved that Reggie’s alive, but mourning the lost time between them. He sleeps restlessly, and barely manages a bowl of cereal before Luke and Julie show up. They chatter mindlessly as they drive towards the hospital, but all conversation ends once there, all of them silently waiting for Reggie to make some sign of consciousness.

But he’s just as still as he was the day prior. Alfie takes the time to email all his teachers, letting them know where he is, and most of them get back to him giving him extensions. Not the terrible Professor Martinez for Chem of course, but one email to the dean has him excused until he gets back. The doctor comes in to do a few more tests, so the three of them go to get something to eat.

“I hope you guys aren’t missing too much work for this,” Alfie says as he picks at his salad.

Luke and Julie exchange a look. “Um, the band is our job,” Luke finally says. “Our demo is doing really well, and we just got picked up by a label. The night we got signed is the night we told Reggie how we felt.”

“But Reggie…”

“Reggie works at the animal shelter because he likes it,” Julie says with a giggle. “Our friend Willie is covering for him. He quit all the other part time gigs once the band started taking off and our merch sales more than made up for it.”

Once again, Alfie aches inside, thinking back to every conversation that he’s had with Reggie over the past little while. He goes on and on about his classes, his friends, the cute guy who’d asked him out. That had led to Alfie finally coming out to Reggie who laughed and told him he didn’t care, and hell, he was bi, so he couldn’t say shit. That had been months ago though.

Reggie never told him squat about his own life though, sticking to his job walking dogs or serving coffee. He never mentions his friends, or his band, or the people he loves. He always demurred, like he thought Alfie wouldn’t be interested, and Alfie realizes he stopped pressing ages ago, not wanting to fight if Reggie didn’t want to be known. He silently curses their parents for screwing them up so royally, and vows then and there to be a better brother, to push more.

He just prays he gets the chance.

When they get back to the room, the doctor pulls Alfie aside. “His brain is active, the swelling is gone, and we’re going to remove the breathing tube. I’m hopeful that he’ll wake soon.”

Reggie does look a little better when they enter the room, the tubes and wires greatly reduced, and the bruises are starting to fade, just a little. But he still doesn’t wake up. Alfie squeezes his hand tight. “Come on Reginald, wake up. I’ll be so mad if you don’t.”

“Come back to us cariño,” Julie whispers, pressing a kiss to Reggie’s face.

“We have a date to get to, you can’t sleep through that bud,” Luke jokes. “And you know Willie can’t play bass for shit.”

“Maybe we should sing to him,” Julie jokes back.

“My acoustic is in the trunk,” Luke perks up at the suggestion and when Julie sends him a look, he shrugs. “You know I don’t go anywhere without a guitar!”

“Go get it,” Alfie says. “I’m willing to try anything.”

Luke dashes out and returns a few moments later with his guitar, beaming as he sits back down, nodding at Julie who starts tapping out a beat on her thighs, which Alfie clumsily copies. Reggie’s the one who got all the musical talent between them, he’s practically tone deaf, but he can follow this a little.

“Can you, can you hear me?” Julie sings softly.

“Loud and clear!” Luke sings back.

“Gotta get, we gotta get ready.”

“Cause it’s been years!”

“That's my song,” comes a creaking voice from the bed and three pairs of eyes fly to where Reggie is blinking up at them. “Hey darlin’, babe. Was going on?”

“Reggie!” Julie cries, hugging him as much as she’s able. “Dios mio, never scare us like that again!”

“I’ll try not to sweetheart,” Reggie replies, though his voice is more of a croak than anything. “As soon as you tell me what I did.”

“You got in a bad car accident hun,” Luke says, bringing his free hand up to press a kiss to the knuckles. “Had us worried sick.”

“Sorry,” Reggie replies, licking over his dry lips. Then he turns his head and sees his brother. “Alf, what the heck are you doing here? You have finals!”

“You’re more important dummy,” Alfie says, swiping the tears from his eyes as he chuckles. “And we need to have a long talk about you not telling me stuff.”

Reggie flushes, looking at the couple beside him who nod and vacate the room. “I meant to tell you, I just… you know how it is, I never think my stuff is all that important. You’re in college, going to change the world one day. I’m just…”

“A future rock star with two pretty damn good partners?” Alfie finishes for him. “Reggie I wouldn’t care if you were just sitting in your sweats playing MarioKart all day, I still wanna know about your life. It’s important to me, because you are important to me.”

Reggie sniffles, and lets out a little okay. “We’re not dating, you know. Not yet.”

“Bud they’ve been by your side since you got here, safe to say that you are,” Alfie replies.

“I love them.”

“Good, because they love you too. And I approve, so we’re golden.”

“So… how’s life?” Reggie asks.

Alfie barks out a laugh and the two of them spend the next hour catching up, only interrupted by doctors doing some tests and Luke bringing them food while Julie gets Reggie’s care instructions from the nurses.

Reggie finally convinces Alfie to go home the next day, he’s in good hands, but promises to call him every night. “If not, I will,” Julie vows.

So Alfie goes home, aces that Chem final-take that Professor Martinez! And he’s back in LA for when Reggie can play his bass again, smiling and bouncing all over the stage at Julie and the Phantoms first gig since he got his casts off.

And Alfie shouts louder than anyone when Luke and Julie kiss his cheeks during their bow, all three of them smiling wide, looking happier than he has ever seen his brother.

And a year later, he’s happily standing at Reggie’s side as his best man as the three of them have a commitment ceremony that beats any wedding Alfie’s ever been to. But Alfie’s favourite moment is when Regige picks him to dance with during the family dances, and they boogey away on the floor. Sure, he wishes that Reggie never had the accident that led to this, but a part of him will forever be grateful that he and his brother are closer than ever. He soon returns Reggie to Luke and Julie’s arms, and smiles at the three of them swaying together.

He doesn't even care that Reggie is leaving the Peters name behind, because Luke and Julie's families have adopted them both as their own, and Alfie is half convinced that if he was a few years younger, Victoria Alvarez would be fighting to be his mom for real. So surrounded by his new family, and his brother looking ecstatic with his spouses by his side, Alfie has no complaints about the road that led them here. Yeah, this was alright by him.

#my stuff #writing #fanfic #rukebox #peterpatterlina #otp 2023 #year of the otp #julie and the phantoms

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xkv8r · 2 years ago

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Another story, this time for someone I met on Twitch. No vore today, they wanted an anthro bombchu being burpy and too fat for clothes at a buffet.

2.8k words, estimated reading time 14 minutes.

I'm weaving inbetween the other buffet staff as I come back from my lunch break when my phone buzzes from a text message. It's a message from my boss, "Get the private room ready, we have a party that just bought it out for the full 4 hours. Full dessert catering, you're head waiter on call for it, get them whatever they need."

Looks like someone is having a celebration. The private room only gets broken out for big events and occasions. It's also something of a surprise to see it not rented out weeks in advance, typically we have plenty of time to prepare. The buffet table will need to be set up along with all the chairs, there is even mood lighting and a sound system available at the customers request. It's a lot of work, and I waste no time heading over there to start unpacking it all.

Normally I'd have other staff helping me, but with how long this party has the room rented for, I suspect most of the other waiters are helping the chefs prep the massive amount of food that will be required to cater this event. For someone unfamiliar with the restaurant business, it's hard to really comprehend the massive amount of food that gets made for this kind of stuff. There is always waste at the end, but that table needs to be kept fully stocked for the entire duration we are contracted for, and a large group can clear out that table faster than you might expect.

Fortunately I've done this plenty of times before, and I'm able to get the room ready in no time at all. Two dozen soft padded chairs run up and down a massive mahogany table, ready to be decked out with desserts. The stage is set, and the actors start to pour in. Other staff cart in all kinds of decadent sweets, plates of warm brownies, trays of moist cupcakes, and even a self service milkshake machine to let the guests refill their drinks on the fly.

It looks like we made it just in time too, my phone buzzes from another text message telling me to meet the first arrival out front. Apparently this party has wasted no time getting here, checking my watch, it's been only an hour since we started setting up! Its a quick walk through the dining area where other servers cart around plates piled high with everything from mozzarella sticks to chicken wings. Cheap filling food makes up the bulk of our menu, and more than a few customers have decided to take full advantage of that fact. Plenty of patrons are lazing about in booths, either taking time to digest their massive meals, or having their plates refilled to further indulge in gluttony. I have a job to do however, and I make it through the front doors just in time to see the guest of honor stepping out of his cab.

The anthro bombchu is among the strangest species I've ever seen, never mind had as a patron. While still apparent from his large incisors, most of his rodentine heritage is obscured by more exotic features. Rather than the rounded ears of a rat, his are more akin to those of a fox, and are kept slicked back by a mask in a navy blue color so dark it's nearly black. His dull yellow fur is a color that I am likewise unaccustomed to seeing, and only serves to let him stand out from the crowd even more.

Indeed his species is so exotic that it takes me a few moments to notice the other obvious physical trait he has on display, his considerable obesity. Wide thighs and a low hanging gut constrained tightly by a button down shirt tell a story of extensive feasting. It's quite common to see someone with a good bit of heft eating here. Once your appetite grows past a certain point, all you can eat buffets become the most economic option. I'm all too familiar with the regulars here, proper gluttons who can't eat anywhere else without breaking the bank under their ravenous hunger. I know a few of them are even larger than this guy, so it's nothing I haven't seen before. Big furs need big meals, and I could hardly begrudge our most loyal customers for their needs. We have reinforced benches available for our larger clients and offer other services to help those who have overindulged on food for a reason. Few things build customer loyalty like a bellyrub to settle your stomach and a shoulder to lean on when you waddle your barely mobile behind back to your car.

Plenty of other buffets are all too happy to kick out someone who hits their 3 plate limit, but we've acquired a reputation for catering to the needs of big eaters, and it's a badge we wear with pride. Here you can glut yourself until you are too full to stand, ask for your tenth plate that evening, and get it brought over to your table. You just can't get that kind of service anywhere else, and as I walk him through the main dining area, he gets plenty of examples of the extent of the services we offer. The smell of the other customers meals sets the rotund rodent's stomach rumbling and his hunger motivates him to keep a quick pace to the rear of the establishment where I open the door and reveal the dining table decked out in decadent sweets and with a massive cake laid out as the centerpiece.

He dashes past me in a wobbling sprint as I shoot out a quick text to my boss, "Guest of honor is in the private room, do we know when the rest of his party is arriving?" and almost immediately get a response "It's only him." I glance up to see the bombchu already shoveling cookies onto a plate with reckless abandon before I text back "What?" and look back to watch in awe as the bombchu tips the plate back and lets the stack of sweets on top of it slide into his gut. The sight is so mesmerizing that I almost miss my phone buzzing, "Guy's got a lot of confidence, we've already gotten paid, I don't expect problems." Whoever this guy is, he's got to be loaded, and suffering from the kind of hunger that normal meals just won't touch. I'm in no position to judge others for their vices, so with no further objections I get to work stacking up platters for him to demolish.

The blubbery bombchu is so eager to eat as fast as he possibly can that it's inevitable he would swallow some air during his binging. An uncomfortable sounding gurgle emanates from his guts before being followed by a loud BUURRUP. He only takes a brief moment to sigh in relief and pat his gut before returning to his gorging. Working at a buffet, I'm used to people occasionally overindulging, but this guy is something else. It's like he isn't even aware of how far beyond reason his gluttony has taken him.

The cake is up next on the chopping block. It towers over the both of us, dense, moist, and coated in a thick layer of rich frosting, it stands as a testament to the skill of our catering crew. It is also cake however, and that means it is spongy and full of air, an issue that is only compounded by the fact that it's final destination is inside the belly of a bombchu who is eating like his life depends on it. I cut thick wedges of cake and plop them onto his plate where he decides to forego utensils entirely, settling for picking them up in his chunky paws and cramming them into his muzzle as fast as possible. By the time I start cutting up the next tier of cake, he is already licking his paws clean of frosting with smacking noises occasionally interrupted by a short URP.

Chew, swallow, burp. Once the bombchu gets into the rhythm of eating, he doesn't stop, letting pressure build up before releasing it in sugary belches. His digestion ramps up in response to the gluttony, and calories are quickly processed into pudge by the thousand. Yellow diamonds of fur start to peek out between the buttons on his shirt, growing wider with each gulp before shrinking slightly when he burps. Every time the cycle repeats however, a fraction more fur is exposed, and the already strained stitching gets pulled more and more taunt.

Eventually, something has to give, and it's certainly not going to be his gluttony. To my surprise, the fabric next to the buttons rips open in a frayed line, the thicker thread holding the buttons on proving more resilient in the end. Fluffy yellow flab oozes out from the tear, but the bombchu doesn't even seem to notice, he is evidently far more occupied with cramming more sweets into his maw than maintaining his modesty. He just grunts in relief at the release of pressure before letting out an airy EHUURRRP and continues stuffing himself.

Slices of cake continue to get snapped up by the ravenous blubberball, having decided to just cram chunks into his maw and swallow them whole rather than worry about chewing. Every few swallows of compressed cake are met with another BHLUURRP and the sounds of his shirt continuing to shred itself in a desperate attempt to cling to his rapidly widening frame. Soft belly flab slowly frees itself of its prison with each gulp, forming soft rolls and revealing a deep navel.

I'm bringing over the next plate when a deep BRUUUULLP rumbles out of the bombchu's bloated belly, showering me in hot air and the cloyingly sweet smell of partially digested desserts. He gives his distended midsection a couple good slaps before returning to his feasting as if nothing had happened, clearly more concerned with getting his money's worth out of the experience than he is maintaining any semblance of decorum. In a way, I'm actually somewhat envious of him. The most complicated thing he is going to be thinking about for the next few hours is whether he grabs his next bite with his left paw or his right.

Layer by layer the cake gets stuffed inside the slovenly rodent's garbage compactor of a gut. Every bite strains his clothes more and more and swallows are frequently accompanied by the sounds of a few more threads giving up the fight against thick squishy bombchu blubber. The tiers on the cake vanish slower as they get wider and his stomach gets fuller, but eventually our gluttonous guest of the hour manages to completely destroy the dessert, the last evidence it ever existed being wiped away completely when he licks the crumbs and frosting from his chops. A loud HUOOORP offers up a final eulogy for the massive dessert before the bombchu decides to move on to greener pastures.

Having had enough feasting on the solid food, I can see him eyeing the shake machine set up on the far side of the table, no doubt looking to quench his thirst after eating all that cake. He tries and fails to heave himself out of his seat, having stuffed himself into near immobility. Recognizing my skills are required, I put a hand on his meaty shoulder before asking "Need some help?" and getting a nod in response.

I'm well accustomed to customers eating more than they can stomach and needing some TLC to get back on their feet. The gold membership offers belly rubs among other perks for a reason, and as he has decided to rent the private room, the bombchu is entitled to all those benefits until his 4 hours expire. It takes a couple minutes to haul him up off of the bench, but once he's up it's just a matter of helping him make a jiggling waddle over to the other end of the table where the soft serve machine is. He pants and groans all the while, no doubt painfully full with sweets, but he's still quite motivated, and it doesn't take long for him to flop into his new bench once he gets there, where his shirt finally gives up completely, leaving his pudgy belly and chest exposed.

An ominous gurgle from his still sloshing stomach gives him pause before he beckons me over to start rubbing his gut, no doubt keen to take advantage of every service this establishment offers. My paws meet his doughy flesh and I'm shocked at how much give I feel when I sink into his belly, it's more like a balloon than the food packed gut it should be. An astonishing amount of air is still inside it, trapped underneath all that food. No wonder he can keep eating, he's hitting his limits with gas long before his guts fill up with food, the moment he lets out some air, he's ready to start eating again. I start kneading the fluffy yellow doughball on instinct and am rewarded with a long string of URP AHURP OHRP BHURP. Once the belches start it takes a good few minutes for them to stop, and smaller ones sometimes even get overridden by larger burps as more gas escapes his inflated guts.

Once his stomach is settled, the rotund rodent starts to drink directly from the shake machines hose, letting cool thick dairy get pumped into his swelling gut. My paws push into his plush underbelly and move air bubbles around inside, waiting for him to pause his chugging before I press in just the right spot to squeeze a gassy BHUUURP out of his maw. He swallows almost as much air as he does milkshake, and I have to work hard to keep his gassy guts content.

I do my best to keep kneading the swollen yellow orb of bombchu gut, but the thick shake is much harder to push around than the air his belly was full of a few moments ago. It moves sluggishly under my paws, and pressing outward against them as every gulp packs in more of the dense creamy liquid. His body bulges around what few clothes remain on his massive frame, and the creaking noises coming from them leave no doubt that the overstressed textiles are at their limit.

The bonded leather belt keeping his pants on looks like it can take no more. It was already on its last hole when the gluttony spree began, and no doubt fatigued from plenty of previous feasts. The glutton stops his chugging to reach under his shake filled stomach with both hands and grunts as he hefts it up before letting it all drop at once. It lands with a meaty slap and a deafening BRUUUHLP The belt bursts off and his gut surges forward, popping off the button on the front of his pants and destroying the zipper. Belly oozes outward to fill the newly opened space, pulling the fly of his pants even further apart. Even if he was not too fat to fit them, those pants will never close again. The denim looks like it could tear apart at any minute, creases have formed where the tension from being filled with hundreds of pounds of fat threatens to rip apart the seams.

It is a testament to his discipline that he goes right back to chugging from the shake machine. Even behind his mask, I can see the bombchu's expression grow more strained with each gulp, and his burps grow smaller and more strained. Between my massaging, and his sheer will to keep eating, we manage to pump the last few ounces of shake into his belly, and the machine clicks off, finally emptied of its contents, leaving the glutton to clutch his belly in pain, having conquered the buffet in its entirety.

The final accessory to meet the fate of its peers is the watch wrapped around the bombchus meaty wrist. It snaps off with a metallic ping, leaving a red mark around where it had compressed a limb as big around as my thigh down to half its size. For his part, it's all he can manage just to groan in pained overfullness and let out one last quiet burp. Finally, the bombchu can take no more, and just in time, my phone buzzes to let me know his 4 hours are up. All at once the toll of waiting on this obscene act of gluttony hits me, and I collapse against a wall in exhaustion. Both of us will need some time to recover from this experience, but I'm confident he will be a loyal customer for many years to come.

#xkv8r writes

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gwydionmisha · 2 years ago

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Personal: The Least Sexy Photoshoot

What happened to the news this week? I had next to no spoons and RL ate them all. I did tons of prep, but My eyelids keep twitching and my body has been enforcing a lot of bed rest, which at least means, I read all but one of the ILLs.

Monday: Luckily I was reminded it was President's Day Sunday night so I rested instead of forcing myself out of bed only to discover my errands were fruitless. The Empress Declared Livia Love Day, which is an important holiday in our household, and mostly consists of hanging out peaceably in a group and lots and lots of Livia Loves. Tavy's been having nightmares again, but is not taking it out on everyone and is responding to my attempts to comfort him above average well. Livia love Day ended up extended to Livia Love Week.

Tuesday: I burned all the spoons on taxes and small errands. (Library, Pharmacy, OTC Pharmacy, the tail ends of OTC grocery and EBT at the store that takes both.) When I say all the spoons, I mean, I barely managed to eat and lung before having to go straight to bed. NOTE: I have no taxable income, but I always file a tax return to prevent identity theft and so I have a tax return if I need it for bureaucracy. I need to present it to someone most years.

Wednesday: It had been early spring weather here for a couple of weeks, but we caught the edge of the really nasty cold front messing things up further south. So strong icy cold wind, sporadic flurries that didn't stick. This far North, it gets cold fast after dark. I talked them into not increasing my dose on account of hives last week. This proved clever of me because I clearly couldn't handle a bigger immune response than I got.

Head Millennial and I where both exhausted by the cold, and I cut errands and Head Millennial's work load to a bare minimum. The roads were icy when I took them home and I'm very glad they didn't stay later.

Thursday: Mostly bed rest. I normally would have stayed up for early morning rheumatologist torture session, but my body vetoed and I took the five hour nap instead. I woke earlier than intended, and lay in bed doing Peaceable Kingdom with the cats, who were NOT Pleased, when I had to dislodge them at what they consider sleep time to dress and lung so as to be ready for medical transport.

Friday: Medical transport turned out to be a mom and Pop company this time instead of Yellow Cab or the other one it usually is. It is a long drive over the mountain Pass and down to the next major population center to the south, where my appointment was. The driver was a charming lady who's family emigrated here after the war. She'd had an arranged marriage, which she escaped, and from which she has three kids. She came back home to this area, fell in love with and married a divorced man with kinds from a different language group who sounds wonderful and this is their company. I was utterly charmed by them and I hope I get them next time and not the guy who took me home form an appointment Wednesday a week and a half ago who spent the ride prosthelatizing about the masculinity courses that are his side gig. (Luckily, he wasn't MRA. It was a weird cis straight white male liberal type thing, not quite Boomer bullshit, but some sort of hybrid Xer thing, with one foot in the Boomer White liberal camp and one foot in a more modern world view.) Seriously, I was much later finishing than even my leave lots of room for extra testing estimate do to massive demand and not enough phlebotomists, and they were super cool about it. He called her back to check in as a result and you could tell how much in love they were right through the language barrier and the way she talked about him.... I was just so happy for her living her best life in the place she loves best.

So here is the deal with rheumatology and me. Poverty clinic used to get in a rheumatologist once a month from Seattle, but they were seldom the same more than twice for me. Which meant that every time I'd have to prove to the new rheumatologist that the last one wasn't full of shit and I wasn't faking. No one liked anyone's diagnosis, so I'd have to do the tests all over again. I'd see them once more and they'd agree that I did have AS (or occasionally a different arthritis), and set up a treatment plan. Next time I'd have to start over. This was during the documenting my disability for Social Security/Medicare phase and for a while after. The upside was a massive file my lawyer could take to the appeal hearing with a wide array of x-rays, MRIs, and assorted fancier things carefully detailing my degeneration with circled damage that even a law person could look at and go "Yeah. That's not right."

Eventually, the damage reached the point where enough was visible through my skin to the naked eye and I stopped having to prove I was in pain. It was at this point the rheumatologists started to debate AS or something else in earnest. Seattle stopped sending Saturday Rheumatologists and a clinic that took Medicare became available. I had the same rheum for more than a year. We did a fuckton of way fancier tests including a really in depth scan of my spine to see if the surgical option made sense. It didn't. We futzed with medication for a bit. Biologics are no good, it turns out, thanks to CF Carrier. My GP took over refills. That rheumatologist went out of the saga.

Right before the pandemic we were just starting a new round of lets check in with specialists about assorted stuff and the every five years or so map the decline cycle, that ended abruptly in February 2020. Rheum was on the list, but it got but aside. When we got ready to try again there was a ton of drama with the only local rheum taking medicare and it was impossible to get in anyway, hence my journey south. Squirrel and my experience with Medical care in Vernon is excellent and I'll take their hospital over ours in a heartbeat, and after dealing with asshole receptionist at the local was was happy to give it a whirl down there.

They were all delightful at the New Rheum. new Rheum's theory is hyper-mobility + Osteo instead of AS, which we are testing. (I'm not classic hyper-flexible. No joints that bend backward, but the field is moving forward a lot and they are starting to consider people in my category as hyper-flexible too. I am stiff as fuck due to arthritis these days, but I was rather famously flexible in my youth. Like people would gather around to watch me stretch out and make comments.) I signed releases so she can get my massive fucking file of scans and tests.

The building had an imaging and blood testing center (Also a full surgical center and who knows what else). X-ray was a significantly shorter wait than the x-rays took. X-ray techs were delightful. Unfortunately we were doing skull to tailbone is small sections with lots of angles to get all the joints, most of it standing up. I expected this. It was still a nightmare.

While I was being posed for yet another series of what I was thinking of as the least sexy photo-shoot ever, I found myself thinking that Harrowhawk Nonegismus likely wouldn't agree if I'd been a woman...

The wait for the phlebotomist took as long as the rheum +x-ray plus their wait times put together at minimum. I was exhausted, in pain, and in an uncomfortable chair near the door where the arctic blast would hit me every time they opened. On the upside my history of early modern English sodomy turned out to be really riveting in a way a lot of academic writing in this area isn't. Wow! Seriously wow! Scholarship has come a long way in recent years. a bunch of things in there should really be movies.

I am wrung out and in pain and my eyelids are twitching again, but miles to go before I sleep. Sigh.

On the upside, bills are now paid. Thank you to everyone kicking in. Housing bill is soon. Fingers crossed on no more emergencies.

#Personal #Medical Stuff #The Locked Tomb

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purplesurveys · 2 years ago

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1626

Are you a dreamer or a do-er? I like to dream only because I don’t like putting too much pressure or too grand of an expectation upon myself. I do try my best to make this and that decision to sort of maneuver myself closer to my goals, but I don’t *actively* work towards them or give myself timelines, if that makes sense? so that I don’t feel shitty if things don’t go to plan. That’s like 20-30% of the time. The rest I kind of allot for daydreaming.

Do you think people get what they deserve? Well, no. And I bet you can see instances where this isn’t the case everyday.

Does it take a lot of physical pain to make you cry? I rarely cry from physical pain (in fact I don’t think I’ve ever?) but my pain tolerance is crap nonetheless. I flinch very easily and I’ve been skipping my annual physical exams every year not because I’m scared of what might be discovered, but because I don’t do well with needles and machines and all sorts of tests that involve your body getting probed.

Name the strangest game you’ve ever played (video game or real game): Well, QWOP is definitely high up on that list. There also used to be those childbirth simulator flash games in the ancient days of the internet where the patient you’d be helping is like a cartoonized Britney Spears, Lady Gaga, etc. What a fucking trip hahaha.

Do you like sitting in the front, back, or middle of the classroom? Front. I have terrible eyesight and it’s the people at the middle and back who always get called randomly anyway.

Do you ever see commercials for restaurants that aren’t even in your area? Yeah, on Facebook I tend to get ads of K-pop shops based in the US; on Instagram I always get sponsored posts of food businesses from like Mexico and Dubai. The latter is particularly annoying because the food will look SO good only for me to find out that it’s nowhere near me.

Do you know anyone who has been struck by lightning before? No. Which is better: living where there’s lots of tornadoes or lots of hurricanes? I already live somewhere hurricanes (although we call them typhoons) are no biggie, so this is a fairly easy decision to make. I’ve never seen a tornado so I wouldn’t know how to act in the middle of one.

Would you pay if your dog needed an operation? Yes, but it also depends on how much it would be. I wouldn’t be opposed to a fundraiser; many pet owners here start one when their pets get into a medical emergency.

If you’re a girl, what’s your favorite color of eyeliner? Black, but just putting it out there that anyone can put on eyeliner lol.

Have you ever overflown a bathtub? No. I’m not around bathtubs nearly often enough to run into this accident.

Why did you ignore the last person you ignored? Because it was like 5:30 on a Friday afternoon and I didn’t feel like responding to a work-related matter anymore.

What’s your favorite pizza place? We don’t have a lot of restaurants where the main specialty/attraction is pizza. It’s either big-time chain stores (your Pizza Hut’s, Papa John’s, Domino’s, etc) or sit-down restaurants that serve everything and just so happen to have pizza. Nevertheless, the best-tasting pizza for me would have to be Yellow Cab’s. Chain store, but they do the job flawlessly so no complaints there.

What’s at the top of your to do list in life? I feel like the grandest dream I have (and have had since I was around 9) is to fly to the US to attend Wrestlemania 50. There’s a lot of wrestling history tied to the event, it’s not happening until 2034, and there will only ever be one Wrestlemania 50, so it’s very important for me to be able to come. There’s also no telling which of the legends will still be alive by that point which adds more to the, “You HAVE to be there.”-ness of the event. Do you ever eat leftover pizza cold? Yep the only time I eat pizza hot is the time it’s served. From the time it cools down and gets stored as leftovers, I’d only ever eat it cold.

Where are you the most ticklish? Oh, everywhere. I’m terrible with being tickled.

Would you put your life in danger to rescue someone? I feel like it’s so easy to say “Probably not to a stranger” but a part of me feels as if I would actually unhesitatingly sacrifice myself by instinct. When you’re wanting a midnight snack, what do you normally get? Pancit Canton. If budget permits, McDonald’s hahaha.

Which cartoon character would you want to keep as a pet? Buster from Toy Story!

Do you like marshmallows? I have an irrational hatred for marshmallows lol. I never want to eat gooey sugar.

What is your favorite flavor of candy cane? I never have them a lot (not a common candy here, even during Christmas) so I don’t have a favorite and am open to trying different kinds.

Do you have any shoeboxes full of old photos/letters/other memorable stuff? No.

When was the last time you felt seriously embarrassed? Genuinely no clue. Another indicator that tells me I’m in my mid-20s is the fact that I rarely get embarrassed by anything now, lmao. Just laugh everything off.

Have you ever liked a song, looked up the lyrics to it, then hated it? This was me when I was going through BTS’ discography as a new fan and learned about War of Hormone.

What’s your favorite Christmas song? Snow Flower by V and Peakboy.

Did you like the show Invader Zim? I’ve never seen it.

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve seen in a grocery store? Well what I’m about to say isn’t weird, but going to S&R and seeing all the unfamiliar American selections there can sometimes feel jarring. There’s stuff you’d never see in the average family’s pantry, like Reese’s cereals and frozen whole turkeys.

Do you prefer to pull off band-aids slowly or quickly? I prefer that they just slide off with water lol. My tolerance to pain is nearly nonexistent so I actually rarely pull them off.

Have you ever met any bands/band members before? Not met but I have seen several.

Do you enjoy riding around town looking at Christmas lights? Nah, I’m past that point of ~childlike wonder. I think Covid killed everyone’s enthusiasm anyway because for the past two years barely household in the village put nearly as much effort into their Christmas lights as they used to.

What states have you been to in the past year? I’ve never been to America and we don’t follow the concept of ‘states’ here.

Have you ever sleepwalked? I apparently have, twice; once when I was 3 and the next when I was 7-ish.

What’s your favorite superhero movie? I’m not into superheroes.

Do you struggle with acne? I am more prone to encountering a pimple or so these days, but I have never experienced a breakout altogether.

Around what year did you start using the internet, anyways? 2008. We had it before then, but it was dial-up and only the adults could use it because 1) it probably cost too much back then(?) and 2) it would interfere with the landline, considering at that time we all predominantly used telephones.

What did you do for your 16th birthday? I actually can’t even remember. It was probably with my best friend at the time... I think we watched a movie or something like that? I really have no clue.

Have you ever fostered an animal? No.

What’s your favorite form of exercise? Just walking the dogs. Otherwise I hate exercise lol. Do you have a back pack in a shape of an animal? No. Those never appealed to me, even as a kid.

Do you still take hot showers when it’s hot out? Yeah, I guess.

What’s your favorite type of cake? Cheesecake!

Name something you thought was cool when you were younger but don’t now? Keeping up with the indie music genre.

What was the last song you downloaded onto your computer? So I no longer download...anything, really (music, movies, TV show episodes, etc), the way we did it up until the early 2010s, but the last new song I came across that I loved and immediately saved for reference is Victoria Monet’s We Might Even Be Falling In Love.

What color are your headphones, if you have any? My *earphones are white.

Do you honestly like The Beatles or are you just conforming? No, I’m not so much a fan of the music. I know their work is fantastically timeless and I’m not challenging their positions as legends in the industry, but personally the music isn’t something I find myself listening to.

What was the last video message you received on your phone? It was Angela handing over a Starbucks coffee to Hans addressed to ‘HAMCE.’

Who did you last talk to in Facebook chat? Also Angela. I just sent her a screenshot of a Godiva café in Singapore to let her know I wanna try it out if we do end up landing in SG for Yoongi’s tour.

When writing $ sign, do you draw one line through the S or two? Just one.

Do you feel bad for people your age who have never had a significant other? Only if they want to be in a relationship and have never had the chance. < Yeah.

When do you plan on moving out? If you’re already moved out, how old were you? Looking at the time between my late 20s to early 30s.

Would you kiss the last person you texted? Nope. That’s an influencer I got in touch with for work and I have no interest in anything developing with anybody I work with besides a genuine friendship, lol.

What do you think of guys wearing colored skinny jeans? Whatever? Just wear whatever, people.

Where do you normally get your hair cut? We have this nearby salon that we’ve since become usuals at. It’s where I get my hair dyed too.

Would you trade last names with your best friend? No. I can’t see a scenario why I’d want that/why it’d be necessary hahaha unless her family is like old money rich??? Hahaha.

Would you ever get blonde highlights? I mean sure, but I prefer getting the full experience when I try new things, you know? In this case, when it came to dyeing my hair I didn’t hesitate to bleach my entire head and already went full brown, then purple the next time.

Will you go to your high school reunion? I thought I wanted to until I realized how I dislike most of them anyway, so no, probably not.

Have you stayed up past 3 in the morning this week? Yeah, the night Yoongi announced his tour, my friends and I got in a video call to start laying down initial plans. The call itself ended at around 2, but I stayed jittery into the night, out of both excitement and anxiety. I fell asleep at like 4 when I gave up and just took a melatonin gummy.

Do you ever not speak to someone because you’re afraid you’ll annoy them? Yeah, sometimes.

Personally, do you think you have a nice smile? Yes.

What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn’t have? I’ve only ever wanted a dog.

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hot-cole-aid · 1 year ago

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1.Midnight museum, drink now, work later s2, Bocchi the rock

2.Pink and cat-shaped

3.Um, those are juice right? yeah, the banana milk is nice

4.My best boots and rings, plus whatever clothes fit the occasion

5.Either scrambled or fried (but the yellow part must be jelly)

6.A bookmark made by my friend

7.Surprisingly yellow

8.Pretty pages

9.Bussy highways and cinnamon

10. Pictures

11. Glasses

12. Her easygoing ways

13. Pen

14. Green areas with lots of trees

15. No

16. I have none

17. Cute shirt

18. Id rather not

19. Tinkerbell

20. The one about maps???

21. Art noveu, i dont think i can settle on a favorite work, Impressionism

22. Hot drinks

23. I have a whole playlist, mostly chill songs

24. Im gay

25. I want to tattoo flowers on my hands and a piecing or two on my ears

26. I can cook even though i dont really enjoy it! i love baking! i was an absolute disaster at it, but im getting better! im pretty good at making cinnamon rolls ^^

27. One, mickey and minnie mouse

29. Yes, i think it was some city and futbol thingy? idk i used it to make spaceships

30. Yeah, house clothes and outside clothes

31.Yellow cab by DPR Live

32. Pastel pink

33.Earbuds!

34. Yeah but not quickly

35. A little bunny, pretty soft

36. Pool

37. When im cooking, killer instinct., when im baking you can stay and talk while im at it

38. Most of what i consume tbh, ummm for show NCT content(? like theNCT show and for music No party for cao dong

39. A friend wrote to me

40. I cant remember the name but its the short ones that's got leaves in a way that resembles a roof

41. I dont know??? deodorant is just about it

42. No

43. On

44. Save it

45. Yep

46. Disneys the greatest detective

47. In green areas

48. Mug

49. Shower rain and spin

50. Idk, im one of those sleep anywhere people

50 Questions Just Because

What are three shows in your watchlist that you’ve been meaning to get to?

Describe your favorite pair of socks

Do you like smoothies?

What do you wear when you have to dress nicely?

How do you like your eggs?

What do you use to keep your place when you’re reading a book?

What color dominates your closet?

Do you collect anything? If so, what?

What sounds or scents calm you down?

What’s your favorite kind of uquiz question? (Lyric, color, aesthetic, etc)

Do you wear glasses or contacts?

What’s something about your best friend that you love?

Do you prefer to write in pen or pencil?

What are some places where you feel most at home?

Do you have any houseplants? Do any of them have names?

Describe your favorite hoodie. How long have you had it? What makes it unique?

What’s the last thing you ordered online?

What’s one historical event that you would have liked to have witnessed?

What’s your favorite Halloween costume from when you were a kid?

What kind of math are you best at?

What’s your favorite period in art history, your favorite famous work and/or your favorite style of art? If you don’t know any that’s ok!

Iced or hot drinks?

Which songs do you like to sing in the shower?

Are you a good driver?

Do you have any piercings or tattoos? Are there any that you want?

Can you cook or bake? If so, what are some of your specialties?

Do you have any keychains on your home or car keys? Describe them!

Can you swim very well? Do you like swimming?

Did you play with Legos as a kid? What was your favorite set?

Is your closet organized? If so, how?

What’s the last music video you watched?

If you could dye your hair any color, regardless of how you think it would look, what color would you choose?

Headphones or earbuds?

Can you read analog clocks?

Describe your favorite stuffed animal, either now or from when you were a kid.

What’s an arcade or table game (air hockey, ping pong, etc) that you’re really good at?

Do you mind if others are in the kitchen when you’re cooking or baking?

What’s one show you watch or musician you listen to that your friends know nothing about?

What was the best part of your day today?

What’s your favorite kind of tree?

What scent is your deodorant?

Do you have any games on your phone? If so, which one(s) is/are your favorite?

Do you shower with the lights on or off?

What do you do with spare change?

Do you have good handwriting?

What’s the last thing a friend recommended to you that you looked into and actually liked?

Do you like to go on walks?

Do you have a favorite plate or bowl?

What’s your favorite thing to do when it’s raining?

Describe your perfect sleeping conditions

#just feelt like it

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tiddiesoutwhenthetisout · 4 months ago

Note

✨️ask game✨️

random emoji-based questions to sate your curiosity

personal

👁 eye colour

🇪🇺 nationality

🏳️‍🌈 sexuality

🏳️‍⚧️ gender identity

🛐 religion

faves

☕️ hot drink

🧃 cold drink

🍜 dish

🍉 fruit

🥦 veggie

🎉 holiday

🎲 game

🏐 sport

🐈‍⬛ animal

🌻 flower

🌦 weather

🌍 place

🚙 means of transport

fandom faves

😇 blorbo

😈 meow meow

👥️ otp

📺 tv show

🎬 movie

📚 book

🎶 musical artist

BRO REALLY SAID "ALL OF IT" 🤣 i like that

i'll try shortening my answers.

personal

👁 the emoji but more yellow (?) under sunlight. it's in another post.

🇪🇺 filo

🏳️‍🌈 bisexual but only 1% men? i'm the opposite of androphilic so...

🏳️‍⚧️ genderfluid. is very fun

🛐 don't rlly care

faves

☕️ coffee :3 which i can't have very often due to medical conditions and that makes me so fucking sad if i'm honest lol

🧃boba. gives me that sugar high, chewing experience, and tons of regret. add cream cheese and it's an entire meal!

🍜 no favorites, but anything with soy sauce tbh. it's not my favorite, but adobo is the comfort food.

🍉 pEACH. PEACH IS THE SHIT BRO.

little story: when a band had me substitute for their vocals one time, they asked me to name compensation besides monetary. i'm so bad at these so they just said "snacks?" and shipped me a whole bunch of peach snacks. it's easy to get my favor; i killed that lineup LOL

🥦 broccoli. i'm improving, but i'm still a picky eater unfortunately... so people found it weird that i've always loved this one.

🎉 don't know don't care

🎲 like... video game, or board game or casino game or- i don't have one anyway. but i recently learned backgammon :3

🏐 i like a lot of them, including volleyball itself, though i've bad history with school teams (in volley, i've gotten sabotaged too) so i kinda only played casually.

more stories! because i can't live without yapping. joined filipino kendo (arnis lol) in middle, sulked and quit after i couldn't go to nationals because my height and weight didn't match my age bracket. i'm still salty. justice for taller girls with muscle mas (and a big ass, thanks mom i guess)! they randomly shoved me into a versus college tourney once for the numbers after that, so i won gold and never looked back lmao.

i loved training sessions though; we'd run around the track and whoever finishes first would get to skip push-ups. my childish satisfaction leaving everyone else on the field, stretch and cool down as they finished their laps and *then* going back to the training area to start doing push-ups immediately, screaming from exhaustion 💀 it was pure sadistic joy i say. they were all boys too so it was fun crushing their pride LMAO this is way longer than i intended but i just had to share this detail xD

🐈‍⬛ CATS. next question. bunnies second, owls next.

🌻 lavenders bc they remind me of my wife and sunflowers bc they remind me of my twin from another mother.

🌦 sunny. other yapping is on this post too.

🌍 in her arms or something. my bed or something. something something.

🚙 the car. cabs next because it's interesting when the drivers start telling me their life stories.

fandom faves

tbh i'm not sure i'm aware about all the nuances of blorbo and meow meow. searches also show different, subjective definitions but uh

😇 patroclus? i can't really think of anyone else since i'm into the entire myths stuff rn. it says morally grey too so...

😈 achilles. they have to come in a set. and it says "committed atrocities" so i guess that's that? lol.

👥 ugh, don't make me say it.

i'm enjoying this link thingy, let me be 🤣

📺 i don't really watch tv but derry girls is funny. i wasn't into it at first but i think my gf brainwashed me through exposure /j wandavision was enjoyable.

🎬 PLEASE DON'T MAKE ME DO THIS i have a lot in mind, as well as the ones i've seen but have forgotten. parasite (2019) was great though. conclusion still gets me every time.

a lot of horror movies really, and the conjuring (2013) is still a favorite. i haven't seen the babadook nor evil dead yet though lol. nimona (2023), instant family (2018), brokeback mountain (2005), howl's moving castle (2004) for a few among many... my working memory is fucked

📚 ... we will be here all day, please. a book that earned the most re-reads from me is osamu dazai's no longer human. i gotta read it again this year lol.

here's a few i can remember: metamorphosis (kafka), father of the four passages (lois-ann yamanaka), the stranger (camus), notes from the underground (dostoyevsky), ecko series (danie ware), the song of achilles (MM), circe (MM), the brutal art (jesse kellerman), distant echo (val mcdermid)... idk, these are my more recent reads. the rest are random theses from the uni library.

🎶 miyashita yuu (@/miy_yuu on youtube). he's a genius and an all-rounder. makes art, does sports, makes his own costumes, absolute GODLY with vocal techniques, range and control. he's also just a silly human being.

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wizardofarles · 1 year ago

Text

Important update about LYKMC:

Hey all, I’m so sorry but unfortunately I don’t have chapter 5 of Lord You Keep Me Crawling ready to post on ao3 today. I’ve been busting my ass trying to finish it, but I moved states last week and just haven’t had much time to write. I’m giving myself until next Sunday to finish and post it.

I will also be temporarily shifting my upload schedule from weekly to bi-weekly updates, just until things settle down.

I’m very sorry to everyone who was looking forward to this week’s chapter! I really tried to have it ready for you, but I just couldn’t get it done. 😞 I’m as disappointed as you are. (Please forgive me)

In the meantime I do have an excerpt to offer you from chapter 5! Read more below the cut!! ⬇️⬇️⬇️

A chill wind was rising, tugging at his clothes and hair with cold fingers until he shivered. A drink will warm me up, he thought, as well as clear my head. I need a drink.

He grabbed a stone from someone’s rock wall—a ragged thing about the size of a baseball—and hurled it into the blackness of the road with all his might. He let out a wordless scream of frustration, followed by a string of colorful curses such as to make the devil clutch his pearls, if Auguste had still believed in such fanciful things as heaven and hell.

There was nothing to be done for it, he realized with a kind of bleak acceptance. He couldn’t go back, so Auguste walked forward, toward the lights of the city.

Auguste had never come so close to kissing another man on the lips in his life. Instead, he tried a weak smile. “You could say that.”

“He’s just a kid,” Jord reminded him gently.

“Anything he wants. Look, Gus,” Jord said and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “If I can be blunt here for a second?”

Auguste bowed his head in a go ahead gesture.

“He should have told me,” Auguste agreed. “Something so important …” He ran his thumb through cool beads of condensation on the side of his glass. “We used to be so close.”

“Maybe he was worried you’d be disappointed in him. Shame makes people do all sorts of things that don’t make sense.”

Shame? Auguste shook his head. “No, not Laurent. He does what he wants and doesn’t give a shit what anyone else thinks of him.” I wish I had half his confidence, especially at his age.

Jord shrugged. “Maybe he was afraid you would be angry.”

“I am angry,” Auguste bellowed over the din, causing patrons’ heads around the bar to turn in his direction. He lowered his voice, “Why shouldn’t I be angry? He lied to me for years.”

Jord gave him a long, knowing look.

“That’s not the same,” Auguste jumped to defend himself. “What happened in Marlas—”

“You nearly died.”

The scar on his chest itched accusingly. “Well, clearly I didn’t.”

#how do y’all feel about this auguste pov ??#auguste doesn’t get the whole chapter it switches to laurent about halfway through but how do we feel about it???#moving is hell. don’t recommended it #my life is just boxes and cleaning and more boxes always more boxes 🤡#sleep? don’t know her #lykmc #captive prince #auguste of vere #capri fanfic #my writing #captive prince fanfic

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placetovisitinjodhpur · 10 months ago

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Place To Visit In Jodhpur

The Blue City of Rajasthan, Jodhpur, has a plethora of fascinating sites for tourists to discover. Jodhpur's vibrant marketplaces, historic palaces, and imposing forts are just a few of the city's many attractions. It is impossible to pass up the chance to see the renowned Jodhpur city view, to see the city’s beauty you must visit Jodhpur Cab Service, where the blue buildings dotting the terrain form a captivating image. Jodhpur never fails to enthral visitors, whether they are exploring the old town's winding streets or admiring the Mehrangarh Fort's exquisite architecture.

Rajasthan's "Blue City"

Jodhpur, one of my favourite Rajasthani cities, is a must-see on any trip itinerary. The imposing Mehrangarh Fort will astound you, and you'll also like the fiery regional cuisine and the welcoming atmosphere. The tourist attractions in Jodhpur will undoubtedly make your trip enjoyable and to make this journey more memorable, visit Jodhpur Taxi Service.

The city is vibrant and lively, especially the old town. Eye-popping yellows, oranges, and reds may be seen on individuals and in stores as you stroll around Nai Sadak. However, you may see why the city is aptly named "The Blue City" if you visit Mehrangarh Fort and gaze down at the old town's blue residences also to see the city must visit Cabs In Jodhpur.

The Blue City of Rajasthan, Jodhpur, is unquestionably worth seeing. There are lots of fascinating spots to discover because of the city's appealing architecture, lively culture, and extensive history. There is something for everyone, from the imposing Mehrangarh Fort, which provides stunning views of the city, to the vibrant and busy markets of the ancient city.

One of the biggest private homes in the world, Umaid Bhawan Palace, offers visitors a glimpse into Jodhpur's regal past. In addition, photographers and travelers alike will find a distinctive and scenic backdrop created by the city's colourful streets, which are studded with houses painted blue. Enjoying the native food or meandering through the old city's tiny streets are just two of the fascinating experiences Jodhpur has to offer. Cab Booking Jodhpur will complete this experience in a beautiful way.

If this is your first time visiting India as a foreign guest, this piece has some excellent advice on what to wear there. And also do visit these Car Hire Jodhpur which will help you in touring the city.

Mehrangarh Fort and Museum

The magnificent Mehrangarh Fort, which provides breath-taking views over the Jaipur to Jodhpur distance and the city's alluring blue colours, is one of the top attractions in Jodhpur, Rajasthan.

Perhaps no fort is quite as magnificent as this one. With its imposing 410-foot height, this enormous building is visible from almost every location in the ancient city.

The creator of Jodhpur city, Rao Jodha, erected Mehrangarh Fort about 1460. It is replete with tradition and history and is still operated by the Jodhpur royal family.

Don't miss a visit to the Fort's well-stocked museum. There is no charge to enter the Fort; tickets are only required for the museum, and they can be obtained at the main entrance. There is a sizable royal palanquin collection at the museum. There's also fabrics, paintings, and armor on show. The former palace of the Fort is also included in the museum; exhibits include the king's bedroom, the royal reception hall, and the sizable zenana, or women's area.

The sweeping ramparts adorned with artillery are also well worth seeing; from here, you can get a great view of the blue city below. There's a restaurant with decent food and drink selections right before the museum entrance. It's a steep walk from the main entrance to the interiors of the Fort, so make sure you wear appropriate footwear. Zip-lining is another exciting adventure activity available to thrill-seekers at Mehrangarh Fort in Rajasthan.

Jaswant Thada

In addition to the Mehrangarh Fort, Jodhpur has numerous attractions. The quiet Jaswant Thada, the Umaid Bhawan Palace with its sumptuous interiors and lush lawns, and the serene Mandore lawns, which are home to historic temples and cenotaphs, are other must-see tourist destinations in Jodhpur.

Jaswant Thada is a fascinating location in Jodhpur to visit. The distance between the Mehrangarh Fort and this marble memorial to Maharaja Jaswant Singh II is roughly one kilometer. It's a serene location, particularly in the early morning hours.

I've been to this location for an intriguing musical performance by Grammy-winning flautist Wouter Kellerman and Carnatic singer Mahesh Vinayakram.

Umaid Bhawan Palace Museum

The magnificent Umaid Bhawan Palace Museum in Jodhpur has been transformed into a museum. Additionally, it gives guests a peek into the lavish way of life and regal splendor. A public museum has been established within a portion of the palace.

The palace complex contains the Umaid Bhawan Palace Museum. The royal family's and the maharajas' artifacts are on display. The palace welcomes guests and features a lovely, verdant garden. You can take pictures of the fountains and savor the greenery.

Toorji ka Jhalra

I came discovered a big, seemingly upside-down building with steps surrounding it and a pond with deep blue water in the center while meandering through the old town's tiny lanes.

The next set of stairs begins to descend on each side as two sets of seven steps descend to the next platform, one set to the right and one to the left. What I had discovered was Toor Ji ki Baoli, or what the people of Jodhpur call Jhalra - my first glimpse of a noteworthy old stepwell.

What beautiful building immediately came to mind? My second impression was that a monument like this should have no locks, no gates, no admission fees. When I got closer, I saw a few neighborhood guys leaping in the pond with a big grin and shout. That had to be really fantastic!

Clock Tower

I reached the Clock Tower after heading out from the step-well and continuing for some 500 meters. This historic city landmark is encircled by Sardar Market's colourful sights, sounds, and aromas. With the exception of Sundays, the crowds can be somewhat unruly; always grasp onto your children when in crowded areas.

What to do in Jodhpur

Jodhpur offers a plethora of exciting destinations to explore and a wealth of activities. Jodhpur has everything, whether you're an explorer looking for exhilarating activities or a history buff wanting to learn more about the rich cultural legacy.

With its fascinating history, stunning architecture, and dynamic culture, Jodhpur provides visitors an experience they won't soon forget. So prepare to discover Jodhpur's plethora of activities by packing your bags.

Enjoy a sundowner while admiring the magnificent Mehrangarh Fort.

Numerous eateries strive for the greatest vantage point of the Fort that serves as the city's emblem. The rooftop at RAAS is, in my opinion, one of the best. Delicious cocktails, an extensive selection of appetisers to complement the drinks, and a close-up, intimate view of the Fort.

On the rooftop of Pal Bhavan is another restaurant that offers a stunning view of the Fort. I had dinner there with my hubby. That evening's breeze was very cool, so I was happy to have a nice stole with me.

Try spicy local food

To avoid becoming sick, stick to drinking bottled water, but when visiting Jodhpur, venture out and sample some native cuisine. Even though I'm from Rajasthan, some of the food is rather spicy!

If you ask any local about street cuisine, Janta Sweet Home is the first place that comes to mind. I went there for the jalebi, mirchi vada, and pyaz kachori for breakfast. To wash it all down, my companion also sampled the thick, sweet lassi.

The Jhankar Choti Haveli restaurant, which is next to the Clock Tower, is another nearby eatery that serves excellent native Rajasthani cuisine. I've never had better ker sangri than what they served.

Shop for local stuff

After your sightseeing in Jodhpur is over, you could go shopping for some local goods. On the main road next to Ajit Bhawan, there is a row of stores worth checking out. Even though Fab India, Anokhi, and Amrapali are retailers with multiple locations around India, I thought their Jodhpur stores' collections were unique because they carried a lot of regional crafts.

There is a wide selection of non-precious jewels, bags, stoles, and shoes in the stores within Mehrangarh Fort. Taking a leisurely look at the unique keepsakes at the Mehrangarh Museum Shop is enjoyable.

Glass bracelets and tacky trinkets can be found throughout the old town, including in the stores on Nai Sadak and near the Clock Tower.

Where in Jodhpur to stay

Definitely the most opulent place to stay in the city is Umaid Bhawan Palace. In Jodhpur, if you can afford the price, this is the place to stay. This magnificent palace, spanning 26 acres, is among the world's largest private homes.

A wonderful choice for excellent service, delicious meals, lovely grounds, and Taj hospitality is the Taj Hari Mahal. Search no farther for a luxurious choice in the old town than RAAS Jodhpur, a charming red sandstone boutique resort overlooked by Mehrangarh.

How to get to Jodhpur

Jodhpur has excellent transportation links to Delhi, Mumbai, and other Rajasthani cities. To go to Jodhpur, you can fly from Delhi or Mumbai. Alternatively, ride the train. Jodhpur and Delhi are roughly 650 kilometres apart, and it is possible to travel that distance in a single long day.

There are two ways to travel the approximately 330 kilometres between Jaipur and Jodhpur: by car or by train. Jodhpur is only 250 kilometres away from Udaipur, which is best travelled by car.

Taking a rickshaw in Jodhpur is a convenient way to get around. However, as they rarely use meters, attempt to haggle over the price in advance. Be prepared to spend a little bit more if you are a foreign visitor. As an alternative, you can go around the city by hailing a local taxi.

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